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keehomania · 26 days ago

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bad religion — rcm (18+)

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ smut, angst, minors dni, sexually explicit content below the cut, bartender!reader, unrequited love, slowburn, crashout!rafe, nobody understands him like i do, reader lowkey has bob the builder mentality, no religious themes despite the title, dirty talk, gun play, alcohol consumption, drug usage, if it brings me to my knees, it’s a bad religion; this unrequited love

it started off as a way to pay off your student loans—tuition, housing, supplies. the minute you enrolled, you had picked up the job. it was supposed to be temporary, just until you found a better solution, but time had a way of slipping through your fingers. years later, you were still standing behind the counter, wiping spills, pouring drinks, and serving customers whose names you rarely bothered to learn. the debt was gone, long since paid off, but you hadn’t managed to leave. you told yourself it was because the money was decent, but deep down, you knew the truth: you didn’t know where else to go.

the roadside had become something of a second home to you, though a noisy, sticky one. you liked the rhythm of it, the way the nights started off slow and built to a fever pitch, only to settle into a steady hum again by closing time. you liked the regulars, too—the older men who came in after long shifts at the docks or the factory. they nursed beers as if they were lifelines and tipped generously, their wallets loosening with each drink. they were kind, if a little lonely, and they made your job bearable.

the others weren’t as pleasant. there were men with slicked-back hair and gold watches, the kind who brought their wives to brunch in the mornings, but showed up at the roadside every night with someone new on their arm. whiskey neat for him, a bright, sugary cocktail for her—each woman seemingly younger, blonder, and more compliant than the last. they never tipped, and they always left a mess. you hated them the most.

and then there were the tourists. they breezed in like they owned the place, their faces sunburned and shining, and almost always said the same thing: “surprise me.” you never did. you’d pour them a vodka soda with light ice, knowing it would do the job. they didn’t care about flavor or nuance, just speed, and you weren’t about to waste good liquor on someone who wouldn’t appreciate it.

over time, the faces all blurred together. you’d seen so many people come and go that you’d stopped trying to remember them. the roadside was a revolving door, and you preferred it that way. no attachments, no complications.

“on the clock?” you looked up, having been lost in thought, polishing a variety of glasses and setting them away. he was sat in front of you, a look of near disinterest playing on his face. he almost seemed ticked off. the scent of his cologne clashed with the smell of gin. he fashioned a buzzcut, a polo shirt, and a pair of shorts. tan, blond—he’d have been disney’s dream if he was just a few years younger. if he wasn’t so easy to recognize, you would’ve mistaken him for a tourist. “unfortunately,” you responded with an honesty that almost made him smile. “what can i get you?”

for a second, he didn’t respond. you stood in front of him, with nothing but the counter separating you, but it did little to stop either of you from staring. his light blue eyes bored into yours without the faintest shade of shame. there seemed to be a grey hue to them that the photos of him never captured. rafe cameron, what were the chances of him showing up? he had gained a certain reputation thanks to his father, and his tendency to act out in public. maybe it was best if you said nothing. so, you broke the gaze.

“single malt scotch,” he answered, leaning forward against the counter. you nodded, doing your best to ignore the way his eyes followed your every movement, paired with the uncanny order that screamed toxic masculinity. you grabbed the bottle of scotch from the shelf, careful not to let your hands tremble as you poured the amber liquid into a clean glass. the sound of the pour filled the silence between you, and you were hyperaware of his gaze tracking every movement. it wasn’t just curiosity; it felt calculated, as though he were sizing you up, deciding if you were worth his attention.

the scotch settled in the glass, and you slid it across the counter toward him. “here you go,” you announced, your voice steady despite the prickle of unease his presence stirred. rafe pulled out a wallet from his pocket and laid a crisp bill on the counter, more than enough to cover the drink. his movements were deliberate, slow, as if he enjoyed the way it kept you waiting. “keep the change,” he muttered, picking up the glass and taking a measured sip.

you tucked the bill into the register, brushing off the way his tone lingered in the air. glancing around the bar, you noticed a lull in the activity. the older regulars were nursing their drinks, and the tourists had either left or were too absorbed in their own conversations to need you. your eyes drifted to the window, catching sight of a dirt bike parked just outside. its sleek red and black frame stood out against the muted colors of the streetlights.

