#Waitress Fanfic

[milady-pink]

Waitress AU

Warnings: Food/baking, domestic abuse, unplanned pregnancy, cheating

Summary: Working at a dead end job, waitress Christine soon finds herself with a new problem: an unplanned pregnancy. Life is all about trying to find the sweet spots and luckily this pie genius has a new (and pretty adorkably sexy) OBGYN, who isn’t too happy at home either.

TL;DR Quirky cute and sexy Erik as a doctor, lab coat and all.

Word Count: 1904 || Graphics: @firefly-graphics

"It Only Takes A Taste "

Recipe Book

AO3

It was a dreary day with warm air, but the sun was hidden from view by a cluster of dark clouds promising rain. It’s been a few days since Christine was told about the pie contest and truth be told, she’s been thinking about it nonstop. Every moment of her waking hours have been filled to the brim with thoughts of what recipe would guarantee first place. 

Different flavor combos and crust ideas was all she could think of, but nothing screamed winner to her. She felt it needed to be something really worthwhile, something no one has seen or tasted before. After all, this pie had to be worth $20,000, enough money to take her, and her unborn child, away from this town and the people in it. 

It was Tuesday so Christine was currently sitting at the bus stop a short walk away from the diner, waiting to be taken home to a quiet house so she could test some of her pie ideas in peace. One such pie was baking in her head, she dubbed it “Getting Out Of The Mud Pie”.

Soft meringue, satin smooth and pillow soft…

…On top: ribbons of homemade strawberry ice cream…

…No crust, chilled overnight for an innovative take on a classic mud pie…

…Copious scoops of mocha almond ice cream, if they even make that…

“Hello?”

…I can sprinkle some bittersweet chocolate morsels on top…

“Mrs. DeChagny?”

…And some slivered almonds too…

“Mrs. DeChagny?”

The flour cleared from her head causing Christine to look up at the voice that insisted on speaking to her. “Doctor Destler, hi! What’re you doin’ here?” She asked, startled from her private thoughts. Apparently Christine was so inraptured in her thoughts that she missed the various greetings of her new doctor.

He was wearing a dark button down shirt, rolled at the forearms, and black pants that complimented his top and dark head of hair. It was a little bizarre to see the man outside of his coat that signified his profession. Now he just looked like a regular man.

Pointing his thumb over his shoulder he answered, “My car is having some trouble starting this morning, so I took the bus.” A soft, lopsided smile came to his lips easily, “I forgot how much I love riding buses. And you?” He inquired politely.

“I’m a regular rider every Tuesday night—my husband goes drinking out with the boys.” She playfully rolled her eyes at the stereotype.

Noticing her mirth he responds, with his own added awkwardness, “That must be nice…for him. Uh, that you let him—”

“Oh I love Tuesdays!” She emphasized, suddenly feeling very awkward herself. She steered the conversation away from her mess of a marriage by asking, “What part of town did you move to?”

This began a light conversation about the doctor, who lives on Stanton Grove, and who said it was a nice part of town if you like trees; which, who doesn’t? Christine asked him if he wanted to sit down next to her as they waited for their buses, when the doctor questioned about the uniform she was wearing. She told him she’s a waitress at Joe’s Pie Diner off of Highway 27, even boasting a bit by stating they sell 27 different pies. He was really blown away when she told him she made them herself, asking her if she made the pie she brought in to her appointment. That lead to the slightly embarrassing backstory that she first came up with the recipe for Marshmallow Mermaid when she was 16 and in her mythical creatures phase.

“That was probably the best pie I’ve ever had in my entire life.” He told her, sincerely.

After going on about the evils of sugar, Christine was noticeably surprised when he said that. “You tried it? Don’t worry, I won’t tell your doctor.” She joked.

But all playfulness was absent as he described to her how exactly good her pie was. “Really, it was….biblically good, it was that amazing. That could win contests, ribbons and other stuff.”

Christine told herself that the blush currently warming her face was from pride, and nothing else. “Thank you, what a thing to say,” said with little gusto since she was so unused to people saying nice things about her pies.

Misjudging her lack of excitement, he apologized. “I’m sorry, that was supposed to be a compliment.”

“I know,” Christine said, honestly, “that’s why it made me uncomfortable, m’not used to ‘em.”

Sneaking a glance at his bench mate, Doctor Destler noticed her pink cheeks. “And now you’re blushing, I shouldn’t have said that.” A moment of slight embarrassed silence befell the two, until a memory came to the doctor.  “You know,” he began, “seeing you here in your uniform….Ah forgot it.”

Now interested in what he was thinking about, Christine interrogated, curious to know more. “What about my uniform? Is it not my color?” She added, cheekily.

“No, no.” He smiled, eyes glazed over from memories long ago. “You remind me of this girl I knew. Man, she’s probably middle aged with kids and a husband.” This happy sentiment made Christine smile. “God she’d be what? 41 or 42 now?” Christine dropped her smile.

“And I remind you of this 42-year-old woman?”

“Hm?” As if remembering she was there he looked over and noticed her not so thankful face. “Oh, my god, no, no no!” His face instantly dropping the second he remembered what she just said about what she was insinuating. “It’s just— she was a waitress, too!” That his reassurance gave Christine a better picture into how this man worked, and that he’s not very good at talking to people.

“She worked at this bakery, I used to go a lot cause I had a major sweet tooth in medical school. Pretty lady; small hands, nice teeth, smelled like carbs.” His lopsided smile returned as he remembered his younger years studying away for a medical degree. “I was in school, so broke, and she must have noticed me staring longingly into the window because she used to sneak me some goods like croissants and muffins. She was a real sweetheart.” He looked back to Christine, “That’s what reminded me of you.”

“Well, no one ever notices me like that,” she trailed off, taken aback by another compliment.

“Somebody did, right?” Christine stared back at the masked man, blank expression, not understanding what he meant. “You’ve got th-the, the baby so….” Before she could get a word in edgewise to be offended he continued his story. “Anywho, this other waitress used to bake the pies fresh, daily, like you! Well, not quite like you, no offense to her, but your pies are…whoo. I mean, if pies and other such desserts were books, your pies would be the Shakespeare's letters of books. Does that make sense? Probably not, sorry. What I’m trying to say is you remind me of this waitress who also baked pies, but you're way better.”

The amount of ups and downs from the, supposed, doctor’s rambling could have caused Christine to develop whiplash. She did, however, have the decency to take in what he said at the very end of his onslaught of nervous speaking; he likened her to another pie maker, but called her better. That, at the very least, warmed her up some.

“It’s like they say, ‘it only takes one taste to know when you want a whole slice’. Don’t ask me who says that, I don’t know.” He said honestly, shaking his head.

Christine broke the silence, saving the poor nut from himself. “That reminds me of something my mama used to say in the kitchen when she was teaching me to bake. She’d say, “You can tell the whole story of the pie with just one taste, Christine.’” She shared.

He popped up at her words, thankful at least one of them was a wordsmith. “That’s exactly it! I mean, when I had that first bite of your pie, it felt like I could taste every individual ingredient you used, like I could see it sitting in a pantry. Maybe it was the years of no sugar but, one bite and I wanted that whole pie to myself.” He joked, but held an underlying seriousness to his words.

All Christine could do was sit and smile to what he was saying, pleased someone else could find enjoyment in her baking than her usual customers. “Honestly, it felt like the entire room evaporated and it was just me and the pie, alone.” Suddenly, his tone got a lot more thoughtful and a little bashful, staring at the pavement in front of him as he spoke. “It even got me thinking, what your hands must have felt like, crumbling the butter, mixing the filling, rolling out the dough. Wonder what your hands felt like when they made something so…masterful.” He all but mumbled the last bit.

Because of his soft speaking of her baking process, Christine had to lean in a bit and in doing so got a very good look at what her doctor’s lips looked like; thin, but slightly plump in the middle, perfect for tugging between teeth— “One bite of pie, caused all those thoughts?” She asked, mesmerized.

Looking up from the sidewalk, he took in how close the two had become on the bench. Maybe it was her imagination, but Christine thought she saw his amber eyes look down to her lips before looking into her eyes and saying, “It only takes one.”

The pair was quick to separate and retreat back to a reasonable distance from each other when they heard the sound of squeaking from the bus’s brakes. Each sat a little dazed and tried to shake off the looming heat that must have come from the sun peaking through those pesky clouds. Realizing it was her number, Christine got up from her seat.

“Well,” she said, trying not to seem too thrown off, “this one’s mine. Nice talking with you, Doctor Destler.”

Just as she was about to step onto the bus and pay the fee, she heard the doctor call out, “Christine.” Turning around, she was again made aware how very tall her doctor was, barely hitting his collarbone. “You can call anytime, I’m here.” He said, placing a slender hand on her arm. “For all of your questions and concerns, that is.” Taking his hand away, and leaving her with one of his lopsided smiles.

She gave one of her own small smiles, and boarded the bus, going as far as to wave to him from her seat as the bus started to drive away. 

The air conditioning in the bus was cold, but more so was her arm where his larger one had been moments ago. Not to mention, the small smile she gifted the doctor still remained on her face, smiling to herself as she thought back to the encounter. How the strange, new doctor likened her pies to Shakeaspeare’s letters and cared enough to wonder what her hands felt like as she made them. 

Christine rode the bus home, to her little ranch house that hasn’t been redecorated since the eighties at least, that smile staying put through every bump and pothole.

Maybe being compared to a 42 year old woman wasn’t the compliment it should have been, but to Christine it meant the world.

#phantom of the opera #christine daae #raoul de chagny #erik destler #musical fanfic #erik x christine #waitress fanfic #waitress #sara bareilles #pies

[fanfictionalraven]

Right Where You Left Me

Title: Right Where You Left Me

Summary: The reader, a waitress at the local diner, has become good friends with Dean. What happens when he disappears without a trace?

Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Mary Winchester, Castiel

Word Count: 7,309

Warnings: Canon typical violence and peril

Author's Note: This story takes place through the events of the second half of season 12, starting with episode 9 "First Blood". It's also the first story I've actually written and published in nearly 6 years, so grant me a little grace please. Enjoy!!

“Ma’am? Ma’am?” A voice says. You snap from your thoughts and look at the people sitting at the table in front of you. You’d gotten distracted by the bell at the door, a new customer coming in. Not the one you were looking for though. Putting on your best smile, you shake your head slightly. 

“I’m so sorry. Where were we?” You ask, glancing at the notepad in your hand.

“We were trying to ask you about the pie of the day,” the woman says. You nod and try not to sigh.

“Cherry,” you tell her. Dean’s favorite. They order two slices which you deliver to them quickly before going into the kitchen. “Stew, I’m taking a 10,” you announce to the cook. He waves a hand at you and glances at the clock.

“Make it 5,” he shouts as you slip out the back door. Leaning against the wall with a sigh, you slip the brace off of your wrist and roll the sore joint slowly, wincing. 

“This job,” you mumble before pulling your phone from your apron. Going into your recent calls, you hit the name at the top. Dean. He wasn’t going to answer. He hadn’t in weeks after all, calls or texts. It rings…and rings…and rings. Just as you’re about to give up, the final ring is cut off.

“Hello?” A woman’s voice asks, curiously. Confusion and a million unpleasant thoughts sweep over you in an instant.

“I’m sorry. I was trying to reach Dean,” you say.

“This is his phone. At least, I think it is…who is this?” She asks. You sigh and run a hand over your face.

“My name’s Y/N. I…I work at a diner and Dean’s one of my regulars. I haven’t seen him in a while and…I was worried,” you tell her. You can hear the confusion in her voice when she responds.

“A waitress who has her customer’s numbers and calls to check up on them?” She asks.

“No. Well…yes, but…Dean’s more than just a customer,” you say.

“What exactly is Dean then?” She asks, a slight edge to her voice. What is Dean? That was the very question you’d spent countless nights asking yourself.

When Dean had first wandered into the diner and sat in your section, he was just another tip. Sure, the two of you had flirted but, to be honest, you flirted with most of your customers. You had bills to pay after all. He came back the very next night, claiming the pie had just been too good. On his fifth visit to the diner, he wandered in just as you clocked out and invited you to join him. You sat in that booth across from him for hours, laughing and talking. At the end of his seventh trip, you slipped your phone number to him on the back of his bill. He’d called you before his car was even out of the parking lot.

That was nearly a year ago and the two of you talked and texted regularly ever since. Sure, he’d go silent for a little while but then he’d saunter into the diner, give you a crooked smile, and ask for the pie of the day. Throughout that year, the two of you flirted, laughed, and teased each other.  There had been a few occasions when he’d catch you as you were leaving, place a to-go order, and then you’d ride in his car out to some deserted spot to talk and eat. You’d gotten to know each other intimately. In an emotional sense that is. Dean always kept you at arm’s length. He’d never asked you on a real date. Your coworkers insisted he was probably married and just stringing you along. And now some strange woman was answering his phone and…

“Y/N?” The woman on the line says.

“Sorry. A friend. Dean’s…a really good friend,” you tell her. “Can I ask who you are?”

“I’m Mary,” she starts and you immediately let out a heavy sigh.

“His mother. Of course,” you breathe with relief.

“Yes,” she says, slightly surprised.

“He’s talked about you a lot. Where is Dean?” You ask. Now, it was Mary’s turn to sigh.

“We don’t know,” she tells you.

“What?” You ask. “It’s his job, isn’t it?” You didn’t know exactly what Dean did but he’d come into the diner beaten and bruised on a few occasions.

“Well…yes,” she says.

“Have you called the police?”

“Y/N, break’s over,” Stew calls from the back door.

“Give me a minute!!” You yell to him. He grumbles and slams the door shut. “You have called the police, right, Mary?”

“That’s not exactly an option,” she says, slowly.

“Well…what about Sam? Or…or Cas?” You ask. There’s the briefest of pauses.

“I’m…I’m here with Mary,” a second voice says.

“And Sam was with Dean,” Mary adds. Cas was there as well, listening to your conversation. You frown and pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to think.

“I want to help,” you tell them.

“I’m sorry, Y/N but…we don’t even know you,” she says.

“Well, then, come meet me. I get off at 8:00,” you say before giving her the address for the diner. “If you don’t show up, I’ll call the police and report them missing myself.”

“We’ll be there,” Mary says before disconnecting the line. You slip the phone back into your apron pocket and run your hands over your face. Sliding the brace back onto your wrist, you head back into the diner.

The rest of your shift drags on slowly. You don’t make nearly as much as you could have on tips, your normal perky personality absent. At 8:15, you finally manage to clock out, throwing your apron into the dirty linens bag. You rush out the front door and look around, phone in hand. The front doors of an unfamiliar car open at the same time. Mary, you recognize her from the old pictures Dean had shown you, gets out of the driver’s side, and the man you assume to be Cas gets out as well.

“Y/N?” Mary asks, watching you. You nod and rush over to the two of them.

“While I wish it was under different circumstances, it’s nice to finally meet you both,” you tell them, holding a hand out. Mary gives you a quick once over before placing her hand in yours.

“I wish I could say the same but…”

“Dean never mentioned me,” you say. It wasn’t a question but a statement of fact. You’d often wondered and now you knew for sure. You were a secret.

“So, what exactly do you know about their work?” Mary asks. You frown and shrug.

“Not much. I figure…best case, CIA…worst case, I dunno…the mafia,” you say, more than a little embarrassed. Mary smiles a little and looks down at the ground.

“Not exactly. It’s a bit more freelance than that,” she says.

“Like a bounty hunter?” You ask. Mary shakes her head, looking around.

“I’d rather not discuss it here. Would you be willing to go back to the bun…where the boys live and talk there?” She asks. 

“Of course,” you agree, immediately.

***

Never get in the car with strangers. The age old advice rang through your ears as you rode in the back seat to wherever Mary and Cas were taking you. Of course, these two weren’t exactly strangers. They were at least Dean’s mother and best friend. You truly felt like you actually knew them with how much he’d talked about them.

Mary continues to drive as you watch the cityscape disappear. It isn’t too long before she’s pulling onto a desolate looking road. The road leads into a dark tunnel, only lit by the headlights of Mary’s car. Your eyes have to readjust when she pulls into a much more brightly lit area. Looking around, you find a room that appears to be a garage holding several very old cars. This much at least screamed Dean, relaxing you a little.

“You said they live here?” You ask, trying to wrap your mind around that statement.

“Yes. It’s an old bunker. Used to be home to a secret society, the Men of Letters,” she tells you. You nod and try to keep your face in check. You can feel her watching you in the rearview mirror.

“Are they in this secret society then? You ask as she parks the car.

“No,” she answers. “It died out in America decades ago. There is still an active branch in London though.”

“Douchebags,” Cas mutters. You both look at him and he glances between the two of you. “That’s what Dean calls them.” You let out a small laugh as the three of you get out of the car. Mary leads the way through the bunker quietly. You follow, looking around and trying to take in as much as you can. She leads the two of you into what you assume is a library given the shelves of books all along the walls.

“You drink?” She asks, holding up a bottle of brown liquid. You nod as you take a seat at the table. Admittedly, you were more of a wine drinker but you felt the impending conversation would require something stronger. Mary pours two glasses and sets one in front of you before walking around to the other side of the table. She takes the seat opposite you and looks at the glass, swirling it slightly. “You sure about this, Y/N? Once you know the truth, leaving it behind can be pretty difficult.”

“Please,” is all you manage to say. She nods and throws her drink back quickly.

