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tacitoru · 9 months ago

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sunday overcast - eren yeager

pairing: eren jaeger x reader

summary: After ruining your potential dream relationship - and spring break plans - with Jean, you retreat to your hometown over break for the first time in years to lick your wounds. But you can mope around for only so long when you're strapped for cash. Luckily, the manager at your usual summer gig has an unconventional shift you can fill on short notice. The only issue - the guy you hooked up with and ghosted last winter is scheduled to work the same shift. Even worse, he's your only ride home.

rating: explicit

wc: 7.8k

read on ao3 | series nav

the chili's au/scummy line cook eren saga continues

“Hey,” you murmur, low and warm in your throat, just barely heard above the rain. “You wanna cheer me up?”

Eren really isn’t sure how the both of you ended up in this situation.

Don’t get him wrong - he had been imagining your return since the day you left. Or rather, the day he found out you left, through Sasha, who had unceremoniously handed the sweater he loaned you over to him by the next dinner shift they worked together. By then, the winter holidays had passed and you were well on your way back to your university.

At first, he figured that in time, you would text him. Your last encounter was intense, and you could hardly look in his direction the whole drive to your apartment. He couldn’t bring himself to reach out first - something told him it’d make things worse before it made anything better. He couldn’t be the only one stuck on that night. Something had to be said, right?

But right now, somehow, you’re reclining in his backseat, studying him with that alluring, low-lidded gaze that pierces through the darkness of his car. And despite all the steps it took to get to this moment, nothing between the two of you has really been properly addressed yet.

It’s this gnawing thought that causes Eren to hesitate at your invitation. Frustration burns through him at the sight of you. Wet hair pasted to the sides of your flush cheeks. Soaked polo rucked up your stomach, the bare skin shining with rainwater what little light gleans inside from the streetlights. The two of you, alone in Eren’s worn-out sedan, camped out in the middle of Pepper’s vacant parking lot, sporting matching red eyes. He observes you, observing him pretending to mull over your question. Silently pleading with him to blur the lines of whatever this was quickly devolving into just a little bit more. Just one more time.

He wonders if you’ll back down, chicken out, if he’s quiet for long enough.

“Eren,” you call for him again and he swallows, throat feeling dry and thick. There it is again. That lofty tone you often use when he fucks up an order or moves a little too slow. Sweet, pitiful, and disdainful all at once.

A joint smolders in his fingers, long forgotten after dodging to avoid the flailing mass of limbs and appendages that was your poor attempt at wiggling into the back from the passenger seat. A pleasant, lethargic fog creeps at the edges of his consciousness. Your next words seem to float through the car to bless his ears, rolling around in his mind with a warm buzz that has him leaning out of his seat before you’re even finished speaking.

“Come make me feel good.”

New Year’s Day came and went, and Eren figured you’d at least reach out before you left your humble hometown for the start of your last spring semester in the big city. His phone would vibrate, and he would flip it, hoping he was masking his anticipation - and then later, disappointment - well enough at the possibility of you calling. His fingers would idle on your chat messages, frowning when he had to scroll farther and farther as he accumulated others—hoping one day to catch even just those three torturous, winking dots. Any sign that you were thinking of him as much as his thoughts turned to you.

This newfound hobby, waiting for you to return, was a nuisance in every sense of the word. You had left like you had every spring, and you would return like you had every summer. This careful, meticulous dance around your academic schedule that dictated your time back home - when you would work, how long you would stay, and who you would come to see. It was the way it had always been, for the past handful of years at least. Even if you were graduating this year, you had to come back - it was the natural order of things, in Eren’s world.

What Eren hadn’t been anticipating was that you would break that routine.

He wouldn’t really consider himself a creature of habit beyond smoking, but there were people who he considered had specific roles in his everyday life. Connie was his work partner-in-crime and designated smoke buddy. Armin was his rock and moral compass. Levi was a hardass dictator moonlighting as a shift supervisor. And you were the uptight waitress girl from work who liked to boss him around and get on his ass just because you had a college degree and he didn’t.

Realistically, nothing had really shifted too far from the norm in his day-to-day. You had always been just coworkers. Now you were just a coworker whom he had eaten out from the back one time.

Eren had been working at Pepper’s for a long time. It wasn’t like it was the first time he had fucked around with one of his coworkers - that was part of the inevitable circle of life in the restaurant service industry. Work a double shift? Check. Train a newbie? Check. Fuck that one coworker who laughs a little too hard at your jokes? Check.

But then he had practically corned you at Sasha’s ugly sweater party last year, and suddenly that reality had been forced to shift.

It was the worst at work. He would receive an order he found stupid - who the fuck puts ranch on their spaghetti? - and itch to somehow poke fun at you about it. Connie would introduce the dinner crew to new music when the restaurant was closed, Levi had retired into the office for the night, and Eren would catch himself considering which tracks you would find funny and which ones you’d probably look up and save for yourself.

Standing over the hot grill, his thoughts would drift, and Eren would imagine you marching through the swinging double doors into the kitchen, busybodied and frazzled as usual, sticking your neck out under the heat lamps like Erwin hasn't already admonished you for doing before, all so Eren can more clearly hear you chide him for half-assing an appetizer. It’s not hard to envision you - tense, jaw clenched, out of breath, flush, and slightly sweaty. Top buttons of your uniform’s polo are undone so he can glimpse the expanse of your collarbones and a bit of your chest when you lean over the counter to glare at him like you could kill him with your thoughts alone. Like you hadn’t ghosted him for months.

And then Connie would hip check him, wordlessly jarring Eren back into focus as another medium-well steak overcooked beneath his spatula.

Never in his right mind, no matter how often he replayed that fateful night with you in his head, no matter how frequently his thoughts drifted back to that cramped bathroom, the unrestrained feeling of your hands in his hair, the rough material of your knit sweater scrunched between his fingers as he fit himself between your thighs, the taste -

Never in his right mind would he have imagined you sitting in his car, smoothing your splayed hands over the expanse of his leather backseat, drenched to the bone yet offering him a small mirthful, inviting smile despite the chill still in the air as you lean back and make yourself comfortable enough to request, “Come make me feel good.”

Fortunately for Eren, when it came to you, his train of thought had been anything but sound of mind in recent weeks.

Now, his hands are full of you. Large palms slip and slide under your wet top as he explores your back, your waist, and your arms, crushing his mouth to yours.

His hand cups your cheek, a gentle guide in contrast to the hungry exploration of his mouth against yours. Urgent fingers slide into your hair as you rake back his own from his face, a strand getting caught in the corner of his lip when you kiss him once, twice. His slides across your lower lip invitingly, and you sigh into the kiss. Let him pry your mouth open with his own. He tastes like smoke and mints. The smell of deep fryer grease clings to his hair.

When Eren turns to pepper kisses down the soft skin of your neck and collarbones, he thinks he tastes salt. Time melts away, the only constant is the frantic rhythm of your breaths and the soft moans that escape your lips. You clutch the loose knot of his hair, guide him back towards you. Your foreheads rest against each other, chests heaving.

Eren’s gaze is low and warm as he takes in your bruised lips, and the ruddiness of your cheeks. HIs fingers dig into the soft skin of your hips. You shift in his lap under the intensity of his stare, causing you both to groan, quickly reminded of your position. Eren had stepped out into the rain only to shove his way into the backseat and situate you onto his lap. Despite your layers of damp denim and cotton, you can feel him growing warm and solid beneath you.

“Is that for me?” you grind down against his hips. Grinning, teasing. He stutters upwards, gripping your waist like a lifeline.

You think he looks so pretty like this, flustered, frowning, and breathless beneath you, like you’re moving quicker than he can catch up. He wraps one arm around your waist, using his free hand to wrench the collar of your polo aside and sink his teeth into the soft juncture of your neck in retaliation. You jolt and wriggle in his hold but Eren keeps you pressed against him, vengeful.

“So full of yourself,” he mutters, pressing a wet kiss where there is surely now a bruise. “Gotta get you full of me instead.”

You sputter and tell him to shut up, but let him take off your shirt anyway.

The thunderstorm that rolled through your small town this morning was relentless. Eren had figured the day would be wet and dreary when it began drizzling on his way to the restaurant, the headlights on his hooptie struggling to penetrate through the early morning fog. But throughout the morning, whenever Eren got a chance to glance out of the to-go order window, it was evident that it would only grow worse.

He had already been dreading this shift all month. He had been slotted to come in on a Sunday - the one day of the week Pepper’s was closed - to deep clean the kitchen and take inventory of the walk-in fridge. This particular shift was only scheduled once a month, always on a Sunday morning, and rotated between him and Connie. The whole ordeal was a long-winded chore but thanks to Levi, the staff hierarchy was a pretty balanced ecosystem. Typically, one other waitress or front-of-house staff would be assigned randomly to help them. That way, none of the kitchen staff could claim they carried the brunt of the work.

(Even if they did.)

However, this Sunday morning was different. As he peered through the to-go order window, the storm's persistence mirrored the internal tempest he felt. The reason? Your return to staff is scheduled for this very shift.

Eren’s heart nearly fell out of his ass upon first glance at the schedule. He asked Levi if it was a typo.

“It’s spring break,” his manager deadpanned, as though this weren’t the first time you were picking up a shift in the middle of the semester. The linecook could only nod, tight-lipped. Historically, you had only worked over the summers and winters, reserving the few days of spring break for actual vacation time. Eren had figured he would have at least another month or two before you would have to confront each other, once he concluded that you wouldn’t reach out on your own.

Deep cleaning duty was always a menial and tedious task, but Eren working in enjoyed the silence of the usually chaotic kitchen. Any other Sunday, he would tie back his hair, don his apron, and steal Connie’s Bluetooth speaker from above the dishwashing sink. He’d blast his music over the chunky gurgle of the draining deep fryers, over the spray of boiling sink water. Rock, maybe R&B - stuff that wasn’t typical “family-friendly dining hours” approved. Maybe smoke a little before he came in, if he had been smart enough to think to roll something the night before.

It was easy to lose himself in the busy work. Sometimes he would exchange pleasantries with accompanying wait staff if they actually decided not to call out at the last minute. Sasha, a night shift waitress and repeat offender, was never a morning person.

You were never much of a morning person either. It’s why he had been waiting all week for you to call out. He’d like to pretend like he wasn’t anticipating your return; like he hadn’t been taking extra time to pour over the schedule for weeks once winter turned to spring, noting where your name was absent among the list of people set to clock in after 4 pm. Like he hasn’t been bugging Sasha to share the barest hint about when you might be coming back. Or stalking your Twitter to see if you’ll post your graduation photos. But that wouldn’t be entirely true.

Still, the shock of seeing you scheduled so soon before he’s prepared had haunted Eren throughout the week.

He insisted to himself he wasn’t nervous…Maybe a little anxious. The last time he had seen you, he had you bent over the toilet seat and crying into your arms at Sasha’s Christmas party before escorting you out in his garish holiday sweater. Blessedly - or dreadfully - he hadn’t heard from you since.

When you had unloaded the sweater onto Sasha, she didn’t even bother to ask why you were in possession of it in the first place - practically the whole night crew played an incredulous audience to your walk of shame. Connie wouldn’t let him hear the end of it; Jean wouldn’t look him in the eyes at their last all-staff meeting.

Eren can’t shake the feeling of expectation as he moves mechanically through the deep cleaning tasks, hoping you won’t call out and that the morning wouldn't be tainted by awkwardness. Hoping that you will call out and the both of you could remain in this silent, anxious limbo. He had been scheduled to clock in an hour before you. It crept by agonizingly slow. The memory of the holiday party, the garish holiday sweater, and the abrupt departure echo in his mind as he scrubs down the skillet of a grill.

You like that Eren never lets you think for too long.

You’ll slow down when you kiss him, and he’ll stuff his fingers in your mouth instead. You’ll get too quiet for his liking, and he’ll seal his lips around your nipple. Suck bruises into the undersides of your breasts. Man handle you out of your uniform. Strip out of his own when you tug on his shirt.

You grind listlessly in his lap, trying to diminish as much space between you as possible, pressed up against his chest so that his arms are forced to wrap around you. Eren’s hands brace your newly bare legs instead, sliding up your limbs with eager fingers.

You bite his ear and his fingers flex over your ass, pressing just very nearly where you want him most. “What do you want? Hm?” He’s so high, he doesn’t care that he’s whining.

You suspect that he likes that you’re bossy if the glazed look in his eyes is anything to go by. He moves to kiss you and you duck with a grimace, jerking him back by the top knot of his hair.

Your mouth is starting to feel like chalk, cotton mouth having set in. You’re afraid that you’ll croak if you try to speak.

As the first hour drags by, Eren’s unease grows. He’s starting to get antsy. Hadn’t even sparked up before starting to take inventory. Yet, when you finally enter the restaurant - rain-soaked, windswept, marching towards the cash register to clock in with a miserable look - the relief he feels is immediate.

So you’re not avoiding him. At least, not completely. Not enough to turn down a paycheck.

You haven’t quite spotted him yet from outside the kitchen, where he’s braced over the grill, elbow-deep in grease and fry oil grime as he scrubs the insides with a sorry excuse for a sponge, but there’s no way you don’t hear his music. The sound of something like country rock leaks from behind the squeaky metal swinging doors that separate the kitchen - so lovingly tokened “the Heart of the House” - from the front. He feels rather than hears you tentatively push through those very same doors, following the source of the noise.

Looking up to greet you, Eren falters at first. His mouth dries at the sight of you, all damp and disgruntled, shifting uncomfortably at the way your uniform polo sticks to your skin. How you managed to look pretty even in the drab waitressing attire and tacky, pepper-printed apron was beyond him.

When your eyes finally do meet his, there’s an unbearable pause as you gape at one another, both seemingly grappling for the right words. Eren waits for you to speak first - it’s only fair, after months of radio silence, but he’s mostly just afraid of scaring you off.

You look as tense as he feels, shoulder locked up to your ears as you round the corner to face him. Your lips part and Eren prays the next words that pass through them will ease the confusing ache in his chest.

