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lovebugism · 19 days

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Could you pleaseeee do more single dad!Eddie 🥺

✶ ┄ MAYDAY ! [ stand by me ]

summary: after totally embarrassing yourself at eddie's kid's birthday party, the metalhead single dad from the trailer park shows you his (perhaps equally embarrassing) favorite movie. (2.9k)

pairing: dad!eddie munson / f!reader

tags: eddie and maeve universe, strangers to lovers (eventually), slow burn, mutual pining, idiots in love, girl dad eddie munson™, fluff, ugly crying at movies

You never did crack open that bottle.

The one you accidentally brought to Eddie’s kid’s birthday party? Yeah, that one. The glass container sits unopened on the coffee table in front of you, casting amber reflections on the old wood beneath the lamplight. It’s just a silly conversation starter now. You’ve got no real reason to drink it, anyway.

There’s nothing more intoxicating than Eddie Munson’s presence.

Sunrays spill from your mouth when you tip your head back to laugh. You turn to look at the boy on the other end of the couch, and your warm cheek squishes against the cushion. “Stand By Me is not your favorite movie!” you argue, giggling softly with disbelief.

Eddie has no idea how big he’s smiling. He’s too busy staring at you to notice the beam on his face.

He shrugs his shoulders, now free from the confines of his leather jacket. He wears a faded Peanuts shirt now. A hand-me-down, you figure. “I mean… Land Before Time is a really close second,” he answers in a teasing lilt.

“Oh, yeah. Only the saddest movie ever made.”

“Maeve used to love it. And, like, not in a normal way— She used to make me play it for her until the tape spun out,” Eddie tells you, chuckling softly to himself. “It grew on me eventually, but… Then she grew out of it.”

You watch him get all forlorn at the thought. You meet his subtle pout with a scrunched nose. “Well, she’s only four, right? Surely, she hasn’t had time to grow out of much.”

Eddie scoffs and slouches further on the couch until his thighs spread. “You’d be surprised. Every time I think I— you know— start to understand her a little bit or whatever, she just… She changes, you know? Like, overnight.”

He doesn’t mean to get so suddenly sentimental about the whole thing. Especially not in front of a pretty girl he only met eight hours ago. He’ll blame it on the late night and the existential dread that always comes with birthdays. He conceals his brooding behind a dumb joke.

“I mean, just this morning, Maeve’s favorite animal was a Hefflelump… Now it’s a blobfish.”

You try to hold back your laughter. You fail. The sunshine-coated giggle sputters from your mouth despite your attempts to keep it hidden. Eddie only laughs because you are.

“I should’ve said turtle or something,” you humor with a roll of your eyes, tucking your knees to your chest. “Or, like, a badger. Maybe then I wouldn’t have gotten made fun of all day.”

“Those aren’t any less normal,” Eddie chuckles with a lopsided grin, dark chocolate eyes twinkling ‘cause he never really liked normal anyway.

You shrug. “Agree to disagree.”

“You wanna know something?” he blurts after a long beat of silent smiles. “When I tucked her in, she made me promise to take her to the aquarium tomorrow. Said she wanted to see ‘if the blobfish were just as gross in real life.’

You smile so wide your eyes squint at the edges. “Do they have blobfish at the aquarium?” you laugh.

Eddie shrugs. “Probably not. But she’ll get to pet a stingray or somethin’. Then she’ll forget all about it.”

“Sounds fun…” you murmur, picking at pills of cotton on the old couch with a suddenly anxious hand.

“Yeah. Parenting always is,” Eddie hums with a distant smile. “Even when it isn’t.”

“Should I— Should I, like, go?” you stammer.

The boy seems shocked by your question. His fluffy brows pinch as he hums. “Huh?”

You squirm, less than comfortable in your own skin. “Well, I mean, it’s… It’s getting kinda late and everything, and… If you guys are going into the city in the morning, I don’t wanna, like, keep you or whatever—”

Suddenly anxious, Eddie sits up a little straighter. “No! No, it’s okay. I don’t mind,” he responds, then quickly follows with wide eyes. “Unless— Unless you want to leave—”

“I don’t!” you answer, equally flustered.

Eddie forces an awkward chuckle. “I don’t want you to think I’m, like, keeping you hostage here or something—”

“I just don’t wanna overstay my welcome—”

“You couldn’t,” he insists.

You nod, and in a mousy voice, you reply, “Well, you couldn’t keep me hostage, so…”

Eddie grins. “Good.”

“Good,” you echo.

“So… Wanna watch a movie or something?” he offers with a fluttering heart and fidgeting hands.

He feels like a teenage boy all over again — only he never actually got the opportunity to ask a pretty girl out when he was a teenager. People weren’t exactly fighting to spend time with the local freak back then. Or now, really.

Except you.

“Whaddaya got?”

“Well, let’s see…” he says, grunting as he rises from the couch.

Eddie walks the short distance to the box television across the room — which Maeve has carefully decorated with a collection of sparkly stickers. He sorts through the VHS tapes stacked in less-than-organized piles with a ringed hand, realizing must’ve left all the good stuff at Wayne’s.

“Oh, you know… All the Maeve Munson favorites…” he singsongs with a sigh.

“Surprise me,” you call from the couch.

Eddie rises then, with two bulky VHSs clutched within ringed fingers. He holds them on either side of his face and grins between them. “Stand By Me or Land Before Time?”

“Stand By Me,” you answer with a firm nod. “Unless, you know, you wanna see me ugly cry.”

“That’s second date territory,” he quips with a wink, suddenly and very uncharacteristically cool. “Stand By Me it is.”

—————

You’re crying on a stranger’s couch about ninety minutes later.

The credits roll in static colors on the tiny television across from you. The low bass of a nostalgic song floats quietly through the living room — If the sky, that we look upon, should tumble and fall… Or the mountains, should crumble to the sea…

Eddie looks on with a sympathetic beam as you hide your teary face behind your palms. He can’t tell if you’re shaking from sobs or from laughter. Maybe a healthy mixture of both. “I thought you weren’t gonna cry!” he chuckles.

You peek at him through your fingers. Your eyes are glassy with tears and squinting at the edges with a smile. “I forgot how sad it was!” you sniffle, then laugh at yourself.

I won’t cry, I won’t cry… No, I won’t shed a tear…

“You’re crying, too!” you observe as the boy beside you wipes at his eyes with his fingertips. You reach over to shove him with a playful hand. “You big softy!”

Eddie scoffs and swipes his nose with the back of his wrist. “I’m not crying! I’m just… I had something in my eye.”

“Tears?” you tease with a scrunched nose.

He nods, and with a sheepish look in his eyes, he says, “Yeah…”

Your quiet laughter entwines, filling the dim living room with something sparkly and golden. The sound of violins swells in a similar way. Eddie’s eyes flutter shut as he begins singing the lyrics to himself, not really trying but sounding pretty anyway.

“Just as long, as you stand, stand by me…” he croons quietly. You beam and sing softly along with him, audibly less serious about the whole thing. “And darlin’! Darlin’! Stand by me… Oh, stand by me—”

Both of you quieten when a door squeaks about open down the hall. The distant screech is followed by the patter of tiny footsteps. Eddie huffs and sits up a little straighter. “Ah, shit…”

Your face floods with horror. “Was I too loud?” you whisper.

“No. It’s just midnight,” he answers, shaking his wild head. “She always wakes up at midnight. Like my personal little Gremlin.”

Maeve appears in the dark hallway then, drowning in one of her dad’s old t-shirts. Corroded Coffin, the front of it reads, in what seems to be hand-made lettering. The thing fits her like a gown.

Her curls sit in an untamed halo around her head from the intensity of her slumber. She rubs at her swollen eyes with chubby fists. Eddie can’t help but grin at the sight of her.

“Hey, Mayday,” he coos. “What happened? You can’t sleep?”

The girl shuffles to her father like it’s muscle memory to her. Still half-asleep, she grips his shirt with graceless fingers and climbs onto his lap with her eyes still shut. She cuddles into his torso, fitting perfectly there, while you sit frozen on the other side of the couch. Like maybe if you’re real still, she won’t notice you’re there.

“We gonna go see da blobfish now?” she wonders in tiny slurs against his chest.

Eddie’s cheek squishes against her head when he smiles. The expression gets lost in her wild chestnut locks. “Not yet, May. It’s too late— All the fishies are sleeping now. Like you should be.”

She shifts on his lap like she’s trying to get more comfortable there. Her cheek, indented with lines of sleep, rubs against his shirt when she turns to look up at him. “Need you to tuck me in,” she tells him, tiny chin bobbing against his chest.

Eddie juts back to see her better. “Again?” he humors with his brows raised behind his curly bangs.

“Mhmm,” she nods, slow and sleepy.

“Okay,” he hums, scoffing a tired chuckle. “I’ll tuck you in again, bug.”

You don’t mean to laugh. It just crawls up your throat and out of your mouth before you can stop it. You try to hide it behind your palm, but Maeve still notices.

Her fluffy brows scrunch together when she turns to you. She swipes at the hair sticking to her cheek with a fumbling hand to see you better. She doesn’t say anything, though. She just kinda blinks at you, with a brown-eyed, emotionless gaze.

You muster a wavering smile at the girl, lifting your hand in an unsure wave.

“Wanna go see the blobfish with us tomorrow?” Maeve blurts. Though, in her less than awake state, it sounds more like wanna go see da bobfish wiv us tommowow? It’s like you can feel your heart melting.

“The aquarium,” Eddie clarifies.

You squirm in your seat. “Oh, I… I can’t,” you sigh, then follow quickly when she pouts. “I wish I could! It sounds super fun, but I’m… I’m busy…”

You aren’t, really. ‘Cause tomorrow’s Saturday — the only thing you really have to do is try to wake up before noon. You just don’t know how else to turn her down.

“Maybe next time?” Eddie offers hopefully, mostly for Maeve’s sake.

You nod rapidly, just for Maeve. “Yeah. Next time. Definitely.”

“See? It’s okay,” Eddie lilts, squeezing gently at the girl’s sides until she’s smiling again. “We can have fun just you and me, right?”

Maeve pouts in response, a sort of snarled face that’s obviously playful.

Eddie laughs loud and boyishly in return. “Hey! Don’t make that face at me!” he exclaims, feigning offense. Maeve loses her poker face almost instantly as she giggles. “Go get in bed, you weirdo. I’ll tuck you in in a second.”

“And read me another book?” she presses hopefully.

He nods, knowing it’s a fight he’s bound to lose. “And read you another book.”

“Two of them?”

The girl holds her pointer and middle finger in front of her face. Eddie chuckles and guides the latter back down with a gentle hand. “One,” he corrects.

“Two.”

“One.”

“Two!”

A brief stare-off ensues, one in which you’ve got a front-row seat. Maeve’s dark chocolate gaze resembles her father’s — button-eyed and swimming with something honeyed and stubborn. She tilts her chin to her chest and glares unwavering at the man in front of her.

Eddie inevitably caves. He sighs so deeply his chest deflates. “Fine… Two. But only if you run real fast.”

Maeves slides down his denim-clad legs until her bare feet hit the carpet. She scurries down the hall without another word, quiet giggles fading with her footsteps. Eddie slumps against the couch with a small, contented sigh.

You realize you haven’t stopped smiling for several minutes now. “She’s really sweet,” you compliment to fill the silence.

Eddie scoffs a gentle laugh. “Yeah. When she wants to be.”

The quiet returns. You run out of things to say. The notion of the late-late night settles more heavily upon you. You swallow hard and fight for a way out that doesn’t make it sound like Eddie hasn’t just given you one of the best nights of your life.

“I think I’m gonna—”

“Well, I should—”

The boy starts speaking at the same time as you. You cut each other off without trying, then laugh quietly at yourselves.

“You first,” you tell him.

“I should go tuck Maeve in before she goes all Mayday mode and starts screaming at me,” Eddie says, only partly joking.

His sweet little Maeve is only Mayday when she’s throwing a too-passionate tantrum. Or when it’s past midnight, and she’s acting like a total gremlin. He doesn’t particularly want you to witness either. ‘Cause kids tend to be pretty gnarly sometimes — especially when you aren’t the one raising them.

“Yeah, I should probably start heading home, anyway,” you reply. “It’s late.”

Eddie rises with a small huff. You follow behind him towards the front door, both of you moving with slow and heavy strides — neither particularly wanting the other to go.

“Thanks for keeping me company,” he says beneath the sound of the screeching screen door. “And for helping Maeve have a good day and everything… Most people don’t really consider hanging out with a four-year-old and her dad a good time, so…”

“Well, most people are weirdos,” you scoff and slide past him through the doorway. “You and Maeve are, like, the coolest people in Hawkins.”

You stand ahead of him on the front steps of the trailer, glowing beneath the silver moon and the buzzing amber porchlight. Eddie lingers in the entryway and holds the door open with his shoulder, so he can hear Maeve when she inevitably starts shouting for him.

“Yeah, I don’t know about that,” he wavers with a scrunched nose. “Maeve’s pretty cool and all, but… She definitely didn’t get that from me.”

“Your favorite movies are Land Before Time and Stand By Me,” you deadpan with a flat face. A smile inevitably pulls at your lips when you look at him too long, pretty as he is. “You’re cool, Eddie. Whether you wanna be or not.”

“Agree to disagree,” he grins, totally sheepish as he shrugs off the compliment. “Thanks for hangin’ around. Again.”

He feels like he’s said that too many times now, but he’s too full of gratitude to stop. It’s been just him and Maeve for so long. And, yeah, sure, Steve and Robin come around when they can, but they’ve got their own lives outside of this one. It isn’t every day someone appears at his trailer with a bottle of booze and the wherewithal to acclimate to his chaotic life.

Eddie feels like he should never stop thanking you, really.

You shrug. “Thanks for keeping me around. Again.”

“See you soon?” he wonders with a hopeful glint in his dark eyes, made a much lighter amber in the moonlight.

You nod firmly once. “‘Course.”

And even though that’s as good a dismissal as any, you both linger in the doorway still. Like your feet are glued in place.

How are you supposed to walk away from him? The man with wild rockstar curls, rings on each finger, and a beaded bracelet with his daughter’s initial in the very center. The man who loves cartoons more than his toddler and cries with you at sad movies?

You figure you’ll spend forever chasing this foreign feeling he’s so effortlessly given you.

“Daddy!” Maeve shouts. Her high-pitched voice rings through the tiny trailer. It makes you wince a little. You didn’t think something so tiny could be so loud.

“And there’s Mayday…” Eddie lilts quietly, unflinching ‘cause he’s used to this by now.

“I’ll go,” you laugh, walking backward towards your car. “I’ll— I’ll see you around.”

“G’night,” he calls to you as he watches you go.

His chest stings when he realizes he never asked for your number. It feels much too awkward to do it now, and he’s only got a few minutes more before Maeve goes crazy on him. He should’ve asked you ages ago, really. But he didn’t. ‘Cause he’s an idiot.

You notice it, too, but you flash him a sheepish smile over your shoulder anyway. Even if you never hear from him again after you’re gone, you figure there’s always next year.

Maeve will be another year older. Steve will bring you along to her party if you beg. Eddie will be in desperate need of a pick-me-up, and you’ll bring a bottle of booze just to make him smile. The alcohol will go untouched, though, as the two of you get lost in conversation and Stand By Me.

Even if all this was only destined to happen once every year — even if it was only supposed to happen once and never again — you’ll spend the rest of your life grateful that it happened at all.

With a cold hand trembling with longing, you wrench your car door open. Though your heart’s heavy with a distant worry that you may never be back here again, you grin at him through the grief and the small distance between you.

“Good night, Eddie.”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #stranger things x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson imagine #stranger things imagine #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble #eddie and maeve

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carionto · 5 months

Text

C'mon, Really? Look, Just, Let Me Help You!

Humans: We need to have a talk about your secret war plans against us.

Aliens: W-what? No, that's not it, how-

H: Our intelligence operative are very good. Don't pretend these [throws folder on the table that scatters hundreds of pages of classified documents all over] aren't yours.

A: F-Fine! Yes! We made plans about how we should fight you if we ever got into a war. We admit it! What do you want?

H: Huh? No, what I'm trying to say is, why do your plans suck?

A: Err... what?

H: Yeah, compared to our plans and war games, you don't seem to utilize all the advantages you have against us. There's not as much coordination and specialization of forces as we expect in our simulations. What gives?

A: You've lost me.

H: Look, every civilization should run military simulations against EVERY existing party, not just the ones you're natural competitors, or ones you see as antagonistic. Hell, while we were "vanished" our military literally had nothing else to do and spent a solid 200 years making up every kind of scenario against every single potential power we might end up encountering once we "reappeared".

Honestly, there are so many things we are shocked about once we got our hands on your plans, I legitimately don't know where is the best place to begin.

Okay, for starters, why don't any of your plans include making use of our superior technology? It would work, we tested it as well. We built a scale model of one of your capital ships, plopped one of our fusion reactors in and BAM, shields and weapons instantly became on par with our Destroyers, and could even do some serious damage to our Dreadnoughts (for a few seconds before our counterattack vaporizes it, but that's besides the point), so we know your technology is fully capable of handling us.

A: For the millionth time, we are not using unstable power sources that could totally blow us up at any point!

H: It is safe! Those things only have a 0.002 percent chance to fail, and a one in six hundred thousand chance of THAT resulting in an explosion. We've only had twelve incidents the entire time we've been using them.

A: No.

H: Well you ain't winning a war against us with that attitude.

But anyway, one other thing your plans never do is blow up Earth and irradiate the shipyard orbits, what gives?