“that your bike?” you asked, your curiosity slipping through before you could stop yourself. rafe’s lips quirked up slightly as he set his glass down. “yeah, ktm. you know bikes?”

“not really,” you admitted, leaning your hip against the counter. “but it’s a nice one. looks fast.”

“it is.” he took another sip, his eyes still on you. “you like fast things?”

there it was—the subtle shift in his tone, just enough to make the question feel loaded. you raised a brow, refusing to let him get under your skin. “depends on the thing,” you replied coolly. “fast isn’t always better.”

the smirk on his face deepened, and for a moment, he said nothing, just stared at you like he was trying to figure out what made you tick. “you’ve got a mouth on you,” he said finally, his voice low and edged with amusement. “i like that.”

you rolled your eyes, reaching for a rag to wipe down the counter. “and you’ve got a way of talking that screams trouble. i’ll pass.”

“trouble, huh?” he chuckled softly, leaning back in his seat. “you make that judgment on your own, or is that what you’ve heard about me?”

you hesitated. his reputation preceded him, of course. rafe cameron, the kook prince with too much money and too much anger. everyone had a story about him, most of them involving fights, drugs, or some poor girl left heartbroken in his wake. but something about the way he was looking at you now—calm, almost bored—didn’t match the chaos you’d heard about.

“a little of both,” you admitted, meeting his gaze again. “does it bother you?”

“not really,” he said with a shrug. “people are gonna think what they want. doesn’t make it true.”

“doesn’t make it false either,” you shot back, unable to help yourself.

that earned you another smirk, sharper this time. “you always this quick with your customers?”

“only the ones who think they’re special,” you said, the words slipping out before you could second-guess them.

his laugh was soft, but almost genuine, and it caught you off guard. “fair enough,” he said, finishing the last of his scotch. he pushed the glass toward you, the faintest hint of a challenge in his eyes. “one more?”

you nodded, grabbing the bottle again. this time, you didn’t feel the same pressure to avoid his gaze. if he wanted to play games, you could play too. as you poured, you said, “you must get this a lot.”

“what’s that?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

“girls falling over themselves for you,” you said bluntly, setting the glass down in front of him. “the charm, the looks, the whole mysterious bad boy act—it’s a lot.”

“act?” he raised a brow, clearly amused. “you think this is an act?”

“isn’t it?” you countered, crossing your arms. “seems a little rehearsed.”

he leaned forward, the movement subtle but deliberate, and suddenly the air between you felt charged again. “if i wanted to charm you,” he said slowly, his voice dropping an octave, “you’d know.”

the heat of his words settled in your chest, but you refused to let it show. instead, you picked up his empty glass and started wiping it clean. “i’ll take your word for it,” you said evenly, refusing to meet his gaze.

for a moment, neither of you spoke. he watched you in silence, his expression unreadable, and you found yourself wondering what was going through his mind. finally, he stood, pulling a set of keys from his pocket.

“thanks for the drink,” he said, his tone cool and detached again. “maybe i’ll see you around.”

“maybe,” you replied, watching as he turned and walked toward the door. his figure disappeared into the night, leaving behind the faint scent of cologne and a lingering tension you couldn’t quite shake. when you glanced out the window again, the dirt bike was gone, its engine a distant hum in the night. you exhaled, realizing only then how tightly you’d been gripping the rag in your hand. he was trouble, no doubt about it. but for some reason, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to regret the encounter.

the walk home was quiet, unsettlingly so. you’d managed to convince one of your co-workers to cover the rest of your shift, citing the lack of customers as a valid reason, but now, as the empty streets stretched before you, you almost wished you’d stayed. the moonlight pooled on the cracked pavement, illuminating a path that felt both too open and too confining. you held your house keys tightly in one hand, the jagged edges digging into your palm like a makeshift weapon. just in case. you weren’t the type to take chances.

your steps were brisk but measured, careful not to echo too loudly. every shadow seemed alive, every sound amplified. a rustle in the bushes had your heart racing, your grip tightening on the keys. it was probably a cat, you told yourself, though your eyes darted back toward the noise every few seconds, just to be sure. the world felt too quiet, too exposed. you hated this part of the night—the vulnerability of it. it wasn’t paranoia, you told yourself, just caution. but still, your mind raced with every worst-case scenario.