“Since when’re you a Luke Bryan fan?”

Oh. Okay.

The disbelief on his face must be more blatant than he thinks because you begin to chuckle behind pursed lips, the corners of your eyes crinkled with mirth and mild embarrassment.

Deflecting. Okay. He can play along.

“Whaddya mean?” He offers an easy grin, leaning back from where he was bent over the lip of the deconstructed grill. Mentally imploring that stupid part of his brain that gets gooey when you’re around to shut the hell up. “You’re telling me this doesn’t make you wanna shake it for me, country girl?”

“Whatever,” you dismiss him not unkindly, but excuse yourself from him, all the same, to slip past him into the kitchen, grumbling something about “accidentally” placing his phone in this dishwasher if he doesn’t change the music to something else soon.

The way his hands look stretching out the back of your panties as he wets his digits along your soaked slit to finger you drives Eren a little insane. From where he’s got his head perched over your shoulder as you tuck into his own to hide little, shuddering sobs, he’s entranced by the sight of the fabric straining to make room for his knuckles as he dips inside where you’re molten and wanting.

He wonders if you’ll let him keep this pair, if he asks. He’ll try not to think of it like a reward.

You sigh at the welcome intrusion, one arm slung around his neck, the other hand fisting the damp hemp of his jeans. Slowly, indulgently, he presses in. And out.

“Yeah? Like that?”

He asks like he genuinely wants to know, not like he’s being cocky about how easily you’re falling apart for him, and it makes you clench a little harder around his fingers. Cry into his shoulder a little louder. You couldn’t even answer if you wanted to.

Eren refuses to be rushed. Takes his time to learn what makes you twitch and moan like you’re not camped out in the middle of a very public parking lot. You’ll have to ask him about his exhibitionist tendencies later. He picks up the pace, cranes his neck to kiss you and you struggle to kiss him back. You’re sloppy, dragging your tongue across the edge of his chin. Spit bubbles at the corner of your lip, and he bites you there.

Distantly, you hear the rain pick up.

Despite your seemingly easygoing demeanor and non-confrontation, the weight of your last encounter and the unspoken acknowledgment of your absence is tangible for the entire shift.

It hovers between the two of you like a dark cloud as you dance around each other throughout the morning, never offering more than a few words between tasks and weak smiles.

It shouldn’t bother him as much as it does. It should be enough that you even bothered to show up today, despite everything.

But Eren hates how polite you’re being with him. You give a little, cracking a joke here, offering a laugh there. But there’s none of your usual bite. Something passive in your gaze. Distant in an unsettling way he can’t comprehend.

You ask him where the cleaning solution is and he directs you to a recently reorganized (courtesy of Levi) storage closet instead of asking why you’ve never texted him after all that transpired. You seek out his help breaking down empty bulk-order shipping boxes and he spends the better part of an hour snapping cardboard in half instead of interrogating you about Jean, if you told him about what happened as he suspects. If you regret it, like he’s assuming.

You don’t seem to not want to be around him. Rather the opposite - you don’t want to leave him alone for too long. Asking him for help with things he knows you know - you’ve worked here nearly as long as he has. Purposefully keeping him at arm's length, but orbiting him all the same. He waits patiently for you to take that jump you seem to be building up to.

The morning wears on, the two of you working in relative silence. You pay Eren little mind, dutifully going about your tasks yet always hovering within eyesight, occasionally disappearing into the bathroom. You didn’t even reprimand him for the volume of his music like you normally would, or hound him for eating on the job when he makes a sandwich mid-shift.

In his periphery, he watches as you fuss about the kitchen, flitting between tasks, and wonders if you were waiting for him to get angry with you first before broaching the subject.

Eren takes his smoke break standing at the back door. When you notice his absence, he waits for you to admonish him for letting the draft in. Instead, you merely glower in disdain at the rainwater splattered on the tile floor, never meeting his eyes, before turning the corner with a dismissive, “ ‘S’long as you know you’re cleaning that up.”

The storm rages outside. An uneasy feeling festers inside Eren. It eats at his stomach as the end of his shift creeps near. Grits his teeth when you both clock out with little more than a half-assed, “See you later.”

Eren’s ears ring as he hangs his apron and collects his things from the back office. A notable lack of an umbrella, he fits a worn Yankees cap over his hair and fits what he can of his bun through the back, like it’ll do anything against the downpour standing between him and his car.

Say something. He should say something.

He remembers how bold he was that fateful night; teasing you on the couch, ruining your sweater, and rushing to your aid in the bathroom.

“What the hell is with you?” You had muttered, and Eren had wanted to gather your face in his palms and press his forehead to yours hard like it would make you feel all of the years’ worth of want and frustration he couldn’t put into words.

He had pressed his mouth to yours instead, intent on devouring you at the first warm, breathless sound you made. He had always been better at communicating like this.

Say something.

Eren meanders back towards the front of the restaurant, ready to lock up. To his surprise, you haven’t rushed out to greet your ride. Your lack of car ownership had been an amazing feat to watch you work around in your early days of working at Pepper’s. You had long since established a carpooling repertoire with the other wait staff. He can’t remember who usually takes you home. It’s not a parent, that much is for sure. Sasha had totted you around this past winter break due to most of your shifts lining up. And before that - his mind fogs.

The line cook spots you leaning against the glass double doors at the front, tapping idly away at your phone, and sucks his teeth - Levi was definitely going to make him go back and wipe them down tomorrow.

“You’re getting prints on my glass.”

You glance at him pointedly before breathing on the glass and smudging a heart with your thumb where the foggy imprint begins to fade.

Eren wrinkles his nose. “Amazing.”

“You’re welcome.”

Rain fills the silence as you take each other in. It's late afternoon, but from where Eren stands, the sunless weather casts the impression that it is well into the night. You look at him full-on for the first since the start of your shift, eyes unabashedly raking over his form. Save for the emergency lamps, all of the lights in the building have been shut off. The dim light casts shadows beneath your eyes - you look tired.

Eren twirls the keychain in his hands, quizzical. “You…got a ride home?”

He tries not to feel offended at the way your brows spike, unable to hide your surprise. Your reaction is quick, reflexive. Your answering “Yeah!” comes out wince-like and strangled. The forced pitch in your voice makes you both cringe. Clearing your throat to try again, softer this time. “Yeah. I’m good.”

Eren stares at you. The teeth of the key bite into the skin of his fingers in the tightness of his grip.

“Thank you for asking.” You add, a little more sincerely.

“Yeah.” He tugs the hat over his eyes. Tosses the key in your direction and tries not to take too much delight in watching you drop your cool composure to scramble and catch the metal piece. “Lock up when you’re out.”

You don’t know how many times you’ve come. Consciousness comes and goes in waves. Dozed off in his lap with your face tucked into his shoulder after your third orgasm to the thrum of rain and the steady rise and fall of his chest. Eren had fumbled for a condom out of his wallet and sunk into you at your first insistence. What started off as a frenzied, frustrated tangle of limbs somewhere along the way devolved into something much softer. Where you’re still rooted on his thick length becomes a slow, sloppy rut as you come down from your high.

Where you are sleepy, Eren is determined, dead set on accomplishing the task you set before him.

" Hm? Feel good?” He presses his lips to your forehead, presses his thumb to your clit in a slow grind. Grins when you twitch his hold. You gave up trying to maintain any semblance of control a long time ago, boneless and relenting when Eren strongarms you into his embrace.

“This what you wanted?” he pants, gruff and a little desperate, and you have enough energy left to nod, murmuring his name. He scoots down a little in his seat, bracing his legs in a wide stance before pistoning his hips into your warm, wet center. Any other time you would cringe at the way the skin of your bare thighs stick to the tops of his, Eren's work-issued black jeans shoved mid-way down his legs. All he can offer is a breathless moan in response when you wail and wriggle in his hold, hips reflexively jumping away.

“So hot like this,” he breathes into the space behind your ear. “So good, fuck.”

You reach one hand up to brace against the back windshield, palm slipping across the condensation. The playlist Eren put on loops again.

At the end of his Sunday shift, Eren finds himself sitting in his car in the back parking lot at Pepper’s, unearthing a joint from his dash drawer and digging around for his lighter, silently cursing himself.

Parked beneath the restaurant sign - Pepper’s in brilliant white script, a caricatured bell pepper hugging the ‘P’ - the neon red mascot hovers far above the hood of Eren’s hooptie. Seemingly glowering at him through his windshield with a knowing smile. He can spot the cartoonishly wide eyes from where he sits, even through the downpour of rain.

Of course, you found him fucking appalling. The last time he had seen you, he’d practically dropped to his knees at the chance to distract you from the guy you actually liked.

The ringing sound gets a little louder behind his ears. Can I really keep going like nothing happened?

From the start of your career at the restaurant Pepper’s - if you could call it that - you had made it very evident that you and Eren were of two separate worlds.

You were a college student. You had shiny friends and extravagant stories from a bigger city, a vastly different lifestyle than the quiet bubble and hum of suburbia you called home. Eren had seen the Instagram pictures. You had goals. You had ambition. Pepper’s was a pit stop for you. Although you never outright mocked him for it, he could see it in the sneer on your lip sometimes when you interrupted a smoke break or in the aggravated glint in your eye when you had to address him about a dish.

You considered him beneath you.

A gentle rap at his window pulls Eren from his thoughts, and he practically jumps out of his skin at the sight of you standing in the pouring rain, crouched over his window. Face pressed pleadingly into the cold glass. Eren freezes, and then jumps into action, fumbling his newly retrieved lighter and nearly dropping his joint in the process.

“Holy shit?”

He places his things in his pocket and rolls down the window just a crack, the wind already whipping water into the interior of his car. “You good?”

It’s a stupid question - one he expects you to reproach him for. Instead, a rare look crosses your face - you look meek, and nervous, in a way you haven’t since your first day on the job. Arms crossed, lips pursed. Like you’re about to do something you don’t normally do. The rain pelts your flimsy excuse for a rain jacket.

“Could I - Can I get a ride?” He can pick out your agitation even over the rumble of the thunderstorm. “I’ll give you gas money, I just-,”

“Money? What-,” He unlocks his car door, incredulous. “Can you just get in the fucking car please?”

You grimace at his tone when he rolls his window back up, but Eren watches you skirt around the front of his car nonetheless. You plop into the passenger seat, a puddle of rainwater. He can hear your socks squish in your shoes when you shift in your seat.

“What the hell?”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, looking at your hands. Your jeans feel ten pounds heavier, the denim soaked all the way through. “My ride didn’t-,”

You stop and then start again, and Eren moves to interrupt you. You speak over one another.

“- No, it’s no -,”

“-I wouldn’t have bothered you if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with implication. Eren steals a glance at you, seeing what he hopes is just the rain streaking down the sides of your face. He fiddles with his phone and puts on a random playlist to fill the silence.

He notices the tremble in your hands, the way your usually self-assured posture has shrunk into itself. You look small in his passenger seat. At once, all of his annoyance melts away, replaced by a surge of concern.

"Hey," he starts softly, "It’s whatever. Don’t sweat it, seriously." Eren notices you shiver and reaches over to blast the heat in his dinky sedan.

“Fuck, you’re freezing, hold on.”

You watch, pressed against the passenger door to make room as your coworker reaches behind his seat, long limbs momentarily invading your space as he dregs up a dark green hoodie from the depths of his car floor with a flourish. A bright red pepper patch the size of your hand is sewn across the chest. The cartoonish mascot of your place of work smiles mockingly back at you in the dim lighting of Eren’s car with wide, unseeing eyes.

It’s your turn to wrinkle your nose at him, skeptical. “It’s clean I swear, grabbed it on my way here this morning.”

Despite your skepticism, you take it from him anyway, between two pinched fingers for dramatic effect, moaning and groaning as you pull it over your head.

“We can’t let this be a regular thing.”

It’s said so casually, but the jolt of rage and disbelief Eren feels at your reference to last December is tremendous. He scoffs, avoiding your gaze as he reveals the joint and lighter from his pockets once more.

“Oh, so we can joke about it but not talk about it?” It comes out more scathing than he intends to be.

He registers your obvious shock beside him at his words but only pauses to balance the filter of his forgotten joint between his lips, already poised to burn the rolled end with a steady hand as he flicks the lighter on. “Do you mind?”

You shake your head, sinking into his hoodie and wordlessly watching as he inhales, deeply, then exhales, indulgent. A sweet, earthly smell fills the car. “Alright.”

“What’s there to talk about?”

Eren studies you a little too hard, more clarity in his gaze than you would prefer. You don’t refuse when he passes you the roll, gently pinched between two fingers. He waits until you’ve inhaled to voice his suggestion, taking a little amusement in how you choke on the smoke. “We could talk about Jean. I think there’s definitely a lot to cover there.”

Eren waits for you to back down from the obvious challenge. He doesn’t miss the way you grimace at the sound of the dayshift manager’s name. “Is that what this is about? Is that who usually picks you up?”

“You never noticed?” You don’t sound mad, just surprised, so Eren figures it's okay to be honest.

“You…no.” He shakes his head and takes a hit. “I could give less of a fuck about what Jean gets up to in his free time, sorry.”

“Ah.”

You’re silent for a little bit after that. When he glances at you again, you’re already handing him the joint and turned to face the passenger window, gazing out at the rain. The size of Eren’s hoodie seems to swallow you.

He doesn’t press you to elaborate, but you do anyway, feeling guilty for your matter-of-fact attitude earlier, when he’s been nothing but accommodating for you so far. You decide to give a little. “We’ve been carpooling together every shift. Every year. He dropped me off today…”

“Said it would be the last time.” You peter off. "We had vacation plans together."

You had planned to go to the beach with mutual friends - Jean's parents owned a beach house on the coast. You were going to meet his parents. You can remember how light you had felt the day after the plans had been made, last summer, practically dancing into work the next shift, and then with a little more clarity, the awful pit that had formed in your stomach when he had broken the news to you on the drive to work this morning.