“Alright,” she starts. “I come from a long line of hunters. Not the kind you’re thinking of. My family hunted monsters. Ghosts, demons, witches, vampires.” You strive to keep your face in check as you take a slow drink. This was not what you were expecting at all.  “When I was 19, dating John, the boys’ father, a demon killed him and my parents. He offered me a deal. He would bring John back and we could live a normal life, as long as I gave him permission to enter my home in 10 years. I was suddenly alone and holding the dead body of the love of my life. I agreed. Ten years later, he entered my home and killed me. John took the boys on the road and they became hunters as well.”

Mary stops as you stand slowly and make your way over to the bottle she had used earlier. With shaking hands, you refill your glass before downing it quickly. This was insane. Mary was insane. There was no way this was real.

“Mary…I…you really expect me to believe all this?” You ask, looking back at her now. She shrugs slightly and looks at Cas. You’d forgotten he was even there. He’d been leaning against a bookshelf behind her, watching you. You look at him as he starts to make his way around the table towards you.

Panic quickly rises in your throat and you have to remind yourself that these are Dean’s people. At least…you’re fairly certain they are. You’d never seen pictures of Cas and the only ones you had seen of Mary were from when Dean was just a child. Now, this strange woman was trying to convince you that monsters were real and your friend hunted them for a living. Cas stops next to you and looks down at your hand.

“Why are you wearing that brace?” He asks. You blink, surprised. You’d half expected him to knock you unconscious.

“I, ummm…” You hold it up and shake your head. “Carpal Tunnel from work.” Cas nods and briefly touches two fingers to your forehead before you can even register the movement.

“You won’t need it anymore,” he says. You stare at him in disbelief before taking the brace off. For the first time in a long time, you don’t feel any pain as you roll your wrist in every direction. You look back up at Cas and then at Mary. She smiles and shrugs.

“Angel,” she says. You know the shock is clear all over your face as Cas helps you back to your seat. The three of you sit in silence for a little while as you process all of this information. You’re grateful for the time they give you.

“You, ummm…” You stop and look at Mary. “You said you died.” She runs a hand across her forehead and looks at you, debating on if you’re prepared for more information. You give her the best reassuring smile you can manage at the moment.

“God’s sister brought me back as a thank you gift to Dean and Sam for helping her reunite with her brother,” she says. You’re absolutely certain your jaw hits the table. 

“Well…that was…nice,” you manage. “And they were on a…a hunt when they disappeared?”

“Lucifer had possessed the president of the United States,” Cas starts. “We were going to exorcise him and return him to his cage in hell.”

“Oh my god,” you mumble, immediately beginning to massage your temples. “This is…this is a lot.”

“Now you know why Dean never told you,” Mary says. You nod, still attempting to rub away the migraine threatening to explode behind your eyes.

“I, ummm…can I take a walk?” You ask. Mary nods, smiling a little. You hoped you were handling this better than she expected. You’re still shaking as you rise from your seat again and make your way down one of the hallways. Your mind thinks back over things Dean had mentioned about his work and, frankly, it lined up. He’d never given you a lot of details but now it was starting to make sense.

You stop in the middle of the hallway and glance around. Your curiosity gets the better of you causing you to push open the door in front of you. It was a bedroom, modestly decorated. You make your way into the room and find a familiar picture sitting on the bedside table. It was the photo Dean had shown you of him and his mother. Glancing around the room, you surmise that it must be his room.

You pull open the drawer of the bedside table and gasp. Inside you find several things, another gun, a handful of credit cards, and fake ID’s. But the most surprising thing was sitting right on top. You gingerly pick up the picture and can’t help but smile. It’s of you, sitting in the front seat of Dean’s car, laughing. You remembered when he’d taken it, one of the many nights you’d spent talking. You didn’t realize he’d had it printed and kept it so close. Maybe you were more than just a secret.

“Y/N?” Mary asks from the doorway. You look up at her and she smiles. “I was getting ready to head out when you called, a vampire thing in Missouri. Cas said he’d take you back.”

“Thank you for being honest with me,” you tell her. She nods once and leaves you alone.

The next few days pass relatively uneventfully. You call Stew and make up a story about a death in the family out of state, telling him you’ll need a week or two off. He reluctantly agrees. You stay at the bunker with Cas after that. Your days are spent diving into the lore books in the old bunker, learning anything and everything you can. Cas teaches you how to do “research”, showing you how to tell the difference between normal weird and supernatural weird. He shows you one of the spare bedrooms but you end up sleeping in Dean’s room instead. 

The two of you are making your way to the library when you hear Cas’s phone ringing. He rushes ahead to answer it and you go over to a new shelf to find something else to study.

“What?” He answers the phone. “Dean?” The book you’d picked out slips from your hand and you rush to his side. “What, what happened? Wh-where are you?” You stare at him, tears stinging your eyes. He grabs a pen and pad off the table and quickly jots down a note. Rocky Mountain National Park. State Route 34. “Yes. – Wait, where? – Wait, what does that…” Cas sighs and sets the phone down, frowning.

“What did he say?? Are they okay??” You ask. He glances at you and shrugs.

“He sounded rushed. Like they were being chased,” he says. You nod and pick up the notepad, trying to hide the rush of emotions you were feeling.

“We’ve got to call Mary. Meet up with her and get to Colorado,” you tell him. He looks at you quickly and frowns.

“No, Y/N. It’s too dangerous for you to come along,” he says, taking the notepad. You shake your head, tears falling freely as you look up at the angel.

“Cas, please,” you beg. His resolve breaks instantly and he sighs, picking his phone back up.

“Dean would not approve,” he mumbles before calling Mary.

The two of you pull into a parking lot several hours later. Mary’s car is already sitting, waiting. She gets out and clenches her jaw when she sees you rise from the passenger side of Cas’s car.

“You got here quickly,” Cas remarks. Mary nods, eyes fixed on you.

“Yep. What the hell is she doing here??” She asks. Cas sighs and looks over at you.

“Mary, please. I won’t get in the way, I swear,” you tell her. Frowning, she shakes her head, her hands coming to rest on your shoulders.

“Y/N, it’s not about you being in the way. We have no idea what we’re walking into. I’m more worried about you getting hurt and what that would do to Dean,” she says. Swallowing hard, you set your jaw. Mary wasn’t going to see you cry too.

“Please. I have to be there. I need to see him with my own eyes,” you plead. She watches you for a moment, debating internally.

“Dean’s gonna kill us,” she says before turning to Cas. “We may want backup.”

“Crowley and Rowena?” He asks. She scoffs and you glance between them.

“The King of Hell and his mother, the witch?” She asks. You frown and shake your head.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” you comment. Mary smiles a little and looks at Cas.

“I hope we can do better than them.”

“I may have an idea,” he says. Mary nods and makes for the driver’s side of her own car.

“Good. Seat belts on. I drive fast,” she tells the two of you as you load into the car as well.

The British Men of Letters. That was Cas’s idea. Mary almost immediately pulls out, supposing “the demon and his mommy” don’t sound so bad anymore. You hang back, watching the situation unfold. The two Brits, Mick and Ketch from what you gather, offer their services seemingly free of charge. They make a few phone calls, getting access to a satellite of the area Dean had mentioned. Mary and Cas are able to deduce the direction they’re headed and a good spot to meet them.

The two cars move to the new location and you all unload once again. You look up at the night sky and think about the last night you’d spend with Dean. He’d picked you up from the diner at closing time and drove you out of town to a remote location. You’d both laid on the hood of the car, splitting the last of the pie of the day.

“Y/N,” Mary says, pulling you from your thoughts. You turn to face her and immediately launch into pleading again.

“Mary, please. I don’t want to wait here while you two go on…”

“Stop,” she says, holding her hand up. “That’s not what I was going to say. Dean’s already gonna be pissed we brought you. He’d kill us both if we left you with those two. Just stay close to us and if something goes wrong, run back here.” You manage a relieved smile and follow her and Cas further up into the woods.

The three of you come into a small clearing and it isn’t long before there’s a rustling in the brush. Cas and Mary both move into a defensive stance in front of you. You wring your hands as you wait. Cas takes a few steps closer to the noise just as Dean and Sam fall through the bushes. Your heart jumps into your throat at the sight of Dean and you almost break down crying right then.

“Sam, Dean,” Cas says, relieved. You can see the tension immediately leave Mary’s shoulders as she takes in the sight of her boys. Sam rises first and pulls Cas into a tight hug. His eyes land on Mary and he smiles.

“Mom,” he says, letting Cas go. He starts to make his way across the clearing towards her when you register the confusion on his face. Dean finally stands and hugs Cas as well. Sam pulls Mary into a tight embrace that she immediately returns. “Who’s this?” He asks.

“Y/N??” Dean’s voice rings across the clearing. You smile, swallowing back tears, and wave slightly. “The hell is she doing here??” His voice is thick with anger as he makes his way over to Mary. The venom in his words takes you by surprise. Mary raises her hands slightly.

“She was worried about you. Called your phone. I answered and she wanted to help,” she explains. You and Dean stand there, staring at each other. Dean’s eyes are full of a rage you can’t even begin to comprehend.

“How much do you know?” He asks.

“A lot more than I did a week ago,” you tell him. He shakes his head and looks to the sky before looking at his mother.

“Hey, Mom,” he mumbles, pulling her into a hug. She lets out a gasp of surprise and returns the embrace. Dean’s eyes never leave your face. “Let’s get out of here,” he says before walking straight past you.

You take a shaky breath and run your hands over your face. You had anticipated he’d be angry, of course. But you had hoped the joy of being together again would cancel that anger out at some point. Mary pats your shoulder before she starts to follow Dean. You debate on staying right there in the woods for a moment before falling in step behind them. Sam clears his throat slightly as you all walk.

“Mom, how did yall even find us?” He asks, attempting to break the tension.

“They helped,” she says, pointing to Mick and Ketch as they come into view.

“Dammit!! They know about her now too??” He groans, running a hand through his hair. “Y/N, get in the car.” You stare at him in disbelief for a moment. “Car. Now,” he demands. You wipe at your eyes furiously as you storm back to Mary’s car. Sliding into the middle of the back seat, you realize for the first time that the Dean you knew and this Dean, the real Dean, may not be the same person.

The five of them talk for only a moment before coming to the car. Cas takes the passenger seat quickly and Dean doesn’t hide the dirty look he gives him. You shake your head, unable to believe that having to sit by you in the car was that unsettling. Had you misinterpreted your entire relationship? Sam gets in on your other side and smiles at you, awkwardly.

“Y/N, wasn’t it?” He asks. You look at him and smile bitterly.

“Yes. It’s nice to finally meet you Sam. I’ve heard so much about you. And don’t worry. I know the feeling can’t be mutual. You’ve never heard of me before, have you?” You ask, letting your anger burst out for a moment. Dean’s hand tightens into a fist on his leg as he stares out the window. Sam’s awkward smile becomes apologetic before Mary changes the subject, filling them in on everything they’d missed.

Mary continues to drive on into the night. You catch Sam and Dean both nervously glancing at the clock at the front of the car. They seem to only be getting more anxious as the minutes tick by.

“So wait, you're hunting?” Dean asks his mother. She glances back at him in the mirror and shrugs.

“A little bit,” she says. Sam smiles and shakes his head.

“Yea, I knew you couldn’t stay away,” he teases.

The exact second the clock switches over to 12:00, midnight, the car dies. Mary eases it onto a bridge as she tries the key again.

“It’s time,” Sam says, getting out of the car. You look at him then over at Dean.

“Stay in the car,” Dean tells you. Rolling your eyes, you slide out right behind him, tired of being ordered around tonight. The others all get out as well and look around, taking in their surroundings.

“What’s happening?” Mary asks.

“Yea, Dean. Sup?” A new voice says. You all look over to find a woman standing in the middle of the bridge. You look around, trying to figure out where she could have possibly come from. Dean takes an immediate step in front of you, shielding your entire body. Instinctively, you step closer to him, your hand coming to rest on his back, assuring him you were there and okay.

“Billie?” Mary asks, recognition and confusion mixed on her face.

“The reaper?” Cas asks. You close your eyes, trying to think back over your studies. It wasn’t one of things you’d become familiar with but gauging everyone’s reactions, this wasn’t a good thing.

“I don’t understand,” Mary says, shaking her head. Dean sighs and hangs his head.

“Mom, that place…there was only one way we were getting out of there, and that wasn’t breathing,” he starts to explain. You glance around at everyone and notice the horrified look on Cas’s face. “So I made a call.”

“Dean talked to her and then Billie came to talk to me,” Sam continues the story. “And we made a deal. We’d get to die and come back one more time, but in exchange…”

“Come midnight, a Winchester goes bye-bye. Like, permanently,” Billie says, smiling. “And that is something  I’ve been looking forward to for a long time.”

“No,” you whisper from behind Dean.

“Why would you –,” Mary starts.

“We were already dead,” Dean tells her. “Being locked in that cell with nothing…I’ve been to Hell. This was worse.”

“At least this way, one of us gets to keep fighting,” Sam finishes. You shake your head, taking a step away from Dean.

“No,” you say again. He looks over his shoulder at you and his anger has completely dissolved. “Dean, no.”

“Hi, Y/N,” Billie says, waving. You look at her in utter shock but Dean steps between the two of you again.

“Leave her out of this,” he growls.

“You don’t have to do this,” Cas says, shaking his head.

“Yea, they do,” Billie says. “We made a pact bound in blood, You break that, there’s consequences on a cosmic scale. So, who’s it gonna be?” She asks, looking between the brothers. Sam looks at Dean, then at you, and back to Dean who shakes his head.

“Me,” Mary says before either of them can answer. She turns to face Billie, pulling her handgun from her waistband. Sam and Dean both immediately object, stepping forward to stop her. Billie flings both of them away with a wave of her hand. You rush to Dean’s side and fall next to him, immediately checking him for injuries. He shakes his head and fights to rise to his feet again.

“You said come midnight, a Winchester dies?” Mary asks. “I’m a Winchester.”

“Works for me,” Billie says with a smile. Mary cocks the gun and raises it toward her head. Sam and Dean both object loudly again, fighting to get to her.

“I love you,” Mary sniffs. Just as she’s about to pull the trigger, a sharp pointed blade pierces through Billie’s chest from behind and she immediately falls dead. You stare in shock at the dead body lying before you. Cas stands over her, the blade in his hand dripping blood. Mary lowers her gun as Dean and Sam are finally able to get to their feet. Dean takes your hand, pulling you up as well. You begin to pale as you stare at the body.

“Cas, what have you done?” Dean asks, looking at his best friend in shock.

“What had to be done,” he says. “You know this world – this sad, doomed little world – it needs you…” Your ears begin to ring and you take a shaky step closer to Dean. His arm comes around your waist, eyes never leaving Cas as he continues to talk. Something about keeping all the Winchesters alive.

“Dean,” Mary says, pointing to you. “First dead body.” Dean looks down at you just as you go completely limp in his arms.

**

Dean runs his hands over his face before taking a long swig off his beer. A lot had happened in the last day; dying, coming back again, running, fighting for their lives, getting back to their family, you, Billie, you, Cas killing a reaper…you. That was really the only thing on his mind…you. He had so carefully built a relationship with you. A relationship based on half truths and secrets but a relationship nevertheless. Now, you knew the whole nasty truth. It was going to be Lisa all over again…

“Dean?” Mary asks, sticking her head into the kitchen. He glances over his shoulder and smiles a little. “Can I join you?” Nodding, he points to the empty seat across from him. She walks over, taking the seat quietly. He stares at the bottle in his hands. “Dean…”

“You shouldn’t have told her,” he tells her firmly. “It wasn’t your place. I didn’t want her to know. She was safer not knowing. Now…I’ll never see her again.”

“What? Why?” Mary asks, confused. Dean stands and throws his empty bottle into the trash.

“To keep her safe!!” He snaps, spinning on her angrily. “People around me don’t hang around too long. They either run or they die. It’s as simple as that. Especially the ones who mean the most to me. And she means…” He stops abruptly, emotion closing up his throat. Mary frowns as she stands and walks over to him.

“It only seems that way, Dean. Y/N, she’s…she’s strong. She took everything I told her in stride and she stayed. She stayed here with Cas and she’s been learning how to do the job,” she tells him.

“That’s even worse!! I don’t want her anywhere near this,” he says, fighting back tears. “If it was just normal hunter stuff then maybe but the stuff we deal with…Lucifer and Amara and God…I want her as far away from all of this as possible.”

“Don’t you think she should get a say in this?” Mary asks. He shakes his head, stubbornly.

“No. Soon as she wakes up, I’m taking her back home. I’ll never go back to that diner.. She’ll never see or hear from me again,” he says.

“What?” You whisper to yourself, standing just outside the kitchen door. You turn on your heels and rush down the hall towards the garage. Your car was there and you’d spent enough time at the bunker to know how to get out. You hadn’t heard much but you heard enough. Dean didn’t want to see you anymore, plain and simple.

***

Three months, five days.

That’s how long it had been since you last saw Dean. You’d left the bunker, rejected and heartbroken, and Dean had kept his word. He hadn’t called. He hadn’t come in for any pie. Life was back to normal. Boring, regular, normal. You found yourself reading into everything you saw on the news, wondering if it was a case Dean could be working at that very moment. 

You’d volunteered to close down the diner for yet another night. Floors were mopped. Counters and tables wiped down. All you had left to do was lock up. Flipping off the lights, you step outside into the cool night air. You turn to lock the door when you hear footsteps coming up behind you. Damn it. You’d been so lost in thoughts about what you had believed was a werewolf in Michigan you hadn’t checked the parking lot first.