A: That's an abominable crime against, well, EVERYTHING!

H: Weak. But okay. One other thing though, and this one is just baffling, your deployments and gathering locations are always in the most obvious and convenient places. Those are, no joke, where we would place recon units and prepare ambushes the moment we even got a hint of a whiff of hostility from you. How come you never seem to account for us expecting you to do the obvious and pre-emptively counter that. And inversely, you never expect us to not be in the logical places where we should be.

A: I think my head is spinning from that. What?

H: Reverse psychology? Predictive behavior, or whatever it's called, not a psychologist. If you want to win against your enemy, you have to think like your enemy first.

You look dizzy. I know it's a lot to take in, but we'll guide you through this. Think of it as homework. After we have a more thorough meeting on this subject, we'll wait and let you figure things out back in your secret HQ's. But, if the plans we acquire later still won't account for the things we discussed, we'll be very disappointed.

#humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #humans are deathworlders #carionto #humanity fuck yeah

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dreamwritesimagines · 3 months

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The Eye of the Hurricane [4] - Spark

A.N: Here’s the new chapter my loves! ❤️ I hope you’ll like it, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! ❤️

Summary: A quiet night on the rooftop holds new promises.

Word Count: 3500

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Violence, death, guns, crime, blood, explicit language. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

“I’m not saying my best friend in the entire world betrayed me, but I’m kind of tempted to change her name into Brutus in my contacts.”

“Just because she cancelled on this dinner you mentioned?”

“It’s a tradition at this point,” you said, leaning back on the couch. “Us and the Barnes family get together every two months, we’ve started it way before my mom passed away. I get that it’s the bachelorette party of her friend’s sister, but still!”

Dr. Cooper smiled calmly.

“Are you nervous because Bucky is going to be there?”

Your head shot up and you forced a nonchalant laugh.

“Bucky doesn’t make me nervous,” you said, the words coming out of your mouth in a rush and she raised her brows.

“Doesn’t he?”

“He annoys me,” you pointed out. “There’s a difference.”

“I can see that,” she said. “And why does he annoy you?”

Your eyes snapped up at hers and you shifted your weight on the couch.

“We have history.”

She hummed. “What kind of history?”

You nibbled on your lip, your stomach doing a flip at the memory but you pushed it to the back of your mind, rolling your shoulders back.

“Let’s change the subject.”

She thought for a moment, then put aside her notebook to with a sigh.

“Y/N,” she said. “We’ve been having these therapy sessions for three months now, am I correct?”

“Yes,” you said. “Sarah Wilson recommended you, she’s a good friend of mine.”

“And you were seeing Dr. Phillips before?”

“No offense to Dr. Phillips but I don’t think we were a good match.”

She nodded.

“That can happen,” she said. “But I just need to make sure you understand that if these therapy sessions are going to work, you will have to step out of your comfort zone sometimes.”

“Oh, therapy isn’t in my comfort zone,” you said with a wave of your hand. “You’d think it would be, after years and years of experience but…”

“I’m aware this is not what you want to hear but for us to make progress, you will have to be open with me,” she said. “Instead of changing the subject all the time.”

You smiled. “I don’t think me being completely open with you is in your best interest.”

“Why not?”

“Just a hunch,” you stated, your voice completely flat and she hummed.

“How about this?” she said. “Perhaps you could just try sharing something small with me. I’m not saying you have to share every single thing if you’re not comfortable with it, but…maybe something that happened recently and how you reacted to it?”

For some reason, “Someone tried to shoot me a week ago” didn’t feel like it was a great conversation starter so you leaned back, looking up at the ceiling to come up with something.

“I’ve recently found myself in sort of an… unideal situation,” you ended up saying and she nodded her head.

“That’s a wonderful start,” she said. “Can you elaborate?”

“Someone acted very rude towards me the other night when I was having dinner with a friend from college,” you said. “And I was annoyed at how inconsiderate it was to pull that shit when I was in the middle of something. Like what, you couldn’t wait an hour or so to do this on my way back home?”

“How did you react when it happened?”

“I didn’t get to react much because Bucky placed himself in that situation as well.”

“He was there?”

“Passing by,” you spat, “Anyway, he got involved and the situation was resolved pretty fast.”

“In disagreements like these,” she said. “It’s incredibly important that we make our stance and boundaries clear.”

You pursed your lips. “I don’t disagree.”

“So this inconsiderate person you speak of, would you say they know how you feel about the issue?”

You repressed a smile, then leaned back, crossing your legs.

“I think so,” you said. “I expressed very clearly how I felt about the issue and now, well…I’m very certain that they won’t do it again.”

Normally you didn’t mind these dinners mainly because you and Becca would have a lot of fun once the dinner was over. George and Winnifred had always been nice to you and Winnifred had more than once said you were family, seeing that you and Becca were inseparable even when you were little.

And you were hoping Bucky would be busy the whole night so you wouldn’t have to spend the night delivering snarks back and forth.

Ian sipped his wine while you texted Becca under the table, complaining about how she should have been there for the hundredth time since the morning before you lifted your glances from the phone.

“Becca gives her regards, everyone.”

“Oh thank you sweetheart,” your father said. “Will she not be joining us then?”

“There’s apparently her friend’s bachelorette party?” Winnifred asked, turning to you as if she wanted to be sure and you nodded.

“Her friend’s sister’s bachelorette,” you said helpfully and George smiled slightly.

“And when will we see your bachelorette, sweetheart?”

“George!”

“Not soon I hope,” your father said with a chuckle and you waved a hand in the air.

“Definitely not soon,” you said and Ian played with his fork.

“I don’t know,” he said with a scoff. “You keep dating civilians, one of them will ask you to marry them sooner or later.”

Your head snapped up and a silence fell upon the table. George and Winnifred exchanged glances and your father raised his brows.

“Y/N?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Ian doesn’t know what he’s talking about as always.”

“Oh is that right?”

“Our Y/N is a very beautiful girl,” Winnifred said as if trying to de-escalate the situation. “Civilian or not, I’m not surprised many people are interested.”

You offered her a thankful smile and turned to your father.

“I’m not dating civilians,” you assured him. “Or anyone right now.”

“But you know the rules,” your father said. “Any civilian you decide to date has to go through the background check.”

“With good reason,” George pointed out before taking his fork to his mouth and you hummed.

“Yeah yeah, I remember the whole speech.”

“Bucky and Becca got that speech as well.”

“They apparently needed it,” Winnifred said. “I mean do you remember Bucky’s ex girlfriend? Dot?”

That familiar bitterness of jealousy churned your stomach and you pursed your lips, then reached out for your wine glass.

“Were you here around that time sweetheart?” George asked you. “Or were you still away for college?”

The music was booming through the club as you walked back to the bar from the bathroom with Becca, and you looked around for your date as Becca motioned at the bartender, then turned her head when Steve touched her shoulder.

“Hi there.”

“Hey!” Becca kissed him on the cheek and you smiled at him.

“Hi Steve,” you said, taking your cocktail from the bartender. “Um, did you see my date anywhere?”

Steve shot you an apologetic smile. “I told him not to do it.”

Becca sucked on the straw of the cocktail, raising her brows and you frowned.

“What?”

“Bucky.”

Your jaw clenched and you gritted your teeth, putting your drink down.

“Where is he?”

“I just want to remind you that Sam has just bought this club, so he’d be pretty angry if you shot my brother tonight.” Becca pointed out, leaning sideways to Steve’s arm and Steve nodded his head.

“Wouldn’t look good for the club.”

“Where is he, Steve?”

Steve pointed upstairs. “VIP.”

You whirled around on your heels and stomped your way up the cantilever stairs, anger rushing through you. You made your way past his and Sam’s bodyguards by the door, then slammed the door open to step inside. Bucky was talking to Sam as you walked in while a gorgeous girl resting her head on his shoulder and Sam hissed in a breath.

“Uh oh,” he said. “Told you not to do it.”

“Hi Sam.”

“Hi Y/N.”

The girl lifted her head from Bucky’s shoulder as Bucky sat up straighter, and had the nerve to smile at you.

“Hi Charm.”

“Where is my date, Bucky?”

“I think he said he had something to do,” Bucky said, stealing a look at Sam. “Something urgent, right Sam? That’s what we heard.”

“Oh you’re not dragging me into this.”

“I’m sorry, who is this?” the girl asked and Bucky cleared his throat, then motioned between you and her.

“Y/N, this is Dot; my girlfriend.”

Your eyes snapped up to his, that familiar bitterness climbing up your throat but you managed to keep your expression flat.

“Dot, this is Y/N. She’s uh…she’s Becca’s best friend.”

Sam tilted his head to shoot Bucky a look of disbelief.

“You’ve just intimidated Becca’s best friend’s date into leaving the club?” Dot asked, confusion laced in her tone and Sam cleared his throat.

“They grew up together,” he explained to her. “Bucky tends to get overprotective of Y/N, kind of an old habit there.”

Dot pressed a hand on her chest.

“Aw that’s sweet!” she said. “So she’s like a sister to you, Bucky?”

Sam raised his brows as if trying to keep a straight face, then he shook his head slightly while you glared at Bucky.

“Well—” Bucky started but you cut him off.

“What did you say to him?”

“Nothing,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “Just a warning. Don’t blame me if you keep dating people who are easily intimidated.”

“Who I date is none of your business.”

“You are Becca’s best friend so it makes it my business—also, you call that dancing?” he asked you. “He was feeling you up, he should be glad he walked out of here with his junk still attached to his body.”

You ran a hand over your face, then turned to Dot.

“Listen, I don’t even know you but you seem nice enough,” you said. “You probably deserve better than an asshole who thinks his dick is made of gold. You could do much better.”

With that, you walked out of the room and slammed the door behind you.

“No, they got together after I returned to the city,” you said. “Like a month after my graduation. I was here, she was pretty nice.”

“I didn’t like her,” Winnifred said and you let out a small laugh.

“And when was the last time you liked anyone he or Becca brought home?”

“When was the last time either of them brought someone I could like?” Winnifred asked back and you held up your hands with a grin, gesturing surrender.

“Daddy is the same,” you said. “But don’t worry, just in case things get serious with a partner, me and Becca came up with a great plan years ago.”

“What is it?”

“We’ll get everyone drunk,” you pointed out, coaxing chuckles out of them. “Should make things easier, at least for the first dinner.”

After dinner, you had excused yourself to go up to the swimming pool on the rooftop, so that you could enjoy the night. After their weekend house, this one was the one you liked the most among Barnes residences; it had such a lovely view of the night sky. You sipped your wine and leaned back on the lounge chair, heaving a sigh and keeping your eyes on the stars.

Becca was still partying with her friends so you were just going to enjoy some peace and quiet until it was time to go home. You loved spending time with George and Winnifred, that wasn’t the problem, but this evening you really weren’t in the mood for Ian’s bullshit. You knew very well that he knew about your date with Ethan, and though he hadn’t told your father yet, you were sure it wasn’t from the goodness in his heart.

Not that he or your father had anything to worry about. You had made sure that Ethan got a background check as your father wanted with all the civilians you dated, back at college and right before you decided to meet again two weeks back, you had done the same. It was safe, whether they approved him or not.

The sound of the door opening made you turn your head and as soon as your eyes fell upon Bucky stepping to the roof, you let out a groan.

“I thought you were busy.”

“I was,” he said, approaching you with a glass of whiskey in his hand before he sat down on the lounge chair beside yours and you stole a look at him.

“You missed dinner.”

“Mm hm. Sorry about that.”

“You never miss dinner.”

“Yeah well, wasn’t exactly my choice,” he said, making you turn a little so that you can look at him better.

“Why?”

“Overtime at the office,” he joked and you tilted your head.

“Trouble?”

“Nothing we can’t handle.”

“Does my father know?”

“He does,” he said as your phone vibrated on the small table beside you, making you check the screen.

From: Ethan

My coworkers dragged me to this café and I think you’d like it.

You smiled slightly and typed back your reply.

Well, the only way to be sure is if you invite me there the next time.

It didn’t even take him five seconds to reply back;

Lunch tomorrow?

You typed in a “Yes” and sent it, then turned the phone in your hand while Bucky lit a cigarette.

“Is that the civilian?”

“Ugh, not you too!” you whined with a grimace. “Everyone already gave me the third degree at dinner, you’d think I’m going to elope at any time.”

He shot you a light hearted glare. “They’re just worried about you sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that—and also, you’ve dated one hundred civilians, I don’t see anyone giving you speeches,” you grumbled. “It’s so hypocritical, not to mention medieval.”

Bucky chuckled, then sipped his drink.

“Well…”

“I don’t know why everyone keeps acting like the possibility of me ending up with a civilian would be a disaster.”

“Because it would be.”

“No, you know what the disaster would be?” you asked him. “Me ending up with someone from the business.”

“Oh come on—”

“Pop out a few babies, pretend I don’t know about his mistresses and go to pilates for the rest of my life,” you mused. “Dream life right there.”

“It doesn’t have to be like that and you know that,” Bucky said. “Only an idiot would cheat on you, and in case it has escaped your notice, idiots don’t live long in this line of work.”

You suppressed a smile threatening to warm your face, and instead rolled your eyes at him.

“Not worth the effort,” you said as you downed your wine, then held out your glass in his direction. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards but he still grabbed the wine bottle on the floor to fill your glass.

“Thank you.”

“As the princess wishes,” he said and you heaved a sigh, then leaned back again to look up at the sky.

“What’s going on with the business?” you asked. “Are you and Stark still on bad terms?”

“We’re playing nice,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “Common interests for once.”

“I’ll pop the champagne,” you deadpanned. “He looks pretty busy; he and my father have a meeting next week as well.”

“Will Ian be there?”

You heaved a sigh. “I’d assume so.”

Bucky ran a hand over his face, then turned to you.

“Your father is not serious, is he?” he asked you. “He’s not actually going to name Ian as his successor?”

That familiar bitter taste burned your mouth but you pursed your lips together, then slipped a little on the lounge chair.

“Why are you asking me?” you asked. “Go ask him that.”

“I’m not going to do business with Ian, Charm.” Bucky told you. “If your father retires and names him the successor, that’s it.”

Your jaw dropped as you gawked at him.

“You cannot be serious,” you said. “Just because you don’t like him—”

“It’s not just that,” Bucky said. “Stark and I hate each other’s guts, but I still know he’s not going to break the truce or stab me in the back. Ian, on the other hand…”

“Ian is insufferable,” you said. “Trust me I’d know, I live with the guy. But breaking the truce is a death sentence, and he’s not an idiot.”

“I don’t trust him,” Bucky said. “Neither does Steve, or Sam.”

You massaged your temples with your fingertips. “Don’t put me in a position where I have to speak well of Ian.”

“You couldn't speak well of him if you tried,” he insisted before he took a sip of his whiskey. “Listen, I get why your father made the decision he made after your mother, but that was then. You can’t tell me you’re okay with this.”

You bit inside your cheek, swirling the wine in your glass.

“He promised it to me, Bucky,” you said through your teeth, your gaze fixed on your wine. “All those years ago. I was playing with dolls in the car and and my father pointed outside and told me that part of the city would belong to me when I grew up. So no, of course I’m not okay with the possibility of Ian being the successor.”

“Then take over.”

A small laugh climbed up your throat and you nodded at his whiskey glass. “How many of those have you had?”

“You know me better than that, I’m completely sober,” he said. “Why wouldn’t you take over?”

“Don’t you remember what went down in Massachusetts years ago?” you asked. “That family fight for the crown? They almost brought the whole city down with them, alliances got fucked, so many people died...”

“That was very different, there was no truce there.”

You clicked your tongue. “Still. It would devastate my father if I started a war in the family.”

“Ian is going to burn your father’s empire down,” Bucky told you, his piercing blue eyes locked in yours, making your heart skip a beat. “You think it won’t devastate him to watch that? If you want to be the next leader—”

“Of course I want it,” you cut him off, your whole body tense. “What I want changes nothing here.”

“Charm…”

“My father made sure I stayed out of the business since my mom,” you said. “Which was good strategy on his part, I admit. Ian on the other hand has many friends in the business and they’re completely loyal to him. He would not just hand that position to me, not when he thinks my father will name him as the successor instead of me.”

“He has his men, so what?” he asked you. “Compared to the support you would have if you wanted the crown? You have more allies than Ian.”

You blinked a couple of times, a small glimmer of hope warming your chest before you cleared your throat.

“There’s the code,” you muttered. “It’s family business. No one outside the family can get involved in the decision of who the next leader should be.”

A small smile pulled at his lips and for the thousandth time you couldn’t help but notice how handsome he was, but then you frowned down at your wine glass and put it on the small table, rolling your shoulders back.

Yeah. Enough wine for the night.

“But a powerful ally in the family would make everything much easier, wouldn’t it?” he asked and you scoffed a laugh.

“My hypothetical rise to power?” you asked. “Obviously. But either way, it’d be an uphill battle. What with the city and family and everything…”

“It doesn’t have to be,” he said without pulling his gaze off you and you felt your cheeks burn under his intense stare, but managed to keep your expression completely nonchalant.

“No?”

“Not at all.”

“And how’s that?”

Bucky swallowed thickly and downed his whiskey in one go before straightening his back. If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought he was nervous but of course that was nonsense; Bucky was too arrogant to be nervous.

“Come on,” you taunted him. “Humor me, golden heir.”

“Well,” he said after a pause, turning his empty glass in his hand. “You have a point. You would have to get most of Ian’s supporters within the family, you would have to persuade your father, and considering Ian will not want to hand you the crown, that whole process would not go very peacefully. Me, Steve and Sam already support you, but the rest of the families could take some time and effort to convince. I guess some bloodshed in the city would be inevitable as well, it’d be a huge change, considering your father’s influence and power…”

You hummed. “Or?”