Eren shifts in his seat, and clears his throat, trying to quell the urge to punch Jean in his. He ashes into a little dish in his cupholder. “Figured somethin’ had happened. Been in such a shitty mood all day.”

“Me? Okay, Mr. I’m gonna mope in the kitchen until somebody notices and takes pity on me. Didn’t you ever go through a goth phase as a kid? I think know a couple of artists you could get into.”

“Tsk,” Eren brushes off your laughter with another hit of his joint, halfway smoldering between his fingertips. “You wouldn’t know a goth phase if it smacked you between the eyes.”

“Mm, no I figured you’d be an expert, with hair like that.”

“Like what?”

You dissolve into a fit of giggles behind your hand, high catching up to you, a balmy and pleasant buzz in your head. The image of Eren rocking an early 2010s-grunge fringe cut clear as day in your mind’s eye. You blame the weed for making you brave enough to lean over and reach across the console to brush the sable fringe that escapes from his bun and spills from under his baseball cap out over his eyes.

Until recently, your relationship had been largely surface-level. This prim and proper versus anything goes repertoire you had both built over the years, banter that exclusively involved work lingo and work references and work friends. You’d come back from college, and Eren was there. You’d leave for another semester, and Eren was still there.

As permanent as a fixture in your mind as the walk-in fridge or the soda dispenser. Always prepared to give you hell on a slow moving shift or crack jokes at your expense. Always there to keep your plates in order or set aside a pasta entree for you during a dinner rush despite his strict “customer-orders-before-employees” edict because he knows you won’t eat otherwise. Always there to cover for you when your bathroom breaks went a little too long.

He’ll tap dance on your last nerve all day, but you care for each other, through that vague sense of solidarity that coworkers share.

Eren blinks back at you, low and slow, eyes caught on your easy smile. The first genuine one you’ve given him all day. He’s entranced, savoring the feeling of your fingers drifting across his brow bone, tracing his jawline, and then sliding back along the nape of his neck to tuck under the strap of his hat.

For a moment, it’s all a little too much for Eren. The gentleness of your touch and tone, your full, undivided attention as you undo the strap. He quietly marvels at the ease with which you do it with one hand, slipping the knot of his hair free. The loose strands freefall over his eyes once more, but you’re quick to push them back. You shift forward further out of your seat to use both hands, and he lets you, eyes fluttering shut at the sensation of your finger raking gently across his scalp. Distantly, he admonishes himself for somehow ending up allowing you to let you pet him like a dog in his own car.

He’s supposed to be driving you home.

“Did you-,” Eren’s voice cracks, and you don’t bother hiding your laugh. “Would you feel better if you like, talked about it with someone?”

The joint is simmering down to it’s last dregs between Eren’s knuckles. He offers it to you, and you twist his wrist to direct the filter towards your mouth, inhaling with your lips pressed to his fingers.

Eren would blame the heat crawling up his chest on the AC, but it’s at that moment he notices the heater never kicked in. He frowns, turning away from you to restart the car, stomping on the break.

The vehicle lurches and makes an odd shuddering sound before hot, stale air blasts through the vents. You lean away from the one closest to you, fumbling the shutter closed. “The fuck is with your car?”

“‘S old as shit. Whole thing is on its last leg.” Eren gripes, waving off a cloud of dust that seemed to halo around his head. He tries to roll his eyes when he clocks your “no, duh” expression, but the motion feels slow and clunky behind his eyelids. “Doesn’t matter. Fixing up a new one anyway.”

It only stings a little when your brows nearly shoot up to your hairline in surprise, inhibitions lowered, no longer able to hide your indifference to him as well as usual.

“You build cars?” Your lips feel like rubber under the haze of marijuana. The words feel stupid the moment you utter them, but Eren catches what he dares to believe is a hint of awe in your tone. He ribs you for it, preening a little under your attention.

“Yeah, me build cars,” the line cook laughs and mocks you, caveman-like. “Car go fast.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

You pout, ignoring his raspy, rumbling laughter and the warm feeling blossoming in your chest. The memory of him smiling up at you, all teeth and impish in Sasha’s bathroom winks across your mind’s eye. Arms crossed, you whip around to face the window again, withdrawing before he can catch the deep color crawling across your cheeks. In all your years of working together, you’d never really considered what Eren did outside of work and hanging out with your circle of colleagues. You feel like you’ve unveiled something vast and unknown.

“That’s cool.” You offer in a whisper, awe poorly hidden in your voice, and it’s Eren’s turn to hide his face.

“Didn’t know you had a hobby.”

“Yeah, well, I do exist outside of all this, y’know,” he gestures vaguely in the direction of the restaurant and you hum, nodding. Feeling silly that this is a realization you’re only just now coming to.

A strange new calm had settled between you. The rain outside continues its relentless assault, but within the car, you feel a fragile connection form. You peek at Eren from the corner of your eye, his expression unreadable in the dim light, yet somehow comforting. Equally lax and low-lidded. He reaches for his glove box to reveal a second preroll and gets to work lighting it as you observe his side profile in silence.

You’re not too prideful to admit he looks handsome like this, hair undone and falling over his shoulders, work polo unbuttoned at the top, features lit up by the dim glow of the lighter in his fist against the overcast gloom of the afternoon.

Then he squints, face twisted like something has been bothering him. “I thought you didn’t smoke.” Or at least, he had assumed so, by how often you got on his ass about lighting up while on the clock.

“At work, dumbass.” Eren exhales, and the car gets hazy again, even with air running through the vents. He sees you twist your fingers into the hem of his hoodie and wishes they were in his hair again. “I am a college student.”

“That doesn’t mean shit.”

You reluctantly turn to face him again, if only to implore him to continue. “You can be so…I dunno.” He scrambles for the right words through the drug-induced fog in his brain, faltering a little under your scrutiny. “Uptight? Straight-edged? Can’t imagine you reaching for a blunt to wind down.”

“It’s not my first choice of coping mechanism,” you joke, plucking the newly lit roll from his grasp between careful fingers, laughing through your nose when you miss on the first try. You take the opportunity to throw his words back at him, childishly. “I do have a life outside of here, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Silence descends again, still comfortable in the haze of the car. It’s getting a little harder to breathe. You steal another glance at your colleague, noticing the way his gaze tracks the motion of the joint being brought to your lips, strands of his dark hair plastered to his forehead by the rain. That unexpected warmth grows in your chest, a feeling you can’t bring yourself to name. Not after this morning.

Eren leans closer, over the console that separates you with lidded eyes that flicker between your gaze and your mouth as you slowly expel the smoke from between your lips. Eyes set on you with an unfamiliar softness that makes your heart ache. The distance between your faces shrinks agonizingly slowly. He whispers your name, and suddenly you’re lurching backward, struggling up out of your seat to slip into the crevice that separates the front of the car from the backseat. The moment is broken.

Eren yelps, ducking in time to just nearly miss being clipped by your sneakers as you shimmy into the back seat. You peel his hoodie over your head with exasperated finality.

He twists in his seat to face you, bewildered, but you’re already settling into his back seat with a smile, still trying to keep two steps ahead of him even when you’re stoned.

Eren’s not really sure what he’s trying to prove to himself - prove to you. But that little ache in his chest gets a little gentler when you look at him like that, the confusion about whateverthisis becomes a little less profound, a little quieter.

“Come make me feel good.”

He recognizes the undertone in your voice. He doesn’t need to be told twice. The young man moves on autopilot, stepping out of the driver’s seat to slide into the backseat beside you, ignoring your indignant shriek with a grin when the rain lashes the car’s interior. Eren is dripping wet when he reaches for you, lips slips slotting against yours with an eager certainty that makes you moan.

He wouldn’t call it a crush, but if anyone could have heard the way his heart kicked up when you beckoned him into his own backseat - they might argue otherwise.

Once again, Eren is dropping you off while you wear something of his. He watches you fiddle with the hem of the Pepper’s hoodie as he pulls into your parents’ driveway, behind one of their cars.

The line cook thinks back to what you revealed to him earlier, how Jean had been your usual carpool to work, and gets angry all over again. “You thinking of getting one of your own?”

He means a car, but you’re too busy avoiding his eyes again, studying his hoodie a little too closely. “Yeah, do you think Erwin has any more? I think this merch is from before even I started, I don’t think I’ve ever seen the pepper drawn like this.”

You pick at the outdated mascot embroidered across the chest of the piece, the cartoon eyes glaring back at him unblinkingly, as if daring him to correct you.

The rain had subsided on the drive to your neighborhood. You look less gaunt in the sunlight. Eren remembers how you let him hold you after your spontaneous round of marathon sex. Sticky and sweaty and damp for a whole new reason. Remembers how you pressed a kiss to his forehead after the fact, how it made him feel warm with a different kind of buzz entirely independent of the bud you had smoked.

He stops you when you move to take off the hoodie again and give it back to him, halfway out of the car.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says with a lopsided smile. “You can keep this one.”

#eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager #eren smut #eren jaeger fanfic #aot smut #aot fanfic #eren jaeger smut #eren yeager smut #chili's au #welcome to pepper's #aot angst #eren angst

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scoops-aboy86 · 4 months ago

Text

Epilogue (Secret Admirer pt 10)

The final conclusion! Because there were some loose ends I wanted to tie up. And @hotluncheddie, you got your Polaroids. 😜

wc: 2612 / rated: T / set after season 3 / also on ao3

In the aftermath, they talk. A lot. Especially after Eddie pulls back from their kiss to gasp, “Hell yeah you can be my boyfriend, as long as I get to be yours.”

Eddie tells Steve about how much his life had changed once his dad went to prison and he’d started living with his uncle full time, and how he’d always had trouble trusting good things at first. (Which probably explains some things about the ups and downs of their relationship so far, Steve muses eventually, and Eddie sheepishly can’t help but agree.)

Steve tells Eddie that he likes the trailer a lot actually, because it feels lived-in and well-loved in a way the house he grew up in never quite has. (Which Eddie gets, because Steve had written plenty about how uncomfortable he feels there sometimes, and how he’s never had a voice in choosing the decor or layout in his own bedroom.)

Eddie shows Steve how to roll the weed he bought into pro-quality joints; he’s a good teacher, it turns out, and praises Steve so much as a student that they’re both grinning stupidly at each other well before lighting up together for the first time.

Steve admits that Robin had spilled the beans about his secret identity. After initially establishing that she wanted to trade the valuable info for something good, the classified information slipping out right after Steve had taken the brunt of the damage at Starcourt (not a lot of details given about that, but it’s fine) seemed fair enough, Eddie can grudgingly agree. And Steve, sweetheart that he is, adds that as soon as she had he’d been struck breathless. He tells Eddie about the loan Robin is giving him and how he’s about to start looking for a place, and that the trailer park is looking more appealing by the minute.

Eddie explains the nerd stuff he’d spouted off the night before, after manfully holding back on giggling at the garbled version Steve repeats back, and explains what a Shelob is. When it turns out to be from those books that Dustin keeps pestering him to read—which, he now knows, is not exactly the same as The Hobbit. He admits to Eddie that he doesn’t know if he can do books that long; letters are fine, those are only a few pages, but it takes a lot of concentration to stay focused on printed words for that long and, after all the concussions, it tends to give him headaches. Immediately, Eddie starts falling all over himself offering to read to him, promising to do all the voices and “It’ll be just like you’re there in Middle Earth, Stevie, I swear!” Which is cute, and Steve is absolutely going to take him up on that.

For now, he’s content to keep cuddling and talking, with occasional kisses and little squeezes whenever it hits either of them again that this is real, it’s happening. They end up spending the entire day together, haphazardly working together to make breakfast that they share with Eddie��s uncle because, well, they made a racket as well as food and woke the poor man up. Steve is about to fall all over himself apologizing for all of it, for staying over unannounced, for sleeping in his nephew’s bed under his roof which is, like, probably not cool and all… Eddie just snickers next to him while Steve babbles himself into a corner, Robin style, then slips an arm around his waist and says, “Uncle Wayne, this Steve. He drove me home last night, graciously nursed me through the consequences of my most recent poor life choices this morning, and now he’s my boyfriend. Steve, this is Wayne. He’s the best, make sure to pour his coffee in the World’s Best Uncle mug.”

Which Steve does, and Eddie winces a bit when he hands it to Wayne with an overeager, “Here you go, sir!”

That’s one of his uncle’s pet peeves, being called sir, but he hadn’t thought to give Steve that warning earlier and then suddenly there wasn’t time. On top of that, Wayne doesn’t take kindly to being woken up before his alarm. He’s the best, but he’s also a lifelong bachelor with a regular night shift and a bad back, for all that he refuses to take the bedroom again now that Eddie isn’t a kid anymore.

Still, it could’ve gone worse. Wayne takes the mug with only a mild grumble about keeping it down, which is pretty tame for him. There will be a conversation about this in Eddie’s future, not least of which will probably be a few blunt questions about whether they used protection, because Wayne reads the same news headlines he does and Steve lives on the privileged side of town and still has a lingering reputation of getting around and Wayne doesn’t know him like Eddie does. Which, sure, Eddie has hooked up with other guys, mostly not in the trailer because it’s a shared space and he is acutely aware of how lucky he is to live here at all considering he could’ve stayed a ward of the state if Wayne hadn’t agreed to take him—and with those guys, he definitely put out on the first date. If they could be called dates. He’s going to have to explain to Wayne that Steve is different, that this is a long haul thing and that Eddie trusts him.

And he kind of can’t wait.

After breakfast, they hop in Steve’s car and drive out of town and break out the joints they’d rolled, cruising around with the windows down until the high starts to hit Steve and he finds a shady spot to pull over. Somewhere secluded. There’s a blanket in the trunk because of course there is; they spend a few hours out in the middle of nowhere under the trees, smoking and talking more and working their way through the snacks Steve thought to pack before they left the trailer.

It’s not a first date though, Eddie decides, just like their technical first kiss (that he still doesn’t remember, damn it) wasn’t their First Kiss. One of them has to ask the other on a date. Which, because he’s very brave, he finally does.