“Hello, love,” a heavy British accent says. There’s nothing familiar and certainly nothing friendly about the greeting. You stand frozen for a moment, weighing your options. You didn’t have many.

“We’re closed,” you say, not turning to face him yet.

“Not here for the pie,” he jokes. He’s closer than he had been.

“Look. My manager has already taken the deposit to the bank. I’ve got a few bucks in my purse and that’s it. I haven’t seen your face yet. You can turn around and leave, no consequences,” you tell him.

“Afraid not. Got a job to do. A message for your little hunter boyfriend,” he says. You let out a short laugh.

“You’re definitely barking up the wrong tree,” you say. His reflection is in the glass of the door now, standing right behind you. You take a deep breath and turn to face him finally. “Dean Winchester doesn’t care about me. Hurting me, won’t hurt him in any way.”

“We’ll see about that,” he says, brandishing a knife. You bring your knee up, hitting him in the groin. He grunts and doubles over, giving you enough time to run towards your car. Unfortunately, the blow doesn’t slow him down enough. Before you can make it to the car, he’s grabbed you by your waist, knife at your throat. “Any last words I can pass on to the Winchesters?” He breathes in your ear.

“Go to hell,” you spit at him. You feel the knife press harder against your skin as angry tears slide down your cheeks. What a way to go. Dying for a man who couldn’t care less.

Before the Brit can finish you off, a car whips into the dark parking lot, lights shining bright on the two of you. It takes your attacker by surprise and you feel his grip relax just enough. A sharp elbow to his abdomen has him letting you go. You fall to your knees as you attempt to run away. The car skids to a stop and you hear the voice you’d only dreamt of hearing again.

“Y/N!!” Dean yells as he runs at your attacker. He tackles him, knocking the knife from his hand as the two men hit the ground. Mary runs to your side as Sam runs to help Dean. You weren’t sure why. Dean had the upper hand, sitting atop the man, punching him in the face. Repeatedly. That’s when you realize, Sam wasn’t helping Dean. He was pulling him off.

“Dean, it’s over,” he tells his brother. “He’s dead.” Mary helps you to your feet, examining you as Dean makes his way over, wiping his bloodied hand off on his shirt.

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” Dean asks, taking your face in his hands. He looks you over and frowns at the knick on your neck. Running his thumb over it gently, he wipes the blood away. 

“I’m fine,” you mutter, taken aback by his gentleness and concern. Before you can say anything else, he pulls you into a crushing hug. You gasp and freeze before slowly returning the embrace. Mary touches Sam’s shoulder and nods back towards the dead body. They slip away to deal with that and give you two some privacy. “Dean…”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I put you in so much danger,” he says, letting you go. “I didn’t know we were being watched. I didn’t know.”

“Dean, what’s going on?” You ask.

“The British Men of Letters. Turns out it was a join or die type of situation. They’ve been watching all of us for a while now. They knew about you before you ever knew anything,” he explains. “They had brainwashed Mom but we just got her back. Sam and Jody led a raid of the Brits’ headquarters. Saw the pictures of you, of us here. We got here as quick as we could.” He winces now and you finally register how badly beaten he looks.

“What happened to you?” You ask, knowing your attacker hadn’t even gotten one good swing in. He limps over to his car and leans back against the hood.

“Grenade launcher,” he says, pointing to his leg. “Bad fight with Ketch.” He points to the rest of himself.

“Gre...huh??”

“They locked us in the bunker. Shut off the air supply. It was our only way out. And it was freaking awesome,” he says, smirking now. You roll your eyes at him and try not to smile, fighting back that familiar feeling he always gave you.

“Well, thank you. I’ll be more careful. Try not to close up by myself anymore,” you tell him, crossing your arms. He nods slightly, watching you.

“Or you could come with me,” he says. You scoff a laugh and shake your head.

“You don’t have to babysit me, Dean. I’ll be fine,” you say.

“What?” He asks. You shrug, trying to give him a confident smile.

“I’m officially relieving you of the burden of my safety. Whatever happens to me, happens. Don’t let it get to your conscious,” you tell him, looking around for your purse.

“Y/N,” Dean says. He watches you walk over and pick up the discarded item. You throw it over your shoulder and look back at him. “Come here,” he says gently, holding a hand out.

“You don’t want me. I know that. Please stop this,” you say, looking down at the gravel under your feet. You hear him sigh and look up as he starts to limp towards you. “No. Stop. You’re hurt.” He rolls his eyes now before taking your face in his hands for the second time tonight. This time his eyes aren’t searching for injuries. They’re searching for answers.

“Why would you think I don’t want you?” He asks, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it before. You get lost in the green of his eyes for a moment before the memory of that night comes back.

“I heard you with Mary. You said I wouldn’t see or hear from you again. And I haven’t since I left the bunker that day,” you tell him, hating to relive those harsh words. He nods, his hands leaving your face. They don’t go far though, immediately coming to rest on your hips.

“Is that all you heard?” He asks. You nod, wishing he’d just let you go home instead of dragging this out. “I didn’t leave you alone because I didn’t want you. I left you alone because I needed to keep you safe, because I want you too much, because I care about you too much.” Your eyes fill with tears as you stare up at him. You had to have died and gone to heaven for him to be saying these things, the things you wanted him to say so desperately.

“You were so mad when you saw me…”

“Because I didn’t want you anywhere near this life. Hunting, especially the things we end up hunting, it’s dangerous,” he pauses and closes his eyes. “I had just made a deal with a reaper to die. Again. I’d already resolved myself to the fact I wasn’t going to get to say a proper goodbye to you, tell you how I felt, how happy you’ve made me over the past year…and then you were there, right smack in the middle of everything. I was furious, yea, but not at you. I was mad at myself. I never shoulda came back here to begin with.”

“I don’t understand,” you say, shaking your head. Nothing was making sense. Nothing but the feel of his hands on your waist. That was good. That was right.

“I fell for you so hard that first night I came in for dinner. I was just supposed to come in, pick up something for me and Sam, and head back to the bunker. But when I walked in and saw you…I had to know you,” he recalls. “I thought a couple of visits couldn’t hurt. I could just be a customer, see you, talk to you. Maybe you’d eventually learn my name. That third time I came in and saw you getting ready to leave I was devastated. So I asked you to join me, thinking there wasn’t a chance in hell. You’d just gotten off work. Surely you wanted to get out of there and get home. But you stayed and you sat with me and…I knew I was in trouble.” You’re crying now. You don’t know exactly when the tears started but they were falling quickly. Dean brings one hand up and wipes at each of your cheeks gently. “And then you gave me your number…man, I almost called you from the booth,” he laughs. You do as well, reaching up and taking his hand. You press a kiss into his palm.

“I never knew what we were. I was so confused,” you tell him.

“I’m sorry. I kept going back and forth. I told myself it was too dangerous, you were safer as my friend. But then I’d get you alone, in my car and…” His hand tightens slightly on your hip and he pulls you impossibly closer. “I wanted you so desperately.” His voice dropped lower and his eyes bore into your own.

“I wanted you too,” you just manage to whisper. His forehead is touching yours now. Your eyes flutter close as his breath washes over your face.

“No more secrets,” he says before finally bringing his lips in to meet yours. This isn’t a gentle, chaste first kiss. Your lips move desperately against his as your arms wrap around his neck. It was everything you’d imagined and nothing like you could have dreamed all at the same time. His lips were chapped but gentle. He tasted of mint and whiskey. The way his hands moved over your back, one sliding just beneath your shirt to caress the skin at the small of your back, was intoxicating. You force yourself to pull away, remembering that his family was in the near vicinity.

“I have one secret,” you admit. He looks down at you expectantly. “I freaking hate this job.” He laughs and shakes his head, kissing you once more quickly.

“Sweetheart, I got bad news. That ain’t a secret,” he teases. You laugh too as Dean looks over your shoulder at the diner. “This place is gonna go under without your pie. It’s the only reason anyone comes back.”

“Including you?” You ask. His smile turns into a smirk as he looks back down at you.

“Why do you think I’m keeping you at the bunker?” He asks. Laughing again, you try to step out of his arms but they only tighten around you. His face is suddenly serious again as he watches you. “But only if you’re absolutely sure. I can’t stress enough how dangerous this life is.” You smile as you take his face in your hands.

“Dean,” you start. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

With that, Dean kisses you once again.

You leave your diner key in the door and a note taped to the glass.

I quit. -Y/N

****

Tags: @roseblue373

#fanfic #fanfiction #supernatural #spn #dean winchester #reader insert #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean x reader #sam winchester #mary winchester #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #cas #castiel #right where you left me #dean x waitress

[blueywrites]

new skin

The diner’s signature dish: Fresh-baked soft pretzel knots with sweet Georgia peach jam, topped with bitter trauma. Recipe includes a dash of pining, a sprinkle of faith, and a generous heap of healing love.

Linecook!Eddie x Waitress!Reader. 60s Diner. Slow Burn.

The ground is frozen solid when you arrive in Hawkins in January 1989. Ice fills the deep gouges in the earth that remain nearly three years after the earthquake that rocked this quaint town, forcing many from their homes. The ones who stayed are still healing - scarred just like the earth, inside and out. 

You join them as the sky melts to the black of night, pulling up to the dilapidated trailer park in a stolen car. You have nothing to your name but a smattering of pawn-shop proceeds, a nipped cashbox, what toiletries you can carry in both hands, and two trash bags full of tailored dresses.

You’d chosen Hawkins, Indiana because it’s the last place he’d ever expect you to go.

You’d chosen Hawkins, Indiana, and Lord, thank you, because it saved your life.

18+ only for mature themes and eventual sexual content. fem!reader, plussized!reader, fatphobia, domestic violence, domestic abuse, miscarriage/loss of pregnancy, discussions of suicidal ideation, significant religious themes, found family, hurt/comfort, slow burn, angst with a happy ending

the playlist: just some little ditties playing on the jukebox mixed with country folk and so much tasty foreshadowing you'll get a stomachache.

01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16 / 17

chapter one: an empty room (bonus content: chapter one audio dramatization)

chapter two: I'll be seeing you

#eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson smut #stranger things fic #stranger things season 4 #linecook!eddie #waitress!reader #blueywrites

[bvtbxtch]

On The Line | Eddie Munson

Day Seven of Kinktober

Summary: Pumpkin Pie is back on the menu at Hank's Diner. What happens when the new waitress needs to stay with the Jaded line cook to prepare for fall festivities?

wc: ~4.3k

Pairings: Linecook!Eddie Munson x Waitress!Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI!!! This is porn with a plot. Thigh riding, public sex, sloppy sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), fingering, dry humping, overstimulation if you squint, unprotected p in v (don't be silly, wrap the willy), sex in a kitchen (if you work at a food establishment please don't do this ever), this is taking place in an AU where the events of ST4 didn't happen

In collaboration with the lovely @darknesseddiem! Please keep an eye out for their prompts starting Oct 16!

A/N: my apologies this is a day late. I had to work all day and then had a wedding to go to! So you'll have two posts to look forward to today!!

You wish that you had a different life. You had lived in the quiet town of Salem, Indiana. You wanted to move to the big city but the closest you could get was sleepy Hawkins, Indiana, a mere 60 minutes out of the Indianapolis city limits, but the exact same font as your southern Indiana town. The only job you could manage to get was at the highway diner leaving town. You had friends, sure, but you had dreams and aspirations bigger than Hawkins; maybe that’s why you had such animosity towards your job. You always had the overnight shifts, as others that worked there had kids or other commitments. The only respite to these “Red Eye” shifts ( as your boss Murray had called them) was the cook you often found yourself working with. He didn’t talk to you much, and the most he had offered was a tight lipped smile and a “hi” to your nightly greetings or a "you're welcome when you thank him for putting your orders up as soon as he could . You had heard of Eddie Munson before, but from what you could tell, most things you heard weren’t true. You had worked with him on and off for almost a year and never thought he was an alcoholic satanist who may or may not have murdered someone. He was effortlessly handsome: his curly brown hair was always tied back in a low bun. His pale skin was highlighted with a soft sheen of sweat and a rosy blush. You often saw his lower arms adorned with black blotches of ink and he rarely went to work in his cook whites - opting for a pair of relaxed black jeans, a band tee and a white apron. You were intrigued, getting to know Eddie Munson was going to be the excitement you needed.

-

The blazing sun of September had cooled off and the crisp breeze of October was a warm welcome. You put your sheer black tights on underneath your pale yellow dress. You straightened your skirt out and patted some rose pink lipstick on your lips. You were ready for another slow shift at the diner, but you weren’t complaining. You had made some progress with your growing infatuation with Eddie Munson. He had put your order up under the heat lamps and you thanked him by name last week. You saw his cheeks grow redder than normal and he nodded at you shyly. A couple days later, Eddie had taken your order for your own dinner: pancakes with some syrup and whipped cream. He had put it under the heat lamp and backed away to his flat top. To your surprise, you picked up your plate to see strawberries and whipped cream fastened into a smiley face on your stack of flapjacks. You felt your heart drop to your stomach in appreciation. You leaned over the heatlamp to yell a thank you to the boy, he had retorted with a “you’re most welcome, Y/N.” He knew your name! Between then and now, there had been fleeting looks, some lingering touches at the window and a really great conversation about the town’s record shop when the two of you took your smoke break. You were excited and hopeful for your interactions tonight. The diner had been slowing down and there had been more and more opportunities to chat. For your sake, you wanted there to be no customers at all. 

You swung the diner doors open and the smile faded from your lips when you saw Murray sitting at the front counter, no one else in the restaurant. 

“Good news, doll!” Murray sang to you. “You’re off the clock tonight. Diner’s closing because we gotta revamp the new fall menu. Pumpkin pie for everyone!” Murray declared as he spun himself off the stool and past you to the door. Eddie pushed through the swinging doors and behind the bar. 

“Yeah, smarty pants over here ordered 20 boxes of pie shell mix for this week, not 2… So I have 60 pies to make before this shit goes bad.” Eddie grumbled. 

“So Eddie is taking the lead and you get the night off.” You were wracked with disappointment. You hated to admit the hold that the metalhead had on you - especially to him and your boss. But a night alone at the diner with him might be what you need to get him on your good side. 

“I’ll stay and help!” You offered. Eddie’s glowing brown eyes met yours and both of you instantly looked at the floor. “My grandma and I used to make pies all the time. Plus if I’m in the way, I can get other prep or cleaning done.” Eddie ran his hands through his hair, a soft smile appeared on his face.

“I mean…. Usually when I offer a day off it's taken with a ‘thank you, Murray’ but whatever… if you wanna work, it’s your funeral.” With that, Murray had strutted out of the diner and to his convertible in the parking lot. You locked the door behind him and turned to Eddie with a shy smile. 

“It’s crazy that he still drives a convertible in this weather.” You offered. Eddie responded with a small chuckle. 

“Have you ever been in the back before?” Eddie asked as he turned to retreat back into the kitchen, encouraging you cautiously to follow him. You pushed through the stark white swinging doors after him.

“Ah, no actually. Only stuff I’ve seen is through the bay window and the heat lamp.” You admitted. Eddie spun around to look at you. It was the first time you were in his space and you felt vulnerable. His chocolate brown eyes studied your face. His stare was intense, you couldn’t help but look down to the floor. Little did you know, his stare was full of wonder and admiration at his beautiful invader of his space. Eddie cleared his throat and turned away from you again, leading you further into the stainless steel kitchen. 

“So… I have all the boxes of the dough mix in the walk-in” Eddie gestures to the small oven sitting under the flat top. “And this… is what we’re working with tonight. So, it’ll take a while for all of our shit to bake.” Your eyes widened at the tiny apparatus before you. It really was going to be a long night of work. You were excited to be in close contact with the man before you. The back kitchen was like an alley, long but skinny. You now understood why they only had one cook on the line at a time. 

“Do you want me to help you get everything mixed up?” your confidence was dwindling quicker than you would have liked to admit. “Or I can just restock stuff and do other prep-”

“No! No- ahem. A hand would be really great. Then I can help you out while the pies bake.” Help you out, you wish he would. Your heart was in your butt as you nodded at him.

You spent the next hour helping Eddie unload and divide the dough mix into servings, he insisted that he lift the boxes to you because they were heavy. You didn’t mind though, getting to sneak peeks at his lightly toned biceps flex under the weight of the boxes. You felt the room getting warmer and warmer each time you secretly raked your eyes over the book. You worked mostly in silence, until Eddie worked up the bravery to ask you a question while he brought in the last box.

“So… you’re obviously not from around here.” He said.

“Obviously? What makes it so obvious?” You giggled. 

“Well the fact that I didn’t see you in school at all… and the fact that there’s just something different about you.” You looked up from the bowl you were currently sifting the last bit of mix into. Eddie’s cheeks were red and there was a sparkle in his eyes. You didn’t miss how his eyes flitted to your lips briefly. He smiled back at you and turned to the fridge to grab eggs and butter. 

“What about you? You've been in Hawkins for a while? I don’t see you at any parties or anything” You implored. You knew that answer already. Your neighbor across the hall warned you about one Eddie Munson when you told her about your new job. "The Freak of Hawkins High” had followed him, even after 3 years of being graduated.  You prodded her for more information. She had been a year ahead of him, but told you about how he had a reputation for sleeping with girls who couldn’t get off with their boyfriends. One party Chirssy Cunningam’s boyfriend had walked in on her fucking Eddie in the bathroom and Jason made Eddie’s life a living hell after that. After graduation he flipped his principal the bird and told the rest of the kids in his class to fuck themselves. No one really saw him out after that, keeping his life in recluse. After Eddie had been shut out, apparently girls would flock to his house to have their escapades and brag about how weird and dangerous he was. You had heard your fair share of rumors in your own small town, but you were smarter than you were then. You knew not to trust anything flying around until you could make your own opinions. 