A smile curled his lips upwards and he took a deep breath.

“Or,” he said. “You could marry me.”

Chapter 5

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky barnes #mob!bucky #mob!bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky x reader #mob boss!bucky #mob bucky x reader #mob boss bucky barnes #bucky x reader #mafia bucky x reader #mafia!bucky barnes #mafia!bucky #mob au #mob! bucky #mob bucky #mob bucky barnes x reader #mob!au

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onyourowndaisymae · 7 months

Text

mammon headcanons -- happy birthday 2023!

i wanted to post some headcanons for the birthday boy and thought it would be fun to explore what his actual day looks like. here are some of my thoughts (minor suggestiveness below):

for starters, mammon is maximizing every single minute of his birthday. from midnight to midnight, all 1440 minutes belong to him, and he can do with them whatever he pleases.

to maximize his privileges on his big day, he'll usually try to coax you into sleeping in his bed the night before. that way, you'll be there when the clock strikes midnight on his birthday and when he wakes up that morning. no matter how eager he is to get his special day started, he'll always take a moment to admire you while you're sleeping by his side-- your quiet breaths, your pleasant expression, maybe even your bedhead if you don't protect your hair at night. now this is a sight he'd be happy to wake up to every morning.

on that note, his getting ready process takes longer than usual. he'll linger about chatting with you about the day's plans, musing about all the surprises you and his brothers had prepared for him.

(ideally, most of his day would revolve around alone time with you-- but he knows his brothers are all too stingy to let him celebrate without him.)

no matter what the plans are, you're right there by his side. devil's coast? you're next to him on the rides. massive party? he's holding your hand as you weave through crowds together. casinos? well, he'd prefer you on his lap, but sitting nearby where your thighs brush together every time he shifts is an acceptable alternative if that's too much for you.

it may be his day, but he's constantly trying to win/buy you things. you'd think the avatar of greed would want to hoard gifts to himself, but no. he's into sharing the wealth today. after your third matching trinket, you begin to realize just how happy being connected with you like that makes him. jewelry, keychains, stuffed animals-- none of it matters as much as the simple fact that you're matching with him (and none of his brothers).

(he's also not above slipping things into your pockets when you're not paying attention. a sweet gesture, or an excuse to touch your hips/ass? he'll never admit to the latter.)

when the festivities begin to wind down at night, that's when mammon gets even clingier. he'll wait until a proper time to snag you away-- "c'mon, come help me get more to drink, human"-- and lure you somewhere more private. you're dutifully making yourself another drink when his arms wind around your waist from behind. he waits for you to face him before pressing his lips to yours. his kiss is hot and needy, warm breath intertwining with yours as he pulls you closer, crowding you around the edge of the counter as he gets as close as possible. your hands wander to his hair, his jaw, the sides of his face-- you can feel the flush of his skin against your palms.

eventually, one of his brothers stumbles upon you and you have to separate. by the time people start retiring at the end of the night, he's not-so-subtly urging you to join him in his room again tonight. sure, it may be past midnight and technically not his birthday anymore... but you'll still pamper him, won't you? today of all days, he's allowed to be greedy with you-- with all of you.

#happy birthday mammon ;)#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me nightbringer #obey me nb #obey me mammon #obey me x reader #otome

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fiendishfables · 2 months

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hello!! i saw ur blog and i was super excited to see another aroaceee is it alright if you do platonic adam x reader headcanons? he can be reader's friend, sibling, or preferably reader's father figure as long as its platonic, anything u'd like is fine! sorry if my request is kinda weird lol, i just haven't seen a lot of platonic hazbin hotel stuff (especially stuff with adam in it)

a/n: Always good to meet other aroace individuals, indeed. I personally love Adam, he is absolutely my favorite character. I’ve been dying to write for him more and thinking of him as a dad is just my favorite scenario-

warnings: cursing, Adam being Adam, brief mentions of sex, subtle hints at Lute x Adam (if you squint)

words: 944

additional notes: this was one of my first asks I ever got; I AM SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT. Enjoy~!

Adam as a Father Figure

Headcanons

First of all, he never expected to actually have a kid of his own, but now here he was

By the time you turned 6, you knew about every single curse word in existence, along with a (disturbingly) decent amount of female anatomy

Lute gets promoted to babysitter

When Adam is off performing with his band or needed in the council/other Heavenly resides, Lute is responsible for keeping track of his child

Even if she lost you (which she has, multiple times) he won't be that worried

You were a kid and as far as Adam knew, kids needed food

Hence how he knew you would find your way back to him eventually

Okay scratch that, maybe he does get a little worried...a lot

Starts to doubt his ability as a parent

Once he even got Sera to send out a search party for you because you had been gone longer than usual

It worried him sick whenever you went exploring, but he was almost a bit prideful that his offspring had managed to inherit his sneaking around capabilities already at such a young age

Lute has had to console her boss many times in response to your random disappearances under her watchfulness

He has legit been facedown on the couch with his head in her lap whilst he bawls his eyes out, blabbering to her about his worries pertaining to you, and then somehow that stems to his hopes and dreams in life (he doesn't wanna talk about it)

Only for you to walk in with food from some random location about 10 minutes later

You'd be on the floor as soon as you enter the domicile because Adam would have jumped on you and then proceeded to hug the very life out of you (all while stealing your bag of food in the process and running off with it)

Calls you a bitch, dumbass, and 'a little shit' for worrying him

Though he would never openly admit he had been worried

He doesn't care if you have a social life, he wants you home safe before 9pm, sharp

── ･｡☆*☽*☆ﾟ.──

Teaches you how to play guitar

He claims its because he wants to pass on one of his awesome talents to his only child, but he also really wants you to join him and his band on stage one day or another

You are in the starter stages of learning and are able to accurately get chords down and learn to read sheet music

A tear just may have come to his eye

The first song you two ever perform together is "Hell is Forever"

He did see someone try to give you a rose after your performance and nearly knocked them out

Trust him, he's a sex and relationship positive guy (for the most part) but he also can't help but feel like he wants to protect you at all costs

If you dare to call him over-protective, he will very gladly give you the silent treatment for a good 5 minutes

After that time mark, he will be groveling at your feet and whining about how sorry he is (rare that he actually says 'sorry')

His biggest fear is his own child having it out for him and not wanting anything to do with him

A clingy parent, no doubt

Wants to train you in the ways of becoming an Exorcist Angel

Poor guy is a bit insecure about everything and needs extra reassurance, though he would never ever outwardly ask for it

That's a sign of weakness in his eyes

Not for his child though

You come to him with even the smallest hint of watery eyes and he is already going full dad-mode

Determined to find the fucker who made you upset

Promises to give em' a good ol' kick in the balls (or vag)

Adam won't discriminate, he's just there to beat the ass of whoever hurt his precious baby

He will get in a fist fight with Sera in order to make you happy

Just expect to be the one he then blames when he gets demoted

── ･｡☆*☽*☆ﾟ.──

Adam totally took lots of naps before he had a child, so this just makes for the two of you ending up crashing on the couch together and creating a melodic tune out of your in-sync snoring patterns

Anything the two of you can do together without constantly arguing is a miracle, so this is to be cherished

He has definitely given you some very creative nicknames (as he calls himself 'Dickmaster')

Lute has taken many pictures

She wants to make a photo album and give it to Adam one day just to piss him off

But as she knows how much he really cares for you, she does not want to risk him growing apart from you due to something stupid she did for a few momentary laughs

Let's you two have your moments without interrupting

The two of you always fight over food and who gets to pick where you go for the evening, if going anywhere at all

Lute claims that you are making Adam all the more emotional, but no one seems to be complaining

Especially not the High Council

Its nice to have him shut his mouth for once and remotely think about his actions and who they could potentially effect

Adam has something to lose now, and everyone in both Heaven and Hell alike knew it

No demon spawn would ever get to set even a foot near you

You were the first life he felt truly responsible for

He refuses to fuck it up and lose someone else he cares about

He would protect you until the ends of time, whether you liked it or not

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visforvengeance · 14 days

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Downright Iconic

Requested by: No One :)

Notes: helllllo! ok so i lovelovelove rafe and i've been seeing you guys do like a southern gothic type thing so I wanted to try as a southern (Georgia and texas) woman myself. so let me just say I am an atheist that grew up with a highly Christian family. I became an atheist when I was like 14 so idk too many bible verses and I'm sorry if anything is in accurate. I'm just sacrilegious af, like this story oh man. ok this is very much xblack reader based so idk read it or don't. this is heavily HEAVILY ethel cain coded, specifically gibson girl and western nights. i hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it!

Pairing: rafe cameron x black!southern reader

Warnings: oh man there's so many warnings omg ok. dacryphilia. hinted somnophilia, sexual religious themes, unprotected sex, graphic graphic graphic, degradation (slut, whore, etc), actual slut shaming, I was high while writing most of this and it went berserk. um it's 4k words of porn without plot. i didn't proofread. I don't remember all of the warnings so please read at your own risk!

You sat in the front row of your church, along with your family and others who were important to society. There was your family, the Pastor’s family, the Camerons (Ward Cameron is the mayor of your quaint little town). The Thorntons and the Carreras. Your father’s voice boomed throughout the small church as he recited Proverbs 3:5-6. Kiara’s father had asked him to speak on keeping up your faith after he learned of his daughter’s betrayal.

She was caught dillydallying with that little blonde boy from the more southern parts of town. Her reputation took quite a hit when everyone found out. It nearly cost her family their business, if it weren’t for the closeness they shared with the Camerons, they’d have faced total ruin.

You shifted in your seat uncomfortably as you looked over at your friend. She kept her head down and her hands in her lap while the grip her father held on her wrist visibly tightened. You wanted to go and comfort her, but you knew your mother would disapprove. When she found out about the news, she banned you from ever even looking at Kiara again. Which was hard because she was your greatest friend. Despite your mother’s wishes, you still hung around her. You were her rock whenever she needed a shoulder to cry on, you defended her from those who called her foul names and turned on her.

Your eyes trailed over to the Cameron family. They all sat in their crisp and brightly colored Sunday’s best. Your eyes looked over the eldest child in the family, Rafe. He was a wild child, a true force to be reckoned with. Star athlete at your university, the town’s sweetheart. The boy your mama would be proud to call her son-in-law. The golden child. There was no better American teen than Rafe Cameron. Until the sun goes down and he’s the devil that lurks in the streets.

Rafe was a notorious party animal. He’s single-handedly why your town has a curfew in the first place. Despite his daddy being the mayor and constantly under public scrutiny, everyone under the age of 27 knew what Rafe Cameron got into. The parties, the drugs and alcohol, premarital sex, he did all of it.

The two eldest Cameron children were very sneaky. Sarah, who was more like her brother than she’d like to admit, was just as wild. For starters, she was dating one of those pogues. There’s nothing worse than dating a pogue around these parts. She claimed that they were in love and planned on leaving when they got the chance. You’d just nod and pet her hair, bless her heart. You weren’t a fan of slutshaming but if you looked up the very definition of a slut, there’d be a picture of Sarah sitting prettily. You didn’t know how the purity necklace Ward had gotten her hadn’t broken and melted to the ground from her sinful ways. But, you loved her nonetheless.

Since you were 13 and could no longer control the urges that came with being a growing girl, there had always been something about Rafe. You had a crush on the older boy for years. You didn’t partake in things like masturbation, but on days where you nearly gave in, thoughts of Rafe ran across your mind. His toned body hovered above yours while his breath fanned over your features. He was between your legs, grinding against you so slowly that you felt everything he had to offer.

Mama and daddy hadn’t taught you about sex yet. They always said that it was something you’d learn about when the time came. So, you didn’t know how vaginas and penises worked and how babies were made or why sometimes when you were alone, if you thought for too long then your breathing would become heavier and there’s this feeling in your stomach. And, you can’t keep your legs from rubbing together and you’re so hot, god (you’ll repent later), you could die. This unknown feeling gets so intense, but you’re so scared. So, you stop. You say your prayers and go to bed. You don’t tell anyone about these moments of little death.

Rafe was always indifferent towards you until you turned 16 and your body developed more. And, you were no longer just his annoying little sister’s best friend. Fuck, you were so much more. Your tits practically burst out of your sports bra when he sees you practicing for cheerleading. 17 and your ass was looking too good in your jeans. 18 and the sway of your hips had him on his knees.

He fucked countless girls dreaming that they were you instead. He just knows your virgin pussy would have him going crazy. He knew about your crush on him from one of the times you were talking to Kie while Sarah was out. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t wish you were in his arms too. But, something in him was holding him back. He never knew what and didn’t bother to try and figure it out. He wasn’t going to for a good long while.

When you looked over at Rafe to discover he was already looking at you, your eyes widened and you immediately looked back at your father. Rafe felt his smirk grow. He spent his days in church daydreaming about bending you over and fucking you right in front of everyone and Jesus Christ himself. He laughed when he thought about the times he didn’t burst into flames.

He tuned out the preaching as he imagined what your tits would like while he drenched your top in the holy water before him. He imagined it was you saying those prayers while you’re stupid crying on his cock, a girl like you should be praying to the correct god. Rafe wanted you so badly. He decided that he was done wasting time. He’d marry you and make you his pretty little housewife if he had to. He had to stop before the very thought of you being pregnant and swollen with his baby made him cum in his pants.

After church, your father allowed you to hang out with Sarah at Tannyhill. The two of you lounged around by the pool while Rafe and his friends did the same on the opposite side. While you lay around, floating in the pool, you watched as Rafe watched you in the pool. The sunglasses helped tremendously at hiding your line of vision and allowed you to watch him without shame. His eyes trailed all over your body like he was in a trance and couldn’t choose where to look first.

You sat yourself up on your elbows, tilting your sunglasses down to look at him. When he realized that you were looking at him, he gave you a small smile and a wink. He watched your doe eyes stare back up at him, your bottom lip being pulled in between your teeth while your eyes trailed down his torso. The heat combined with the brightness of the sun cast a light sheen on Rafe’s body. It was making you clench so deliciously around nothing and had you panting like a bitch in heat.

Rafe chuckled as he inspected your behavior around him, but Sarah’s voice hid it well enough to go unnoticed. “Rafe, let’s have a party,” Sarah suggested. Rafe hardly ever said no to a party. Their parents left a lot so they had parties pretty often. But, you never attended them. Parties weren’t exactly your thing. You’d very much rather stay at home and watch a movie. Or the most adventurous you’d get is trespassing on public park grounds after hours.

“I’m down. You spread the word and I’ll get the goods.” Sarah nodded as she began to gather her things, you began to make your way out of the water. Rafe eyed your backside while water cascaded down the smooth brown skin. He stood mesmerized with his tongue in his cheek as your ass jiggled behind you. His eyes never left your body while you walked inside the house. He couldn’t wait until he got his hands on you.

After you and Sarah had settled inside, the two of you chilled inside her room for a bit. “You should come to the party.” Her and Kie always tried to get you to attend one but you always declined their advances. But, Sarah was being very persistent. “Why do you want me to come to your stupid party so bad? I’d feel so out of place. I don’t even have anything to wear.” You tried every excuse you had but Sarah wasn’t budging. “Look. We’re grown-ups now and you can’t just live your life like some virgin loser. You ain’t even had your first kiss yet, darling,” she says as she grabs your face so you’re looking at her.

She was right. You’ve never been more intimate than holding hands. Your parents put the fear of god in you and it’s buried so far down inside of you, that the only way to purify yourself of it is to die. It’s not like boys hadn’t tried, but you’d push them away faster than they could say ‘hallelujah’. You didn’t know what had gotten into you. These kinds of things never worried you before but this crippling fear of missing out has invaded your brain.

You stared up at the pale, peachy-colored ceiling and took a deep breath. “Fine, I’ll go,” you mumbled. Sarah began jumping around in excitement, “I still don’t have anything to wear, though. My clothes aren’t very party-like.” You frowned as you thought about your clothing options. They didn’t hug your body or show what you were working with. “Fuck it, we’re going shopping,” Sarah declares as she drags you out of bed.

She convinced you to get this spicy little number that showed off the parts of your body you adored the most. The two of you rushed back to her house so you could get ready. Rafe had already started setting everything up. You were beyond nervous as you’d never done something like this before, definitely never wore anything like this either. Sarah helped you do your makeup, an hour she spent straddling your waist as she focused. You looked like a different person, you didn't even recognize yourself. It was strange. And, your parents would have a stroke if they saw you now.

The house was filled before you knew it. Various stood all over with cups in their hands or they’re making out against the wall, to be honest, you were scared. You’d never seen so much vulgarity. You couldn’t believe you let Sarah talk you into this. Never again would you let it happen. She had the audacity to leave you alone and suck faces with John B. and you were pissed. You stood near the island of the kitchen with a solo cup in your hand. You were drinking the alcohol and it left you with an unrecognizable feeling. But it was a good one. The music calmed you, as did the LED lighting surrounding the place. You welcomed its embrace easier than you thought you would.

You watched over the crowd, continuously drinking as you sat on the counter. It’s been an hour and Sarah still hasn't returned. You feared you looked like a drunken loser. And, you did. Meanwhile, Rafe stood on the other side of the house, directly across from you. His height and your sitting on the counter allowed him to watch you as the hour passed. He battled with whether he should approach you or not. The alcohol in his system lowered his inhibitions and lessened his worries.