Steve responds by tackling him into the nearby grass and rolling them around in an emphatic yes until they both have green rubbed into their clothes and red bitten into their lips, giddy and laughing and boyfriends, holy shit.

Their first official date is a picnic that they each bring their favorites to and share. When Eddie asks Steve in advance what he’s planning on bringing, just to make sure they aren’t, like, putting wildly mismatched levels of effort into this, Steve doesn’t answer.

He just grins playfully and hisses, “Sssssecretsss,” and waits upwards of thirty seconds while Eddie tries to place why that seems familiar.

By the time the bottom drops out of Eddie’s brain and he remembers, Steve is already dancing gracefully back from his flailing attempts at a one-sided slap fight, the damn jock. “Steve, get back here! No, you can’t just—You can’t use my own Gollum impression on me and then leave! Where are you going? Steeeeve!”

Next time Sober Eddie sees Drunk Eddie, he’s going to strangle him.

But it’s fine, they both bring their large picnic basket (Steve) and overloaded paper grocery bag that’s so full it has to be carried from underneath rather than by the handles (Eddie) to a hill overlooking the empty fields stretching away from Hawkins at dusk. It turns out they’ve both brought lemon bars for dessert, and spend a good ten minutes playfully bickering over whose are better until it ends with sticky, powdered sugar kisses and murmured agreement to exchange recipes.

Which means Eddie is going to have to beg the recipe off of old Mrs. Anderson a few trailers down, who is always happy to bake for folks as long as they provide the ingredients. But hey, those lemon bars are worth it. And, obviously, so is Steve.

Their second date is a movie night with Robin, who immediately introduces herself as, “Hi, I’m a lesbian and Steve’s unlikely best friend forever, so that makes us friends-in-law. You cool with that? Because if not, we’re about to have a problem.”

It’s not a problem. Eddie had a decent opinion of her before and likes her immediately based on that opening shot alone. They quickly settle into a friendly argument about movie genres while Steve sits back, beaming at both of them with a happiness almost rivaling that first morning of being boyfriends.

Not quite, but almost.

And after, when Steve comes back after dropping Robin off at home, he leads the way to Eddie’s bedroom with a finger looped through a belt loop on the metalhead’s ripped jeans and proceeds to test out some of the things Eddie had described in his letters. Apparently going down on a girl and giving a guy head aren’t as different as Eddie would’ve thought, because Steve only needs a little guidance on what to do (or not do) with his teeth, but when it comes to fingers, lips, and tongue? Twenty out of ten, Eddie has no notes.

He barely has a brain by the time Steve is done with him. Not that he needs it to tug his perfect, rosy-lipped, keyed-up boyfriend up to show him what a musician’s hands can really do.

Wayne takes a bit longer to come around to Steve. A chance comment about some sportsball game or other gets them talking and… suddenly Eddie might not be Wayne’s favorite anymore.

Not really, he knows somewhere behind the ridiculous grin he’s wearing, because his uncle is nothing if not loyal. Eddie’s never been interested in that stuff, and he finds watching them bond over it incomprehensible yet fascinating.

At least, until Wayne gets up to dig out the old scrapbook, saying, “Think I’ve still got some photos of the summer Ed here tried to play T-ball.” Then Eddie jumps up and hustles a very amused Steve the hell out of there, insisting that they have a schedule to keep to and Wayne is gumming up the works.

“Aw, but Eddie, I wanted to see,” Steve teases, pretending to brace himself in the front doorway while Eddie pretends to bodily shove him through it.

“Next time,” Wayne promises with a self-satisfied air. He never gets to do this, none of Eddie’s friends have ever shown this kind of interest and god knows he’s never brought anyone he’s attempting to date around to meet his uncle—not that there’s ever been anyone who fell in that category, before Steve.

“Never,” Eddie hisses, trying to sound threatening. And fails, mostly because he’s busy goosing Steve to get him through the door and laughing about the affectionately affronted look it gets him.

Both Eddie and Robin come with Steve when he looks for a place, and a very pleasantly surprised Eddie pays up the five dollars he owes her when by the end of the summer Steve really does pick a small trailer on the other side of Forest Hills. And sure, Steve kind of de facto shares it with one of his kids—Billy Hargrove’s little step-sister, whose mom Eddie only really saw around while they were moving in across from the Munsons, so. Yeah. But Mad Max is a cool kid, and doesn’t give them shit for being so close. He knows that Steve has always wanted younger siblings, and that one’s just the temperamental tip of the iceberg.

Which is cool, because it sounds like the boys are shoe-ins for Hellfire and Eddie has a binder full of half-formed one-shot ideas that he’s itching to whip out and take for a spin. A sentiment that, when he mentions it to Steve, somehow ends up earning him his first chance to prove just how good with his hands he can be.

And after, when Steve shyly opens up about the six little nuggets in a Winnebago daydream he’s had ever since his parents started leaving him alone more and more often, the collection of mildly feral younger teens makes sense. They lay on the double mattress liberated from the Harrington house—currently on the floor because Steve is determined to make himself a new bed frame, the crazy bastard—with sweat cooling on bare skin and Steve’s gay cherry well and thoroughly popped in every way either of them could think of, Eddie realizes something.

Steve’s new room features zero plaid. The curtains match nothing, not even themselves, because he let Robin pick them out and she got a little whimsical with it. There are a few band posters—some of the bands Eddie covered for his second mix tape to Steve (which he know knows was the catalyst for them getting their shit together, even though he still doesn’t really remember that part), and one of the Corroded Coffin posters that Eddie designed himself—and some movie posters that Steve can get for free once Family Video is done with them.

Mostly, though, it’s Polaroids: of Steve and Eddie, Steve and Robin, Steve and the kids, and various other combinations.

Eddie never expected any of this to turn out the way it had. Hadn’t felt worthy of Steve, who has generally floated through life surrounded by the finer things and white picket fence dreams. It had never occurred to him that Steve didn’t care about having nice things, he wanted nice things. Kind, supportive, good things, regardless of what they looked like on the outside. Things that make him happy.

And the handful of candid photos Eddie took of himself for when, for whatever reason, their schedules don’t line up? He knows those make Steve very happy because they have pride of place, tucked secretly between the mattress and the wall by the head of the bed.

Life is great, which is saying something considering they’re still in Hawkins, Indiana.

Eddie’s van is all fixed—the auto shop even offered him a part-time job because he’d identified the problem just fine, just hadn’t had the equipment to fix it on his own. The guys in the band are coming around to the idea that King Steve is actually kind of a dork underneath it all, helped in part by the many, many, many stories that Dustin, Lucas, and even Mike have unloaded on them before and after the summer one-shots that constitute their trial period in Hellfire as incoming freshman. He’s got Robin, who’s sworn to be his study buddy until, as she’d once cheerfully put it, either Eddie graduates or they strangle each other.

But mostly, he gets to be Steve Harrington’s boyfriend. They sleep at Steve’s more often than not, letting Wayne have the actual mattress instead of that shitty old cot, falling asleep tangled together and waking up the same way. (Sometimes Steve still has nightmares, still occasionally radios Robin in the middle of the night on the walkies the kids gave them—Eddie doesn’t ask, just holds Steve when he needs it. He’s letting Steve come around to telling him what happened in his own time. Even though Steve keeps assuring him, so earnest it’s a little disconcerting, that “it’s over.”)

1985 had some major ups and downs. He wouldn’t trade any of it for the world, but this coming one is going to be different. He’ll start it with a boyfriend and, goddamn it, he will finish it having finally snatched his diploma and flipping Principal Higgins the bird. From there, who knows!

He just knows one thing’s for sure… 1986 is going to be his year.

Tag list: @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @tangerinesteve @oatmilk-vampire

@wheneverfeasible @hamiltonswiftie @steviewashere @cryingglightningg @theresebelivett

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@greatwerewolfbeliever @goosesister @dolphincliffs @friendlyneighborhoodgaycousin @beckkthewreck

@pitrsattabhaadmeinjao @kurofuckingshi16 @bookworm0690 @millseyes-world @live-laugh-love-dietrich

@the-tenth-mus-e

#steddieweek2024 #scoops words #secret admirer steddie #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie getting together #robin buckley #platonic stobin #eddie and robin getting along like a house on fire #wayne finally having someone to talk about sports and rag on his nephew to

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year ago

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Intuit: “Our fraud fights racism”

Tonight (September 27), I'll be at Chevalier's Books in Los Angeles with Brian Merchant for a joint launch for my new book The Internet Con and his new book, Blood in the Machine. On October 2, I'll be in Boise to host an event with VE Schwab.

Today's key concept is "predatory inclusion": "a process wherein lenders and financial actors offer needed services to Black households but on exploitative terms that limit or eliminate their long-term benefits":

https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1177/2329496516686620

Perhaps you recall predatory inclusion from the Great Financial Crisis, when predatory subprime mortgages with deceptive teaser rates were foisted on Black homeowners (who were eligible for better mortgages), resulting in a wave of Black home theft in the foreclosure crisis:

https://prospect.org/justice/staggering-loss-black-wealth-due-subprime-scandal-continues-unabated/

Before these loans blew up, they were styled as a means of creating Black intergenerational wealth through housing speculation. They turned out to be a way to suck up Black families' savings before rendering them homeless and forcing them into houses owned by the Wall Street slumlords who bought all the housing stock the Great Financial Crisis put on the market:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/08/wall-street-landlords/#the-new-slumlords

That was just an update on an old con: the "home sale contract," invented by loan-sharks who capitalized on redlining to rip off Black families. Back when banks and the US government colluded to deny mortgages to Black households, sleazy lenders created the "contract loan," which worked like a mortgage, but if you were late on a single payment, the lender could seize and sell your home and not pay you a dime – even if the house was 99% paid for:

https://socialequity.duke.edu/wp-content/uploads/2019/10/Plunder-of-Black-Wealth-in-Chicago.pdf

Usurers and con-artists love to style themselves as anti-racists, seeking to "close the racial wealth gap." The payday lending industry – whose triple-digit interest rates trap poor people in revolving debt that they can never pay off – styles itself as a force for racial justice:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/29/planned-obsolescence/#academic-fraud

Payday lenders prey on poor people, and in America, "poor" is often a euphemism for "Black." Payday lenders disproportionately harm Black families:

https://ung.edu/student-money-management-center/money-minute/racial-wealth-gap-payday-loans.php

Payday lenders are just unlicensed banks, who deploy a layer of bullshit to claim that they don't have to play by the rules that bind the rest of the finance sector. This scam is so juicy that it spawned the fintech industry, in which a bunch of unregulated banks sprung up to claim that they were too "innovative" to be regulated:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/01/usury/#tech-exceptionalism

When you hear "Fintech," think "unlicensed bank." Fintech turned predatory inclusion into a booming business, recruiting Black spokespeople to claim that being the sucker at the table in the cryptocurrency casino was actually a form of racial justice:

https://www.nytimes.com/2021/07/07/business/media/cryptocurrency-seeks-the-spotlight-with-spike-lees-help.html

But not all predatory inclusion is financial. Take Facebook Basics, Meta's "poor internet for poor people" program. Facebook partnered with telcos in the Global South to rig their internet access. These "zero rating" programs charged subscribers by the byte to reach any service except Facebook and its partners. Facebook claimed that this would "bridge the digital divide," by corralling "the next billion internet users" into using its services.

The fact that this would make "Facebook" synonymous with "the internet" was just an accidental, regrettable side-effect. Naturally, this was bullshit from top to bottom, and the countries where zero-rating was permitted ended up having more expensive wireless broadband than the countries that banned it:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/02/countries-zero-rating-have-more-expensive-wireless-broadband-countries-without-it

The predatory inclusion gambit is insultingly transparent, but that doesn't stop desperate scammers from trying it. The latest chancer is Intuit, who claim that the end of its decade-long, wildly profitable "free tax prep" scam is bad for Black people:

https://www.propublica.org/article/turbotax-intuit-black-taxpayers-irs-free-file-marketing

Some background. In nearly every rich country on Earth, the tax authorities send every taxpayer a pre-filled tax return, based on the information submitted by employers, banks, financial planners, etc. If that looks good to you, you just sign it and send it back. Otherwise, you can amend it, or just toss it in the trash and pay a tax-prep specialist to produce your own return.

But in America, taxpayers spend billions every year to send forms to the IRS that tell it things it already knows. To make this ripoff seem fair, the hyper-concentrated tax-prep industry, led by the Intuit, creators of Turbotax, pretended to create a program to provide free tax-prep to working people.

This program was called Free File, and it was a scam. The tax-prep cartel each took a different segment of Americans who were eligible for Freefile and then created an online house of mirrors that would trick those people into spending hours working on their tax-returns until they were hit with an error message falsely claiming they were ineligible for the free service and demanding hundreds of dollars to file their returns.

Intuit were world champions at this scam. They blocked their Freefile offering from search-engine crawlers and then bought ads that showed up when searchers typed "freefile" into the query box that led them to deceptively named programs that had "free" in their names but cost a fortune to use – more than you'd pay for a local CPA to file on your behalf.

The Attorneys General of nearly every US state and territory eventually sued Intuit over this, settling for $141m:

https://www.agturbotaxsettlement.com/Home/portalid/0

The FTC is still suing them over it:

https://www.ftc.gov/legal-library/browse/cases-proceedings/192-3119-intuit-inc-matter-turbotax

We have to rely on state AGs and the FTC to bring Intuit to justice because every Intuit user clicks through an agreement in which we permanently surrender our right to sue the company, no matter how many laws it breaks. For corporate criminals, binding arbitration waivers are the gift that keeps on giving:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/24/uber-for-arbitration/#nibbled-to-death-by-ducks

Even as the scam was running out, Intuit spent millions lobby-blitzing Congress, desperate for action that would let it continue to privately tax the nation for filling in forms that – once again – told the IRS things it already knew. They really love the idea of paying taxes on paying your taxes:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/20/turbotaxed/#counter-intuit

But they failed. The IRS has taken Freefile in-house, will send you a pre-completed tax return if you want it. This should be the end of the line for Intuit and other tax-prep profiteers:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/17/free-as-in-freefile/#tell-me-something-i-dont-know

Now we're at the end of the line for the scam, Intuit is playing the predatory inclusion card. They're conning Black newspapers like the Chicago Defender into running headlines like "IRS Free Tax Service Could Further Harm Blacks,"

https://defendernetwork.com/news/opinion/irs-free-tax-service-could-further-harm-blacks/

The only named source in that article? Intuit spokesperson Derrick Plummer. The article went out on the country's Black newswire Trice Edney, whose editor-in-chief did not respond to Propublica's Paul Kiel's questions.