“Ummm.. yeah. Unfortunately I have.” The mop of curls let out a dry laugh. “Hawkins hasn’t been too nice to me, I just don’t have the funds to get out of here, you know? That’s why I work almost every day of the week, haha. I have nothing else to do with my time.” You can sense that Eddie was retreating into his own world, feeling comfortable enough to share secrets and sighs with you, things that he hasn’t told anyone. He caught himself though. He looked up at you like a deer caught in headlights, expecting you to turn your nose up at him, but you looked at him with genuine sympathy and understanding.

“I get it. This was as close as I could get to the big city. It took me forever to leave Painted Hills.” Eddie probed you for a reaction. Your eyes clouded over as the lifetime of sour memories flashed in front of your eyes. You and Eddie both knew that you were treading into dangerous territory.

“Alright, enough serious talk, this is supposed to be fun” he winked at you. You both traded stories of your childhood and interviewed the other about favorite music and foods and books. Eddie didn’t necessarily look it, but he was intelligent, and a natural conversationalist. You peered up at the clock after what seemed like 10 minutes of talking. The clock read 10:46pm. You looked down and realized that the two of you had almost completely finished kneading the dough and filling it into trays. 

“Holy hell, it’s already been 4 hours?!” You chuckled. 

“Seems like time flies when you’re having fun.” You stared in bewilderment at the boy’s blooming confidence. Earlier he wouldn’t say anything but two words to you. You and Eddie mixed and filled the pies and began putting your first rounds in the oven.

Eddie had nudged your arm with his elbow as he grabbed two more pies to bake, he walked back to the oven, his eyes not leaving yours. You looked down at the floor with a smitten smile. When you looked back up at the boy on the other side of the kitchen from you, his smile was replaced with a nervous frown. You held your breath in anticipation. Did you do something wrong? Eddie took a few steps towards you, close enough to touch him, but he was sure not to invade your space. What a gentleman.

“You… umm.. You have some dough on your face…” Eddie gestured softly to your cheek that had been smeared with a small swipe of pie dough. You gasped with a small ‘oh’ and swiped the back of your hand over your cheek. Eddie let out a short laugh.

“You made it worse.” You giggled at him with a small ‘oops’. Your smile was contagious to Eddie. He saw your bright eyes crinkle as you smile and he couldn’t help but copy you. He bit down on his lip to stop him from laughing. 

“Can… can I get it for you?” Eddie’s smile faded quickly. He took one more step towards you. You could smell the faint remnants of his musky cologne he had put on before work. You nodded your head slowly. Eddie studied your face, desperate to remember every detail of your face in case he never got the chance to be this close to you again. He sheepishly raised his hand to your cheek and swiped the residue away with his thumb. You felt your skin erupt in goosebumps at his touch. You felt electric shocks where Eddie’s skin connected with yours. Eddie’s eyes glued themselves to your lips as he moved himself closer. His breath fanned over your face and you thought you could faint. 

“I’ve heard what they’ve said about you,” you whispered. Eddie froze. His eyes met his, they were full of panic. He began to back away from you but you placed your hands on the sides of his neck and pulled him back to you.

“What-”

“And I don’t care. I don’t give a shit what anyone says about you.” You ghosted your lips over his, giving him an opportunity to push you away. He snaked his hand to your cheek and pulled his lips to yours. You quickly moved together and the kiss sent molten heat to your core. Eddie was beautiful, sure, but he seemed unobtainable. Now that he let you in, you knew you wouldn’t be able to hold yourself back. Luckily for you, Eddie was in the same predicament. 

Eddie’s hands quickly found purchase at your hips, pulling you into him like he was attempting to intertwine your bodies into one. You moaned into Eddie’s mouth, allowing him to deepen the kiss. Your tongues danced together seamlessly, both of your chests heaving for breath. You pulled away to look at the boy in front of you. His eyes had turned from a golden brown to almost black, clouded with need and lust. Eddie pinned you up against the wall kissing you until you felt silly. He lifted your leg around his waist, giving him better access to feel you on him. You were a moaning mess from the friction Eddie’s jeans were giving your clothed pussy.

“Eddie” you hissed. The sensation left your body begging for more. More. More. 

“That feel good?” Eddie cooed. You looked like a piece of art against him - a mewling masterpiece. God, he wanted to hold you like this forever. All of his invisible pining for you, the longing looks, the sleepless nights longing for you; everything had bubbled up in this moment and Eddie needed to restrain himself from devouring you whole. He had hoped he would have you literally anywhere but his kitchen, but beggars can’t be choosers. 

“Eddie” you gasped. You needed more of him - all of him. You bucked your hips against his, pushing moans out of both of your mouths. Eddie trailed his kisses down your cheeks to your neck. You moaned bashfully as Eddie bit down on your pulse point. He pulled away from you and looked into your eyes with a smirk.

“Don’t be quiet for me, doll. It’s just us. I wanna hear how good you feel.” Eddie’s purrs sent your eyes rolling to the back of your head. He pulled himself onto the counter, pushing himself up to sit on it, while he pulled you into him, slotting his thigh against your needy core. 

“Come on, babe. Show me how good you feel. Make yourself feel good.”

You tentatively ground your hips down on the lanky boy’s thigh. The friction you felt was delicious, addictive. You couldn’t help but grind down harder on him, your melodic sighs and moans were music to Eddie’s ears. He felt like he could cum in his jeans if he didn’t focus on holding himself back. His hands migrated to your hips, guiding you harder and faster onto him. He could feel your warmth through his jeans. He was so ready to hear you come undone for him. Your noises got louder and higher pitched.

“E-eddie” you whined. God, his name sounded like a prayer falling out of your mouth, his new favorite song. 

“What is it, honey, you gonna cum for me?” Eddie teased you. You violently shook your head. Eddie’s grip became bruising as he stopped your movements. You cried out in desperation, you could feel the beginning waves of your orgasm on the peak of arrival. You looked at Eddie with a confused huff. Before you could register what was happening, Eddie had switched your spots. His strong arms wrapped around you and your uniform’s skirt now hiked up around your waist. Eddie slid down the counter to his knees. His eyes were dark and pleading. 

“I need to taste you. Please” His hands hovered over your thighs, desperately waiting for your response. 

“Please, Eds. Please.” You squirmed in your seat. If you weren’t so fucked out already, you might be embarassed for your desperation. But you felt so good, you were so entangled in the moment you didn’t care. All you could think of was Eddie. 

Eddie’s hands trailed up the tops of your thighs and trailed over your core. He hastily dug his fingers into your fishnets and tore, making a remark about your ‘fucking tights’. His strength only sent more waves of heat to your pussy, more than ready to meet Eddie’s embrace. Eddie could see how excited you were through your purple lacy panties that were stained with a deep wet patch.

“Fuck… so wet, this all f’me?” Eddie smirked up at you. You bit your lip and tried to close your legs with no avail. Eddie kept his large hands on your inner thighs, preventing you from closing me out. He let out a small tsk. Eddie hooked his fingers into the offending garment and pushed them to the side, putting your pussy on display for him. Eddie let out an animalistic moan; it was getting harder for him to control himself. He took a long lick up your slit, sending shivers down your spine. Your hands flew to Eddie’s hair to ground yourself. Eddie flicked expertly at your clit sending you hurling close to orgasm yet again. Eddie thought you were the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. He explored every part of you, moaning into you, making your thighs shake. He could tell you were close. He stuck his middle finger into your weeping hole and curled. Your eyes screwed shut in ecstasy, your orgasm was threatening to boil over and the only thing you could manage to do was scream out Eddie’s name. Eddie found your G-spot with ease and rubbed against it, throwing you over the edge. You saw stars as waves of hot pleasure took over your body. You had no control over the tremors that rushed through your limbs. Eddie moaned into you as he worked you through your high. You had to pull Eddie by his hair to get him off of you, the overstimulation pushing past the boundary of pain from pleasure. Eddie rose to his feet and took you in: you had a light sheen of sweat beading on your forehead, your mascara had smudged slightly under your eyes, your lips were swollen from his kisses and your neck was a constellation of hickeys. He needed you fully. He had no idea what he would do if the two of you walked away from your shift tonight and never saw each other again. 

“Y/N I…. I need you.” Eddie’s voice softened. His eyes clouded with lust still, but longing and desire glared back at you. 

“Take me, Eddie.”

Eddie’s mouth was back on yours, the tang of your essence still on his tongue. It made you moan into Eddie's mouth. The metalhead fiddled with his belt, never leaving his mouth from yours. It was your turn to turn primal. You gnawed at Eddie’s bottom lip and mashed your tongue with his. You both felt like you might pass out from lack of oxygen, but thought it would be much worse to not be on each other. Eddie shoved his jeans past his hips and free’d his achingly hard cock with a sigh. He grabbed your hip with one hand and lined himself up with your entrance. He rubbed his tip through your sensitive folds, eliciting moans from both of you. 

“Fuck, babe….” Eddie clenched his jaw, determined to ride out this high for as long as he could. He slid himself into you slowly. He was large, larger than you had ever been with and the stretch made you feel so unbelievably full. 

Eddie pushed gently until he was fully sheathed. He could feel himself growing overwhelmingly hot. His cheeks had turned from his usual shade of light pink to red. You could feel the heat radiating off of his body. He had been white knuckling your hip and the counter.

“Move Eddie, please, god move.” You encouraged. You wanted - needed Eddie’s cool to break. You wanted him to ruin you. Eddie slowly pulled himself all the way out and pushed himself back into your needy hole. You cried out in pleasure; his pace was slow, but ruthless. Every thrust hit your cervix encouraging your second orgasm of the night. Eddie was biting his lips so hard that it looked like it was going to split and start bleeding. His eyes were transfixed on where the two of you met. You cupped Eddie’s face to bring his gaze back to yours. You felt so good, and didn’t know how well you could take him, but you could tell he was still holding back. You pulled your lips to his ears and whispered gently to him:

“Give me everything, Eddie. I want you to give it to me.” You heard Eddie’s breath hitch and get caught in his throat. He pulled back and studied your face. There was zero hesitation in your stare, only devotion and encouragement. Eddie’s brain short circuited. Eddie grabbed your neck and squeezed as his brutal pace picked up. You felt light headed - the only thing you could see was Eddie’s determined visage and the only thing you could hear was the pornographic sounds of Eddie’s balls hitting your ass. You closed your eyes in pleasure, but Eddie shook you back to him.

“Look at me. Eyes on me.” He growled. His face twisted in animalistic pleasure. You let the small rasps of your breath escape around Eddie’s vice. Eddie pulled out of you completely, making you whine at the loss of contact. Eddie pulled you off the counter by the neck and turned you around so your back was against his toned chest. Eddie pushed your head down so you were bent over the cool counter. Eddie’s large hands slapped down on the curves of your ass before filling you back up. You couldn’t help but yell an ‘oh my god’ as Eddie began pounding into you.

“Not god, doll, just me.” he huffed with a laugh. Your body was on display for Eddie and the more he watched himself disappear and reappear into you, the closer his own release got. He could feel you clenching down on him; you must be close. 

“Can you give me another one, sweet? I want you to cum with me okay?” Eddie could barely get the words out of his mouth without the knot in his abdomen snapping. 

“Eddie… I-I can’t” You were so fucked out and overstimulated you had no idea if your body could handle any more sensation. To your surprise, Eddie’s arm snaked under your hips to meet your sore clit. He rubbed soft circles into you in rhythm with his intense thrusts. You grabbed onto the edge of the counter and began to hyperventilate. You thought you were going to combust.

“Come on, babe. You can do it. Cum for me,” Eddie wanted his commands to sound encouraging, but he was desperate. However, with his permission your second orgasm of the night hit you like a freight train. You couldn’t feel your legs. You screamed out, unable to feel the difference between pain and indulgence - but you didn’t want it to stop. Your pussy had Eddie in capture, squeezing down on him unthinkably hard. His hips stuttered but he kept on his assault, desperate to cum just as hard as he made you. Like you, Eddie’s orgasm hit him with little lead up. He grabbed your chest to pull you up to him. Eddie whimpered into your ear as you milked him for everything that was in him.

In a flurry of heavy breaths and pounding hearts, you and Eddie stood in silence, basking within each other’s embrace. Begrudgingly, Eddie pulled out of you and pulled his pants back around his slender hips. You straightened yourself out and tucked your underwear back into their normal spot, preventing the remnants of Eddie’s orgasm from leaking down your leg. You guess you still have some work to do. You turn around and look at Eddie as he finishes buckling his belt. He met your glowing complexion with a lovesick grin. You felt like you could stay like this forever, basking in his glow; and he felt the same for you. 

The smell of smoke and burnt pumpkin snapped the two of you out of your trances. 

“Oh fuck!” Eddie yelps. You both rush to the other side of the kitchen to the small oven now leaking gray smoke. Eddie threw open the oven door and was greeted by a billow of smoke. You grabbed at some rags to wave the smoldering cloud away. Eddie the remnants of two very charred pumpkin pies. He looked at you with a bellowing laugh. 

“Guess we’ll be down a couple of pies.”

taglist: @sadbitchfangirl @sluggzillaa @joantje @eddies-acousticguitar @mmunson86 @vintagehellfire @filth-fiction-archive @poofyloofy @anxiousobserver @aol19 @catcrown21 @dark-angel-is-back @hideoutside @ali-r3n @brinleighsstuff @kirstinjayjay If you would like to be added to my taglist, please fill out this form and follow me!

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson ff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munsons smut #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie x you #linecook!eddie #waitress!reader #stranger things au #eddie munson edit #carly writes #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #kinktober masterlist #smut #female reader

[genocidehim]

Bien llegao (Lalo Salamanca x waitress!Reader)

The owner's daughter of Michoacano seems to be used to dangerous men entering the restaurant, however, the presence of the new Salamanca managed to change her opinion.

notes: one-shot, use of pronouns she/her, the reader has mexican descent words: 1243.

Mornings at Michoacano used to not be too stressful. Your father was quite permissive, and your schedules could adapt to any of your needs depending on the day. It was one of the advantages of the place being infrequently visited.

You weren't foolish, you knew perfectly well that the lack of customers in the restaurant was due to its reputation of being frequented by dangerous people. It wasn't something that was known, but it was an open secret, something that everyone sensed when they saw more than five Chicano with unfriendly faces walking in. Fortunately, that didn't mean danger for you and your parents, because you always knew that Hector Salamanca would look after your safety, especially when he was using your father's place to conduct his business.

But things had changed a bit after Don Hector's illness. Now, you didn't hang out much with the Salamancas anymore, Tuco had gone to prison, and you never saw the twins there again. It was only Domingo and Ignacio who still used the place every week, so you could still feel some security in that small restaurant.

It was a Thursday morning when your father asked if you could give him a hand in the kitchen. There were more customers than usual that day, and he needed someone who could serve and attend to them, even though he could normally do it all by himself. You got ready in comfortable and fresh clothes; you knew perfectly well that the heat inside the restaurant could be too much at times, and you preferred to avoid spending the whole day wiping sweat off your forehead.

When you arrived at the place, everything seemed normal. You could hear the voices of some customers and your father in the kitchen at the back. Domingo was also there, the only one who seemed to be contemporary with you and with whom you could talk more confidently.

"Buenos días, Domingo! You woke up early today," you said with your good Mexican accent, something that you still carried despite having lived in the United States for many years.

"Good morning, today there's a lot of work, isn't there?" replied the young brunette. You could tell that his attitude had changed to something more jovial and confident, nothing like his scared attitude when he was with Nacho.

"Yes, finally! This place could use some movement."

Although you wanted to continue the small conversation, you heard your father calling you from behind with a stern voice. You quickly went to the kitchen behind the counter and listened carefully to his instructions: Chilaquiles for table 2, Enchiladas for table 1, and pozole for table 3. You nodded as you went to get your apron that would serve as a uniform, and while tying it around your waist, you continued to repeat the order of the dishes quietly.

Once ready, you returned to the kitchen and took two plates that would go directly to tables 2 and 3 while waiting for the next order to be ready. After about half an hour, you received the call once again from your father, and you knew that the food was ready. As you went to the place to pick up the plate, you heard the front door closing with some force, which angered you a little because it was something you had already warned those men from Salamanca about. They were allowed to use the restaurant for their businesses, but they had to be careful with the place.

Still with the plate in hand, you returned to the main area of the restaurant and took the last plate to the table, stopping instantly to scold the man who had just entered.

"Don't slam the door! Handle it with care," you scolded in a stern and somewhat angry tone to a man you hadn't properly observed yet.

He was a man slightly taller than you, and from his tanned skin and facial features, you could guess he was some South American or even a chicano. The Americans in this place usually don't look that... cálidos.

You noticed that he was a man in his forties due to his gray hair and the curious gray line that covered one of the main locks on his head. You almost trembled when this man looked at you and smiled.

"Excuse me, miss" his accent confirmed your deductions, but the tone of his voice was almost surprising.

Although you tried to keep yourself busy with your work, you couldn't help but pay more attention to him than you should have. Now this man was saying some words in spanish and was inviting the customers who were still there to leave the place with the excuse that "the restaurant would be closed for the rest of the afternoon." Although you wanted to protest and ask him why he was taking the liberty of giving orders in your restaurant, you saw your father in the distance with a look of terror as he seemed to try to tell you not to open your mouth, or that's what you understood by reading his lips.