He pushed past the intoxicated groups of bodies and reached you. He stood in between your legs while his hands rested on either side of your thighs. Just like in your dream, you could feel the warmth of his breaths against your skin, you basked in it. He invaded your senses. His scent made you woozier along with the alcohol you consumed, he smelled of hints of beer and Bleu de Chanel. His body heat radiated off of him and onto you, engulfing you like a glove. His blue eyes were all that you could see as his half-lidded eyes looked down at you. If you were sober then you’d be questioning how he was able to tempt you like this. You’d do whatever he wanted of you if he asked. And, he liked it that way.

“Hey, baby.” Baby? Did he know who he was talking to? “Hi, Rafe.” He fucking loved the way you said his name, he could feel his cock starting to stir in his pants. “My sister ditch you for that little bitch, John B. huh?” He was sweaty and breathing so heavily. It made you wonder what had him like this. But, you nodded and continued to look into his eyes. “You want me to take you upstairs to keep you company?” His fingers were caressing your thigh at this point. His touch burned you but you liked it. That didn’t sound like such a bad idea. “Yeah,” you whispered to him. He helped you off of the counter and held your hand, pulling you upstairs to his bedroom. He absolutely had no intentions of talking, unless it was to talk you right out of this little dress you were wearing that made his dick jump in his shorts.

Once you were in the quietness of his bedroom, he locked the door behind him. He sat closely next to you on his bed. He eyed your body, focusing on the plushness of your tits that spilled out of your dress. And, your thighs that looked so soft, it made him want to mark them up. Fuck, he had to have you. It made you nervous being under his gaze for this long and this closely. He usually never paid you any attention and now, suddenly, it was all on you. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he started. He stared at you intently, practically moving you on top of him. You were hot all over. “Thank you,” you sounded more confused than pleased but Rafe could sense your nervousness and it was turning him on more than he thought was possible.

His fingers played with your inner thighs, softly drawing circles on them. “You know it’s funny. Sarah would be so pissed if she saw us right now.” You were breathless. And drunk. And so fucking close to him. And, there’s a little voice in the back of your head that’s begging you to get ahold of yourself and go home! But, you had to see this out. Maybe, you’d been praying and pleading with God to allow something like this to happen. Maybe, you’d let Rafe do whatever he wanted to you tonight. Maybe, you were willing to be Eve and let Rafe be the serpent that tempts you.

“Why?” He chuckled and shook his head. You were just a dumb little girl after all. He couldn’t wait until you were his. He’d teach you. And, mold you into his perfect woman. His pretty, pliant princess. “Because she wouldn’t want her brother and her best friend fucking each other. Not if it’s me and not if it’s you.” Everyone and their mother knew you were too good for anyone, especially Rafe. He may have been everyone’s favorite boy but they knew he had a temper on him.

“You wanna fuck me?” Were you in heaven? Like actually? You knew what ‘fucking’ meant but not exactly how to do it. But, that didn’t mean it wasn’t making you incredibly wet to know that it was what he wanted to do with you. You looked at him with wide eyes. He nodded before pressing his lips to your neck, kissing and sucking at your pulse point. “I can’t stop thinking about how that pussy would feel wrapped around my cock, mama.” His fingers were now grazing the poor excuse for underwear that you were wearing. Sarah made you buy some thongs because something about panty lines not being attractive or whatever.

You opened your legs wider for him, which made him groan into your neck. He pulled your panties to the side and was immediately met with your wetness. He softly rubbed your clit, your slick making it easy for his fingers to glide across it, quickly bringing you to orgasm. It happened too quickly for you to provide a proper warning but Rafe wasn’t complaining as he watched you come undone in his lap. Your thighs still shook around his wrist while you came down from your high.

“That was so hot, baby.” He pecked your lips once, then twice. “I’ve never done that before,” you mumbled. You were beyond embarrassed to admit that. But, Rafe managed to calm you down by stroking your arm. “Not even on your own?” You shook your head. You heard Sarah and Kie talk about cumming and how it felt but you could only imagine. You almost did try pleasuring yourself once, but you were already so scared. Your parents were supposed to be out and all was good until you heard your mom calling for you and you never tried again.

Rafe was having such a hard time trying not to rip your clothes off and fuck you beyond repair. So pretty and so untouched. He didn’t care if it was obsessive or predatory, you were going to be his. He was going to make sure of it. “Do you wanna do it again, babe?” After you gave him a yes, he wasted no time in getting both of your clothes off. Rafe couldn’t believe you were letting him do this. He didn’t believe in God and all of that shit but he was silently thanking whoever there was for this moment that he could only dream of. He thought with you being the pastor’s daughter, that you’d at least make him wait. But, you were just as wanting as he was. Or, you were proper drunk. But, that’s not what matters.

Rafe paused before reattaching himself to your body, his eyes looked over it. Admiring it. Was he in love with you? He could picture his life with you. You’d give him a handsome son and a beautiful daughter. And, even after you’ve aged and had kids, you’d still be his beautiful, loyal fucking housewife. Oh, shit. He had to be in love with you. He hadn’t even stuck his dick in you yet and he’s daydreaming about giving you his kids, what the fuck. He’d never felt this fucking giddy about a girl until you. You made him feel like a little schoolgirl with a crush or some shit. It was unnerving. But, right now he was going to make you see God on his cock, and feelings will come later.

He leaned over, scattering kisses around your body. “You’re so beautiful, baby. The most beautiful I’ve ever seen.” And he meant it this time. As his lips enclosed themselves around your nipple, teeth grazing them, he moaned. “So fucking beautiful, princess.” He was moaning like a slut above you and you were still a virgin in his bed. He was screwed. However, he didn’t see the effect all of this had on you. Your hips were twitching uncontrollably because of the proximity and of him and his words and his actions. You were begging for something, you didn’t know what. But, you were so fucking desperate for Rafe, you couldn’t bear it. You felt tears sliding down the sides of your face, Rafe noticed in his daze which made him stutter a bit. Were you crying?

“Are you…fucking crying? Baby?” His hands caressed your cheeks but his tone was mocking you. And, you liked it. You nodded shyly. He scoffed and smirked, kissing your head. “Why are you crying, hm?” You were too afraid to say that it was because you were inexperienced. And, your inability to do what you wanted was making you frustrated. Rafe looked at you expectantly, even nudging your cheek a bit. You sighed, “I can’t say what I want you to do to me because I can’t articulate it well enough. Rafe, I don’t know what any of this is or how I’m feeling and I need you to-” You stopped yourself. You couldn’t say it. Your one piece of dignity wouldn’t allow you to. “You need me to teach you, baby? You want Daddy to show you how to make yourself feel good when he can’t help you?” It felt like the fucking wind had been knocked out of you as he spoke.

“W-what?” Your eyes were wide. No one had ever spoken to you this way. And, you think you’d be quite disgusted if it were anyone else. But, Rafe was making you leave a puddle on his damn sheets. He situated himself between your legs so that his cock lay flat against your clit. He pushed his hips into you, which caused you to shiver. “I said, do you need me to show you what it feels like to lose your mind?” His hips never stopped moving. And, you never stopped moaning. What the hell was happening? You didn’t know, but you didn’t want it to stop. You were begging God to not let it stop, you didn’t care about any of it at this moment. Not what your family would think if they knew what a little whore you were being for this white boy. And, you didn’t care if you were going to hell, because as long as you had Rafe with you, no place would be as bad. As Rafe humped you into a senseless, babbling mess, your last comprehensive thought was that you now belonged to Rafe Cameron. He was yours as you were his and nothing would be able to change that. You didn’t know what voodoo magic Rafe had coursing through him but you knew you’d never be separated, till death do you part.

His hips stopped when he realized he hadn’t gotten a response. “I can’t hear you, pretty girl. You listening?” You whined at the loss of friction but answered. “Yes, baby. I need you to teach me. Please just fuckin teach me, Rafe.” You didn’t know that you just signed your deal with the devil. When Rafe said teach you, he really meant teach you.

~Now, dearest reader, I beg you let your imagination run wild with that last one.~

That was enough of a confirmation for Rafe as his hips resumed their movement. You were feeling the same things as you did when you were alone but more intense. Your tummy twisted with pleasure as your legs clasped tightly around Rafe's slutty, little waist. Your nails raked across his back harshly, but he didn’t mind. Your legs began to shake and you were panting now. You couldn’t describe this feeling, but you trusted Rafe. If he felt nothing was wrong then you allowed yourself to truly embrace it. He looked down at you, kissing you all over your face. “Come on, baby, you can do it. Give me what I want, can you do that? You gonna make a mess of me?”

You were blinded by white, hot pleasure. Rafe watched as your eyes rolled to the back of your head, he could feel the wet spawning of your pussy against him. You were fucking majestic. He wanted to watch you cum over and over again, that was his goal tonight. You felt yourself grow tired as you came down from your high. Rafe planted kisses all over your face again, “you did so good, baby.” You hummed in acknowledgment, beginning to fall asleep. But, Rafe tapped your cheek rather harshly. “What are ya doing, huh? You thought we were done?” You whined. Your half-lidded eyes stared up at Rafe. “But, Rafey, I’m so tired.” He manhandled you onto your back again, hiking your leg around his waist as he began to line himself up with your entrance.

“That’s not my problem, baby. I didn’t get to cum and you did twice. That’s not fair, princess. Don’t you want Daddy to feel good too?” You nodded, sleepily. “Good girl. Just let me fuck you, and then you can go to sleep, alright?” He didn’t wait for an answer as he pushed himself into you, bottoming out. He didn’t bother checking up on you as he was fucking for his pleasure now. He moaned at the feeling of your tight cunt squeezing his cock, already trying to milk him for everything he’s got.

“Fuck, you feel so good, baby.” He hadn’t felt anyone as tight as you since he first fucked a girl. He began thrusting inside of you, causing the both of you to moan. You were half asleep while he pounded your shit. The room was filled with the sounds of skin slapping, and wet pussy, and heavy groans and soft moans. It was purely pornographic. If only God could see you now. If only your father and mother could see you now.

The brutal fucking Rafe was giving you was fast and hard, but he was hitting that sweet spot so deliciously. You were clenching uncontrollably around him as you began squirting around him. When Rafe realized, he cursed under his breath. His hips stuttered as he watched the sight below him. When Rafe saw the tears streaming down your face again, it had him spilling inside of you. Mixtures of curses and groans left him as he came.

His head was in the crop of your neck while you played with his hair. You began to fall asleep again, feeling content just like this. Despite the mess you were laying in. But, Rafe began to move his hips again. Slowly this time. “Rafe, you said-“ “sh shh, baby, just go to sleep. Don’t worry about this.”

#x black reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #dark rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut

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harmonictechnicality · 1 year

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*wrote this for @vecnuthy's birthday, so here you go babe! i baked you a word cake 🥰🎂* *ao3 link here*

Nobody gets cool shit on their birthday after the age of sixteen - Steve stands by this statement firmly. That year, he got his permit. And by yuppie parent default-mode, he also received his first car.

He almost, almost had a quarter-life crisis on his twenty-fifth birthday. Steve was seconds away from buying a motorcycle. Robin was very dramatic about this decision, kept threatening to order his gravestone if he followed through on an impulse purchase.

This, however, would’ve nullified his Adults Get Lame Birthday Gifts theory entirely. So Steve apologized to the salesperson, and tucked his credit card back into his wallet. Robin canceled the order on his gravestone as well, thank god.

Gifts have continued to be lackluster every year since then. And his 30th birthday is no exception to this rule.

A gift card from his parents. A pair of athletic socks from Dustin. And a t-shirt from Robin. Essentially, the starter pack of Welcome to Adulthood.

Except for one minor detail:

The shirt from Robin is exceptionally soft. Bamboo fibers or something, he wasn’t really listening to her description. Even the color is soft. Muted red, almost pink. Everything about it is soft. Airy.

Touchable.

Okay - that’s not an observation Steve makes upon receiving it. But it’s one that Eddie Munson will never let him forget.

The first time it happens is a week after Steve’s birthday. The two of them hit up a bar on the outskirts of town. A place Eddie frequents a lot, occasionally dragging Steve along as his Token 9 to 5 Friend.

“Welcome to the Dirty Thirty Club, man!” Eddie crows, already diving into Steve’s atmosphere for a hug.

“Thanks! Good to see you, Munson.” Steve chokes out, returning the massive hug with a single pat on Eddie's back.

The guy always gives the most suffocating hugs, fucking cages Steve into his arms and steals the breath of out his lungs with one squeeze. Steve has to inhale through his nose, smells the soapy steam rolling off Eddie’s skin.

Shower. Eddie just showered before meeting him here. It’s so fucking clear by the way he feels damp, smells clean.

Steve hates that he notices that. Wishes he didn’t care about Eddie’s hygiene schedule. But the scent of shower gel is addictive, breathing it in fast. Big gulps of fresh air. Lungs extending like they can capture Eddie's atmosphere and keep it there.

Okay, seriously. Steve thought his Eddie Munson Crush had been buried with the rest of his trauma back in 1993.

“Dude. This shirt is so soft, holy shit.” Eddie is rubbing his hand all over the back of Steve’s shirt, fingertips pushing into the fabric.

“Uh yeah. Sure is.”

Eddie must’ve blazed up back at his place, it’s the only reasonable explanation as to why they’re hugging for this long. Gotta be some strong shit too - strong enough to make him sound completely blissed out over a damn shirt.

He’s is humming now, both hands petting Steve’s shoulders, one on each side. Pinching the material, twisting it till it curls around his index finger.

“Gotta get me one of these bad boys.” Eddie chuckles, turns it into a playful growling sound. “Could touch this all day.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Steve does an awkward wiggle out of the embrace. He looks down at his shoes, cheeks growing warmer as he continues to take Eddie’s words entirely out of context.

Look, the sensible part of his brain knows that Eddie is talking about the shirt. That’s it. But the insufferably needy and more prominent part of his brain wants Eddie to be talking about himself in general.

That he could touch Steve all day long - shirt or no shirt.

Right. Steve needs a splash of water on his face. Could use a splash of water on his goddamn imagination too. Dilute the delusion for christ’s sake.

It happens again about four months later. Lucas invites the whole crew over to throw a surprise party for Max’s promotion at work.

Of course, Eddie is running late - he didn’t fail senior year twice solely from his shitty GPA. But showing up late to a surprise party? That’s a new level of risky. Not everything has to be a thrill-worthy adventure. Ugh.

“Max should be getting off work right about now.” Lucas explains, peering around the living room. “So everyone should head to your designated hiding spots.”

Nobody budges, just carrying on with their conversation.

“Alright, asshats - you heard Sinclair!” Steve snaps at each of them, glares for good measure. “Find a hiding spot or get the fuck out.” He gives a quick nod to Lucas, who still looks severely stressed, eyes ready to bust out of his skull any minute.

The coach-esque threat does the job. Everyone, ducks into place, voices descending into whispers. Whispers descending into shushes as the minutes draw closer to Max’s arrival. Steve is folded up behind the couch, arms wrapped around his knees.

There’s a small creak coming from the front door. A few people yell 'surprise.' Steve peaks to the side to see Lucas shaking his head at them.

“No, nobody move.” He instructs, voice caught between a yell and whisper. “I was just letting Eddie inside.”

Instinct takes over. Steve twists around the corner of the couch, needing to see for himself that Eddie is here. That he really came.

Clearly, he didn’t move fast enough. Although he could’ve sworn he moved so embarrassingly fast that the vertebras in his back sound like a bowl of Rice Krispies (post-milk).

But no one is there. No Eddie. No Lucas. No one.

“What the-” Something grabs the back of Steve’s shirt, pulling at his collar. A few people start aggressively shushing him.

“Chill out, Stevie.” Eddie is right there, meeting Steve’s face with a lopsided smirk. He’s close, way too close. Still holding the collar of Steve’s shirt with one hand, stretching it out. Keeping them close.

“Just trying to check the tag,” He releases Steve just an inch or so. His voice is so hushed, the quietest Steve has ever fucking heard it. “Wanted to see where I might be able to purchase such a godly article of clothing.”

“Ever heard of a thing called boundaries?” Steve hisses, swatting a strand of Eddie’s hair out of his face.

“Doesn’t ring a bell, sorry.”

They haven’t talked much since that night, barely any interaction for four months. But watching Eddie lean in, angling his head lower to study the tag on Steve’s shirt, hot breath on his neck…

It resets the clock. Flips the hourglass on Steve’s feelings for him.

He’s infatuated all over again, and all it took was Eddie invading his personal space. Just like he always does.

“You’ll have to ask Robin.” Steve whispers. Tries not to flinch when Eddie smooths Steve’s shirt collar back into place. “She’s the one that bought it for me.”

“Damn. Buckley has good taste.”

“Sure does.”

No distance is created. Neither of them move away. Eddie’s eyes continue to sketch over every stitch in Steve’s shirt, every hemline. He seems hyper fixated on it, too fixated to notice Steve’s pink-ish cheeks, thank god.

If it weren’t for the shirt, Steve would assume Eddie is checking him out, looking him up and down with a heavy gaze. Dark pupils, casted darker by the dim lighting.

“Can I?” Eddie raises a hand out to Steve’s shoulder. He pauses, lifts an eyebrow at the end of his question.

Steve’s jaw is too tight to answer or counter back with a joke about how Eddie never asks permission before popping personal bubbles. All he can do is nod a little too eagerly.

Eddie reaches into Steve’s sleeve, rubs the material from the inside. A small grin forms on his face. He looks so pleased, purely amused. That’s enough to untangle Steve’s muscles, relaxing under Eddie’s light touch.

But that’s the other thing. He’s barely touching Steve. Every now and then, his knuckles roll over Steve’s skin. Really, that’s it, that’s all he’s doing. And god, Steve craves more.