Then Black Enterprise got in on the game, publishing "Critics Claim The IRS Free Tax Prep Service Could Hurt Black Americans." Once again, the only named source for the article was Plummer, who was "quoted at length." Black Enterprise declined to tell Kiel where that article came from:

https://www.blackenterprise.com/critics-claim-the-irs-free-tax-prep-service-could-hurt-black-americans/

For Intuit, placing op-eds is a tried-and-true tactic for laundering its ripoffs into respectability. Leaked internal Intuit memos detail the company's strategy of "pushing back through op-eds" to neutralize critics:

https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/6483061-Intuit-TurboTax-2014-15-Encroachment-Strategy.html

Intuit spox Derrick Plummer did respond to Kiel's queries, denying that Intuit was paying for these op-eds, saying "with an idea as bad as the Direct File scheme we don’t have to pay anyone to talk about how terrible it is."

Meanwhile, ex-NAACP director (and No Labels co-chair) Benjamin Chavis has used his position atop the National Newspaper Publishers Association to publish op-eds against the IRS Direct File program, citing the Progressive Policy Institute, a pro-business thinktank that Intuit's internal documents describe as part of its "coalition":

https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/6483061-Intuit-TurboTax-2014-15-Encroachment-Strategy.html

Chavis's Chicago Tribune editorial claimed that Direct File could cause Black filers to miss out on tax-credits they are entitled to. This is a particularly ironic claim given Intuit's prominent role in sabotaging the Child Tax Credit, a program that lifted more Americans out of poverty than any other in history:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/29/three-times-is-enemy-action/#ctc

It's also an argument that can be found in Intuit's own anti-Direct File blog posts:

https://www.intuit.com/blog/innovative-thinking/taxpayer-empowerment/intuit-reinforces-its-commitment-to-fighting-for-taxpayers-rights/

The claim is that because the IRS disproportionately audits Black filers (this is true), they will screw them over in other ways. But Evelyn Smith, co-author of the study that documented the bias in auditing says this is bullshit:

https://siepr.stanford.edu/publications/working-paper/measuring-and-mitigating-racial-disparities-tax-audits

That's because these audits of Black households are triggered by the IRS's focus on Earned Income Tax Credits, a needlessly complicated program available to low-income (and hence disproportionately Black) workers. The paperwork burden that the IRS heaps on EITC recipients means that their returns contain errors that trigger audits.

As Smith told Propublica, "With free, assisted filing, we might expect EITC claimants to make fewer mistakes and face less intense audit scrutiny, which could help reduce disparities in audit rates between Black and non-Black taxpayers."

Meanwhile, the predatory inclusion talking points continue to proliferate. Nevada accountants and the state's former controller somehow coincidentally managed to publish op-eds with nearly identical wording. Phillip Austin, vice-chair of Arizon's East Valley Hispanic Chamber of Commerce, claims that free IRS tax prep "would disproportionately hurt the Hispanic community." Austin declined to tell Propublica how he came to that conclusion.

Right-wing think-tanks are pumping out a torrent of anti-Direct File disinfo. This surely has nothing to do with the fact that, for example, Center Forward has HR Block's chief lobbyist on its board:

https://thehill.com/opinion/finance/4125481-direct-e-file-wont-make-filing-taxes-any-easier-but-it-could-make-things-worse/

The whole thing reeks of bullshit and desperation. That doesn't mean that it won't succeed in killing Direct File. If there's one thing America loves, it's letting businesses charge us a tax just for dealing with our own government, from paying our taxes to camping in our national parks:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/30/military-industrial-park-service/#booz-allen

Interestingly, there's a MAGA version of predatory inclusion, in which corporations convince low-information right-wingers that efforts to protect them from ripoffs are "woke." These campaigns are, incredibly, even stupider than the predatory inclusion tale.

For example, there's a well-coordianted campaign to block the junk fees that the credit card cartel extracts from merchants, who then pass those charges onto us. This campaign claims that killing junk fees is woke:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/04/owning-the-libs/#swiper-no-swiping

How does that work? Here's the logic: Target sells Pride merch. That makes them woke. Target processes a lot of credit-card transactions, so anything that reduces card-processing fees will help Target. Therefore, paying junk fees is a way to own the libs.

No, seriously.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/27/predatory-inclusion/#equal-opportunity-scammers

#pluralistic

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shinsmarlboro · 4 months ago

Text

Baji with a lover, who is a successful entrepreneur.

TAGS: SFW && gender neutral y/n.

when accompanying you to an event, baji definitely hypes you up, give you a standing ovation, and trust that he lets people know that he is your number one fan.

keisuke believes in you more than your own family, but that won't blind him or stop him from speaking his mind and telling you the truth when it is necessary. you appreciate the fact that he tells you what you need to hear, unlike some of your subordinates who are professional bootlickers.

you two almost had an argument about you paying for his tuition.

“nah babe, ‘s fine. what's a couple more student loans gonna cost?”

“keisuke please, you're already drowning in debt. let me at least pay half.”

you two are a stubborn couple, going at it until one of you gets tired; spoiler alert, it's him, not you.

at takehina's wedding, you get introduced to baji's friends, one of them being kokonoi and you two instantly hit it off with talking about future joint ventures and all that crap that keisuke does not want to bother understanding.

chifuyu deeply respects you. when you two first meet, he goes on about how he didn't think baji would find someone, especially as a veterinary student.

“it's nice that he's dating someone that's kinda the opposite of him. please take good care of him, i know he's rash at times but he means well.”

you find chifuyu to be a sweetheart knowing his intentions towards baji are pure, except for when he starts rambling about embarrassing moments that happened to baji back in his adolescent days as a way to keep the conversation going.

keisuke makes sure to leave messages here and there in between late night study sessions, knowing that you would be working around the same time he's online.

he would send you pictures of the strays he had gotten from the cat distribution system and ask you if he can keep it even though he doesn't live with you.

speaking of living arrangements, it is a bit complicated. he is always welcome in your penthouse and has a spare key for whenever he wants to crash at your place (something you secretly look forward to) but, his visits are moderate, unless he's tipsy and neither chifuyu nor kazutora are fit to take care of him, or he wants your accompaniment.

one time you took a risk that caused you to lose a multi-million contract. naturally, you were upset and distanced yourself from everything. baji, the ever-loving perceptive partner, noticed this and tried different silly ways to get your attention. you find it amusing that he is willing to make a fool out of himself just to get you to smile.

whenever you feel stressed, keisuke always offers to take you out on late night rides to clear your head at the beach.

you're not used to your status, so when you get overwhelmed keisuke holds you close and comforts you by stroking your hair.

“this is so pathetic. i’m sorry, it's just…hard.”

“shhh, it may hard but there isn't anything my woman can't do. you got this, okay?”

he doesn't mind getting groceries for you when he knows that you're too busy to shop for the house. he does it without telling you and even surprises you with a home cooked lunch that he gives his secretary to deliver to you as he's shy to do so himself.

did i mention that his mom absolutely adores you? your discipline and charisma are what amazes her. you have lunch dates with her every month and make sure to clear out your schedule just for her; you also enjoy flipping through baby albums with her and getting a glimpse of a younger version of keisuke.

keisuke loves it when you wear glasses, if he did something that aggravates you while you're working extra at home, he simply stares at you. with a blank expression, he admires the way the glasses frame your mesmerising face. you think he's not listening, and you get even more frustrated with him. but when he caresses your cheek and calls you beautiful, you are visibly stunned and you don't know what to do; you end up acting like him back when he had more of a tsuntsun character; now he always wants to tease you - catch you off guard with his blatant flirtation.

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tf-boi · 5 months ago

Note

Maybe a story of a guy transforming his boyfriend into an almost completely inanimate mannequin, renting out his body to store while he takes his boyfriend's head and junk home, the only parts of him that are animate.

(Finally after being in my inbox for a million years~)

"Sign here . . . and here . . . aaaaaannndd here. There we go thats everything!" A medium build man wearing some square glasses (Tom), standing by a slightly taller man (Andy). "My boyfriend is yours for two weeks." the smaller man says with a smirk.

"Babe you gotta stop saying that when you rent my body out." Andy said sighing.

A girl passes the clipboard back to Tom and giggled "Oh don't worry we'll take great care of him~". The girl walks away and returns with a box of clothes. "Just get changed into these and you'll start right away!"

Tom and Andy walk into a changing room as Andy starts stripping. "grrrrowl. . . " Tom said admiring his boyfriend.

Andy blushed "You have to be in the room while I change?"

Tom chuckled "Well we don't have too much fun when we do our thing so why not take it all in while I have you?"

Andy sighed "That's true I guess, but renting our our bodies to these popup stores does making ends meet easy. Plus the after pick-up sex is amazing too."

The two college students embrace and kiss. As Andy and Tom walks out of the changing room, the popup store manager eyed Andy and gave a nod of approval. "Okay you'll be in the front of the store soooo lets get to posing!" The three make their way to the front of the store as Andy strikes a few pose, they eventually settled on a neutral pose.

"Alright, perfect! Lets go home~" Tom said as holds Andy's hand. Andy's body started to turn a shade of grey and blue his body started shining a nice glaze like a fine plastic, his joint's becoming like a doll's. This spread until it reaches Andy's head. Tom then reaches up and puts his hands on Andy's head, that has remained the same, and gives it a nice tug as it pops off his body. "Ahh, babe!" Andy exclaimed. "Ahhh sorry don't know my own strength~" Tom chuckled, "well we can't forget this!" He reaches down Andy's pants and gives another tug as he pulls off Andy's unchanged manhood.

"Thanks for renting, we'll be back in a few weeks!" Tom said walking off.

"Hey feel free to come back if you want to loan us your body too!" The manager waved at them.

Tom and Andy make their way home, Andy's head under Tom's arm, getting a few stares from people. Some thinking its a realistic head commenting on it, but the others who are in the community looking at it lustfully. Renting out their bodies for these stores was a convenient way for them to make some money and good way for them to make new friends. As they entered Tom's apartment, many other mannequins could be seen around the apartment. Some of them are their exes, most of them willingly gave their bodies to them.

Tom set Andy's head on the bed as they both lie there watching TV. It was an awkward silence for a bit before Andy spoke up "What's up babe?"

"W-what? Nothing!" Tom stuttered.

"Please, you were quiet on the way back and you are quiet now. That only happens when something's on your mind."

"Ughhh fine. . . you always know how to read me. Remember what I said at the store? About not having fun while one of our bodies is being rented out?"

"Mhm?" Andy said interested.

"Well what if . . . we changed that?" Tom said blushing.

Andy looked intrigued now "Ohhhh what did you have in mind?"

Tom said "Well . . . well . . ." "You know what? No need to ask, just do babe. My powerless head is under your control~" Andy winked.

Tom gulped but knew Andy was serious. Tom dropped his pants and picked up his blonde prince and put his mouth against his rock hard cock. Andy knew what to do and started out with a whiff of Tom's cock. Tom's dick was smaller than Andy's but his nerdy brunette boyfriend was still packing a decent size. "Ohhh . . ." Tom moaned as Andy started to suck Tom's dick. "mmmm . . . mmmmm . . ." Andy moaned as he savored Tom's cock in his mouth. Andy suddenly felt his head being moved forward and back as Tom started to fuck Andy's head. "Ahhh ahhh" Tom moaned as he let out his inner beast. For years he's been the bottom but now he finally found a boyfriend to let him be on top. He laid face down on the bed, Andy's head still sucking on his dick as he pound's Andy's head. He moves faster and faster but couldn't hold back as he lets out a load into Andy's mouth. Andy moaning as he slurps it up. The cum flows into his head but out of his neck soaking their bed. Tom's cock retracts out of Andy's mouth and he lies next to his boyfriend.

Andy gasped for air. "That was pretty good, but I wish it could have lasted a bit longer . . ." He said with a pout.

Tom looked a bit embarrassed "Sorry it was my first time topping . . ."

"But you were great with your cock, it felt so good and hard . . . when we get my body back, this time you're definitely topping!"

"really?" Tom grinned.

"Yup . . . but first round 2" Andy said lustfully.

"But I'm out of cum . . ." Tom said confused.

"Oh you are but, my cock is ready~ And by the way babe, its my turn."

Tom was shocked by the sudden request but walked into the living room to retrieve Andy's dick. He walked back into the bedroom and gulped. Tom lied next to Andy as he used his power on himself. His body having a nice plastic sheen as he detached his dick and replaced with Andy's massive cock. He winced a bit at how much more testosterone he had as it fills him up. He was tempted to fuck his boyfriend's head again but decided to follow through with his command. Tom put his hands on his body and popped his head off placing it next to Andy. The two share many kisses as Tom's hands reaches for Andy's head and places it onto his neck stump. Instantly Tom lost control of his body as he see's Andy feel his new body.

Andy felt up his new body admiring every inch.

Tom blushed "What are you doing??"

" Just admiring my new self. Having all my muscles is great but sometimes I want to try a slimmer body you know? Besides this is the first time I had your body while you are awake."

"Awake?? How many times have you done this?"

Andy ignored this question and picked up Tom's head and started making out. Their tongues wrapped together as they moaned into eachother's mouth. Tom suddenly felt his head get pulled away as it is placed in front of Andy's rocket. Tom started to suck Andy off wrapping his tongue around Andy's meat. "Ohhh babe you know all the good spots..." Andy moaned as Tom's head serviced him. Just like Tom, Andy started to use Tom's head as a fleshlight stroking his rock hard dick with him. Tom loved being used by his boyfriend and it even aroused him knowing it has his body being used. Tom gladly played the role of a toy and pleassured his boyfriend.