When your gaze landed on Domingo, you knew it was something to be afraid of. On the other side of the restaurant, you heard your father cordially greeting the man he called "Mr. Salamanca."

A shiver ran down your spine as you realized you had just scolded and shouted at a Salamanca, the type of man who should not be questioned. Now you seemed to have seen a ghost, so pale that even your limbs felt cold. The man who had just entered stopped your father and gave him orders to stay out of the kitchen while he prepared himself a "almuercito" (lunch). You almost wanted to say something about it, but your father's stern look stopped you in your tracks.

From where you stood, you could see this man named Salamanca approaching you with a broad smile on his face that you were unable to imitate, you were too anxious to look pleasant. "Is she your daughter?" the gray-haired man asked your father as he pointed to you with his thumb. "Yes, she works as a waitress," your father said somewhat nervously. "Que lindura! A family business" he said, turning back to you and giving you a quick glance. His eyes seemed to be two deep lakes that you would be afraid to drown in if you looked at them for too long. "I'm sorry, corazón, but I'll take this for a few minutes. You take a break."

Before you could utter a single word, you saw this man bring his hands behind your back and felt him untie the knot of the apron you were wearing, taking it off you just so he could put it on. If his arrogant attitude wasn't enough to unsettle your nerves, his hands were capable of making you tremble, something he noticed. "I'm Eduardo, but you can call me Lalo" he introduced himself in a jovial manner as he tied the apron around his waist. "Do you want something to eat, reinita? I'll make some chilaquiles."

"No, estoy bien" were the second words you said after the scream a few minutes ago. Now your voice was much lower and less demanding, something that made him laugh. "Believe me, I'll make you such a good lunch that you'll die for it." Would he be able to do that…?

Sorry if this was too long or badly written😩😩 english is not my first language!!

#lalo salamanca #lalo salamanca x reader #better call saul x reader #breaking bad x reader #eduardo salamanca #lalo salamanca fluff #lalo salamanca fanfic #lalo x reader #bcs x reader #salamanca x reader #waitress!Reader

[callsignfoxy]

I'm in love with the blue collar simon

I can't wait for the next parttsjsj

Omg thank you!! I'm trying to decide where I want it to go before I continue with the next part. I originally had my own OC for it, but I've been trying to generalize it more for a reader/you experience. This means a lot to me thank youuuuuuuu ❤️❤️❤️❤️

#cod #call of duty #simon ghost riley #mw2 #cod simon riley #cod fanfic #ghost call of duty #simon riley x reader #simon riley x fem!reader #simon riley x you #blue-collar!simon x fem!waitress #call of duty mw2 #ghost simon riley

[coveredinsweetpea]

How about a short one with mechanic!Eddie getting head from waitress!reader during both their lunch breaks? Maybe them almost getting caught?

I'm so sorry this took me so long!!! But I'm back to writing now!!

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ please!!!!!, the ask is pretty self explanatory... kinda just blow job goodness I guess lol

You sat down on your little chair in the corner of the garage, tapping your foot against the concrete floor as you waited for Eddie to finish whatever task he was working on. He did try to explain to you why it was urgent and why he couldn’t put it off, but the words didn’t make too much sense to you. You just nodded and assured him you didn’t mind waiting, but the food was getting cold and your lunch break was almost over. The only thing that didn’t bother you as you sat and waited for him was the sight of him - hair up in a shitty bun, sweat pouring down his temples and his biceps flexing on full view since he had ripped the sleeves of his Hellfire shirt a couple of days after he started working at the garage. But no matter how mouth watering the sight was, you couldn’t have been happier to see him finally throw his tools to the side and walk over.

“I’m so sorry it took me so long, baby, I promise I’ll make it up to you tonight” Eddie sighed, wiping his hands on the side of his jeans.

��It’s perfectly fine” you smiled and cupped his cheeks to kiss his lips. “I love myself a hard working man”

“Do you?” he laughed.

“Oh yes, and you don’t need to make it up to me at all”

You didn’t know where all of this came from. Suddenly you couldn’t keep your hands off of him. Eddie didn’t really mind, but he was sweaty, full of grease and smelled like oil, while your hair was still as neatly done as it had been in the morning, your perfume tickled his nostrils and your little waitress uniform made him feel like you were from two different worlds. He so wanted to touch you, to run his hands all over your body, to feel every inch of you - to destroy this perfect harmony you had surrounded yourself in. But it was the middle of the day, you both had jobs to go back to, and so he knew he had to wait. 

You went back in for another kiss and pressed yourself all against his body. It burned inside of him - the need to just grab your hips and pull you closer, but he knew better than that, so he just sank into the kiss, played your game just a bit longer and then pulled away with a soft, longing tug on your bottom lip.

“Don’t get me going right now, Y/n, please” he sighed as he pulled away from you, “I’m disgusting, I can’t even touch you”

“But I want lunch” you pouted.

“I’ll go wash my hands and we can eat outside”

“No” you shook your hand and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, “Not that lunch”

“Y/n…”

“Please!!” you whined, pushing yourself up on your tiptoes and putting on your best smile, “I’ll be fast, Edddie, please! You know you can’t resist me that long anyway, not when I-”

“Wow, ok, none of that here!” he belted to drown out your words. Eddie looked from side to side and threw his coworker a nervous smile, dismissing the man’s confused look. “Don’t say stuff like that around these guys, they’re animals”

“Fuck them!” you scoffed, “Come on, come on, come on, I want you, Eddie. Now!”

“I feel disgusting, doll” he sighed and pecked your lips, “Look at my hands”

You completely ignored his hands. “Eddie, you didn’t work on that engine with your dick, come on!” you cried and leaned in to whisper in his ear, “I wanna make sure this lipstick really is blow job proof”

“Jesus, Y/n, I-”

He was flushed, but you had never had him deny you for so long before. “I’m sorry, it’s totally fine if you aren’t in the mood-”

“Aren’t in the mood?” Eddie scoffed and tugged on his jeans, “I just, um, need to wash up and I’ll-”

“No, you don’t, come on!” you beamed and took off towards the bathroom in the back, “I don’t need you to do absolutely anything”

“You’re gonna be the death of me”

“I hope not,” you giggled.

Once Eddie shut the door behind him, you pushed him back against the wall and fell to your knees while your fingers effortlessly worked on his jeans. 

He sucked in a breath. “Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to not slap your ass when you walked away from me like that?”

“Why didn’t you?” you looked up at him once his jeans slipped halfway down his thighs.

“You didn’t let me wash my hands” Eddie laughed and showed you his palms, which were black as coal and smelled suspicious.

You crinkled up your nose, “Keep those behind your back”

“Giving orders now, huh?”

“We both know you’re way better at listening to those than I am”

To that, he couldn’t do more than just nod in agreement. Unlike you, who liked to push his buttons until he couldn’t control himself anymore and just had to fuck the attitude out of you, Eddie was the sweetest, most obedient ever, a whimpering, whining mess, listening to every word you said. And now, it was no different. He just put his hands behind his back and closed his eyes, concentrating on his breathing once you started pulling down his underwear.

Almost fully hard already, you picked up his cock in your hand and licked his tip, your eyes up and fixed on his. The messy, rebel curls that just refused to be tamed by his hair tie had fallen down, framing his face and shadowing that look of pure desire on his face. 

Even though you knew you were in a hurry, you took your sweet time, licking your way up and down his cock, from the base up to his slit, enjoying a moan that just had to slip past your lips. As you busied yourself doing anything and everything other than taking him inside your mouth, Eddie found it so very hard to keep quiet - the walls were thin, he knew that all too well. And he had been doing a very good job until you arched your back and lowered yourself to take his balls inside your mouth, sucking and applying that perfect amount of pressure that you knew so well would instantly drive him mad. And it worked, his hips bucked against you in a second as a whimper broke past his lips.

“Fuck - Y/n, Jesus!”

“Mhm, what’s that?” you asked, innocently looking up at him.

“Jesus Christ, Y/n, that sweet, little mouth of yours…”

“You liked that?” you teased and grabbed his cock so that his tip was inches away from your lips. You gave the head a tiny lick and batted your eyelashes, “You like this too?”

“Please, just-” he shook his head and bit his lips.

His palms were sweaty, his fingers linked behind his back and nails digging holes into his skin as he did everything in his power to not just grab your head and force you all the way down his cock. He knew what you were doing, and he knew he was going to lose, but losing to you was always nothing less than absolute bliss.

“Just take me inside your mouth, princess, yeah?” he swallowed, “I need to be inside of you”

“You don’t trust me?” you pouted. With your eyes never leaving his, you gave his cock a few teasing pumps before tapping his tip against your lips. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing?” you questioned sweetly as you licked your way along his length, “You think I don’t know how to make you cum for me?”. Now you were just pushing it as you grabbed his balls into your hand and gently pulled, making him shake under your touch. “Haven’t I always been so good for you, Eddie?”

“Jesus fucking Christ” he exclaimed, slamming his head back against the wall as his dick twitched in your hand.

“I’ll take that as a yes” you smiled and prepared to continue before a knock made your eyebrows fly up in surprise. 

“Munson?” an unfamiliar, deep and raspy voice echoed from behind the door. “You all good in there?”

Eddie was just about to answer when you finally took him inside your mouth and hallowed your cheeks against his cock. A moan escaped his lips before any words could.

“Fuck - um-” he cringed, “I’m yeah, good”

“You sure, man? You sound like you’re dying in there”

Again, Eddie was about to answer when you started bobbing your head on his cock - a few times for courage, and then took him as far down your throat as you could.

“Fucking shit” he whispered to himself as every muscle inside his body tensed. He was finding it too hard to focus on both things, especially since he couldn’t give two flying shits about one of them.

“Munson?” The man tried again.

“I’m fine!” Eddie exclaimed, voice high pitched and out of breath, “I’ll be out in a sec”

The man mumbled something more, but you didn’t listen as you concentrated on your gag reflex, only pulling out when tears started forming in your eyes. At the last possible moment, you fell back, both of you panting.

“Jesus, sweetheart” Eddie shook his head in disbelief.

“You love me” you grinned and resumed your work, delicately working him towards a release that was not at all that far away.

“Fuck, I do.. I’m close,” he whispered. 

“Cum for me, come on, Eddie, let me taste you, baby” you smiled and took him back inside your mouth, expertly sucking his cock. Precum and spit trickled down your chin but you kept going, racking your nails up and down his thighs, leaving some sweet, pinkish lines you’d later love to explore again. 

“I’m gonna cum, love” Eddie whimpered and as a last effort to drive him mad, you took him again down to the back of your throat, keeping him there until he couldn’t anymore.

Unwilling to let any drops go to waste, you pulled his dick out of your mouth and pressed his tip against your tongue. As his release came and his cum dripped inside your mouth, Eddie panted fervently and bit down on his lips, eyes squinted shut as you licked and swallowed everything he had to give.

Once he was completely done, you wrapped your lips around his sensitive tip and sucked, only standing up when you were sure you got it all. 

“Come here” Eddie said, his hands still behind his back. “Missed a drop” he chuckled weakly before licking the corner of your lips and going in for a wild kiss.

No matter how used he was to your ways of driving him insane, he still needed a couple of seconds to pull himself together.

You fixed your makeup as he cleaned himself up, and before leaving the bathroom, you checked the time on the watch on his wrist. “It’s 13:53, I’m gonna have to take the bus”

“I can drive you”

“No, don’t waste your time, I don’t want you to have to stay late”

“I’d drive you to Hawkins and back and still wouldn’t consider it a waste of time”

“You know what I meant” you smiled, “I want you home as early as possible. I wanna cook for you tonight”

Eddie shook his head, “I don’t deserve you, sweetheart”

“Yeah, you do. Bye!” you giggled and pecked his lips, before opening the door and proudly strolling out of the bathroom. Your heels rang against the concrete floor, drawing all attention towards you. Once the other workers realized what had just happened but before any of them got a chance to react, you sweetly waved and headed out of the garage, “Bye, guys!”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #joseph quinn fanfiction #joseph quinn x reader #mechanic!eddie #mechanic!eddie x waitress!reader

[khruschevshoe]

Izzy Hands

What if when he sees me, I like him and he knows it?

What if he opens up a door and I can't close it?

What happens then?

If when he holds me my heart is set in motion

I'm not prepared for that

I'm scared of breaking open

But still I can't help from hoping

To find someone to talk to, who likes the way I am

Someone who when he sees me wants to again

-Sara Bareilles, When He Sees Me

Though being drawn and watched is incredibly erotic, there is something almost more terrifying sitting in this room, this sense that Izzy is one step away from giving away something he doesn't know how to take back. Though he wants it more than anything, he cannot figure out how to welcome it in. There is a bubble in Izzy’s chest that is bound to pop at any moment, spilling all of these impossible emotions within him.

Pete seems just as attracted to the idea as Izzy is. "Oh, screw this," Pete says, drops his knife, leans in, and kisses Izzy.

"Just don't mess up my sightlines, babe," Lucius reminds, and Pete nods.

The first kiss is sensual but sweet, hungry but not demanding. Izzy is more than willing to lean up into it, into Pete's hand cupping his cheek. There's tongue involved, yes, but it's still nothing deeper than they've done before.

It's the second kiss, though, that pierces the bubble. Pete leans down, mouthing at Izzy's neck, and the tension breaks. Something shatters inside of him.

“Don’t worry, babe,” Pete says, sweet as can be, scary as Blackbeard, “We’ll keep our hands above the waist.”

But Izzy is shirtless, and Pete is kissing his neck, and Lucius is sketching him, and this is not a situation that feels safe, not anymore.

-aletterinthenameofsanity, swear this time around I'm gonna stay (love me if you choose to)

And here we have everyone's favorite: Izzy Hands. God, what is there to say about him that others haven't? Izzy in this series gets the arc he deserves regarding his recovery from trauma and abuse, gets to have a rather complex but fulfilling journey regarding intimacy (both emotional and physical), and gets to find himself not only as a First Mate to someone who values him (go Captain Oluwande!), but as person who is loved not just by his two boyfriends but by his crew and family. Also religious metaphors. God, Izzy's relationship with faith, sacrifice, and offering in his relationships with others is possibly the most compelling thing in this series and that is SAYING SOMETHING.

@polikate @possumsmushroom @angxlwiings @bricksbloggyplace

#izzy hands #ofmd #ofmd season 2 #fanfic #fic rec #aletterinthenameofsanity #ao3 #moodboard #lyrics #aesthetic #lucius x izzy x pete #lupeteizzy #fix it #no i did not predict picking this song for him #but i found it on shuffle and I went wait a second #weirdly fits ngl #waitress #when he sees me #sara bareilles

[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

Your Favorite's Here {pt. 1}

Ship: Eddie x fem!Henderson!reader

Summary: Eddie and his band bask in their success over a drink at a restaurant he's never been to before. But Eddie gets far more than he bargained for when he stepped through the front door.

Word Count: 3,000

Warnings: fluff, alcohol, shy and awkward Eddie, flirty reader, forward reader, friendly teasing

Notes: The character of 'Grant' is the unnamed character in Hellfire and Corroded Coffin, named for his actor, Grant Goodman.

{part 1} // {part 2} // {part 3} // {part 4} // {part 5}*

*coming soon!

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

As soon as the band left the stage, they were jumping up and down and screaming. It had taken them a bit, but they'd gotten here: to a stage with an audience that was way bigger than five people who weren't drunk. (Well. Most of them weren't drunk.)

Gareth and Eddie threw themselves at each other, laughing with maniacal joy.

"We did it, man!" Eddie shouted. "We did it!" He grinned hugely, not even caring that his face hurt, or that he could already feel the growing scratch in his throat.

Jeff careened into Gareth and Eddie. "Oh my God!" was all he could say. "Oh my God!"

Gareth slung his arms around his two best friends, waving over their fourth band member, Grant. "Waddya say we go get plastered? We've earned it."

"I won't turn down a drink or two," Jeff said with a grin.

Grant rolled his eyes. "I think you mean four."

"Well," Jeff said, his grin admitting everything.

Eddie brushed a hand through his hair and wiped sweat on his jacket sleeve. "What're we thinking, the roadhouse?"

Gareth grinned mischievously. "Nah. I was thinking Everett's."

Eddie very nearly choked. "Everett's? You want to go to the classiest restaurant in Hawkins, dressed like this and covered in sweat?"

Gareth shrugged. "Why not? We're about to be world famous, man!"

"That might be going a little too far," Jeff said.

"I dunno," Gareth said. "If we can make it big in a town that hates metal, I think we can make it everywhere."

Eddie rolled his eyes and ruffled Gareth's hair. "Keep dreaming, Gareth." He stood, panting for a moment, then shook himself out. "Alright. If we're gonna do this, I'm gonna get changed."

Grant snorted. "Afraid you're gonna run out the prisses at Everett's with your stench?"

As he left them standing there, Eddie flipped him off over his shoulder with a laugh.

~❊~

Eddie had never felt so out of place in his life. While his friends got piss drunk, Eddie stared around the posh restaurant, feeling the stares from its patrons—dressed properly, eating properly, sitting properly, sipping idly on alcoholic drinks—burning into him. He wanted to sink into the cushioned booth seat, but there was hardly enough room for his legs under the table sitting properly.