Eventually, Eddie switches it up, pinching the material between the pads of his fingers. He scoots closer to Steve’s side to do so.

Time feels paused. Time feels rapid. It’s going nowhere and already slipping through his grasp. All Steve can think about is placing his hand underneath Eddie’s chin, bringing his lips up to his own. Kissing him till the clock stops ticking. Till the sand stops running.

“Softest shirt ever.” Eddie gives the material a slight tug. Smiles wider.

Steve gulps. “If you say so.”

“I mean, seriously - it must be made from the glow off an angel’s halo or something, cause damn.”

“You’re a trip, Munson.”

Steve has to keep telling himself that Eddie is obsessed with touching his clothes - he’s not thinking about taking them off of Steve. No matter how much he wants that to be the reality of the situation.

It’s not.

They stay like this till the doorknob clicks, turns. Steve almost forgot that he was at a party, surrounded by other people.

Immediately, all of his senses flip back into Extrovert Autopilot. Everyone jumps out, yells a combination of surprise and congratulations (because they failed to coordinate that apparently).

He stays in this zone for the rest of the party. Talkative and breezy. Charming the pants off Max’s coworkers with silly little anecdotes about her as a kid.

Steve is damn good at hosting. It’s probably in his white-collar bloodline or some shit. Still, anytime Eddie walks by, he glitches up. Temporarily out of sync.

He doesn’t get a chance to say goodbye. Eddie ducks out early, waving broadly before slipping through the front door.

Time does that weird thing again. Feels paused and rapid all at once as he watches the door shut behind Eddie.

“You okay, man?” Lucas nudges him.

“Yeah.” The gentle gesture returns time back to normal. Brings Steve back into this moment.

“Doing just fine.”

It’s all he thinks about for weeks. Anytime there’s a lull at work or a commercial break on television, Steve drifts. Pictures Eddie is in his shirt, the one he’s so obsessed with.

At first, it’s just that. Basic. Eddie standing in front of him, wearing that muted red, almost pink, shirt. Sometimes smiling, sometimes expectant. Either way, it’s always enough to make Steve’s neck feel flushed, creeping up to his cheeks.

Gradually, it evolves into something more complex. A fantasy, almost dreamlike. He imagines Eddie running his hands all over himself, his torso, his chest. The thin material of the shirt moving and shifting under his palms. His head tipping back, lips plush and red from where he’s gritting down, biting hard. Holding back sounds.

Those images get Steve in trouble. Panting on conference calls and boners at his work desk.

He’s alone in his apartment when it grows, branches off into darker urges. Desires. Steve glances down at the floor, can’t help but wonder what Eddie might look like down there, staring up at him. Wearing Steve’s clothes. Begging Steve to take them off. Rip them, ruin them.

“That fucking does it.” Steve scolds himself, scolds his dick too. He’s calling Eddie Munson right now - before he has time to overthink it.

His hand is trembling as he picks up the house phone, dials out the number he didn’t even know he had memorized. The trembling thing is kinda embarrassing, but it's still better than sticking it down his pants and jerking off while the Cooking Network plays reruns in the background.

Every ring feels drawn out. Stretching time like taffy.

Eddie picks up on the fourth taffy-length ring. “Eddie here.”

“Hey, man.” His voice comes out all strained, bone-dry.

“Shit. That really you, Harrington?”

Apparently his voice comes out unrecognizable too.

“The one and only.”

Eddie snorts loudly into the phone speaker. “Doubt that very much - seems like a common enough name.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever, smartass.” Steve rubs his neck, scratching his skin. Working his way to extracting the words out of his throat. “So um… you busy tonight?”

“Nope.” Eddie answers.

“Cool. Me neither.”

There’s silence after that. Well, almost silence. Just a slight hissing sound from the phone line can be heard. Not enough sound to make things less awkward though.

Steve has no good reason to be so antsy, so wired with anxiety. They’ve been friends since metaphorical shit hit the metaphorical fan back in ‘86. So being outwardly weird around Eddie? It’s too damn fishy.

“Is that it?” Eddie says. “Did you just want to bond over our empty schedules?”

Of fucking course, Eddie would call Steve out on his weird bullshit. Doesn’t know subtlety if it bit him in the ass.

Bad time to think about Eddie’s ass.

“Come over.” Steve blurts out. Needs to say something before a parade of ass-centric images start back up in his mind. “I ordered way too much takeout and there's a stack of movie rentals that I need to binge to minimize those late fees, so yeah… come over.”

No response, even the background hissing from the speaker cuts out. Maybe the phone line went dead. Or maybe Eddie hung up. Wouldn’t be the first time he’s abruptly ended a conversation, perpetually flouncing to whatever is new and shiny. Always distracted.

“What kind of takeout?” He finally responds.

“The Greek place with the kickass tzatziki sauce.” Steve smirks, already knows the answer before Eddie can utter another word.

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

Eddie arrives in less than an hour, actually. Knocks on Steve’s door exactly 51 minutes after Steve gets off the phone with him. It’s slightly disturbing that Steve suddenly turns into a math whiz when he’s fawning over someone.

Someone that fawns over his clothes more than him, but who gives a shit about logistics?

“Fucking starving.” Eddie says, slamming the door behind him.

Steve smiles, motions his head toward the kitchen. “Help yourself, dude.”

The plan is so stupid. Half-baked at best: get Eddie out of his shirt (and jacket), and into Steve’s shirt instead. That’s it. That’s all Steve’s got so far.

But it’s better than nothing. So what the hell? It’s worth a shot.

He waits until Eddie has stuffed his face with a decent amount of spanakopita, fully reclining on Steve’s couch. Looks incredibly comfy, too comfy to move.

Good.

Steve grabs the strawberry sorbet from his freezer, the one Robin forced him to buy after going vegan last spring. He scoops a bowl for himself and a bowl for Eddie. Exhales the last bit of his self-respect before returning to the living room with the most boring dessert option ever.

“Here you go.” Steve says.

Eddie scrunches his nose at it. “The fuck is this?”

“Sorbet.”

“Why am I not surprised that the former rich kid prefers sorbet over ice cream?”

Steve sputters, takes the bowl back before it further offends Eddie somehow. “That’s not… I didn’t… it’s actually-”

“Deep breath, Stevie. I’m just teasing you.” Eddie yanks the bowl back, shovels a brain-freezing amount into his mouth. “Far too easy, by the way. Give me a bit of a challenge next time. Makes it more fun… for one of us, at least.”

“Fun. Sure.”

“The one of us being me.”

“Got that.”

Steve decides to take Eddie’s ‘challenge’ remark as the perfect cue to set his stupid plan into action.

Steve pretends to shift around on the couch cushion, getting situated. Does this until he ‘accidentally’ fumbles the sorbet. Spills it all over Eddie’s clothes, his distressed black shirt, his dark gray sweatpants. All of it. Makes a much bigger mess than he intended to.

Eddie jumps up. “Goddamnit, Harrington!”

“I am so sorry!” No he’s not. If anything, his apology is more smug than sincere.

“This shit is sticky as hell.”

“Really sorry, man.” Steve hands Eddie a few stray napkins, like that’s going to make a difference.

“Don’t be. It was an accident.”

Except it wasn’t. It was one of the most juvenile tactic that Steve has ever pulled. Truly, it tops the overused movie theater-yawn tactic.

“Here - let me get you a change of clothes.” Steve offers, already heading to his bedroom. He’s walking and talking and fucking fidgeting. Suddenly paranoid that Eddie can see right through him, see all his desperation on display. Splattered everywhere like strawberry sorbet.

He turns back around for a split second. “I’ll throw those in the wash. Have them dry and ready to wear again by the time you head out.”

“Oh…” Eddie keeps patting down his clothes with a sopping napkin, barely listening. “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

His acting performance is fucking dismal. Over the top. Porno-level obvious. Must be karma for all of those times he gave Robin and Eddie shit about being in an improv club. Makes a mental note to never mock their nerdy hobbies for the rest of his life.

“Well, it must be my lucky night.” Eddie calls out from the bathroom door, causing Steve to wince at the sheer volume.

“What makes you say that?”

“Bestowing the holy grail of shirts upon me? Allowing me even one hour in downy-soft paradise?” Eddie is using that tone, the one that’s boozy and savory. Borderline mean. Equally hot and annoying. “Possibly the greatest of olive branches you could’ve offered up.”

“Christ, you’re dramatic.” Which is so hypocritical after the stunt he just pulled.

The bathroom door swings open and nothing could’ve prepared Steve for how good Eddie looks in his clothes. The shirt is snug through the sleeves, loose through his chest. Makes Steve realize how differently built they are. The waistband on the athletic shorts is sitting low on his hips, maybe a size too big. If they were any bigger, they’d slip right off. Landing all tousled around his bare feet…

Okay, Steve has got to snap the fuck out of it. He rubs aggressively at his eyes. Needs soap or military-strength detergent to fucking cleanse whatever is going on with him lately.

“We could watch something.” Steve says, even though that’s exactly what he’s already doing.

Watching.

Eddie shrugs. Leans against the wall. “We could.”

“Or… I don’t know.” Steve can’t rip his gaze away from Eddie’s arms. His pale skin looks even lighter against the reddish tones. The waves and curls of black ink look even darker. Just a splash of color has turned him into a landscape of extremes.

“You don’t?”

“Um…” Steve flops, flounders. Scrambling for an idea. A coherent thought. Anything. “Cards. We could play cards.”

Eddie’s forehead wrinkles, then quickly straightens back out. Nodding politely. “Sure, we can do that. If that’s what you want to do.”

Steve mumbles something about grabbing a card deck from the storage closet, although he’s pretty sure it’s unintelligible. Makes a quick escape, jogs at the weirdest tempo known to mankind.

Flirting with a longtime friend is throwing him for a loop. Many loops actually. Theme park amount of loops. All of his usual ease and charm are being denied access. Not tall enough to ride this ride.

The closet is packed with junk, so finding a deck of cards is obnoxiously difficult. He’s tossing coats into piles and shoving shoes into corners. Between his nerves and his determination, Steve is working up a goddamn sweat.

“Need a hand in here?” Eddie’s voice startles him. Steve jolts backwards, straight into a shelf of puzzles. Tons of pieces go flying, some landing in Steve’s hair. Redecorating the fucking closet with tiny bits of colored cardboard.

Fantastic.

Eddie backs away, arms crossing into his chest. “Jesus, man. You’re freaking me out.”

“Sorry.” Steve says. Shakes the puzzle pieces out of his hair.

“Is it the shirt?” The question sounds genuine. No jokes, no sarcasm. “Does it look that bad on me?”

“Oh.” Steve doesn’t know how to respond. The shirt looks amazing, that’s not the problem at all. It’s just… “Um, actually-”

“Look, I know I’m not a pastel heartthrob.” Eddie gestures directly to Steve before waving his arms around. He starts pacing in the tiny closet, just ranting away. “And let’s fucking face it. I’m not getting any younger, so I doubt I can pull off this slim-cut style the way I used to… but come on. It can’t be that repulsive, right?”

“Eddie.” Steve frowns.

“Shit, that bad?” Eddie smacks a hand to the top of his hand. Grabs a fistful of his hair and looks down at the shirt, still rambling. “We’re using first names now? What’s next? Gonna bust out my full legal name? My birth certificate? Then we’ll really mean business.”

Okay, yikes. And Steve thought he was the stressed one. This is going south very, very fast. He needs to curb the self-destruction that’s happening in front of him. Just… reach out.

“Hey.” And Steve does. Literally. He places a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, sucks in some courage. He waits until Eddie makes eye contact, breathes at a less neurotic speed. Then he exhales all the courage. Turns it into honesty instead. “You look… you look good.”

Eddie scoffs. “Yeah right.”

“No, I mean it. It’s different. But in a good way.” Steve skims his nails against the fabric, drawing shapes into Eddie’s shoulder. “I like it.”

“You do?”

Steve nods. Bites down on his lip, flicks his eyes to Eddie’s mouth. “Like it on you.”

The energy between them is thick, clinging to Steve’s skin. It’s new except it’s not. Steve has felt it before. At the bar, the party, that random Thursday in 1993. He recognizes the flex and curl in his stomach as Eddie takes one step forward, then two. The feeling is familiar and strange combined. Knotted tight.

Eddie raises an eyebrow before taking another step. Like the day behind the couch. Quiet permission, one he doesn’t ask for often. Only when it means something.

Steve lets the hand on Eddie’s shoulder fall slowly. Catching the material at the bottom, tugging it forward. Prays to fucking god that’s all the permission Eddie needs.

“You were right.” Steve lets his hand drift back up, landing in the center of Eddie’s chest. Wrinkling and smoothing the fabric underneath. “It really is soft.”

Eddie’s breath hitches up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Steve’s voice drops lower, richer. “Could touch this all day.”

Eddie thumbs over Steve’s bottom lip, drifting into the small space between them. He places both hands on Steve's cheeks and kisses him firmly. Steve presses in deeper, breathes out through his nose so that he doesn’t have to break away.

It’s so good, kissing like they’re teenagers behind the bleachers. So swept away in the heat and hunger that they’d be late for class. Showing up to study hall with blotchy skin and achy lips. They keep kissing just like that. Feeling, exploring. Lingering in all the areas that seem to make the other person hum or gasp.

“Steve.” Eddie whispers. His hands push up into Steve’s hair, combing it back, pulling in down with an edge. Hard enough to make Steve tilt his head, mouth dropping open.

“Yeah?” Steve replies. Barely a question, too lost in the feeling of Eddie’s lips on his neck.

Eddie rubs his mouth over the edge of Steve’s jaw. “You’re so…”

The sentence stops right there, never gets finished either. He nuzzles over the wet spots of skin covering Steve’s neck. Marks them all up with a gentle nip, not enough to leave bruises. Just enough to make Steve shiver.

Steve is making so many breathy noises, which should be humiliating. Pathetic for someone who’s had fucking loads of first kisses, even more makeout sessions.

But none of that really matters, his age or experience or slutty track record. Nothing counts when being kissed like this. Nothing can stop Steve from taking this moment, eating up all of the sounds and sensations.

Fuck, he wants all of it. Wants Eddie closer somehow, on top of him, beneath him, surrounding him.

He can’t stop tugging at Eddie’s shirt, well… his shirt. No doubt that it’s stretching out, close to ripping it. Keeps pulling it anyways - dragging Eddie into him till Steve’s back is pressed up against the wall.

“Come here.” Steve curls a finger under Eddie’s chin, brings his face back up to him. Not nearly done kissing him stupid, square on the lips. His mouth is warmer now, a few degrees hotter from sucking Steve’s neck. Licks into Steve’s mouth, gets him to whine at how good it feels.

The washing machine timer goes off, buzzing throughout the whole apartment. But Steve can’t let this end, he can’t.

Except for the buzzing won’t let up. Continuously interrupting all the delicious noises that Eddie makes whenever Steve bites over his bottom lip, gets it nice and puffy between his teeth.

“Should we...?” Eddie smushes his nose into Steve’s before motioning to the door.

“Yeah probably,” Steve unclaws his hand from Eddie’s waist. Kisses him once more before sliding out of reach.

As he walks down the hallway, heading into he laundry room, he hears it. Eddie’s voice, still inside the closet. Chanting the same phrase over and over again:

‘Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. Holy fucking shit!’

Steve cracks a smile. Kind of hard to believe his heart is chanting the same damn phrase. So full of adrenaline, fucking crumbling under this wave of raw emotion.

Really, he never thought he’d find himself in this situation. Holding Eddie’s clean clothes in one hand, thumbing over his kiss-bitten lips with his other hand. Impatiently craving to get back to where they left off, hopefully on the couch or bed or floor this time.

“Hurry it up, will ya?” Eddie whistles behind him.

“What��s the rush?” Steve tosses the clothes into the dryer, doesn’t turn around because his self-restraint will be fucked if he does.

“My lips are getting cold.”

“That’s the best line you got?”

“For now, yeah.” Eddie says. “You sucked out all of my brain cells with your mouth. Can’t expect me to be Swayze-level smooth after something like that.”

No way he’s allowed to be so damn cute comparing himself to Patrick Swayze. As if they're even in the same league. Endearing, really.

“You can head back to the living room. I’ll be there in a minute.” Steve pushes a few buttons on the dryer. The timer starts, another reset on the clock.

Feelings that flip the hourglass once again.

He really fucking hopes it never runs out this time.

Eddie is perched on the floor, flipping through the channels on the tv. He's squinting at the harsh light because for some insane reason, he always insists on watching the tv in total darkness.

Even that’s cute now. Annoyingly cute.

Steve joins him on the floor, instantly slouching into Eddie’s arms because he can do that now. Completely allowed to be sweet and gross and smitten.

“Guess my theory was wrong after all.”

“Hm?” Eddie replies, still mindlessly channel-surfing.

Steve gives Eddie a quick kiss on the cheek (because he can do that now too), and looks at the shirt. Muted red, almost pink. Soft and touchable. “Apparently, you do get cool birthday gifts as an adult.”

“What are you mumbling about?”

This thing between him and Eddie. It feels longer than running sand or ticking timers. Longer than their years of friendship. Maybe not timeless…

“I’ll tell you later, Eddie.”

But pretty damn close.

#steddie #steddie fic #Steve has a really soft shirt and Eddie can't stop touching it #that's it. that's the plot lol.

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sweetracha · 9 months

Note

I'm about to enter work but I just had a thought.

That convo about poly minsung where MC was in love with Jisung but he was dating Minho but also has feelings for her, while Minho is aware of this and despises MC initially because of it? MC can't stand him either but tries her best for Jisung's sake, who's her beloved friends first.