Once again Tom felt himself pulled away as a new sensation filled his head. Andy had slid his cock into the bottom of Tom's neck hold and started fucking him. Tom wanted to moan but Andy's cock filled his throat. His mind went blank as he eatches his boyfriend fuck him through the neck. Tom tightened his throat to squeeze Andy's cock. From the corner of his eye, Andy saw Tom's disconnected dick had gotten hard again and he picked it up and shoved it into Tom's mouth. "Mmmmmmm mmmmm mmmm" Tom moaned as he sucks his own dick. As Andy kept fucking Tom's head Tom came into his mouth, the streams of sperm lubing his throat for Andy's still hard member. Wanting this to continue, Tom got his cock hard again and kept sucking himself off. He came several more times until he felt it. Andy's cock releasing his love juices into his throat. The sensation made him cum once more as pools of cum pour out of both ends of his body. As they finished cumming Andy leaned back on the back of the bed a bit too hard and his head pops off Tom's body landing next to his boyfriend covered in their cum.

"That was amazing babe! We should definately do this more often." Andy said.

Tom didn't respond. His mind completely blanked out.

Andy still in control of Tom's body picks himself up and reattaches himself to Tom's body. "Well guess we went a little too hard..." Andy picks up Tom's head by the hair. "I guess its me and his body for the next couple of weeks."

Andy stared in their closet filled with their exes petrified bodies. "Well maybe I'll give our exes' body a spin too so it won't just our cocks being shoved in you~" Andy says picking out a body for round three.

#nbm #body swap #male body #head swap #inanimate tf #inanimate transformation #Mannequin transformation

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astrosky33 · 2 years ago

Text

HOUSE MEANINGS IN ASTROLOGY

[READ] People often question why there’s so many meanings for each planet/house and the reason is so that you can learn more than just one thing about yourself through each placement. Otherwise astrology would be very vague and boring. These are all meanings that I’ve learned from my astrology classes at Kepler College

1ST HOUSE: identity/self, outward personality traits, outlook on life/approach to life, appearance, physical body, beauty, confidence, beginnings, how you initiate/ambition, your mannerisms, your outward behavior, physical fights, your presence, individuality, and passion

2ND HOUSE: money/finances (how we spend it, store it, and manage it), work, short term jobs, your work ethic, material possessions, self worth, values, emotional security, stability, financial security, how you meet financial obligations, your singing voice, giving/receiving, and resources (both material and non material)

3RD HOUSE: communication, your speaking voice/the way you talk, your mind, the way you think/your thinking skills, your perceptions, your opinions, your conscious mind, neighbors, siblings, interests, gossip, ideas/information, mathematics, literature, transportation (only ground not flying/air), local media, social media, cell phones, phone calls, visits, social activity, publishing, early education (before college), short trips, and short journeys

4TH HOUSE: homes/houses, family/family roots, your parents (particularly the mother/motherly figure), your inner child, emotions, foundations, your childhood, heredity, tradition, self-care, places of residence, real estate, properties, femininity, and conditions in early life

5TH HOUSE: children, childlike spirit, talent, creativity, drama, risk-taking, spotlight, romance (shows short term relationships, flings, hookups, and if long term relationships then only puppy love), hobbies, pleasures, objects of affection, vacations, games, speculation, fertility, concerts, festivals, and joy

6TH HOUSE: daily routine/day to day life/daily tasks, your health/fitness/the work you do on your body, your duties, self improvement, consistency, step-siblings, your hygiene, innocence, systems, service to others, co-workers, analytical nature, diets, animals, and your pets

7TH HOUSE: long term relationships, marriage, concern for others, attraction/attractiveness, charm, conflicts, partnerships, business partners, contracts, love affairs, open enemies, close associates, lower courts, negotiations, peers, agents, equality, harmony, and sharing

8TH HOUSE: major transformation, sex, death, longevity, changes, joint/shared finances, investments, stock market, your partners resources, taxes, inheritance, reproduction, seduction, intimacy (in general not only sexual), rebirth, merging, taboos, resurrection, loans, assets, secrets, mystery, businesses, spiritual transformation, magic (especially black magic), psychology, surgery/operations, trauma, periods, and the occult

9TH HOUSE: wisdom, law/laws, beliefs, religion, philosophy, higher education (college/university), viewpoints, languages, foreign environments, in-laws (your relatives through marriage), ethics, long journeys, travel, ideologies, higher courts, media, television, interviews, cross-cultural relations, grandparents, and learning

10TH HOUSE: your legacy, your career, your public image, your status, your reputation, fame, long-term goals, worldly attainment, sense of mission, responsibilities, recognition, authority, father/fatherly figure, experts, bosses, achievements, and professional aspirations

11TH HOUSE: friends, friend groups, gains, money made from career, desires, step/half parents, step/half children, uniqueness, inventions, technology, film, social awareness, influence, manifestations, hopes and wishes for the future, ideals, humanitarianism, associates (not just close ones), groups (in general), politics, social networking, where you make your debut into society, companions, allies, science, socialization/social interaction, clubs, organizations, and parties

12TH HOUSE: healing, the hidden, karma, karmic debts, old age, sleep, mental health, solitude/isolation, dreams (the ones you have when you sleep), hidden enemies, hidden causes, illusions, secret bed pleasures, spirituality, fears, losses, endings, escapism, impersonations, closure, need for withdrawal/privacy, afterlife, limiting beliefs, subsconcious memory, subconscious mind, hypnotism, self-undoing, hidden desires, the past, delay, and restrictions

MASTERLIST

MORE BEGINNER ASTROLOGY

PLANET MEANINGS

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metallicaislife · 1 year ago

Text

Dreams

Requested by: Anon

Genre: 18+ Smut minors dni

Word Count: 1,226

Warnings: ouid usage, oral(f receiving), p in v sex, m x f pairing

“Oh yeah.. right there…” Cliff groaned.

I was currently rubbing a knot out of his shoulder. Cliff and I met when we were teenagers. I was alone at a concert and he just started chatting with me. Turns out we went to the same school but he was a grade above me. We’ve been inseparable since. It has always been mostly platonic. I say mostly because there have been a few times I feel like we could be more, but nothing has ever happened.

I pat Cliff’s back twice to indicate I was done. He leaned his head back, resting between my legs as he was sitting in front of the couch.

“Thank you.” He grinned.

“You’re welcome.” I smiled. The urge to just lean down and kiss him was so strong. He stared a second longer before lifting his head and standing up.

“I probably ought to head out. We’re still on for tomorrow night, right?” Cliff asked as he grabbed his jacket.

“Yup. See you tomorrow. Get home safe.” I waved from the couch.

“See ya.” He called out as the door closed.

“Urrgggghhhhhh!” I let out a frustrated noise and hit a couch pillow. Why does he have to be just so… Cliff! Right there and yet completely out of reach. Annoyed, and tired I got ready for bed, and fell into a dreamless sleep.

I rented a couple movies, ones we had and hadn’t seen yet. Movie nights with a smoke sesh and snacks were one of my favorite activities with Cliff.

I heard my door open and I went to greet him.

“Hey Cliff!” I grinned, going in for a hug. His eyes met mine, and there was a fiery glint in his eyes that I hadn’t seen before, as quickly as it came it went away.

“Hey, you.” He said and punched my shoulder softly.

I looked at my shoulder and then back to him.

“You good?” I asked, there was a cute blush rising on his cheeks.

“Yeah.” Was all he said as he pushed past me and into the living room. He went straight to work rolling the joint.

“How’d you sleep last night?” I asked as I collected the snacks from the kitchen.

“What? Why?” He asked sharply as I walked into the living room.

“Your back was bothering you, I was wondering if you slept well or not…” I explained setting down the snacks.

“Oh.” He chuckled awkwardly, “Yeah, uh I slept well.” He finished and put his whole focus on the joint. My eyebrow furrowed. I’ve seen Cliff off before, but this was a new level of weird. I really didn’t know what to think.

“Okay, are you sure there is nothing wrong?” I asked him as I popped a movie into the tape player.

“Yup.” He responded. I rolled my eyes and dropped the subject. I sat next to him on the couch.

Cliff finished rolling the joint and lit it taking the first hit then passed it to me. I inhaled, then blew out coughing a little. We passed it back and forth in silence. Cliff put it out and I pressed play on the movie.

“Okay but is that realistic, would that happen in real life?” Cliff complained. I’d chosen a cheesy romcom, much to his dismay. But it was always fun picking them apart.

“I mean, I don’t know.” I laughed, “Haven’t you ever had your birthday forgotten, then the dreamboat you’ve been crushing on creepily loans his girlfriend to the nerdy guy?” I asked, Cliff laughed.

“Oh yeah, at least twice.” Cliff rolled his eyes, “It would be more realistic if they were best friends, you know actually knew each other, then one of ‘em had a dream about the other.” He said. My eyebrow furrowed.

“Go on.” I said. He turned to look at me, then seemed to process what he had said.

“Ah, nope dunno where that thought process was going.” He straightened up as we had melted together. I sat up turning to him.

“Have you had that experience?” I asked. Cliff firmly shook his head, but he refused to look in my direction. “Cliiiiiiiffffffff.” I said in a sing-songy tone. He bashfully looked over to me.

“We’re high, so you can’t hold anything I say accountable.” He said.

“So what kind of dream was it?” I pushed.

“We were doing stuff.” He said, the blush from earlier in the evening came back to his cheeks.

“What kind of stuff?” I asked him. His eyes flicked up to meet mine.

“We were fucking.” He said, his demeanor changed. That fire that had passed through his features earlier was back.

“Was I on top, or you?” I asked, not breaking eye contact.

“I was.” He answered. His eyes flicked down to my lips and back up.

“Were we kissing?” I asked him. He nodded. “Where were we?”

“Your bed.” He replied.

“Why don’t you show me? I’m more of a visual person.” I said, I have no idea where this confidence was coming from. However I’m not going to blow this chance, I know both of us have been waiting for.

“Are you sure?” He whispered.

“I’ve never been more sure about anything.” I replied. I stood and held my hand out to his. He took my hand and stood. He brought me into him and leaned down placing his lips on mine. I wrapped my arms around his neck. I’ve thought about kissing Cliff hundreds of times. My imagination is dull compared to the real thing.

A trail of clothes led to my bedroom. I was on my bed, legs spread as Cliff ate me out with such fervence. My back arched as I moaned loudly. My fingers tangled in his hair. He groaned against my pussy. He finger fucked me as he sucked my clit until I came writhing against the bed. He kissed up my body until our lips met in a passionate kiss. My hands trailing up and down his back. He groaned into the kiss as he rubbed his dick through my folds. He rested his forehead against mine, his eyes staring into mine as he sunk in. I threw my head back as he found a comfortable pace. His lips attached to my neck as he left marks.

“So fucking beautiful. Taking my cock so well.” He praised me.

“Feels s’good.” I moaned. I wrapped my legs around his waist, he picked up his pace. I screamed as I came for a second time. Cliff came shortly after. He pulled out and rolled off of me, he pulled me with him bringing me into his embrace.

“So much better than my dream.” He muttered as he placed a kiss on my sweaty forehead.

“Don’t be so bashful about it next time, I’m more than happy to recreate it.” I grinned and kissed his chest.

“Noted.” He chuckled as he drew soft shapes on my back. “Have you had any?” He asked. I buried my face in his chest and nodded. “Well then I guess we’ve got some more recreations to get to.” He rolled us back over and nibbled on my neck. I laughed squirming underneath him.

“Let me cool down first.” I laughed. He looked up, his eyes full of mischief. I knew then, I was in for a long night.

Thank you for reading! Feel free to request or chat :)

-Isa

#metallica #metallica x reader #metallica imagines #metallica scenarios #metallica smut #cliff burton #cliff burton x reader #cliff burton smut

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onyourowndaisymae · 1 year ago

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an unexpected guest

was talking with a friend about how stressful the early days of living in the hol would be and then i talked about stealing solomon's bed from him and this fic sprung forth from those shenanigans. i just have so much love for the purgatory hall cast

content + warnings: fluff, solomon & reader very early into the exchange program, og timeline, just musing about purgatory hall being a safe space amidst the chaos of the devildom

solomon's tired. truthfully, there's not often he's not tired-- he's just learned to disregard his body's needs when they inconvenience him, only circling back to address they when he has the time or energy. tonight was one of those blessed nights. he'd finished up a new spell after several grueling hours of trial and error. his ancient human joints were creaking like an old house, all weathered and worn from years of neglect.

he crept quietly up the stairs of purgatory hall, drifting through the dorm with light footsteps. everything looked different in the dark. the hardwood floors where warm beams of candlelight illuminated each panel were now bathed in the delicate glow of moonlight. his relationship with the concept of "home" had always been shaky, but this was not. purgatory hall is solid. it is home. the floorboards and the walls are real, tangible, swirling together with pleasant memories of friendships and laughter like colors on an oil spill. this is the best place he's ever been lucky enough to call his own.

the door to his bedroom creaks a little as he opens it, and the lights flicker on with the flip of the switch. the golden tassels on his cloak clink together pleasantly as he strips it off. solomon tosses the garment on a nearby chair when he hears breathing. he tenses. his eyes dart around the room cautiously before he spots the intruder: there's an unidentified lump under his blankets. he steps closer and peers at their face. then he laughs.

it's you. you, the other human exchange student, fast asleep in his bed. you look completely worn-- solomon remembers you had come to purgatory hall per luke's request earlier today. maybe he... yeah, he was right. he finally takes a moment to check his d.d.d. and spots a text from simeon explaining the situation. nighttime fell quicker than anyone expected, and the two angels in the house didn't feel quite comfortable sending you home at such a dangerous hour. since solomon was usually locked in his workroom until dawn, the angel explained that he loaned out his room-- with an apology for imposing, of course. solomon chuckled a little to himself, taking the quiet moment to observe you while you're blissfully unaware.

you got the short end of the stick with the exchange program. that, he knows. the house of lamentation is full of six rowdy demons that all currently look at you like prey, with varying feelings of disinterest to scorn. solomon himself has centuries of experience with the devilish beings, but you're new to all this, aren't you? angels are much less intimidating to a newcomer like you. luke's nothing more than a young angel barking at the heels of his superiors-- said affectionately, of course. and simeon is one of the kinder angels to ever walk any of the three realms, greeting others with the true grace of a divine creature. of course he'd let you stay the night to ensure you don't get gobbled up on the street.

something about that makes him feel... strange. in a good way. to think that you're capable of falling asleep in a stranger's bed so easily, that you're willingly seeking more time at purgatory hall... he'll have to think on what these feelings are.

he fixes the blanket around you and stares for a moment longer. you look comfortable. what a thing to be so at peace in such a hellish place.

purgatory hall can be safe for you. it can be the place where you go when you need a somewhere to land. something about the image of you fleeing the house of lamentation for greener pastures makes him smile-- in a smug, not-so-kind sort of way. serves them right for shoving you, poor defenseless you, into their home with no regard for your wellbeing.

maybe solomon can be a safe haven for you, too. after all, you both are humans-- and humans have to stick together, right?

with the flick of his wrist, all of the lights in the room sudden turn off save for one special candle on his desk. the flame is almost identical to the ones found in the human word, with its mostly even pillar and its warm orange flame. but magic oozes from its melted wax. it's a flame that never spreads, leaving you to enjoy the comforts of solomon's room without worrying. just a little sign that even when he's not there, a certain sorcerer is always looking out for you. he closes the door with a gentle click and heads to spend the rest of the night somewhere else.