Gareth came back from the bar, plopping into his seat beside Eddie. He passed Eddie a drink. "Got ya one," he said, his voice already a little less sharp, and they'd only been in the restaurant for a half-hour.

"Uh, thanks," said Eddie. He'd never felt self-conscious about drinking before in his life. "Aren't we supposed to wait for the waitress like in a regular restaurant?"

"Nah, sign says we can walk up to the bar," said Jeff. "What's up with you, man?"

Eddie shrugged.

"Oh, come on, something's wrong, you're not yourself here," Jeff insisted.

"And why do you think?" Eddie grumbled.

"We deserve to be here as much as—"

"Hello, gentlemen!" said a light and welcoming voice. Eddie felt immeasurable relief that you presence had stopped an argument before he even saw you.

Then he did see you.

You were dressed like all the other waitresses in a dark green uniform, holding your little notebook to take orders, wearing a pleasant smile. But your hair was done up in a much more personalized way, meant to show off your features. Your nails were immaculately painted the same forest green as your uniform. You wore simple gold rings on almost every finger. A necklace of gold and small pearls hung around your neck. Something about you had a certain level of class.

Eddie felt the sudden urge to fix his hair and straighten out his jacket. He fidgeted with his rings.

"I see we've already been to the bar, but are there any drinks I can get you boys?" you asked. Your voice was pleasant and airy, not at all fake.

While his bandmates gave you their drink orders, Eddie just stared. He felt his heart begin to pound, almost as much as when he'd been shredding on his guitar just about two hours ago.

Gareth nudged him suddenly, and Eddie became aware that he was blatantly staring. And you had asked him a question. And he hadn't answered it. Because he was blatantly staring.

Eddie turned scarlet as your lips twitched in amusement. He wiped a hand over his face. "Er...sorry, what?"

"What can I get you to drink, love?"

Love. Oh, no. Oh, no no no no no. Eddie's cheeks were already burning before that word, but now he felt like he was in hell.

"Um...just...just water. Is. Is fine." For the love of Christ, stop stuttering, Eddie!

Grant frowned. "You alright, man?"

Gareth to the rescue, as usual. He said to you, "Sorry about him. We've just had a really big day for our band, and he's sort of out of it. Probably the heat from those lights on stage."

You closed your book, slipping it and your pen into your pocket. You leaned on the table. Eddie whisked his eyes from you to the table as your buttoned shirt revealed more than he'd been expecting. The feeling of mortification was new, unexpected, and made Eddie's stomach twist. "Your band?"

Gareth leaned forward. "Yep! We've finally performed in front of a huge crowd. It went really well, we came here to celebrate."

You sucked in your lower lip. "Your band... Is it Corroded Coffin, by any chance?"

Eddie's head snapped up. "You know us?"

You beamed. "I swore you looked familiar, I knew I recognized you all from somewhere! My brother drags me to all of your concerts!"

"Your brother?" asked Jeff.

"Drags?" asked Eddie, timid and frowning.

"Well, I say he drags me, but that's only literal. He takes me by the hand and pulls me to your performances every time he knows you have one. I love going to see you guys! Your music is so different from everything in Hawkins, I love it. He tried to get me to go tonight, but—" You stood straight up again and spread your arms, gesturing to the restaurant. "—as you can see, I'm trapped here."

"Wow," said Gareth, turning on the charm. Heat bubbled in Eddie's stomach. "I've never met a fan before."

"You two are the guitarists, right?" you said, gesturing between Eddie and Gareth.

"Yep. I'm Gareth, this is Eddie. That's Jeff, our drummer, and Grant, our electric bassist."

You offered your hand to each of them. "I'm Y/N. Oh, you probably know my brother, Dustin?"

"Henderson?" Eddie squawked as he shook your hand. Your rings clacked together. "He never told me you were still here in Hawkins!"

You shrugged. "I'm usually not, I'm only here for the summers now. Going to college in New York makes it a little difficult to come back to visit when school's in session. But I hope he mentioned me, at least."

Eddie and Gareth exchanged a look. "Maybe a few times?" Eddie said.

Your eyes rolled to the sky. "I'm gonna kill that kid one of these days."

The band laughed. Eddie found himself grinning at you more than he should be. Now that he was paying attention, he could see your slight resemblance to Dustin. He couldn't believe he hadn't noticed it before.

You tapped the table with your knuckles. "Well, I've kept you waiting long enough. Let me go get those drinks for you. Have a look at the menu, see what you'd like for appetizers. I'll be back in a few." You winked at Eddie and he turned scarlet.

After you had gotten out of earshot, the whole table turned toward Eddie.

"Water, dude?" Jeff demanded. "Seriously, what the hell's wrong?"

"Oh, I know what's wrong." Gareth was grinning like a madman. He leaned forward. Eddie could feel the teasing before it started. "Somebody's in love, isn't he?"

Eddie coughed. Well, that was a bit further than he was expecting. "You know, I was expecting the sex jokes, but not that."

The other three leaned far enough to see past the booth seats, each staring—quite obviously—at you.

"I mean, she's got a nice ass, I'll give you that," Gareth said.

"Gareth!" Eddie chided. "That's Dustin's sister!"

"So? Take her home!" Jeff said.

"Yeah," teased Gareth, "work it out of your system with a girl instead of by yourself. I mean, she's practically a groupie! I'm sure she'd love to go home with you."

Groaning, Eddie hid his face in his hands. "Fuck no. I don't care how pretty she is—and she's really fucking pretty, I'll give you that—I am not sleeping with Dustin's sister. He'd murder me in a heartbeat!"

Grant frowned. "Sweet, harmless little Dustin? Nah. Of the two of them, I'd say Y/N's the most capable of murder."

The entire group peered over the booth seats toward you, watching you flip a pen in your hand like a knife.

"Yeah, probably," Eddie decided, sinking back into his seat. "Point is, I'm not going to piss off Dustin like that. I'll piss him off in DnD as much as I want, but not by fooling around with his sister."

"C'mon, man, the kid idolizes you," Gareth said, nudging Eddie's shoulder. "I bet he'd be perfectly fine with you dating his sister."

Eddie spluttered. "Who said anything about dating?! You just suggested sleeping with her! One night stand, that whole shitty way things go."

Jeff rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but we know you, Eddie. You're all or nothing. If you got that girl, you'd never let her go."

"Finally, you say something intelligent."

You cleared your throat as you arrived at the table, startling the boys out of their conversation before any of them could embarrass Eddie further by bringing up your name in the conversation. "Alright, drinks for you, boys!" You set them on the table amidst their many 'thank you's. Your eye lingered on Eddie. "Eddie?"

His head snapped up and swiveled to you so quickly you heard his neck crack. He winced, rubbing at it.

"You're the lead singer, right?" He nodded at your question. "Damn, you've got an awesome voice."

Eddie couldn't help his grin. "Uh...thanks. I, uh..." God, he knew he was going to get teased so badly for showing off, but... "I write our music, too. Most of it."

Your eyes went wide. "Holy shit. Good singer, good writer, fantastic guitar player—you got it all, love!"

There it was again, that word that made Eddie's heart stutter in his chest. And accompanied by compliments. He thought his heart was going to burst.

"Why, thank you," he said, trying to sound suave. He sounded shy instead.

Your gaze remained on Eddie as you asked, "Has anybody decided on some appetizers? Or are we headed straight for the entrees?"

Eddie met and held your gaze. He started to smile. You dampened your lips with your tongue before returning the smile. Eddie heard his blood thrumming in his ears, noticed the look his bandmates were sharing.

"Um...can we have a few more moments with the menu?" Jeff asked, hesitant to break the spell between the pair of you.

"Of course," you said, still eyeing Eddie and not bothering to hide it. "I'll come back in five." You lingered a moment more before turning and walking back toward the kitchen.

Eddie let out a slow, shaky breath. He sat back in his seat, closing his eyes. "Fuck, man."

"Dude," Grant laughed, "you've got it bad."

Eddie shoved a hand through his hair and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, yeah, I know."

"Alright, so here's what you gotta do," said Gareth, leaning into the same position he took up when strategizing while playing DnD. "When we're leaving, you gotta go up to her by your lonesome and ask her on a date, say you wanna talk to a real fan or something. Come up with something cute to say, something that'll make her melt, so you can say that when you ask her."

"No!"

"Why not?"

Eddie groaned. "Look, even if she wasn't Dustin's sister, she's so far out of my league it's not funny. The last time I liked a girl out of my league, I pined for four fucking years, people. I'm not doing that again."

"Okay, fine, she's out of your league," agreed Jeff, earning a nasty look from Eddie. "But she's checking you out. She's not even trying to hide it from us! She probably wants you to ask."

Eddie groaned. "Leave me alone and just look at the menu. I'll get up and leave if you make her walk back over here just to leave again because you haven't decided on an appetizer yet."

~❊~

The boys had let the subject drop throughout dinner, despite the obvious looks being passed between you and Eddie. Eddie was looking at you like you were an angel, and Eddie knew he was, but he couldn't help himself. You were making solid eye contact with him and only him every time you came to the table. Despite himself, Eddie was starting to believe Jeff was right, that you were probably hoping he'd ask you on a date, or at least would get the chance to talk to him one on one.

But Eddie remembered pining over Chrissy Cunningham for four years. He remembered wanting to die of embarrassment every time she walked into the room after she and Jason got together because oh my God, Chrissy's dating Jason, how could Eddie ever think she'd be willing to date Eddie when Jason was clearly her type and was the farthest thing from Eddie ever and—

No. He would not let himself do that again. Once was enough.

"Eddie."

Eddie looked up from his plate. "Yeah?"

Grant nodded toward the kitchen. "She's staring at you. Has been. For about ten minutes."

Eddie's stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch. "Stop. Don't tell me. I don't want to know."

You came over five minutes later. "Anyone up for dessert?"

They waved it away. "This was plenty, thank you," Jeff said for them all.

"I'm glad you enjoyed. Would you like another round of drinks, or shall I fetch the check?"

Eddie glanced at the others. "We'll do another round."

You smiled at Eddie. "He speaks!"

He blushed. "Sorry. Everything's a little sore after singing for hours."

"Oh, I don't blame you," you sympathized. "I imagine that's what the extra drinks are for." You took there orders and went up to the bar. Eddie's gaze followed you as you worked, watching you handle the thin stems of wine and martini glasses.

"Trying to prolong your time in her company?" Grant joked. Eddie turned red, caught.

"No, my throat actually does hurt," he said, lying through his teeth.

"Suuuure," said Gareth, rolling his eyes.

"Shut up!"

~❊~

With the table littered in empty glasses and the check paid, there was no other reason for the band to stay. Eddie knew they had outstayed their welcome based on the judgmental glares of the other patrons and he ushered his friends out of the booth. He wasn't the only one in the restaurant to notice they were all unsteady on their feet.

Slim, gentle fingers wrapped around his arm. He froze, turning to stare you in the face. "Keep on eye on them, alright?"

Eddie nodded slowly, staring into your eyes. They were ridiculously beautiful, like looking into a deep and clear pool when the sun shone just right on its surface.

You pressed a small paper, ripped from blank receipt paper, into his hand. "Come back soon."

Eddie was dumbfounded. Unable to find words, he just nodded and slowly stepped away from you. He only broke eye contact when he bumped into a table. He glanced back, but you were already back to work.

He followed his friends out the door and missed your parting glance his way, a tiny smile at home on your face.

~❊~

"What'd ssshhe give you, dude?" Gareth asked, speech slurred, as soon as they got in his van.

"Nothing. Just told me to keep an eye on all your drunk asses."

"'m not drunk. Just a bit tibsy. Tibsy. Tipsy," he corrected, taking three tries to get it right.

Eddie rolled his eyes. "Sure, man, whatever you say." He drove them home and apologized to their families for how drunk they were. All the while, the crumpled paper seemed to burn a hole in his pocket.

When it was just him and Gareth in the van, Gareth asked again, "What'd she give you?" He seemed a little more sober this time.

Eddie didn't lie this time. "Dunno. Just told me to come back soon."

Gareth smiled sleepily. "She probably gave you her schedule or something. Wants you to come back. Likes you as much as you like her."

Eddie bit his lip. It did seem possible. "She's Dustin's sister," he reminded Gareth and himself, but it was becoming an increasingly thin reason to not like her.

~❊~

Eddie waited until he was sitting in the front seat of his van, by himself, to look at the paper. He'd parked in front of his trailer and had been parked there for twenty minutes. He couldn't remember if it was today or tomorrow Uncle Wayne was coming home early, and he wanted to be sure he was alone when he looked at what you'd given him.

Slowly, he reached into his pocket. Took out the receipt paper. Unfolded it by touch. Looked at the words.

Couldn't read them. Turned on the light. Ah, there. That was better.

I work Thursdays, Fridays, and weekends, noon to close.

That was all you'd written, but it was enough. You'd given him your usual shifts.

"Holy fuck," Eddie whispered, then shouted, "YES!" and punched the air victoriously.

He was going to go back. He'd go back as soon as he could.

And Dustin was going to get an earful for not telling Eddie about his sister sooner.

☞ ❊ ☜

Stranger Things // Eddie Munson // Part 1 of 'Your Favorite's Here'

#eddie munson #eddie x reader #stranger things #stranger things au #stranger things s4 #corroded coffin #eddie x y/n #eddie stranger things #eddie x henderson!reader #part 1 #part 1/5 #waitress #dustin henderson #eddie m #eddie fanfic #st eddie munson

[blorbologist]

Bad Idea

[Lil ficlet idea I had for @romeoandjulietyouwish‘s Broadway AU! ;3 It’s been a solid 3-4 years since I’ve done theatre, and it was always small shows n only one musical, so apologies for any errors!]

It’s 10pm and the atmosphere of the night is a curious mélange of excitement and lethargy. They’re on to blocking, which is exciting… but impending show or not, it’s still 10pm, on a Thursday night, after hours of grueling runs.

Vex feels more awake than she has in months.

“Think you dears can get through the song?” Gilmore asks from the edge of the set, stomping an unruly line of tape back into place. “See what your instincts are - and then we can break the blocking down further.”

“If you give them that much free reign, they’ll fuck on the table,” Scanlan notes wryly. Keyleth makes a face at this.. 

Percy grins, adjusting his usual coat - just to match the feel of the doctor’s coat down in costumes. “We’ll save that for the reprise.”

Vax downright squawks before Gilmore can cajole the cast into settling down.

Vex inhales, affording Percy one last glance before they start. In Dr. Pomatter, she’s sure, most can’t see much of Percival - the cadence, how he stumbles through interactions. She sees him groggy before dawn, or late after too many drinks with Keyleth, and it’s easy to slip into Jenna’s bruises and aches and want that for herself.

Across the room, Scanlan hits the music. Pike gives her a thumbs up, and off she goes, giving pacing a try. “It’s a bad idea me and you-” 

“I know, I completely agree!” 

Percy joins his voice to her’s, hand brushing her knuckles as they spin on their heels. “It’s a bad idea me and you-”

“I've never known anything so true.”

Vex turns, and Percy’s grinning as she comes up short. She can’t help but beam back, leaning into his chest before pushing herself off, back to the edge of the scene. 

Together, “It’s a terrible idea me and you.”

They’ve had their fair share of bad ideas, too.

“You have a wife-” and Vex pads closer to the marks for the door. Percy stands in her way, and she makes no move to detour. 

His eyebrows raise meaningfully: “- You have a husband.”

For one: there are two rings, in the powder room where they left their things. Hers in her purse, his in - oh, no, his here, in his coat. He does have a wife. She does have a husband.

And none of the others know.

“You’re my doctor-” “- You’ve got a baby comin’!”

Well. That first part isn’t true. 

No one but she notices how gently he lifts her onto the box in center stage - stand-in for the exam table, of course. Or maybe they do, for how he needs to speed up the next line to catch up:

“It's a bad idea, me and you -” 

He drops the note completely when she wraps her legs around his waist and climbs him. Arms around his neck, it’s a familiar second home, his awed adoration a favorite dinner. Vex distantly hears Scanlan and Pike whoop. Percy holds her steady, breathless, and not from singing.

 “Let's just keep kissing 'til we come to!”

(They can’t, unfortunately, but, well. It was worth the shot.)

(This is going to get complicated once she starts showing.)

#critical role #broadway au #tlovm #the legend of vox machina #cr fanfic #critical role fic #tlovm fanfic #gift fic #is this? a gift? I think so?!?!? AA <33 #anyways I love them they're Horni and just. they relish they secrets and inside jokes #also I have fun nodding to the elopement and to Vesper <33 #waitress #perc'ahlia #percahlia #percival de rolo #vex'ahlia

[milady-pink]

Waitress AU

Warnings: Food/baking, domestic abuse, unplanned pregnancy, cheating

Summary: Working at a dead end job, waitress Christine soon finds herself with a new problem: an unplanned pregnancy. Life is all about trying to find the sweet spots and luckily this pie genius has a new (and pretty adorkably sexy) OBGYN, who isn’t too happy at home either.

TL;DR Quirky cute and sexy Erik as a doctor, lab coat and all.

Word Count: 1868 || Graphics: @firefly-graphics

"When He See's Me "

Recipe Book

AO3

Back at the diner it was after the daily breakfast rush, and the girls were using the time to prepare for lunch. They restocked napkins, washed dirty dishes, and mopped the floor. Christine was even considering making an extra pie since the one she made earlier was barely left. 

“So,” started Carlotta, as both girls wiped down the countertop, “how was the doc? Get yourself a lollipop?”