Hate fucking between MC and Minho?

Fight so dirty, but you love so sweet

Sugar Content: Spicy Sweet (SMUT), Sour Sweet (Angst)

Allergy Warning: Female Pronouns, Enemies to lovers, verbal fighting, sexual scenes, hate sex, scratching, slight choking, mixed emotions, and poly! Minsung (Han only mentioned)

This fight was the biggest blowup either of you had ever experienced. Both of you were red in the face and your lungs screaming for air. Neither of you would ever get physical with each other but cutting one another down with words and guilt was completely on the table. As you two went back and forth, spewing absolute filth in each other's faces, poor Hannie was left to sit and watch.

Han and Minho have been the partners in crime for years now. The two met back in university when Han was a freshman in Minho's hall. They knew the relationship was scandalous, but they couldn't deny the attraction. It started one night when everyone was out partying, Minho wasn't looking forward to the paperwork the next morning. As he did his nightly walk, he saw a lone figure sitting in the living room under a single blue light. He knew the student was Han, he would never forget a face like that.

"Why are you out here all alone?" The poor boy jumped out of his body when Minho spoke. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to scare you!"

"It's fine" Han held a hand over his heart. "Everyone is gone so I thought I'd visit the community living room…when there is no community"

The two laughed at Han's slight joke. Minho decided to join the boy for the remainder of the night until he decided to go to bed. Ever since that day the two spent every night together, and soon every day.

Han taught Minho a lot about himself. For starters, Minho was very much attracted to Han. He never really aligned with any sexual orientation, it wasn't something that concerned him but when Han asked who he had a crush on, he said the first thing that came to his mind. Han, he wanted Han.

There began their relationship, who was Minho to question it? Around 2 years later, just before Minho's graduation, Han confessed he had been attracted to some women around campus. Not that he was going to cheat but maybe he was more Bi than he thought. Again, Minho didn't give it any thought and kissed the sweet boy to stop his babbling. That was until you came along.

Han met you during a mandatory art class in your final year. Instead of paying attention to how art had evolved over the years you two focused on evolving your friendship. Class conversations turned into text messages and partner projects bled into late-night pizza parties. Every time you two hung out, it was always at the Minsung apartment. Minho couldn't stand it; he couldn't stand you.

At first, he didn't really mind you, thinking it was nice for Han to have a new friend. As time went on, however, the emotions in him grew. It wasn't until Han came to him, expressing the idea of taking you out on a date, did Minho boil over. He had never felt so strongly about anyone as he felt towards Han and you. Where he loved Han, he had to hate you. That was the only logical explanation for why he couldn't get you out of his mind late at night.

The fight only broke out because Han slipped up. He wanted this to work out so badly. Jisung saw the way Minho looked at you and the smile that graced his face when you were half asleep on their couch. Han knows Minho didn't want him to see how he gave you the nice blanket off their bed when you spent the night. Minho swore he hated you, but Han knew better.

"y/n! Shut up, you picked the movie last time!" Han yelled out as he dodged your popcorn assault on him.

"Last time was like 3 weeks ago, I say we start over" You went to snuggle up into your blanket more.

"Can we completely start over? Han didn't need that art class anyways" Minho spoke under his breath next to Han. You were blissfully unaware but Han heard everything.

"Minho stop. I needed an elective you know that" Your head perked up at the old couple bickering.

"But you had to choose the same one that the pretty girl from the cafe picked?"

"HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW SHE WAS TAKING IT"

"Well maybe it wasn't you, maybe she did it to follow you. She seems to want to be in every aspect of our lives." Minho was quick to quip back.

"Did you guys forget I'm here? I would apricate if you two would acknowledge me if you are going to talk about me" Both boys jumped a bit at your announcement. Minho wasn't fazed long.

"Admit it! You wanted to be a home wrecker, you want Han all to yourself! You are so sad about your own life, you need to destroy someone else's."

"LEAVE ALREADY! WE DON'T WANT YOU HERE!" Minho was red from his head to his feet.

That is when the yelling broke out. No one was sure when this turned into a standing argument. Han had given up on butting in, he would fix it later. Right now he was focused on how your hand reached for the front door.

"Minho…like I told you last night…Let Han make his own choices." With that final statement, you left.

Han looked up at Minho, heart visibly broken in his eyes. What did you mean by last night?

"Don't start baby boy, I don't want to get into it"

"Min, what was she talking about"

"I was just protecting us"

"What was she talking about, Lee Minho" Han never used his name like that.

There was a beat of silence as Han took in what Minho was saying. He had had enough of this bullshit. Why couldn't Minho see he was self-destructing?

"Last night she asked me something about trying to make this work for your sake. I told her if she cared for you, she should leave you alone"

"You" Han broke the silence. Minho's eyes shot up in fear. "You, if she cared about you! You can't handle the fact your emotions are mixed again. You are pushing her away like you did me! You like to think our love story was perfect but it wasn't, it was messy. I had to keep breaking down your walls until you finally let me in. We have a good thing with her Minho, don't lose that"

Minho was left alone in the living room as Han had called it a night. It was unspoken but clear that Minho could make this right or sleep on the couch. He didn't know what else to do but go find you. He grabbed his keys and hoped you were home.

He knocked on your door with a shaky stutter, contemplating if he should just leave. He was so sure about his feelings for you, this was stupid. Han was just being a bleeding heart again, wanting everyone to be happy. But you were the reason this was all wrong! He never had issues with Han until there was you. You were the issue.

"Y/n" he let out a heavy sigh. "can I come in"

"Minho?" A questioning voice sounded from the slightly open door. A quick motion wiped away the wet streaks from your puffy eyes before

Minho could see.

"Why, so you can call me desperate and depressed again? No, thank you."

"Y/n wait! For Han, can we talk for Han" It took a moment but the door finally opened.

The conversation was off and on for at least an hour if not more. You sipped on your drink as Minho picked at the skin around his fingers.

"For Han" you agreed.

"You shouldn't do that. It could get infected" The change of tone alarmed Minho.

"Why do you even care? I can't stand you and you still care about my hands?"

"You say you hate me but yet you came here to apologize."

"Talk, I'm not apologizing."

"Whatever you came here for" You sat down next to him on the couch and scooted a little closer. "I am here for you"

Minho looked deep into your eyes. He never noticed how he could read your emotions like a book in them. You wore your heart exposed to the world, like Han. Everything he loved about Han he could see in you. Why did he hate you? That was a question that he was never able to answer. He just knew he had to, you wanted his lover. But when he looked in deeper, maybe you wanted him too. Overwhelmed with his own emotions, Minho did the only thing he knew to quiet them. He kissed you.

You jumped back but didn't pull away. When it felt safe you moved back in. It started slow and cautious but quickly became heated. Minho wasn't sure if he wanted to make love to you or fuck you back into your place. He just knew right now; he was lusting for you.

Minho pushed on the small of your back, indicating he wanted you on him. You straddled his legs and settled into his lap. It was evident what was about to happen by his growing hard-on. You pulled away from his lips to catch your breath. His expression looked lost.

"Minho, we don't have to. We can just forg--"

"No, I want to, fuck I want you so bad. I don't know why I want you I just feel so--"

"Pent up?" He nodded as you were the one to now finish his sentence.

"Let it out. Fuck me the way all of your thoughts want you to. After we will pretend nothing happened. But right now, I need you just as much as you need me."

No words were said, none were needed. Lips smash into lips. It didn't matter who made the first move what mattered now was that it was beginning to heat up. Long slender hands wrapped around your waist. The fingers on those hands played with the edge of your shirt.

Minho needed to be in control. He needed to cloud out his thoughts with lust. The image of you whining under him gave him a rush of relief. You had to be trapped in his arms.

His first attempt at control left him empty-handed. Your tongues fought for dominance, and he could quickly see himself losing the battle. Like the sly cat he was, Minho played dirty. With a bite to your bottom lip and a tug, you moaned out. This was when he attacked. He took over the hungry kiss and slipped his hands under your shirt, one on your lower back and another inching its way to your chest.

"Cat got your tongue, baby girl?" Minho found his confidence when he saw nothing behind your pretty glass eyes. "You were all bark earlier tonight, yet I'm the one who had to bite."

His adventurous hand thumbed the underside of your chest. He was pleasantly surprised by the missing article of clothing.

"OH look at this baby, you were expecting me weren't you"

"No! I was going to bed. You just showed up looking for---hmm!"

"I think the kitten liked that didn't she" Minho rolled your hardening bud between his thumb and index finger. "I think that bed you mentioned might be a better place to continue, seeing how I'm already losing you."

You were tossed onto your plush bed, and both of you let out a small laugh as you bounced back. Your shirt and pj shorts were discarded somewhere in the hall along with Minho's black tank top. He was currently trying to tear off his sweats while you reach down for your panties.

"Don't." You looked up and were met with deep and dark lustful eyes.

"What?" You asked in honest confusion.

"Always doing things your way. That's what I can't stand! You always get what you want like a princess. Not tonight kitten, your listening to me." He stepped out of his sweats and lowered down to your eye level. "Dont. Touch. What's. Mine"

Before you knew it, two hands circled your ankles and anchored your feet to the bed. With your knees perfectly bent and legs opened, Minho laid a fat wet lick to the cotton of your panties. The gesture was more possessive than anything else. He did it a few more times waiting until you bucked up with impatience. When you did just that his hands grabbed the waistband of your underwear. You lifted your hips to help him but the sound of tearing fabric caught you off guard.

"Minho! What the fu-"

"Shhhhhh, always complaining. I'll buy you a new pair, a thousand pairs even! I just need you"

In that moment he sounded so desperate. You were so clouded by his dom persona. You forgot the man he was battling in his mind. He wasn't doing this out of pure lust and anger. There was a third element at play and he needed to be in control to figure it all out. You submitted to him.

Starved for you, Minho attacked your exposed sex. His mouth took purchase on your clit while his fingers explored your cunt. Just the tip of his middle finger poked in and out while he sucked on your bud with full force. It was like the two sides were fighting each other. It didn't matter to you as you were fighting for your life up on the mattress.

When your tense guard softened to an open state Minho's position stood tall. There was a silent understanding that floated through the room. Minho was allowed to do whatever he needed to. Right now, that was tasting you.

"Fuck, look at you. You taste better than your attitude would lead on. All you needed was some attention, right? Mhm, just admit it. You wanted my attention all along" You were about to answer but were cut off by your crying moan. "Oh, it looks like I found it. Good girl, just feel it. Feel the man you hate making you feel better than anyone has before. Oh, so good baby. Atta girl, just cum"

Your hands found their way into Minho's hair and took hold, the extra length helped you stable yourself. With a slight pull out of pure pleasure, Minho sat back and moaned. Before you could say anything he shoved two fingers into you.

And cum you did. You never knew you could finish so hard from someone's fingers alone but the way he spoke to you sent you over the edge. He seemed hesitant to degrade you but praise didn't come easily either. Whatever the intoxicating mix was, you were drunk on it.

So gone in fact, you didn't notice Minho looking around like he had lost something.

"I can't find my wallet" he seemed stressed and panicked. It was nice getting little glimpses of the man underneath the monster.

"Condoms left drawer. No no, the one under the light. There you go" Your response should have been comical but the heavy breathing showed its true desperate intention.

Minho opened the drawer and reached in for the familiar foil packet when his eyes found something far more interesting. A teal rabbit vibe that was worn from use. He brought the toy to life and you were immediately embarrassed by the buzz.

"This? Do you use this? This pathetic little thing. Please tell me you can take more than this, or baby I'm about to break you." Minho turned the toy to the highest setting and laid it down on your bare clit. "See, I bet I could make you moan so much louder if I just did this--" Minho replaced the toy with two rough finger pads and slightly pinched your clit. You yelled out in both pain and pleasure. "Ha, thought so"

Minho threw the toy behind him, not caring if it hit the wall and shattered. You didn't need it anyways when he is about to give you the real thing. After adjusting the condom, Minho lined up with you and slowly began to push in. The voices yelled at him to shove it in fully, to claim you, to make you pay for the words you so eagerly spewed in his direction. Then he saw the squinted look of pain in your eyes and his heart screamed for him to comfort you. For once he was going to listen to his heart.

Sweet lips found the side of your face and left little lingering kisses. A hand distracted you by toying with your previously abused bud. Your voice hitched and was overtaken by unsteady breathing as he further pushed into you.

"Shhhhh, it's okay. You are doing so well baby, taking me like a good girl. Shhhhh no no it's okay, you are okay, I got you." He was able to fully seat himself inside of you. "Pretty girl? Mark me all you want, got it?" With that Minho placed your hands on his shoulders and wrapped your bent legs around his waist.

His pace was slow and steady. He fought back the need to ruin you, especially as your claws dug into his skin. It felt like a heavenly sin to him. You were an angel, he couldn't see your halo until just now as the light illuminated your blissed-out features. Maybe he was the devil in the situation?

"More"

"What?" Your whine brought him back to reality.

"More Minho, fuck more please" you begged. Who was he to deny you?

Minho set a rough and steady pace. Pulling all the way back to the tip and then forcefully resetting his position. Over and over until you tightened around his cock. He took both of your hands in one of his and pinned them above your head. Your legs were removed from his waist and pressed into your chest. Minho took a moment to slowly test out the new angle. When a slight thrust made tears of ecstasy pool in your eyes, he set the pace.

It wasn't long before his groans and moans mixed with yours. His were laced with the smallest of whimpers, he was getting close. His free hand caged your neck and ghosted pressure to the sides. Looking deep into your eyes, Minho spoke.

"Cum"

You all but screamed out as you came on Minho. Your thighs were drenched and his torso glistened to match. You whined as you felt yourself become empty. A small chuckle left Mimho's lips are you frantically searched for him. He appeared at the side of your bed, a hand slipping into your hair. Holding the roots tightly, Minho positioned you how he wanted you.

"Eyes on me, mouth open" You were too far gone to question him. "Good girl"

Minho's eyes fought to stay open and he yanked on his still-hard cock, using your wetness as lube. He threw his head back in pleasure and bit his lip at his last few feverish tugs. Minho came all over your face, missing your mouth almost entirely.

He caught his breath quickly before running over to grab his shirt and clean you off. You pulled away as the fabric smeared the drying cum into your skin. He found a half-full bottle of water and wetted the unsoiled side of the tee. He cooed and shushed as he cleaned you.

Once you two were back to the world of the living the room fell silent. There was an unanswered question that choked you both. It was obvious the night wouldn't move on until it was addressed.

"Look" Minho spoke softly, unsure of what he wanted to say. "I didn't know I could feel this way about someone…well, I guess about two people. I took my confusion out on you, I'm sorry." A small sniffle followed.

"Minho, it's okay. I understand how confusing it can all be. To be honest I think Han might be the only one who is sure of himself here." That got Minho to crack a smile.

"If you wanted, we could make this a thing. Us, the three of us. I think we could really do it this time." Minho's eyes shined with a thousand hopeful stars.

"Minho…" and those stars burned out at your dishearted tone. "I'd like to but I can't forget everything you've said to me in the past. They hurt and I know I hurt you too. You can't deny that. I'm not saying no, but I think we need to work on it"

"How does a date sound" Minho placed a gentle hand on your bare thigh.

"A date sounds nice"

Sweetest Tags: @goblinracha, @xx3rachaslutxx, @j-onedrabbles, @lixiesweetbrownie,@marrivmel, @lyramundana, @channieandhisgoonsquad, @2chopsticks2eyes

#stray kids #skz #stray kids smut #skz smut #han jisung #lee know #lee know smut #minho x reader

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eddies-house · 8 months

Text

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 |

Smoke Signals

Chapter Two - Dainty

W/C: 4.6K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

You need a job, The Bourbon needs a server. The math is there but the owner won't acknowledge it. How will you win over such a crabby man that only sees you as a gnat forcing its way into his space?

A/N: The response I received on the first part fic was so unexpected but I'm so glad everyone liked it!! I can't wait to get deeper into this story

Masterlist

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I’m sorry for running out so fast yesterday.

No. Too forward.

I think we got off on the wrong foot, by we I mean me.

No, not sincere enough.

I just wanted to apologize for leaving so abruptly—

“Excuse me, dear?”

Your train of thought was dissolved within seconds as you turned your focus to the older gentleman that had called for your attention. A hum in place of an answer as your brows raised expectantly but ever so friendly awaited his follow up question.

“Can I just squeeze past you to grab that jar of peaches?” He asks, wrinkles around his eyes upturned in perfect harmony with his smile.

“Of course. Yes!” Panicked, you rush to the other side of the aisle, the older man waving you off, insisting that it was ‘quite alright’ while he reached for his beloved peaches.

You’d been bouncing back and forth, up and down between several opening statements to provide Donnie, a sour taste left in your own mouth at the way you left her hanging the day before when she was merely being kind to you. It was something you couldn’t stop, the anxiety eating away at your flesh like bacteria from the fact that you could’ve caused someone to be less than satisfied with their interaction with you, as if you were some kind of service. People pleasing was a disease.

Sometimes the affected party was blind to its symptoms, oblivious to the way their illness consumed them. And that’s why you found yourself purchasing a single pack of gum, eyes large and sorrowful before you were even next in line. Various ways to get the point across were mentally rehearsed and the closer you got to the register, the more you focused on one singular sentence, clinging onto the desire to not stutter or mess it up.

“Hey you’re back!” Donnie greets. “Thought for sure we’d scare you off by now.”

With a wince, you hand her your pathetic excuse of a conversation starter, a pack of spearmint gum with your trembling hand. If she notices she doesn’t bring attention to it, instead she gracefully takes the pack and rings you up.