#i can't be normal about him #i have so many thoughts in my brain #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me solomon #otome

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wonderboygenius · 3 months ago

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Lucy in the Sky (at Charming)

Fandom: Sons of Anarchy Pairing: Jax Teller/Happy's Sister Rating: M Part 1 of 2 Light smut, comedy

Synopsis: Lucia, Happy's baby sister is coming to scope out Charming. Once Happy gave the all clear, bets are taken on which Son will bag a Killer's sister.

“Wendy’s deciding to keep the fucking kid,” Jax blew out his smoke from his joint. He was at the tail end of a church meeting with the MC. This was the part where they each just updated each other about their lives, if they didn’t already know through the gossip. This was a more official way that the men gave each other serious advice. There was also the fact that Happy was down here from SAMDINO, this was his first church meeting since coming down so he was getting fully caught up on his brothers’ lives. “If she fucking stays sober enough for the kid not to die…we’re keeping it. We’re still fucking getting divorced, but,” the VP of SAMCRO shrugged. “I’m not getting any younger and I dunno. A son sounds pretty cool,” he smirked.

Clay clapped his stepson on his back. “A son for a Son,” he chuckled. “Taking responsibility, I like it. Anyone else before I close out church?” He grabbed the gavel.

Happy pounded the table once, turning the table’s attention towards him. “My baby sister is coming down to Charming to see me tomorrow; she’ll be here for two weeks. I already talked to Clay about it; she’s safe and ain’t no snitch. You guys don’t have to welcome her, but Gemma already agreed to show her around Charming.” His raspy voice informed the brothers, “watch out for her at the clubhouse parties when I can’t, and don’t fucking treat her like a croweater,” he slapped the table and pointed to the younger men at the table. “She’s my sister, but she’s an independent woman; if she chooses to fuck one of you, that’s not my business, but if you hurt her or can’t control your croweaters, I’ll meet you in the cages.” He glared at Opie, glared hard at Jax and Juice, and surprisingly stared down Chibs and Tig.

Tig chuckled as the rest of the club looked at him and Chibs in shock. “I’ve been waiting for baby sister to be of legal age since she hit puberty,” he grinned lasciviously.

“She’s 24, Tig,” Happy growled, reminding his brother who has known his baby sister since she was a young girl.

“And it’s only for my love for my brother that I did not tap that shit when baby girl started having sex, because brothers,” Tig created an hourglass movement with both his hands. “Beautiful bourbon brown skin, and the best T and A you men have ever seen in a dream of a small and flexible body. She was in that cheerleading and gymnastics team, wasn’t she?” He muttered to himself as he lost himself in memories, a twinkle in his eye.

Clay raised an eyebrow at his ‘Killah’. “You gonna let him talk about your sister like that?”

Happy grimaced. “He’s not wrong. Lucia’s my sister, but she’s a beautiful woman. I’m also not fucking blind, she’s fucking hot,” he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. “That and she’d kill me if I corrected him. Keep your comments clean around me or I’ll shoot your dick off, Trager.”

Tig lifted his hands up in defense. “Noted, Killah.”

“Where’s she staying?” Piney asked.

“At my house; I’ll just continue staying at the clubhouse.” Happy purchased a house as he was loaned to Charming more and more frequently and for longer periods of time. He usually spent his time at the clubhouse, but when he just needed a night to himself, he decided to purchase a small two bedroom Spanish style home. It was bare bones, letting Gemma decorate it within his budget, but it was enough for him, and knowing Lucia, it would be enough for her too.

“So if we convince baby sister to move here, we could possibly get the Tacoma Killah permanently? I’ll make sure Gemma turns on her most best self and take her in,” Jax grinned. “You know you love coming down to Charming,” he reminded the assassin.

“Got the best croweaters on the West coast,” Happy smirked.

“Alright, alright, enough chit chat, I can feel my tampon slipping. We good with anything else, boys?” Clay chuckled, trying to bring the meeting to a close. After no one else chirped up, he banged his gavel and officially ended the meeting. “Happy, give your sister’s information to Gemma. I’m sure you ain’t got shit in that fridge, and they can fill up that house for you and your sister.”

Happy nodded his gratitude. “Thank you, Prez.”

—

Happy stood by his rented Harley Davidson Tallboy, smoking his cigarette as he waited for his sister to approach from her luggage pickup. His normal bike didn’t have an extra seat big enough to comfortably sit both him and his sister, plus her luggage. The croweaters he occasionally took on his bike were thin as hell and were only on his bike for 20 minutes at max. He still wore his kutte as he glared down at airport security who nervously shifted near him.

“Ki-ke!” Happy turned his head to see his happy sister running towards him. He grunted as she slammed into him, taking the weight of her body and her heavy luggage. “Hey Cici,” he threw his cigarette to the ground as he wrapped an arm around his sister. He hid his face in her curly hair and inhaled, his heart feeling full as he held his sister. He held back his joyous grin in her hair. “I missed you too, beba.”

Lucia pulled back, her wide and dark brown doe eyes sparkling with delight. “You look good, healthy,” she nodded once, taking her brother in as she pulled away from his embrace.

“Jesus, you sound so much like Mamá,” Happy’s accent slipping through. He took in his sister, as she did him. Her rosy cheeks were flushed pink, her smile genuine. She was happy. She still had her same figure; she didn’t look underweight, or too unhealthily overweight for her body. He felt relieved. It was all he wanted. His sister; happy, healthy, and safe. And he did that. He felt complete having his mother and sister back in the same state.

Lucia rolled her eyes. “C’mon, I want to get on the road,” she bounced in excitement. She’d always loved riding with her brother on his motorcycle. She loved the feeling of freedom that surrounded her in the open roads of California.

“You ain’t tired of sitting on your ass? You flew, what? 5 hours?” Happy questioned.

“Six, actually, but I’m good!” Lucia grinned as she insisted. “I did some stretches and it's only a one hour ride to your house and with your speed, we’ll be there in less time. Once we get there, I’m taking a nice hour nap before I meet up with Gemma to grocery shop, I’ll be recharged by then,” she smiled. “C’mon! I wanna fly!” She pulled him, grinning as she felt her brother’s protective arm take its place on her shoulder.

Happy grinned, seeing the happiness come across his sister. She loved riding almost as much as he did. His favorite time riding besides by himself was with his sister. And he knew she felt the same way. He noticed airport security checking his sister out and he growled at them as he took his sister’s bags to tie on both sides of the bike.

Lucia giggled as she hopped on behind her brother, her arms immediately wrapping around her brother. “Nunca cambias, huh, Ki-Ke?” She strapped on her helmet and handed her brother his.

Happy chuckled, revving the bike, causing the loud rumble to echo in the pick up area. “Never.” He patted his sister’s hands that were around his torso.

–

Gemma, Jax, Tig, Chibs, and a few of the non-Son mechanics sat around the picnic tables, on their lunch break as they were ahead of schedule with the cars they had for their day. Gemma, feeling generous, decided to order pizza for the boys; she decided to forgo the pizza, deciding to wait to eat a late lunch with Lucia. She had indeed been communicating with the young Lowman sister, through texts and phone calls. From what she knew of the young girl, so far, she liked her a lot.

Lucia, for her and Happy’s childhood, was everything good about Happy in a small woman. But she was also respectable and endearing, whereas Happy was fear inducing and scary. She was looking forward to the club’s reaction to her as she knew from Happy that she was apparently curvy and beautiful. But she also knew from speaking to her that Lucia was an extremely confident woman and confident in herself. She couldn't wait to see which Son was bold enough to try to take on Happy’s sister. She was silently rooting for Chibs, or Jax. It would be fun to see either happen.

The group’s heads perked up as they heard a new grumble from a motor come ripping through the street. They watched as Happy rode in on his rented bike with the expected Lucia riding behind him.

Gemma smirked in amusement as the men at the table immediately elbowed one another. Fresh meat was a commodity in Charming.

Happy backed into a parking spot, fighting the urge to cringe at the itchiness in his skin. He could feel all eyes on him. Well, not on him, on Lucia. But they were still observing him. For an assassin, being observed was a stimulation nightmare. He grumbled as he removed his helmet, getting off his bike. He helped his baby sister, her height causing her to need assistance climbing on and off the large bike suited for two. “I fucking hate this,” he covered his sister’s body, and their view.

“Get over it, you’re making it more of a moment, than it needs to be, Ki-ke,” Lucia patted his shoulder as she walked around him, and towards the table of expecting pairs of eyes.

Gemma observed the wide eyes of all of the men at the picnic tables as they took in the beautiful woman before them. Shit. They all looked dumbfounded at her beauty. She certainly looked like all of their wet dreams come to life, but in a new and different package that more that outsold their own dreams. Tig was certainly right. Lucia had an hourglass figure; her body more similar to Marilyn Monroe’s, Sofia Loren’s, or Raquel Welch's, but her ass poked further out, matching her plump thighs. She wore a cut off leather jacket, classic tight light wash denim high waisted jeans, and a white halter top which beautifully offset her russet brown skin. Her makeup was done lightly, enhancing her already natural beauty. Her full plump lips were burgundy bruised and carried a mischievous smirk. She walked with confidence, noted in her large three inch platform boots and sharp long red nails. Her long curly dark brown hair perfectly curved around her full breasts. Shit, Gemma thought to herself. Lucia was a siren come to life. Even she was feeling a bit hot at Lucia’s entrance. Jesus, she’s gonna bring trouble.

Gemma stood up and made her way to the beauty. “Hi Cici,” she engulfed the girl in her arms. She found herself warming to the young woman as Lucia hugged back just as fiercely, rubbing her back.

“Hey Gemma, thank you so much for welcoming me and being so nice,” Lucia hugged the Queen of SAMCRO, grateful for the woman’s help in feeling comfortable in Charming. She immediately respected the badass woman for being a matriarch in an all boy’s club; literally.

“You want me to introduce you to everyone?” Gemma asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Ask Mopey over there,” Lucia shot back to her brother.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Happy grabbed his sister’s arm and walked to the picnic benches. “This is Lucia, I already fucking warned you all about them. Lucia, this is Jax, my VP; you already know Tig. This is Chibs, Lowell, and some other pieces of shit that I don’t care about. Done, now take her out to Charming,” he turned his sister and pushed her into Gemma. “Let’s get back to work before I shoot one of you. I’m not drunk enough for this.”

There was silence as the men watched Gemma and Lucia walk away, all of them taking in one or both of the women.

“So, if we were all at the party tonight at the clubhouse?” A voice that was obviously fake deepened asked.

“Next fucking car!” Happy barked out.

Gemma laughed with the young woman as they had their brunch together. “So you won’t tell me which one you like the best?”

Lucia raised an eyebrow at her, a smirk on her lips. “You think I’d give you the advantage when I’m a bit certain that you bet on this with someone? And I’m not getting a cut?” She playfully scoffed.

“Baby girl, I just wanna make sure I put the right money in the right places; if my highest risk gets the win, I’ll share my winnings with you,” the black and blonde haired woman bargained with Happy’s little sister.

“Do you really want me to tell you or do you wanna win as an honest woman?”

“Baby, I put money in a few guys just to make sure I always win,” Gemma revealed. “But I do wanna let you have your pick.”

Lucia smiled, liking Gemma’s answer. “I liked a few,” she admitted. “You’ll win something,” she laughed. “If it was worth enough for a redo, I’ll let you keep what you make.”

“Why didn’t Happy bring you around sooner? I like you,” Gemma happily chewed at her food.

“Trust me, Gemma, I’ve tried to get Happy to settle down long enough for me to come down, but he’s never really had a place. He’s always been a nomad even when he wasn’t a Nomad,” Lucia bantered. “When he told me he finally bought a house down here, I immediately put in for vacation at work. He’s never bought a house until here, so really I have you and SAMCRO to thank for convincing him to come down here so often. It’s not that other charters never offered, but Happy never felt like he needed to settle.”

“A true nomad,” Gemma observed. It put a chill down her spine. She couldn’t imagine not having Charming as her home. She couldn’t imagine not having a true home, period.

Lucia nodded. “As long as he stayed in the West coast and close enough to Mamá, he was okay with a bed, roof, kitchen, and bathroom,” she pushed at some of the remnants of her food. “A lot of Happy’s money went to me and our mom, and I was able to go to school. I work for a publishing company in New York; I’m now their Vice President,” she smirked. “I always told him that once he bought a house anywhere, I’d move to the closest branch there. But on his own time; I know he liked being a true nomad,” she shrugged.