Christine rolled her eyes at her friend’s sass before answering. “Fine, it was fine. New doctor, a man.”

Two red painted eyebrows shot up to her hairline, “A man, wow. Is he single? Maybe he’d be a good fit for Meg.” Knowing how the two of them have tried countless times to set up the blonde with various men, too afraid to actually follow through with a date.

Christine thought back to her weird appointment earlier in the day. “I think he was wearing a ring. Nice guy, nervous, said he’s from Connecticut.”

“What the hell is he doin’ out here, nowhere better to go?”

Christine just shrugged her shoulders and gave a quiet, “I don’t know” as they continued to wipe down the smudged counter. That is until Carlotta tells the other waitress to take a break for a minute.

“Me and the dateless wonder got you a present.” She exclaimed, timed perfectly as Meg came walking out of the kitchen with a large gift bag in her hands.

Taken aback by the gesture, Christine thanks the girls. “Oh that’s so sweet, you really shouldn’t have.” Taking the bag from Meg. 

“Open it,” the younger girl insists, “you’re gonna love it!”

Reaching through the colorful tissue paper, Christine pulls out a rather large book, too large for casual reading. She realizes, sadly, that her two best friends had gotten her a baby photo albums. “You really shouldn’t have,” she reiterates, less cheerful than before, “‘What A Mama You’re Gonna Be!’” Reading the books cover.

Oblivious to her friend who was lost in her thoughts of her predicament, Meg went on to talk of the present. “I researched all of the best baby books and this one kept coming up as highly recommended. It’s great— look,” she expressed, “there’s even a place in the front here to write a letter to your baby! In’t that precious?”

Sure enough the first section had a section filled with lined pages, at the top was written “Dear Baby…” in frilly blue cursive. For anyone else it would have been a thoughtful gift, for any of the other mothers at the doctor’s office it would have been perfect. 

Christine was not one of those mothers.

Noticing her friend was a little quiet, Carlotta tried to snap her back to reality. Placing a hand on her shoulder she said, “We know that you didn’t have the strongest… happiness about the pregnancy, but she’s coming anyway so we might as well…”

Christine cut her friend off at the mention of giving the baby a sex. “We don’t know that it's a she, far as we know it could be an alien coming in nine months.”

“You’re not gettin’ a little bit more affectionate towards the little baby?” Asked Carlotta, surprised by how she was reacting, still.

“Not even the littlest bit?” Pipped Meg.

Frustrated with how her friends were trying to push her into how happy she should be to have a living being inside of her, Christine took some breaths before answering so as not to lash out at them. “Not everyone wants or asks to be a mother; that doesn’t make me a bad person.”

Deciding to follow her lead, Carlotta asked another question, one that Christine still did not want to answer. “Did you tell Raoul yet?”

Mowing she would get slack for telling her friend the truth, Christine diverted everyone’s attention towards Meg instead. “I didn’t get a chance yet. Did you finish your dating profile, Meg?”

Not satisfied with the answer, Carlotta backtracks, “We haven’t finished talkin’ about you yet.”

“I think we have.” Christine gave a pointed look at the redhead, telling her enough. “Well, Meg?”

Now the tables have turned to the ever picky and nervous Meg, who desperately wanted a boyfriend, but didn’t want to go through the whole ‘dating’ thing.

“I’m still writin’ it—”

“You’ve been at it for weeks, I’m sure its fine, '' Christine reassured.

“Yeah, but,” huffing out a breath as she searched for the right words, “there isn’t enough space to tell a complete, honest, yet thorough and gripping character of who I am.”

Knowing how her friend usually gets caught up in the small things, Christine offers, “You can run it by us. Go on, we’re listening.”

Still uncertain, Meg pulls her outdated phone from her apron pocket and logs into the dating profile. Letting out a nervous cough, she starts, “Happy to be alive, proudly American, witty and dynamic, I am a woman of various passions, including a rare taxidermy squirrel collection. I love the History Channel.”

“Wow, that’s nice Meg.”

“Note: I have played Betsy Ross in 33 Revolutionary War Reenactments.”

“O-okay…at least you’ll stand out…” 

“I’m calling’ myself ‘MegFooYoung’. Is that too much?”

Both of her listening companions answered, “…No!”

“You should post it tonight,” encouraged Christine.

“Maybe this is a mistake.” Closing herself back into her shell.

Taking notice, Carlotta tries to shock her into taking this step in the right direction. “Meg, this is the only life you’re gonna get! Don’t waste it by sittin’ on your sofa every night wishing for a guy to come sweep you off your feet!”

“I-I know, its just…” a storm of anxiety was rearing its angry head at poor Megan, and unfortunately it was about to make its path to both her colleagues. “I like things that are factual and plausible, things that can’t be guessed and you know what?” 

“What?” They both asked.

“Dating is the biggest guessing game there is!” By this point, she was rambling and no one could stop her, so Christine and Carlotta looked at each other and made the silent pact to let her tire herself out. “I don’t like the idea of fate and knowing that it's just gonna put me through the ringer to feel emotions I can’t name! I’m supposed to go on a date with what— A STRANGER?! Someone I don’t even know, who could be a serial killer waiting for his next victim. Or, he might sit too close and has bad breath, he could eat Oreos: cookie first! What a nightmare! Even worse, what if he sees me and runs away or doesn’t like what’s standing waiting for him, left there looking like a fool? Or if we get along, but after a while he deems me unwanted after already giving him a part of myself?”

She was downright hyperventilating which resulted in her body needing to burn the excess energy, so while she was declaring all of her darkest fears she moved around the diner effortlessly; all while cleaning, sweeping, and refilling mustard and ketchup bottles. 

“What if,” she continued, “he is the nicest guy in the world, makes me laugh like no one’s watching, has beautiful eyes, and I come out of my corner.” Christine and Carlotta looked at each other yet again, knowing that Meg was finally getting to the root of why she was so afraid of dating. “What if he holds me and I feel safe, or makes me trust him enough that I give my heart away? What will be left of me if I give away my best parts?” It seemed she had tired herself out, but shrugged her shoulders and added, “I still hope, though, that someone out there will listen to me talk, hear what I have to say, and genuinely likes me for who I already am. Someone, who’ll want a second date.”

After a few moments of quiet, the older two waitresses went to their younger hopeful romantic younger coworker and gave her some helpful pep talk. By the end, Meg felt ten times better about herself, and was actually looking forward to posting her dating profile that night.

A while after Meg’s breakthrough, Old Joe Valerius came limping through the door. Just in time for a late breakfast.

“Hiya Joe!” Greeted Christine, always saving her energy to give the old grump a chipper attitude.

“It’s warm here. I’m warm, turn the air on.” He grumbled.

“I’ll tell Piangi, Joe.” She answered, at the ready with her pen and pad.

“Alright listen up. I want the special ‘Betrayed By My—Betrayed By My Eggs Pie’ with a tomata on the side, on its own plate.”

After writing everything down, she asks, “That everything?”

“No, I also want orange juice. But don’t bring that first, bring me water first. Bring the O.J. with the meal.” He opened the local newspaper as she finished jotting down his order. “Listen to my horoscope before you skedoodle away. ‘Aquarius, you will have smooth sailing today as Mars enters your inner circle.’ What the hell does that mean? ‘The ones you love will listen carefully to you today, so be careful with what you say.’” He looks back up to Christine, “I don’t have any loved ones, wanna hear yours?”

“I’m an Aquarius too, and I don’t got any loved ones either. Just ones I live with.”

He was quiet for a bit too long, breaking the silence to comment, “Ya got somethin’ in the oven other than a pie?”

Confused, Christine was about to answer when the old man pointed at her stomach while saying, “You got a bun in the oven?”

“Shhhh, quiet down. How’d ya know?”

A forlong look was in his eyes as he retold the story of Annette, the woman he ‘made sweet love to’ all throughout the summer of ‘48. Apparently she shared the same sick look on her face that Christine had, which made Old Joe almost marry her straight up, to keep up appearances. “She lost the baby though. That was a close call. When ya due?”

“Shhh! I don’t want Piangi to hear you!” She tried in vain to shut the old fool up.

Feigning to skim through the newspaper, he made a comment about something that caught his eye. “Well, looky here, the National Pie Bake Off is in Springfield this year. Winner from last year, Eunice Kevesdy, spent the prize money on an RV with a built-in convection oven.” Then, taking the young waitress by surprise, declares, “You should enter it.”

While it sounded tempting, Raoul’s words from earlier in the week caught up to her. “That’s sweet Joe, but I’m no Sara Lee when it comes to my pies.”

Like a dog with a bone he reveals, “The prize money’s $20,000.” Raising his sparse eyebrows, trying to entice the mother-to-be.

Not wanting to hurt the old man’s feelings, she tells him she’ll think about it. Walking away from his little corner booth, order in hand ready to give to Piangi, Christine couldn’t stop thinking.

What if? What if I entered the contest? That money could take me away from Raoul, start a new life for me and the baby.

What if?

#phantom of the opera #christine daae #raoul de chagny #erik destler #musical fanfic #erik x christine #waitress fanfic #sara bareilles #pies

[marmie-noir]

A Good Girl

AKA Dwight being a perceptive ass.

For once I was the one behind the bar. My arms were crossed and I gave the man before me a rather unimpressed look, taking in the New York Italian man that seemed to be a regular more often than not these days. He sipped his drink, bourbon that I myself had poured, looking back at me with a raised brow. 

It wasn’t quiet. While it was early it wasn’t dead, the bar had a few people in it, and the kitchen was loud behind the door, but I didn’t speak as I stared down the mobster. Dwight took another sip before setting the drink down, clearing his throat. “Have I done something to offend you?” “Why would you think that?” I asked, shifting my weight and my lips thinning to a line. 

“Cause you are looking at me like you wanna decorate your walls with my insides.” He said bluntly, dark eyes meeting mine. I didn’t blink, didn’t speak for a few moments before taking a step towards the bar and leaning on it, leaning in towards him. “You are bad news. Men like you are always bad news. I don’t like you around this place, around Mitch.” 

He hummed, looking down at his drink a moment before glancing back up at me. “So that is what this is about. You and Mitch, hm?” I narrowed my eyes, fighting off the blush that threatened to spread up my neck to my cheeks. “I certainly did not say that.” I snapped back, knowing right after it left me that was sign enough. I was showing my hand to this man, all but confessing that I cared about Mitch. That this was personal. Fuck. 

“Didn’t know you two were together.” He said, not with malice but with a genuine carelessness, as if it didn’t really impact him. Not that it would. He nudged his glass forward, empty, and I huffed but grabbed the bottle to pour him some more. “We aren’t together, not that it’s your business. He’s just a good guy, and men like you use good guys.” I explained, putting the bourbon bottle back into it’s spot, annoyed that I was now in this situation. I wasn’t about to pour my heart out to this mobster, to let him know that Mitch was my safe place, that this bar and his house and pops had become home in a way that four walls and a roof never could be. I felt safe. Secure. I wasn’t going to let that slip through my fingers. 

“Sweetheart, I can promise you. I have no intentions of hurting or using that man any more than he is me. We have a mutual interest, a common understanding. We are going to make some money together and that will be that.” His deep voice and heavy accent had a tune of honesty but I didn’t trust it. I distrusted men like that, men who saw all situations as options to get richer, to do things regardless of law. 

“I don’t give a damn what you say,” I said quietly, nails tapping on the bar top as I leaned in. “I can’t stop him from making decisions, but I’m warning you Dwight. Don’t you dare hurt that man.” 

“Darlin’, table 5’s food is in the window.” That familiar voice made me straighten, looking over to see Mitch standing there looking amused, his blue eyes jumping between me and Dwight with a small tilt of his head. Curious. I blushed and ducked my head, walking past Mitch towards the kitchen to grab the food for my tables, leaving Mitch at the bar. The two men watched me duck behind the wall and Mitch looked at Dwight with a raised brow. “Do I even want to know what you two were whispering about?” He asked, grabbing himself a glass for a splash of bourbon himself, topping off Dwight’s at the same time. 

“Got yourself a good girl there, Mitch.” Dwight responded with a little smile, lifting his glass in a small cheers. “Don’t you let that slip through your fingers. Trust me, it will be the greatest mistake of your life.” Mitch gave him a raised brow before glancing over to where I was passing out chicken strip platters and burger baskets, smiling at the customers while checking for if they needed anything else. Without another word he tossed back the rest of his drink, looking at Dwight with a half smile. 

Read more Sunny and Mitch here

#fanfic #tulsa king #garrett hedlund #mitch keller #mitch keller fanfiction #Dwight Manfredi #female oc #Sunny x Mitch #Waitress #Bred-2-Buck #I know he was a bull rider but that name is horrid #Mitch why?

[blueywrites]

chapter one of new skin

will be released on Thursday, March 16th @ 6:00pm EST.

I'm very excited to finally share this with you! It has been a work of emotional labor and love, and I hope you enjoy it! 🥰️ Please mind the tags below for chapter one, and check the finalized tags on release day in case more have been added.

18+ for mature themes. fem!reader, plussized!reader, Christian religious references, disordered eating habits, anxiety, emotional abuse and manipulation, body image issues, internalized fatphobia, mentions of blood.

🍑 masterlist | 🎵 playlist

#blueynews #new skin #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie x reader #eddie x y/n #linecook!eddie #waitress!reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #stranger things fanfiction

[eternalchaoschocolaterain]

The Most Powerful Waitress

Chapter one School's out

Chapter three: No cure for me

Chapter four: Rinse and Repeat

Chapter two summary: Merula auditions at the opera because her voice deserves to be heard.

02. I'd hire me

‘Wake up, Ruru.’

Quinn’s singsonging pierced through Merula’s foggy dream state and she groaned. Why couldn’t mornings start in the afternoon?

‘Five more minutes.’

‘You said that ten minutes ago. Come on, you don’t want to be late. I’ll make you breakfast.’

‘Fine.’

Today she had another job interview. She hadn’t lied to Haywood, she did have options. Not as much as she liked though. She had owled multiple venues asking what kind of jobs they had available, but had gotten almost nothing back. No one had given an actual reason, but she knew why. After all these years and all her accomplishments (O’s for all her N.E.W.T.s!), people still couldn’t see past her family. Like she chose to be the daughter of deatheaters, or worse, the niece of a wannabe cult leader. Being made into an accomplice had been the best time of her life. Who didn’t like betraying friends?

Not that she needed a job to survive, she could do nothing for the rest of her life and still be rich when she died. But what good would staying at home do her? She’d just end up bored and worse, forgotten.

For now the time off was a nice break, but if she didn’t want it to last she needed to get up. So, she went for a quick shower and put on a purple pantsuit. Quinn gave her a long look and whistled when she entered the kitchen.

‘I’d hire you.’

‘Of course you would. Everyone should.’

Quinn handed her eggs with toast and flipped through a cookbook. She had cooked every meal so far and kept out trying new recipes. Turned out to be a good cook too, much to Merula’s delight. Cooking had never been her favourite thing. She cooked for the result, but Quinn cooked for fun. Every meal made her question her decision not to make this arrangement permanent yet, until she remembered that Quinn would want to invite her friends over if she lived here. For now, Merula wasn’t ready to share her home with anyone else.

‘What’s for dinner?’ Merula asked when she sat down next to Quinn. She peered at the book and saw a recipe for roasted brussels sprouts. That better not be it.

‘I was thinking braised eel, or fried cauliflower and salad. What do you think?’

Much better!

‘Eel of course, I love eel.’

‘Yeah, I should’ve known.’ Quinn chuckled, flipped a few pages back and put in a bookmark.

When Merula finished her breakfast, Quinn gave her a quick kiss and told her to break a leg. Even though Merula didn’t need luck, she appreciated the sentiment.

Today she an audition at the Banshee’s theatre. She’d found out about it through an ad in the Daily Prophet. The Banshee’s theatre was looking for singers for their newest opera: Cliodna. Which told the life story of the famous witch. Maybe this would be the job for her. She’d be a perfect Cliodna. Genius, stunning, an amazing voice, she had it all!

Her mum had taught her to sing. She’d been an opera singer at the Banshee’s theatre and had sung for her every night, her voice lulling her to sleep. During the day they practiced singing together in preparation for her audition for the Frog Choir. Both her mum and dad were impressed by her raw talent and at school she had gone on to impress everyone else too. No one stood a chance when she auditioned for the Frog Choir and Professor Flitwick assigned her solo’s whenever he needed a soprano. He’d even suggested her to Celestina Warbeck when she asked for students to sing with her during the performance at school. She’d managed to get the solo part.

Surely the Banshee’s theatre would be impressed too. She could use a success after her earlier job interviews. The first had been at the biggest publishing house in the country, but all they wanted was to sell her story. Get her to tell all about the battle with R, her role as double spy and finally how she turned around to help defeat her aunt. While she was flattered by their interest, to actually write the book she’d have to talk about her feelings. Like that was ever going to happen. No way that she would let strangers in on her private thoughts.

Her other interview had been at St. Mungo’s, for the cure research team. If hired she would be trained to invent new potions and spells. Extensive knowledge of the dark arts and potions were required. The job itself sounded great. She would learn how to experiment with spells and potions and invent her own. She’d have to do constant research and keep up to date with developments in the darks arts. Something she already did on her own. So, of course she’d do great and the interview went well, but the problem was that no one would know about her. No one cared about cure inventors.

Then there were the desk jobs. Like a Snyde would ever work a desk job.

No, getting to be the lead in an opera sounded better. People would see her on stage. She’d get to mesmerize the crowd. They would adore her.