“N-no, no. I don’t scare that easily.” You try to convince yourself more than her.

You note that the shop is nearly empty once again just after a handful of customers had done their shopping and went on with their day. A few patrons still linger, carefully picking out each item from their weekly grocery list; however, you wouldn’t know they were there if not for the squeak of their carts every few feet as they inched forward.

“Could’ve fooled me.” Donnie respectfully hands back the gum in exchange for your cash. A crinkled five that had seen better days.

For a moment you debate fleeing once again, nerves tingling and breathing becoming shallow before internally reprimanding yourself. You can cry all you damn well please in private but right now you need to stand up to the little voice in your head. “Yeah. Um, I just–I wanted to say I’m sorry for running out so suddenly like that.” It didn’t come out as smooth as you’d planned but you’re hoping it came across as sincere enough. If you could at least look forward to a friendly face at the supermarket every week, well it would be a win.

“Honey, I don’t get offended easily and it seemed like you had places to be.” She waves a dismissive hand in the air at your apology, not unkindly, more so letting you know you didn’t need to be so formal with her. And yet you couldn’t help yourself, an unwanted backstory spilling from your lips almost like second nature. Excuses plucked from the top of your brain.

“I didn’t–I didn’t mean to leave and just not introduce myself. I just got caught up, with moving and all–”

“You don’t owe me an explanation. Just your name and we’ll call it good.” A genuine smile stretches across her face, contagious enough that your lips tug upward as well as you offer your name, a proper introduction this time.

Your shoulders relax ever so slightly, not fully letting your guard down but no longer feeling the need to tense every muscle in your body. It’s then that you realize that this is the only grocery store that you ever found visually appealing, with its darker toned walls and red checkered floors, the lighting not being so fluorescent and in your face, a bit dim even. Which for some may be a flaw but for you it was perfect. You don’t feel so exposed and couldn't be perceived so clearly, the ideal cocktail of a situation for someone so socially anxious.

“I, um, I saw your sign.” You gesture to the letters reading ‘help wanted’ posted against the window. If you could land a decent job then maybe living wouldn’t feel so terrifying. Then again, several things would come into factor other than just your means of income.

Donnie’s expression turns empathetic and you can feel your breath hitch in anticipation for a brutal rejection. To be told that you had it all wrong, that you were too unprofessional and too meek and that your help was most definitely not wanted here, that you shouldn’t have even stepped foot in this town to begin with. The five stages of grief practically take over in mourning over the loss of a potential job.

“I’m real sorry but we already filled the position. Tom was supposed to take that down around two weeks ago.” She sounds irritated at the mention of what you assumed to be her coworker. “Can’t rely on anyone.” She sighs, striding over to the window and pulling the sign from its temporary home only to abandon it behind the shelf that displayed several boxes of cigarettes.

“Oh I’m–”

Before you can even begin to apologize for something completely out of your control, Donnie’s eyes light up at something, or rather, someone behind you.

“Hey, Ed! Isn’t The Bourbon hiring?”

All she receives in return is silence and when you dare to peek over your shoulder behind you, you briefly meet the eyes of the neighbor you had the displeasure of running into twice the day before. Today he fronts with a black leather jacket and the same black jeans with rips in the knees. The only thing noticeably different is the chain now dangling at his side and the band shirt you’re unable to read, the letters obscured from your view. Oh, and a few chunky rings decorating his hand that should make him look tacky as hell but somehow they pull the look together.

“I dunno, who’s asking?” He counters, brow raised as he glances at you once more. You’d barely even spoken a few words to the guy and he was acting as if you committed the most heinous act against him.

“Ed.” Donnie warns.

“Don, she wouldn’t last a day.”

You were beginning to think that this so-called ‘Ed’ was going to turn into an issue…fast. Who was he to judge a stranger who he knew absolutely nothing about. His audacity startled you and while you should step in and defend yourself, you can’t bring yourself to do it, tongue tied in every literal sense, words caught in the back of your throat like they were physical refrigerator magnets lodged in place.

“You don’t know that!” She grins at him, a grin that silently says ‘watch it’. “Honey, you got any work experience?” Attention shifting to you, you felt as if you were burdening two people who had everything figured out in their quaint little lives, guilt plaguing your mind at the fact that you’d shaken things up between what seemed to be good friends or maybe even just well acquainted individuals.

“I–uh–yes. Yes, I’ve worked at the–at the library and-and–”

“The library?” Ed questions. You didn’t dare answer, knowing very well he wasn’t seeking a response. “What good would that do me in a bar?”

“Well I–”

“Think The Bourbon’s too rowdy for someone like you.” He continues, only fueling your inner rage as well as pricking the embarrassment that held a permanent home within you, your cheeks flushing hot and palms becoming clammy.

“I’ve also worked at a diner. Back home.” Somehow you find a voice, one that isn’t shaky and timid but rather more calm and collected regardless of the absolute fear that pounded in your heart.

Both Donnie and Ed stare, seconds passing that only feel like lightyears. Ed still seems bored beyond comprehension, opening and shutting his wallet as he narrows his big brown eyes. You aren’t sure what to do next, if you should make a dramatic exit once again or continue proving yourself to some stranger who had no business even making you do such a thing in the first place.

“A diner.”

He says it like a statement rather than a question, as if to mock and discredit you.

Tears are not an option, tears are not an option.

“See she’s got experience!” Donnie attempts to mend the situation, acting as an unofficial moderator.

“Don, no offense but I came here to buy the usual, not recruit.” Some cash is slapped onto the counter, his patience clearly wearing thin by the way he begs with his eyes. Donnie’s tolerance appears to be at a dangerously low level based on the glare she forces upon him. You were beyond unprepared to witness a standoff in the middle of the supermarket at 5:00 PM on a Wednesday.

“Thought you were desperate for a server.”

There’s some bite behind her words, focus never wavering, the two seeming to have a telepathic conversation right before your eyes until Ed breaks the stillness in the air.

“Not in the slightest. Can I have my shit now?”

Donnie’s sigh lets you know Ed has won and in the process, drained her energy. Reluctantly, she snatches the cash from the counter and opens the register before grabbing a pack of cigarettes from the shelf behind her and handing them to him along with his change, an unfriendly exchange. It doesn’t seem to bother him as he clutches the cash and the pack in his hand, not even sparing you another glance on his way out.

Clearing your throat, you pull Donnie’s attention away from the insufferable man now making his way down the cobblestone sidewalk outside. “It’s okay. I’m sure other places are hiring.”

She rolls her eyes and you know it’s not meant for you but you can’t shake the paranoia that screams that she might be fed up with you as well. “Don’t mind Eddie. He acts like a hardass but he’ll come around.”

So his name is Eddie. You only nod in response, unsure of where to steer the conversation from here.

“He’s like a scary dog. He’ll roll over for the right people. So if he doesn’t take to you, don’t take it personally.” She advises.

“Yeah.” You whisper.

You were so going to take it personally.

–

As it turns out, no one in Knife’s Edge was hiring, not a single soul seeking a random girl from out of town who urgently needed a job. Not that you could blame them, they had it all figured out. Many of the shops were owned by families thus being run by said families and not requiring the additional expense that would come with hiring another person. And those that did seem to hire outside of their family had already filled in every necessary position.

Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. This is what you get for uprooting your life and sticking it somewhere it probably didn’t belong.

And now you were moping along the cobblestone, trying to figure out how to pay the bills, working out how much of your savings you could survive off of until you’d run out. Then The Bourbon came into view. Almost like it wanted you to see it, the beaming red lights spelling out its name specifically for you to see. Mainly because it was the only place you knew to be hiring despite what Ed–or–Eddie–whatever his name was, had said in his unpleasant remarks from earlier. It seemed to be your only shot at employment.

The bar had a few neon signs flashing in the window, one being the very obvious ‘open’ sign and then of course one that read ‘happy hour’ with a margarita. The rest appeared to be different beers they might have on tap. It didn’t look like anything fancy but didn’t seem like a hole in the wall either. The exterior was paneled in wood just like almost every other building in the area, giving it a cabin feel without actually being a cabin.

Dread settled in the pit of your stomach from just staring at the place so if you were going to act, it needed to be now, before said dread morphed into pure panic. This was going to determine your foreseeable future, if you couldn’t land this job then you might as well toss yourself right back down that mountain with no money and no plan, right back to square one.

The door was heavy, built out of metal and a bell ringing just above, notifying any staff and patrons of your presence which you could do without but you had to push yourself. If they were staring, your gaze was glued to the ground and you didn’t notice, too occupied in rehearsing an improvised script in your head. Some kind of rock or metal song blasted through the bar and you weren’t sure if it was overstimulating or comforting. Your initial thought was that for being in a small town, they would be inclined to play country music so it only relieved you that your possible future workplace wouldn’t be subjecting you to the unbearable twang you just couldn’t seem to stand. You’d endure it when all was said and done but it was appreciated that it was one less nuisance in your life.

It was a standard bar, the atmosphere mellow with dull lighting and a haziness smelling of tobacco swirling throughout the room. What immediately drew you in was the obvious game of bingo, suddenly shifting what was a designated spot for happy hour and a cheap therapy session with the bartender into a retirement home full of seniors. A man that looked to be in his fifties sat on a stool on the tiny stage in the corner, calling out numbers, which elicited a few victory yells from those who had obviously been having better luck.

However odd the scene may be, several senior citizens occupying the tables of a bar at happy hour, business still seemed to be booming considering that it was a weekday. Aside from the group of elderly yet energetic individuals, there were also what looked to be the regulars perched on their assigned stools at the actual bar. They paid no mind to the intense game happening behind them, sipping away at their beers and mixed drinks leisurely.

A vacant seat called to you, two more on each side guaranteeing that you could sit comfortably without awkwardly scooting in next to someone and disturbing their possible winding down time, no doubt trying to blow off some steam after work. That’s why people came to bars, right? It was lost on you, this wasn’t your scene and if you’re truthful, you’re not even sure you should be here begging for a job in the first place. That Ed guy clearly didn’t take a liking to you and though you didn’t exactly have any knowledge on his role within The Bourbon, he seemed like he had a say in the day to day operations just based on the tiny snippets of information you picked up on. Hopefully someone with the same level of authority would be working now and actually respect you as a person enough to at least give you a chance.

Playing it cool—as cool as one could be with constant nagging thoughts and shot nerves, you decide to plant yourself down on the stool, the worn leather material partially squeaking in protest as you wiggle into a comfortable enough position, setting your bag in your lap and clutching it in paranoia. A glance from the left to the right and back to the left lets you know that no one seems to mind your presence though you still close in on yourself regardless, taking up the least amount of space possible.

The bartender, a man maybe in his early twenties who had short dark hair seems preoccupied as he shakes a drink while balancing a conversation with another man at the end of the bar, the two laughing every other sentence like old friends. And so you wait. Never intentionally draw attention to yourself and never disturb anyone else’s night until you find it polite to chime in when the bartender doesn’t seem as busy. Even then, he doesn’t hear your small ‘excuse me’ every time he rushes by onto his next task.

A sad little ghost settled among lively customers, you don’t seek pity, only a glance your way so that you could get this over with and either face rejection or anxiously resume the job search. Though no one seems to bother looking your way, you can’t help the heat traveling to your cheeks in pure humiliation, the fact that you’re the only thing out of place weighing heavily on your mind. More celebratory howls and yells sound from behind you, the room erupting into laughter shortly after from a joke you didn’t care to understand. Even a few select chuckles are heard from the men scattered along the bar.

“Do you just not listen?”

A familiar voice breaks through your thoughts, forcing you to peek up from where your focus remained on the bartop, where moments before you’d seemed entranced by the surface. In reality you were running in circles in your head, hoping to make sense of your current situation. Through your lashes you saw him. Ed. Or Eddie. You didn’t put much effort into feeling too bad for not remembering his actual name, especially when he’d never even had the decency to ask for yours. His leather jacket was absent from his torso, now only showing off a plain black t-shirt that also allowed you a view of various tattoos scattered along his arms. You were first drawn to the faded bats on his forearm before becoming puzzled by what seemed to be some kind of a doodle on his inner bicep, not a very good one at that. And then you remembered he’d asked you a question.

“I’m not allowed to have a drink?” You ask innocently. Genuine innocence. No sarcasm. You weren’t brave enough for that.

“Only if you’re not here to also beg for a job.” He grumbles. A man a few stools over gestures down for another round and in response, Eddie nods coolly. With a certain kind of smoothness, he pulls a new glass out before slamming it down on the counter. “If you are, the answer is still no.” The way he quickly pours liquor into the shaker seems so effortless, measurements probably burned into his brain that allow for more efficiency on busy nights.

“Can I at least speak to someone in charge?” You do your best to keep your voice steady and unwavering in the presence of someone with infinitely more confidence than you, his eye contact never breaking.

“You’re lookin’ at him, doll.”

His voice drips with his signature condescending tone, the corner of his mouth pulled up slightly in a smirk. One that tells you that you’ve hit a dead end.

“You—oh.” Like an idiot, you swallowed any words that bubbled in your throat, unable to find it within yourself to at least come up with a snarky comeback.

“We’re not hiring.”

“That-that’s not what Donnie said.” Lousy. The argument just seemed to fall from your tongue involuntarily, not much thought put behind it before coming to fruition. It would only give him more ammo.

His eyes further surveyed you, meticulously analyzing your every move, every twitch of every muscle in your face. An unwanted spotlight shining on you, revealing every flaw in your approach to the current conversation. You wanted a job and he wanted nothing to do with you, your last statement only sealing your fate, only giving him more reason to deny your advances.

“Donnie doesn’t work here does she?” Without expression, he begins expertly shaking his concoction, forearms flexing with the movement. He was a character, some kind of figment of your imagination. He had to be. You’d never encountered someone so standoffish, so ill-tempered, especially toward someone he’d never even met before, already passing judgment on you based on seconds of interaction.

Ignoring his rhetorical question, which came off as more of a deterrent than anything, you pursue a fair conversation, a deserving interview at the very least. “Listen, I’m a really hard worker and—“

“And a fast learner right?”

The interruption was unwelcomed though you gave no indication that it was, face set in a straight expression as you processed his uncivil personality. You couldn’t even find it in you to convey shock, your brain malfunctioning upon his words, outdoing himself with every sentence he uttered.

“Well, yes.”

“Of course. And you can multitask too I bet?”

This wasn’t the interview you were hoping for, this was downright degrading.

“If you would just let me talk.” You plead, fingers digging into the wood of the bartop.

“Listen, kid.” The liquid he had been shaking for quite some time is poured into the glass, an amber colored liquor filled to the brim.

Kid?

If you had the guts you would degrade him right back. But you were you and you could only sit and take each hit to your fragile mental state with as much grace as possible. And soon after the tears would come. Not yet, though. Not just yet.

“You look like you’re about to cry and you haven’t even been hired. What makes you think you can handle a full house on a Friday night?” The drink is topped off with an orange twist and a black cherry before he slides it to its awaiting consumer, not a drop spilling over the edge of the glass, clearly a perfected craft that he was proud of.

When he’s met with silence you gather that he thinks he’s won just by the smug look on his face, barely there but still evident nonetheless. That little voice inside your head screams at you to keep pushing, keep bugging him until he has to give in. Even if by pure annoyance. And although you can feel yourself trembling in terror, something urges you to just gulp down the fear and prod at the arrogant man just beyond the bar.

“I work well under pressure, I’m very organized, I’ll clean on my down time…” You begin to list off your abilities and if he wanted to stop listening, the way he glared at you wasn’t convincing you that he was going to.

This time his response is delayed rather than the other way around, suddenly at a loss for words as his large eyes take in your sudden change in demeanor. Your slight assertiveness takes him by surprise, you can tell from his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. It’s all a front for you to at least get one foot in the door but as they say, ‘fake it ‘til you make it’.

“No.” He answers suddenly, sternly. His disinterest is obvious when he pulls out a rag and starts wiping down the counter, no longer letting his gaze fall on you but instead, the droplets he works vigorously to clean up.

If he wants a fight, then a fight he shall receive.

“I’m a team player, I’m super reliable, my time is flexible, if you need me in a pinch consider it done–”

“Do you understand social cues?”

Ouch. If you had an inflated ego it would’ve surely been destroyed by now but you were already working with close to nothing.

“Yes.” You reply, not a trace of sarcasm, only an honest answer.

“So I think by now you’d understand. We. Are. Not. Hiring.” Each word is enunciated and slathered thickly with bitterness, topped with the intention to send you running like a dog with its tail tucked in between its legs.

What he doesn’t know is that your soft spoken voice and bashful exterior isn’t all there is to you and that deep down, if you wanted something, you were stubborn and able to manipulate the situation should it be required in the most dire of situations. Whether it would work on him seeing as he was also just as stubborn, if not more, you weren’t sure yet.

“Are you turning me away because I’m a woman?”

The pure horror in his eyes almost makes you chuckle because now you know you have the upper hand and had anyone overheard, they would probably question their beloved local bartender’s work ethic.

“I mean–not that I’m accusing you…” You were definitely accusing. “I just don’t see any other women working and–”

It doesn’t have the effect you’re hoping for as he leans toward you, forearms resting on the bar, his eyes returning back to their spiteful nature while he taps his clunky rings against the surface in thought.

“I’m turning you away because you don’t belong in a place like this. Things can get rough and you’re…too dainty.” His voice is much more hushed than before but his expression remains serious, without a trace of that stupid smirk.

Dainty? Dainty. Noted.