“You missed him,” Gemma discerned easily. When you gained the young woman’s trust, clearly she was an open book with her own feelings, but private with other’s.

“Yeah, but Happy keeps his emotions to himself and I respect that. I don’t want to make him feel any way. He already gets pulled in so many different ways for the Sons, but I know this life is his passion. I can work in my career from anywhere in the world, I just needed a base. I was just waiting on him. He never made me feel less; we both would take trips to see each other, me more so, and we would stay at our mom’s house,” Lucia’s smile lit up her face and made her eyes twinkle.

Gemma couldn’t help but smile at the happiness that radiated from her. She could tell the young woman truly loved Happy, and her family. She felt like pure innocent joy. Gemma craved that feeling; and she felt that pouring out of Lucia’s skin towards anything and everything that could touch it. “Well, if you like it here enough, and we like each other well enough; I’ll be sure to make Clay bring Hap down here more often enough for him to ask for a transfer. Charming is a special place and I’d love to share it with you.” She made her decision. She really liked Lucia. Liked her enough that she was glad that she put the most amount of money on Jax. Most of the club put their money on Chibs or Tig, much to Happy’s dismay. She wouldn’t push Lucia on Jax or vice versa, but it wouldn’t hurt any of them if either head was turned to one another’s. And if something came of it, all the better for everyone involved.

“Thank you, Gem. Really. I want to spend more time with my brother. I want to settle down and have a family and be around family. But I’m a little tired of waiting,” Lucia giggled. “And he seems to like Charming enough to keep volunteering to come down here. I’ll work with you on that.”

Gemma grinned widely at the young woman, recognizing the girl’s desire for family pouring from her aura. “Let’s use these two weeks to get you hooked up with someone in town; what’s your type, darlin’?” She grabbed her glass of soda to take a sip.

Lucia smiled wantonly as she blushed slightly. “I’m bisexual, Gemma. And I’m not picky. I like how I’m treated more than how someone looks.”

Gemma raised an eyebrow. “Okay, then how do you want to be treated then?” She didn’t blink an eye at the woman’s reveal. “What do you want in a partnership or marriage?” She appreciated that the girl was just as blunt as everyone in SAMCRO.

“I want to be treated with respect. With loyalty,” Lucia listed. “I don’t fuck with cheating. At all,” her face turned stern and serious. She pulled what she called her Happy stare; a stare that invoked fear. She knew she succeeded when Gemma tried to hide her body’s subconscious shiver. “Unless we wanna have a fun night once in a while, I’m fine with that, but I want to find my partner. Not just fuck around.” Lucia said, her face dropping into a thoughtful expression. She bit her lip gently as she thought further. “I want kids, so I pretty much expect one or two. I’d negotiate any child after that depending on how my pregnancies go. I’d be committed to living in Charming forever if I ended up with of the Sons or someone local, but I’d like to visit my family back home, so I would need them to compromise on that. There may come a time that I have to take care of my mom so they’d have to be okay with that,” she revealed. “I want to know their culture, as they learn about mine. I’m all about a legacy,” she admitted bashfully, her hair falling like a curtain on either side of her blushing face. “But a complete one. I want them to be kind, to not put their hands on me. I need them to be good in bed, and often,” she wiggled her eyebrows playfully.

“Amen to that!” Gemma let out a cackle, throwing her head back. “Anything else on this reasonable list?”

Lucia shrugged. “That’s it for now. Anything else, I’ll deal with it in time. I’m easy going.”

“I can work with that,” Gemma nodded, her eyes sparkling as her mind ran through the many names of many people in town. Her son included, but she was biased. And Chibs. Hell, she threw Juice in the mix too. Now to see which man had the balls to approach her first, and which Lucia liked the best. Whether tonight at the party, or in town during her two weeks.

—-

Gemma and Lucia sat next to Luann, laughing at the blonde woman’s dirty joke when the club came bounding through the clubhouse door, loud and raucous as the croweaters and hangaround cheered at their homecoming. The party can now really start.

Gemma immediately wrapped herself around her husband, but not before giving her son a quick kiss on the cheek and a playful slap on his ass. She entered Clay’s open embrace watching the club rush to the bar, or to some of the croweaters holding liquor.

Lucia hopped off from her stool in the kitchen. “Tig, c’mere, I’m never gonna fuck you and I need to pick your brain,” Lucia demanded, grabbing three beers in one hand and holding two shots in another. She held them out to the blue eyed man. “I picked out two girls for you and told them how to play with you later, now drink and hear my confessional. They’ll approach on my orders, and no I won’t tell you who they are.” As instructed, all of the available croweaters, and Luann, gave Tig a flirty and seductive smile.

The surrounding people in earshot’s jaws stopped, except for Gemma’s. The room laughed as the Sergeant at Arms of SAMCRO kneeled before Lucia and kissed her stomach.

“Yes, Sister Lucia, thank you, Sister Lucia,” Tig took back the two shots offered back to back, and grabbed the beers from the woman. He stood up quickly, feeling the burn of the spirits run through him, cycling his already high adrenaline. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Can I cop a feel?”

Lucia sighed. “If you must. Make sure you sneak it when I don’t notice,” she grabbed him back outside towards the benches. “See y’all later!” She waved as she shut the door behind them.

“What do you need to know, Lucy?” Tig took a swig of his beer, sitting on top of the table.

“Who’s worth my time in there? Really?” She gave him a look.

Tig, despite always joking with Happy and Lucia, always respected that she was just as blunt as her brother. She never cut to the chase or wasted time; he appreciated that about her. So he and she had a unique relationship; Tig saw women as mothers or whores. Lucia was the only woman he viewed as both and wouldn’t cross the line to actually fuck her. He couldn’t say that about anyone else. “Jax and Juice. Maybe Chibs if you can get over that age gap.”

Lucia nodded. “Who’s worth my time in bed?”

“Jax is known as the best lay in Charming,” Tig admitted. “But he’s a bit of a whore. Got a kid on the way with his junkie ex-wife. Broken hearted over an old relationship and been jaded ever since. Juice is also a whore, but he isn’t attached and doesn’t have any baggage. He’s from New York,” he easily spilled the information. The sooner she hooked up with a brother, the sooner he could press for details of her in bed for his fantasies. “Croweaters say he’s pretty good in bed. More of a romantic.”

“Can he get rough?” Lucia asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Shit Lucy, why'd you say that?” Tig whined as he adjusted his half chub that suddenly appeared.

Lucia wrinkled her nose, laughing at his actions. She decided to tease him even further. “Can he pull my hair and ride me like a cowboy should? Can he punish me when I become the true brat that I am?” She teased, batting her eyes and pouting her lip at him.

“Fuck no, he can’t. Jax can. Pick Jax,” Tig swallowed back his first beer, quickly grabbing the second one that Lucia preprepared. “He’s good for a night, a short time, or you can get him to settle if you need. If you guys got shit in common and you can deal with his baggage, then that’s on you and him.”

“Hmm, and Chibs?” Lucia tilted her head.

Tig shook his head. “He’s got an estranged wife and daughter back in Ireland. She’s a bit younger than you. Old enough that you’d get compared as sisters. His wife is black, and their daughter is brown like you. He’s good for a night ride only.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled them back to lay down on top of the picnic table. He stared at the stars as he heard Lucia light up something. He took whatever she offered him and discovered it was a nicely rolled joint. “You always did pack the prettiest and fattest joints, Lucy,” he chuckled. “What are you looking for right now?” He asked, suddenly seriously. If he couldn’t have her, but maybe one of his brothers could, he would help both along their way. He took a large hit from the joint.

“Either a short bit of fun or settling down. I want kids and a family. I want community. I can do that in Charming. Or I can start to build a family here. You think Jax can offer me either?” Lucia asked, grabbing the joint that Tig passed her.

“Juice and Jax can offer you a short bit of fun. Both men are pretty good men at the end of the day. I don’t know what Juice wants for his future; think he's waiting for a good Old Lady. He's the type where he follows his Old Lady's lead and happily. He'd be good to you," Tig nodded. "I know Jax wants a family, but he hasn’t really loved anyone but his high school ex. I think you can make it work with both if you really like them,” Tig deduced. “Juice is silly, but he��s got a good head on his shoulders when it’s crunchtime. He was Jax’s prospect; his first actually. Jax wouldn’t have asked him to prospect if he thought he was that dumb. Jax or Juice can really offer you though. I’m not sure about anyone else in town, but I could always find out for you.”

“Thanks Tig,” Lucia said after a moment.

“I’ll always watch out for you like I do for Happy,” Tig squeezed her shoulder. “You’re the closest thing to a step-daughter I got,” he fake cried.

“Jesus!” Lucia cried as she threw herself off the picnic bench, her laughter being drowned out by the raucous music playing from the clubhouse. “C’mon, drop the intel to both of them and let’s see who’s got the biggest balls tonight?”

Tig sat up, a wicked grin on his face. He loved pranking his brothers and this was a harmless prank. “Right now?” He raised an eyebrow. He knew if he told Jax or Juice, they would immediately jump on her so he needed to be sure what Lucia wanted.

“Nah, I want to be surprised on the approach,” Lucia told him. “Let’s have some fun, Tig. Don’t forget the girls I arranged for you,” she smiled. “Once I bag my guy, your girls will get to bag you.”

“Oh you’re the ultimate tease, you sure you don’t want me?” Tig begged.

Lucia shook her head. “I see you as my horny step-brother who I don’t want to fuck because you act like a dad sometimes,” she admitted. “Your ship sailed a long time ago but that just means I’m gonna try to find your ultimate happiness,” she gave him a quick hug.

Tig was speechless. He didn’t think that Lucia viewed him as a father figure. He never thought he was a fatherlike man even though he had two daughters already. His heart stopped for a bit, his adrenaline freezing. Could he possibly redeem the damage he inflicted on his daughters with Lucia? Was it wrong to do that? Yes, but Alexander Trager, at his core, always wanted to be a better man. He just always failed. Here was a chance to—

“Tig?”

Lucia’s voice pulled the man from his rush of thoughts. He stared up at her.

Lucia gave him the rest of the joint. “Don’t think about this now. Wait until you’re sober and then think about that shit. Just have a good night tonight. You guys just came back from a run, enjoy your girls and enjoy inciting sexual chaos.”

Tig suddenly relaxed back into his normal state of adrenaline, feeling the drugs and drunkenness slam right back into him. “God, I love Lucy!” He couldn’t help but quip.

—

Lucia and Tig’s cackles were boisterous and loud, and it captured everyone’s attention. Tig normally was an attention grabber and people gravitated towards him.

Gemma smirked as she saw Jax and Juice both blatantly check out Lucia even as they both held on to croweaters by the waist. She patted Clay on the chest and nodded her chin towards him when she knew she had his attention.

“Which one you put the boat on?” Clay chuckled. He knew his wife put money on a whole bunch of odds regarding Lucia’s homecoming. As President, he knew everything that went on in his club, and even in their personal lives, thanks to his meddling wife. Money was put on which Son Lucia would hook up with first; if she hooked up with no one and chose a civilian, if she ended up dating a Son. From there, even more various bets were placed on Jax, Juice, Chibs, Tig; and surprisingly Opie, Piney, Half-Sack, croweaters, hangarounds, even Gemma and Deputy Hale were on that list. Clay knew Bobby was keeping the books in order. Clay didn’t place any bets, but he didn’t discourage his wife when she asked for some extra money for a ‘donation to the school’.

“Jax, of course,” Gemma said smugly. “I always bet on Teller/Morrow,” she bit her lip as Clay slapped her ass. “But ultimately, whatever makes her happy, and what doesn’t make Happy kill anyone. He’s too important to catch a murder charge,” she laughed.

Clay was taken aback at Gemma’s approval of her. It was small indications, but Clay knew his wife, knew her tells especially since he and her successfully committed an affair under the club, and JT’s, backs. She liked Lucia. Gemma’s approval was hard to come by, especially when it came to beautiful young women who could be a threat. “You like her?”

“She’s got a good head on her shoulders. Blunt like Happy, but she’s not unapproachable like him,” Gemma told him. “Would I like her and Jax together in love? Of course; but Jax’s got a lot of baggage with Wendy and the kid. Lucia’s too fucking nice to deal with my whore of a son. He loves just like JT, with all of him. But he’s honorable like him too.”

“It’s what makes him a great Vice President. He can overlook his emotions to be logical,” Clay reminded Gemma. “If they choose each other, you already like her and you can meddle your way to solidify their relationship. If they don’t, you can still meddle for her with another Son or anyone else. Please,” he begged, chuckling with the joke on his tongue. “The less you meddle with Jax, the more I get my VP around.”

Gemma slapped her husband’s chest.

—-

“Righ’, give us the information, we’ve watched your two gals for th' night swallo' tongues enough,” Chibs, antsy to fuck someone for the night, was growing impatient. Since he knew he was in the running, and took in Lucia’s figure and her openness to bed who she wanted (and Happy’s rule of ‘don’t ask/don’t tell’), he held off from hooking up with a croweater. He was attracted to the Lowman woman and knew a night with her would be worth it. But with Tig coming in after his talk with the beauty with the grin that swallowed the canary, everyone knew that Tig knew her choices, and knew that Tig being the conniving asshole that is was, would keep it shut.

Tig chuckled, having enough of teasing his brothers. “Lucy’s got good taste; after asking her creepy uncle who’s worth her time, I made it clear it was a Son.” He grinned, watching the hangarounds grumble and grasp at some croweaters. “Can’t watch to watch Lucy’s new season,” he jested, snickering at the confused faces. “Heard Lucy’s divorcing Ricky; her new eligible bachelors include a Prince, a shady Irishman, and someone’s who’s fresh out of psychotherapy.” He got up, sleeping both of his croweaters on their asses. He was ready for his private party to begin. He was sure Lucia, Gemma, or Bobby would tell him who popped Lucia’s Charming cherry.

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