She stepped out of the fireplace from a nearby pub she’d flooed to. The Banshee’s theatre stood as proud as she remembered. The two-story high glass windows shone despite the dreary weather. Its big entrance made her feel like she’d be part of something great if she ended up working here.

A desk worker escorted her through a long hallway, the hall of fame. Full of paintings of famous singers, all people who’d performed major lead roles. Even though she knew she wouldn’t be here anymore, she couldn’t help but look for her mum’s painting. Like she expected, it was long gone. Maybe her own could hang here instead, bring some glory back.

They ended up in the backstage lounge. A large decorated room with multiple couches and a little bar. A few other people were already there and she could hear singing coming from the stage. She caught herself in one of the many mirrors and smoothed her outfit. Perfect. She looked perfect.

She took seat in the corner of one of the couches, as far away as possible from the other occupant. The other occupant, a fawn woman who looked to be in her 40s, smiled at her.

She’s not going to talk to me is she?

‘What part are you going to audition for?’

Great, small talk with a stranger. Her favourite. Especially when she had no way to escape without coming off as rude when she couldn’t afford to be.

‘Cliodna, of course.’

The woman frowned, but kept smiling. ‘Aren’t you a little young for that part?’

‘I’ve been singing since I was a kid.’

She began to laugh. ‘As have we all, dearie.’

Dearie. The word made her shudder and she crossed her arms. ‘So you think they’d pick you just because you’re older?’

‘Of course not. I’m only saying you’re going up against people much more experienced than you. That’s all. I’m sure you’ll do fine. What’s your name anyway?’

‘Merula Snyde.’

The woman’s face fell and Merula had to repress an eyeroll. The chatter in the room paused for a moment and a few heads turned her way. After all these years it was still the same. Her name evoked fear and disgust in almost everyone she met. She’d contemplated changing it once, but decided quickly against such ridiculousness. The name Snyde had commanded the respect of people. They had been a proud, powerful family with a rich history in politics and high society. As the last Snyde not dead or in Azkaban changing her name would mean erasing her history. Erasing not just the bad, but the good things about growing up Snyde. No, she’d rather make the name Snyde something to be proud of again.

‘Oh, I’ve read about you in the paper. I don’t think this world is a good fit for someone like you.’ Her smile returned, but looked forced and overly polite now.

‘Someone like me?’

‘Yes, well, you know what you did. What family you come from. The opera world is for a certain kind of ‘refined’ people.’

‘I’m not responsible for what my family did. You know nothing about me!’ Merula’s voice rose and a few more people turned their heads.

Great, just great.

‘I suppose we’ll have to see what the audition panel thinks.’

‘I suppose.’

Merula got up to get a goblet of water from the little bar and ignored the stares that followed her. Stupid people. They didn’t know anything about her, they just wanted to think they were above her. Well, she’d show them who was really above.

After finishing the goblet, she fought the urge to slam it into the bar. Instead, she put it down gently and made deliberate soft steps to another couch. Once there she turned her gaze to the ceiling with all its swirls and twirls and recited her songs for the audition in her head.

‘Miss Snyde?’ A man called out to her and beckoned her to follow him.

Show time.

She followed him towards the stage, where he left her. The opera hall looked just like she remembered. Red plush seating went up to five rows high. Right behind the orchestra pit sat the four people she would impress. She recognized one of the women, Eliza Kreslina, as a former colleague of her mum. They were led by the head of the chorus: Mister Nicholich. He rose from his seat when she entered the stage.

‘Welcome Miss Snyde. Before you start, please tell us a bit about yourself and your experience.’

‘I’m a soprano and I’ve been singing since I was a little kid. My mum taught me.’ She didn’t miss the way Madam Kreslina shared a look with another panel member and clenched and unclenched her fist.

It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean anything.

‘I’ve been on the Frog Choir for four years and have sung with Celestina Warbeck when she performed at school. I love singing, absolutely love it and I’m a quick learner, so I know lines and lyrics won’t be a problem. Especially with my work ethic.’

Mister Nicholich nodded. ‘Very well. You may start your performance.’

And start she did. Within second the notes flew from her throat, all smooth and rich. She’d chosen three songs with different ranges to show off and in three different languages too: French, Italian and German. That should impress them. She didn’t know anyone her age that could sing in any language other than English.

After what she knew to be a flawless rendition she waited as the panel whispered among themselves.

‘That was a wonderful performance, you have a beautiful voice, Miss Snyde.’

Her chest swelled with pride. ‘Does that mean I got the part?’

‘The part?’

‘Of Cliodna, of course.’

‘What? Oh, no, no, no. We’re looking for someone more refined and with much more experience on stage to play her.’

‘More refined?’ There was that word again.

‘You will need to work on your stage presence. While your voice is wonderful, you don’t draw me in. I would hesitate to hire someone like you. I just don’t know if someone like you would be a good fit.’ He cocked his head a little and gave her what had to be the fakest look of compassion anyone besides her aunt had ever given her.

‘How would I not be a good fit? I’ve been around the opera since I was a kid. Mum and dad brought me here all the time. I know how it works backstage.’

Mister Nicholich’ face didn’t change. ‘We’ll have to discuss if you’re the kind of person we want to hire. You’ll hear from us.’

Yeah right. Merula stomped her foot. ‘Just say you don’t want a daughter of deatheaters and be done with it! It’s always the same. You all expect the worst from me.’

The panel gasped in shock and Mister Nicholich pursed his lips. Madam Kreslina rose from her seat, her white cheeks flushing. ‘How dare you! You’re young and inexperienced and we just wanted to discuss what kind of part to give you given that fact and the range of your voice. You’ve got a lot of potential. I worked with your mum, she was a great singer. It’s a shame how she turned out, but that has nothing to do with you.’

Silence fell over the hall as Merula let the words sink in. Madam Kreslina sounded sincere, but things didn’t add up.

‘Then why did you remove my mums painting?’

‘Because after her conviction we couldn’t keep it up in good conscience. She’s not the only one we had to remove.’ Madam Kreslina’s face hardened. ‘I understand you may have had a rough start, but whatever start you had, it’s no reason to take it out on us. Now if you would make way for the next candidate.’

‘You understand nothing!’

Merula stomped of the stage. They had it easy from their plush red seats and their jobs which made everyone look up to them. How could they ever understand what it was like to have the entire country at your throat for your family’s actions? They didn’t know shit.

Whatever, being an opera singer would probably become boring real soon anyway. Merula made her way back to the pub, her boots making big splashes in the puddles. Once she got back home, she looked around for Quinn, but couldn't find her inside.

Seriously, in this weather?

She entered the porch through the kitchen and sure enough, the broomstand was missing a broom. Merula shook her head, only her girlfriend saw rain and thought it made the perfect weather for flying. Venting had to wait, because she wasn’t about to get wet looking for her.

The large porch connected the kitchen to the ballroom. Or what used to be the ballroom. Nowadays she used it mainly for roller skating. In the corner stood a large fireplace with two comfortable purple sofas. Despite the rain the temperature wasn't that bad. Even so, Merula turned the fireplace on as she flopped on the couch and pondered her day.

Total waste of time. She should’ve known ‘someone like her’ couldn’t ever have been a good fit for the opera. If she’d thought about that beforehand, she would've stayed inside.

'You're back!' Arms wrapped around her from behind and Quinn planted a wet kiss on the side of her face. Water dripped off her, down Merula's back and chest. 'How did it go today?'

'Ugh, dry yourself off, will you?!'

'I'm going to take that as a not good.' Quinn twirled her hand and steam came off her. Her freckled cheeks were red from her exercise. Now dry, Merula allowed her to sit down next to her. 'What happened?'

She burst out ranting about everything that went wrong and how horrible she'd been treated, but instead of sympathy all she got from Quinn was a frown.

'You let your temper get the best of you, again. I thought you were working on it?'

'My temper’s fine!’ How dare she! Of all people, she should understand her. She knew everything about her. ‘Didn’t you hear anything I said? They removed mums painting and said they didn’t know if they could hire ‘someone like me’’

‘And what about what Madam Kreslina said afterwards?’

‘She was just backtracking because I called them out!’

‘You don’t know that! And you’ll never know because you ruined it with your attitude.’

'You've no idea what you're talking about. You just got handed this prestigious job at the ministry without even looking for anything!'

'Really?’ Quinn's cheeks turned a different shade of red and her voice rose. ‘I just got a job shoved down my throat that I know nothing about. All I know is that I start ‘somewhere in August’ and that I don’t have a choice. But I don’t want that job! I want to be outside. At least you have a choice, or you had until you ruined it. I wish I had a choice.'

Her voice faltered a bit and Merula felt guilty for her outburst. Perhaps Quinn was right. She looked away from her, to the formal garden. Once her father's pride and joy. As a herbologist he knew exactly which plant liked to go where. He had planted so many different species that the garden bloomed almost year-round. Now, eight years after the arrest, the garden was an overgrown mess. She had tried to keep up at first, but had given up. As a ten year-old she just didn't have the necessary skills.

Then there was the biggest part of the garden: the unicorn pasture. Complete with waterfall. Her mum had kept three unicorns even before she had her. The unicorns had been seized the day after the arrest. Only when she got introduced to the herd living in the Forbidden Forest did she find out what happened to them. At least they still lived a good life.

She pulled her knees up to her chin. Her parents arrest had dominated her life so far. People had scorned her, send her death threats, but she’d be damned if she let it continue. She deserved to be known for her accomplishments. For Salazar’s sake, she was fucking powerful! A force to be reckoned with. Anyone would be lucky to work with her.

'I'm just tired of people thinking the worst when they see me. Or treating me like I'm some charity case.'

Quinn's face softened and she reached for Merula's hand. 'I know. And you're right, I don't know what that's like. I'm sorry, I guess I'm just jealous.'

'I suppose I'm jealous too,' Merula sighed and let herself be pulled into a hug. 'You and Copper got those big jobs just handed to you, but I was there too. I did more than Copper! But I had to send dozens of letters and got only a few replies.'

'I know. It’s not fair, but you’re not helping yourself when you go off the way you did.’

‘I suppose,’ Merula groaned and buried her head in Quinn’s chest. ‘I guess I do have one flaw.’

‘Yeah you do.’

‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.’

‘Thanks.’ Quinn snuggled her a bit closer. ‘Don’t worry so much. You’re the Most Powerful Witch, you’ll find a job that matches your capabilities. Even if it takes a while.’

‘I know.’

As unfair as it all was, dwelling on it wouldn’t help. Nor would sitting at home. She had to start somewhere, how else were people going to recognize her talents? Tomorrow she’d have a look again at those other jobs. Surely one would fit her. She’d be fine. Everything would be fine.

‘You know,’ Merula said, changing the subject. ‘If that ministry job doesn’t work out you can always quit and become my housewife. Cook me dinner every day.’

‘That doesn’t sound half-bad,’ Quinn chuckled. ‘Maybe when we have kids.’

There it was again, that certainty that they’d stay together forever. As if there was no way they wouldn’t get married and have kids. After today she could only hope it would be as easy as Quinn made it sound.

#it's all off to a great start #what temper? #hogwarts mystery #hogwarts mystery fanfic #the most powerful waitress #merula snyde #merula x mc #quinn lee #merula x quinn #quirula

[palettesofrenaissance]

Does anyone remember when fanfiction writers brainstormed and story planned with their readers/followers? Can I do that here?

I ask because I'd like to see if anyone would be up to brainstorming with me here on tumblr posts?

And yes, I'm in Diagon Alley and I'd just had the earl Grey and lavender flavors from Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour

If this posts doesn't get any reply bubbles or reblogs, then I'll humbly take that as a "No"

#i can't help to keep asking for interaction sometimes because I'm so used to it over the many years in fandom so being without it is.... #it's so WEIRD #waitress from treats #harry potter #hp fanfic

[moldygreenblue]

In Search of Good Times and Good News

(Day four prompt for Woevember, created by @asouefanworkevent)

“FROSTED UNSWEETENED CHOCOLATE KIT-KAT!”

Without any hesitation, the blonde slammed her foot onto the brake of the car. Because she slammed on the break quickly, the five passengers hit their heads as the car bounce back. Two of them hit their heads onto the back of the front seat headrest, one of them hit their head from their own seat, and the person riding shotgun smacked their head right into the dashboard.

“Lucy! What the hell!?” The four passengers glared at their colleague as they all rubbed their forehead. The passenger riding shotgun in particular was giving a glare that could kill.

“It’s not my fault this time! Well, not entirely!” Lucy gave out a sheepish smile. “September, Ravi, Romero, Bartholomew? Are you all okay?”

“Okay? Okay? OKAY!? Do you think we’re okay when you’re driving?!” September readjusted his headband, and frowned. “I’m starting to think you need to retake the designated driver driving test! Ms. Preludio wasn’t happy the first time around when we told her what happened!”

“My mother wasn’t happy the first time? Are you saying this is the second test drive!?” Romero stood up from his seat, and his three-legged crow necklace dangled around.

The four who were there in the first incident remained quiet. Lucy gave a small whistle. Ravi was parting his bangs to the side, before doing a palm-face in frustration. Bartholomew rolled his eyes before he stood up from his seat, and flicked September with his black comb.

“Nice going, September!” exclaimed Bartholomew. “And to think half an hour ago, you were worried I would go let the cat out of bag! Guess who has the loose lips now!?”

“Considering how my mother knew about this all along,” said Romero, his hair suddenly floating upward as if there’s an updraft in the vehicle, “I think spilling the beans is doing you a favor. At least she can determine if there are much needed readjustments on the brake pressure.”

“We can discuss the breaks when we get our asses back to the Preludio,” replied Ravi, who is now finally standing up from his seat. “Lucy, care to explain what happened?”

“Some woman with pencils in her hair was driving crazy in a taxi with three children in the backseat wearing diving gear just went into the nearby hedges!” answered Lucy, keeping her eyes on the road where another taxi soon stopped. “Huh. Will you look at that!”

The taxi driver got out of the driver seat, and scans the area. The man was as tall as someone who once attended elementary school would be, and wore a hat that covered his face. The man was wearing a trench-coat that had him resembling a private detective from a film noir, though why would a private detective drive a taxi car is another discussion altogether.

Bartholomew squinted his eyes to see slightly better. “I wonder what got him having the need to block traffic. The way he’s acting, it’s as if he tailing someone and lost track of them.”

“Maybe he was tailing the woman in the crazy taxi,” suggested Romero.

“Why would a taxi driver be trailing another taxi?” asked September, giving an incredulous look to Romero. “To see how the competition is doing? That’s rather dumb.”

“Who to say the taxi driver is actually a taxi driver?” asked Romero in return. “Considering the fact Lucy told us the woman drove into the hedges, maybe she knew she was being followed.”

“And she escaped by driving into the freaking hedges?” interjected Ravi. “How is that logical!?”

“Boys! Please!” Lucy soon slammed her head into the driving wheel. “Can we not have you arguing again? We don’t have time for this! We need figure out where the hell are Marco, Anton, and Irina! We checked almost everywhere in the City, and they’re so far nowhere to be found!”

“It’s not my fault Marco went off without informing us,” Romero sat back down in his seat, and ran a hand through his black hair. “He is just as worry about the pocket watch as we are, even more so. My father was the one who left him in charge of it. I just hope he’s not somewhere where he can get his ass kick. With his luck, he might get himself thrown onto the floor.”

[In Which This is a Break that Indicates a Scene Break Because Tumblr New's HTML Editor Is Broken And Isn't Allowing Them]

“Oh my God! You crazy bitch!” Irina clutched her hands onto the side of her head, watching her poor colleague currently on the café floor of Room 178. “You deadass threw him onto the floor!”

“Irina, I advise you to not make our situation worst.” Anton continued to stay in his seat with his hands up in the air. Another waitress who was there when everything unfolded, grabbed the nearest butterknife and pointed it at his direction. While a butterknife isn’t super sharp, it can still lead to an injury if used for harm, like for example, stabbing someone in the stomach.

Marco gripped his father’s pocket watch tighter as he gets pushed back onto the wooden floor. Someone —the waitress who threw him in the first place— soon began rolling up his left leg pants, and pulled down his left green sock. To think this is all because he asked for sugar!

The waitress soon gave a gasp, and soon got off him, She then helped him stand back up, her face looking red and embarrassed. “Pardon my actions, sir. It was a reflex from my defense training. Would you care for a complimentary slice of rhubarb pie to go with your coffee?”

“Well, I can’t say no to free food,” said Marco with a small smile. “Yes, I would like some pie.”

The waitress soon scurried off, hanging her head down on the floor. The other waitress set back down the butterknife, and ran off as well. Irina gave out a sigh of relief, and soon joined Marco back at the table with Anton. Anton couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at Marco, and grabbed a blueberry muffin off of the plate the waitress brought before the sudden throwdown.

“Really, Marco?” asked Anton, taking a bite of his blueberry muffin. “Rhubarb pie?”

“Sorry if I have an appetite that you and your sister don’t have,” Marco pushed up the bridge of his glasses. “And who can’t say no to free food?”

“People who have self-control,” says Irina, hiding her smile behind her cup of coffee. “Let’s hope your stomach can handle the taste of rhubarb. Especially rhubarb in a pie.”

#asoue #a series of unfortunate events #woevember #fan fiction #fanfic #i went into a real different direction here using oc's (plus the minor character of the waitress mention in tpp) #i don't really feel the first half of the fic fits the prompt that well #but the second half for sure fits the prompt #and posting the second half without uh context felt weird #so...yeah