“What–you don’t think a woman can handle–”

“It’s not about you being a woman.” He seethes. “It’s about the fact that you are dainty. Polite. Shy. I can’t have that when I’ve got a few drunks refusing to leave at 2:00 AM.”

“I know when to hold my own. Especially if it's for a job.” You attempt to convince him.

“What, so you’re just gonna respectfully tell them to leave, then what? These guys get out of hand, I can’t be babysitting you, I’ve got a business to run.” He reasons, straightening his posture, conversation already forgotten as he starts to turn away before you speak up again.

“At least let me prove you wrong before you dismiss me.” You quietly demand, hands clasped in front of you. “Think I can handle a group of senior citizens.” You motion to the intense bingo game still going strong behind you.

With a roll of his eyes, he seems to ponder his thoughts, bouncing them around in his head. An exasperated sigh escapes his parted lips while a hand drags down his tired face.

“One night. A trial. If you can handle it, fine. You’ve got a job.” He finally declares. “But if I have to stop what I’m doing to babysit you or you so much as–”

“I’ll find another job. Promise.” You nod persuasively, a glimmer in your eyes that he doesn’t miss but quickly ignores.

“Good. Tomorrow night. Eight. And just this one time you can park in the back lot.”

He tries to dismiss himself again but your next question forces him to linger a little bit longer. He was patient, you’d give him that.

“Wait–what, what’s the dress code?” You ask sheepishly, a contrast to the business woman you’d molded into just seconds before.

He does a once over, as if to judge your fashion choices but what he ends the conversation with only leads you to think that he favors one word way too much.

“Casual. Nothing too dainty.”

~end~

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tags - @gravedigginbbydoll @ohauggieo @spicysix @lunatictardis @ali-r3n @batkin028 @mrsjellymunson @witchwolflea @emma77645 @emxxblog @eddiemunson95 @angietherose @lottie-90 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @pullingattheroots @avalon-wolf @vintagehellfire @cryingglightningg @foreveranexpatsposts @winchester-angel

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson angst #eddie munson series #eddie munson au #bartender!eddie #bartender!eddie munson #grumpy!eddie #grumpy!eddie munson

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ceasarslegion · 11 months

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I know everyones talking about desantis and the 2024 american election coming up, and i dont blame anybody for not being perfectly in tune with the entire world so im not gonna guilt trip anybody about that, its fine. But i do wanna say that Alberta's general election is in a few days and with the ways the polls are swinging, there is hope for an NDP victory, but only if every single progressive Albertan actually shows up and casts their vote.

The UCP are inching closer and closer to fascism by the day, and people like me really can't afford for them to win just because folks are refusing to budge for anything less than perfection from the alternative. In a battle between center-left and reactionary alternative right, you are dooming your community by sticking your feet in the dirt and whining about how the most realistic option isn't progressive enough.

And I don't wanna see any shit about how the NDP and UCP are the same, because they aren't. One party will protect my human rights while the other compared the children in my community to excrement, just for starters.

We can kick the UCP out, but we need every single voter to show up. Because we know the tories will cast their ballots, so it's down to us

#some thoughts #abpoli #alberta

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visenyaism · 1 month

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bg3 companions ranking?

10. Halsin. I have no principles and can fully admit if it was a relentlessly horny grizzled older butch WOMAN bear druid i would be like this is the greatest video game character of all time but as it stands he just doesn’t compel me much

9. Minsc. he’s so fun but the whole thing is one singular bit no variety.

8. Karlach. Listen on paper “literally gideon nav but a tiefling” should do more for me i don’t know why it doesn’t. that being said if we were real life coworkers i WOULD want to be besties with her.

7. Shadowheart. yeah she’s alright.

6. Minthara. minthyyyyy everything she says is profoundly arrogant and ludicrously fascist she is so so funny. i love her absolute unwavering commitment to cognitive dissonance and being wrong all the time. my close friend minthara is the funniest person i know.

5. Wyll. he may be a terrible monster hunter because he just keeps forgiving and befriending and maybe falling in love with them but that’s just because he’s got a good heart. i wish the dev team liked him as much as i do. also mr. of frontiers we have got to do something about your father

4. Gale. D1 yapper just like me for real. can’t believe i ever found him annoying and disliked him simply for being a corny ass nerd because i have come all the way around on that. also i like that he has a fun earring even if it IS mystra merch.

3. Astarion. i too am an annoying homosexual shit-starter who is constantly just doing a bit. they put the most effort into his writing and character so he is really by default one of the strongest. also there’s just too damn many locks in this game to not need him nearby

2. Jaheira. love her terrible luck and gravitational force of a personality and slight weirdo mannerisms and fondness for clowns and deadbeat milf ways. wish she had been a companion earlier but she is so fun to take into baldur’s gate.

1. Lae’zel. she’s BEEN my favorite she’s in every single party i have i love her complete and total seriousness i love that she’s a weirdo and i love how much she grows and changes and develops optimism and hope. what can i say. real lae’zelheads know

#bg3 #shadowheart has grown on me but her intro is literally bad bangs AND racist pick a struggle

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goodnightmemes · 1 year

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GLASS ONION: A KNIVES OUT MYSTERY (2022) SENTENCE STARTERS

❛ You can’t keep making excuses for every one of [name]’s insane whims. ❜

❛ Genius always looks like insanity at first, though, right? ❜

❛ Hey, please stop fire-spinning inside. ❜

❛ I say it like I see it, no filter. If people can’t handle it, that’s their problem. ❜

❛ You’ve got to stay off the Twitter. ❜

❛ Are you mocking me? ❜

❛ This can’t Shazam. It’s a lamp. ❜

❛ Where’s my speargun? I gotta pack. ❜

❛ He told me you haven’t left the bath for a week. ❜

❛ My mind is a fueled-up racing car, and I got nowhere to drive it. ❜

❛ I need danger, a hunt, a challenge. ❜

❛ There’s someone here for you! With a box! ❜

❛ Hello, stranger danger. ❜

❛ Excuse me, I love your accent. I had to try it. ❜

❛ You must be very special. ❜

❛ When you throw a murder mystery party, you do it right, buddy. ❜

❛ I’m not here. ❜

❛ He’s just staying here. He’s going through things. ❜

❛ This rich-people shit is weird. ❜

❛ This is stretching my stride-taking abilities. ❜

❛ Okay, let’s stop talking and actually start hanging out and having fun. ❜

❛ Why is it on the roof? ❜

❛ I wanted to ask, what are you doing here? ❜

❛ Is this part of the game? ❜

❛ I’ve learned through bitter experience that an anonymous invitation is not to be trifled with. ❜

❛ You really try. I like that. You really make an effort. ❜

❛ You never know when shit’s gonna go down. ❜

❛ I’m uncomfortable. I’m gonna go for a swim. ❜

❛ It’s true. I say it like I see it. ❜

❛ If you want to shake things up, you start with something small. ❜

❛ That’s the place where you have to look within yourself and ask, “Am I the kind of person who will keep going?” ❜

❛ That was some real red-pill stuff. ❜

❛ Every single one of you is holding on for dear life to [name]’s golden titties. ❜

❛ Wow. That was so real. ❜

❛ I’m a truth-teller. Some people can’t handle it. ❜

❛ It’s a dangerous thing to mistake speaking without thought for speaking the truth. Don’t you think? ❜

❛ Are you calling me dangerous? ❜

❛ A few cocktails before I’m murdered. ❜

❛ Halle Berry! That has a kick. ❜

❛ This simple thing that you thought you were looking at, it suddenly takes on layers and depth so complex, it gives you vertigo. ❜

❛ Every time we’ve gotten to the point where I’m going to strangle you, you pull something like this, and it’s magic. ❜

❛ I wanna be responsible for something that gets mentioned in the same breath as the Mona Lisa. ❜

❛ This is reckless. And you’re gonna get somebody killed. ❜

❛ It’s been a memorable weekend already, to be sure, but now the real fun starts. ❜

❛ Tonight, in this very room, a murder will be committed. ❜

❛ Well, to be clear, I mean, I didn’t know what a “blood diamond” was so… ❜

❛ What am I supposed to do now? Play Yahtzee all weekend? ❜

❛ I like the Glass Onion as a metaphor. An object that seems densely layered, but in reality the center is in plain sight. ❜

❛ It’s like putting a loaded gun on the table and turning off the lights! ❜

❛ Well, I’m out of here. Tomorrow morning. Gone. ❜

❛ You’re murdering my vibe. ❜

❛ So you come here, in your Gucci flats, telling us that we owe you? ❜

❛ What do you want? A check? You want performative pity? ❜

❛ I want the truth! ❜

❛ But me, I’m tired of pretending like you’re the victim in this game. ❜

❛ That changes things, right? ❜

❛ Have we ever not pulled through? Pulled it off? ❜

❛ We won’t know the cause of death without an autopsy. ❜

❛ Listen, I must insist that nobody touch the body or disturb anything around it. ❜

Are you treating this as a crime scene then? ❜

❛ I’ll pay you one billion dollars to tell me which one of them tried to kill me. ❜

❛ Oh, fiddlesticks. ❜

❛ Is that a speargun? ❜

❛ Oh, hell’s bells! Just, everybody, just stay here! ❜

❛ I can peel back the layers, I can take it to a point, but what lies at the center, only one person can tell us who killed [name]. ❜

❛ You’re not in the bath again, are you? ❜

❛ Heavens, the dog ate the caviar again. ❜

❛ It’s a stupid idea, right? ❜

❛ Listen, I want to be clear, huh? I am not Batman. ❜

❛ Any feelings of reverence or respect that you had for me when you crossed my threshold, buttress those feelings now. ❜

❛ Yeah, I’m trying real hard to buttress, but this sounds nuts. ❜

❛ Is this safe? ❜

❛ I shouldn’t be here. This is nuts. But I’m here. So let’s do this. ❜

❛ The reality-distortion field ends here. I can’t let you do this. ❜

❛ Look me in the eye! You know it’s a lie! ❜

❛ You must be really great at Clue, huh? ❜

❛ I’m very bad at dumb things. My Achilles’ heel. ❜

❛ This is your last chance to back out. ❜

❛ I think it’s really shitty what they all did to you. ❜

❛ I sold my soul for this. ❜

❛ I thought you said you didn’t drink? ❜

❛ That’s hard kombucha. That’s Jared Leto’s hard kombucha. ❜

❛ We’re running out of time! ❜

❛ Please. Think of the danger here. You gotta step back and let me handle this. ❜

❛ I never email anything that I wouldn’t want to see on the front page of The Times. ❜

❛ I think maybe you should take up drinking. You’re just killing it. ❜

❛ Something is just teasing the edge of my brain. ❜

❛ Oh, if I ever meet Jared Leto, I’m gonna whoop his kombucha-brewing ass. ❜

❛ My therapist says this is a toxic relationship. ❜

❛ We will do what we always do. Deny, half-apologize, and then go silent awhile. ❜

❛ Please tell me you did not think sweatshops are where they make sweatpants. ❜

❛ I will do whatever I have to do to save myself, and he is my only lifeline. ❜

❛ This never happens in Clue. ❜

❛ He’s a son of a bitch. Leave his ass. ❜

❛ I don’t feel sorry for him. He deserved what he got, and you are better off without him. ❜

❛ Please don’t kill me! Oh my God, please don’t kill me! ❜

❛ I’m not trying to kill you, you crazy bitch! ❜

❛ Shitballs! ❜

❛ It hides not behind complexity, but behind mind-numbing obvious clarity. ❜

❛ A veritable minefield of malapropisms and factual errors. ❜

❛ Oh, please. Just tell us who tried to kill me. ❜

❛ Nobody tried to kill you, you vainglorious buffoon. ❜

❛ What is reality?! ❜

❛ Does he keep a vial of poison in his tooth or something? Is that a rich person thing? ❜

❛ Oh, it’s so dumb, it’s brilliant. ❜

❛ No! It’s just dumb! ❜

❛ You dim-witted, brainless jackass! ❜

❛ Your one murder, with any panache at all, and you stole the whole idea from me. ❜

❛ Wow! We got some big accusations flying around here. ❜

❛ You need evidence, and you’ve got nothing. ❜

❛ Anywhere you go, it’s going to be your word against mine. How do you think that’s gonna go? ❜

❛ There’s nothing I can do. Except maybe offer you some courage. ❜

❛ I hope your little bitch tantrum gave you closure ’cause it accomplished nothing! ❜

❛ You’re ruined. ❜

❛ Did you get the son of a bitch? ❜

#rp meme #sentence starters #rp sentence meme #sentence meme #rp prompt #roleplay meme #roleplay prompts #sentence starter meme #rp memes #rp prompts #*Movie

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alohaasaloevera · 3 months

Text

KL post-canon sorta fwb/situationship AU where they rile each other up!!!!!!1!1!!1!

—

Lance is so fucking annoying. Keith has decided that his mindset from when he was 18 (and sexually confused—actually, maybe just repressed?) is now superior.

Keith hates how Lance flirts with anything that even remotely looks like a woman. He hates how he jokes around too much. He hates how extensive his skin routine is. He hates how he can’t decide whether he wants to punch Lance or kiss him senseless every single time he wiggles his eyebrows as an attempt to flirt or recites a crappy one-liner at him.

His Things I Hate About Lance list is about to be updated, because they’re at yet another diplomatic party on earth (which is actually more of a “celebrating the fact that the universe didn’t get destroyed” party) and Lance is wearing a navy blue button-down shirt which is very much accentuating his muscles, and it’s causing his brain to malfunction. I guess the constant labor at the farm paid off, Keith thinks.

He’s also flirting with a lady who also seems to be extremely appreciative of Lance’s outfit choice. They look like they’re about to decimate each other in the middle of the room with how their eyes are focused solely on the other. Lance’s eyes flick over to him for a second before he just smirks at Keith—the smug fuck—then he focuses back on the girl in front of him before settling his hand on her hip and leaning closer, his voice a hushed whisper against the shell of her ear.

Keith just rolls his eyes. Not that he cares about who Lance sleeps with anyways.

“You’re drooling.” Shiro says, which earns him a moderately hard slap from Keith on his non-prosthetic arm. “You look mad, too.”

“Shut up.” Keith grumbles, because apparently his 14 year old self’s attitude is now the best way to go, “Go away.”

“Jeez, looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

“I said, shut it! Or else telling Adam you made out with Curtis.”

“Please, they’re probably making out with each other as of this moment.”

“Gross!”

“What are you, 12?”

Keith does not go ahead and answer that question, mostly because he doesn’t want to admit that he’s acting more and more immature as the seconds that he stares at Lance and the woman go by.

Shiro, who has been a spectator of Keith pining over the Red Paladin since the early days of Voltron, sighs, before ruffling Keith’s hair, “Please just try and talk out whatever this weird sexual tension between you and him is. For me, please? I’ve already constructed a customized shovel talk for him if you ever do get with him, and let’s just say updating it over the years—”

“Alright, alright! I’ll do it!”

“Thanks, child.”

“Child? Is that what we’re doing now?”

“Just go!”

—

Keith, both fortunately and unfortunately, does not get to talk to Lance until after the party. He walks around the ballroom, and multiple people tell him Lance was last seen walking out eagerly with a girl, so he waits until the next day to talk to him.

What feels unsettling is that how most of the people who let him know about where Lance has gone were talking in an almost…disappointed manner; like they had expected better from him. Which is ridiculous, because for starters, Lance doesn’t need to be all serious and on guard all of the time, especially since they’re celebrating the fact that they had won the war—in fact, it would be out of character for Loverboy Lance to not flirt with at least one person at a party. Secondly, Lance is basically still a kid. Sure, he’s been through some stuff, but he’s still 20 years old. He wouldn’t even have graduated college by now!

Keith gets that they are the Paladins of Voltron, and their duty is to protect the universe, but sometimes the expectations people have for them make them look like flawless, error-free machines who never make mistakes or miss a beat, when it’s far from that. They’re human too. They mess up plans like half the time (maybe not half, but you get the point)!

When he’s walking to Lance’s house—somewhere about a 5 minute walk away from the city and a 10 minute walk from his own house—he stops in his tracks.

What is he even going to say to him?

He can’t be flat-out, outright straightforward with Lance and say, “Oh, I’m kinda in love with you, and have been for the past 5 or so years, so could we stop this friends-with-benefits situationship we have going on and just cut to the real deal?”, but he also can’t be too vague with it.

Though, if there’s anything that Voltron has taught him, one of the things would be, without a doubt, is that you always have to be prepared to improvise.

He knocks on the cold wood, and just when Keith is about to reconsider even coming here, the door opens.

—

In the course of 5 seconds, Keith goes from knocking on a door to being slammed against that same door. Not that he’s going to complain.

“Sorry—” Lance manages in between kisses, “—about—” a kiss on his forehead, “—yesterday.” He kisses Keith gently on the lips, adding more pressure when the smaller’s arms come to wrap around his neck.

Just as Keith relaxes, he breaks the kiss, genuinely confused, “Wait, what?”

“It’s just that you seemed genuinely sad when I was flirting with her, and—” Lance attempts to explain, only for Keith to cut him off.

“Hey, don’t apologize to me for that.” Keith protests. “I was just jealous that you looked fucking amazing in that dress shirt and she was the one who got to have you. Besides, we aren’t exclusive.”

He expects Lance to loosen up—maybe brag about how he wooed Keith with his dazzling looks, but he sure as Zarkon and Honerva themselves does not expect him say this:

“But what if I want to be exclusive?”

Keith’s heart catches in his throat, eyes widening like saucers, “What?”

“I said,” Lance looks straight at Keith, his gaze piercing,

“What if I want to be exclusive?”

Oh, fuck.

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