when you finally reached your house, relief washed over you like a wave. the sight of the peeling paint and sagging porch might have been depressing to anyone else, but to you, it meant safety. unlocking the door felt like unlocking a barrier between you and the rest of the world. once inside, you locked it again, flipping the bolt twice just to hear the satisfying click. the air inside was stale, carrying the faint scent of cleaning products and something slightly metallic. it wasn’t much, but it was yours. or at least, it was until the lease ran out.

the place was as minimal as it could get. a mismatched thrift store couch dominated the small living room, its cushions worn and sagging in places. a single bookshelf stood in the corner, half-filled with old paperbacks and a few decorative knick-knacks you’d found at a yard sale. the kitchen, visible from the living room, was clean but bare, its counters free of anything that might be considered a luxury. your future depended on saving, on scrimping wherever you could, and every dollar you didn’t spend brought you one step closer to a life that didn’t feel like you were treading water.

you dropped your bag near the door and kicked off your shoes, the weight of the day settling over you like a blanket. collapsing onto the couch, you reached for the remote and flicked the television on. the screen blinked to life, casting a dim blue glow across the room. you scrolled aimlessly through the channels until the news caught your eye.

“...marking the anniversary of ward cameron’s death,” the reporter announced, her voice measured. the screen cut to a montage of images—ward’s face, the cameron estate. “ward cameron, a prominent figure in the outer banks, left behind a legacy of wealth, corruption, and betrayal. his death, which shocked the island community, continues to be a topic of both fascination and controversy.”

you scoffed, sinking deeper into the couch. “apple, tree,” you muttered under your breath, the words bitter and sharp. it was hard not to think about rafe, his cool demeanor and the air of entitlement that clung to him like a second skin. the spawn of the man had left the world behind with a son who seemed a fistfight away from being institutionalized. it was rich people bullshit, all of it, and it infuriated you. they lived in their gilded cages, creating drama out of thin air while people like you scraped by just to keep the lights on.

the reporter continued, delving into ward’s crimes and the ripple effect they’d had on the community, but you tuned her out. it all felt so distant, so removed from your own reality. people like the camerons didn’t have to worry about overdue bills or walking home alone at night. they sneezed, and the rest of the island lined up to wipe their noses.

you grabbed the thin blanket draped over the back of the couch and pulled it over yourself, letting the reporter’s voice fade into background noise. the couch wasn’t comfortable—not really—but it was familiar. it was where you ended most nights, too tired to drag yourself to the bedroom. the faint hum of the television lulled you into a fragile sense of calm, the weight of the day finally giving way to exhaustion.

as you closed your eyes, the image of rafe’s piercing blue stare flitted across your mind, unbidden and unwelcome. you shoved it away, chalking it up to nothing more than an odd encounter. he was a blip on the radar, a momentary distraction in a life too busy for indulgences like curiosity. with a heavy sigh, you let the hum of the television pull you under, the world slipping away as sleep claimed you.

the next day dawned slow and gray, the kind of morning that felt like a continuation of the night before. you went about your routine with mechanical precision, brushing your teeth in the tiny bathroom with its perpetually fogged mirror and peeling wallpaper. breakfast was quick—toast, black coffee, and a glance at the wilted plant by the window you kept forgetting to water. you were out the door before you had time to feel the weight of the day ahead.

the walk to the bar wasn’t long, but it was enough to remind you why you hated mornings. the streets were quiet, but not in the same way as they were at night. this quiet felt temporary, like the city was holding its breath before the chaos of the day began.

at the bar, you fell into the rhythm of the job almost immediately. wiping down counters, setting up glasses, restocking liquor shelves—it was second nature by now. the hours dragged, each one blending into the next as a slow trickle of customers came and went. a few regulars shuffled in for their early beers, their faces as familiar to you as the scratches on the bar top. you greeted them with polite smiles, but your mind was elsewhere.

you didn’t want to admit it, even to yourself, but you half-expected rafe to show up. every time the door swung open, your eyes darted toward it, only to find someone else stepping inside. the anticipation was irritating, like an itch you couldn’t scratch. you told yourself you didn’t care whether he came back or not, but the lie was too obvious to be convincing.

by nightfall, the bar began to pick up. the low hum of conversation grew louder, mingling with the clink of glasses and the faint strains of a classic rock playlist. you stepped outside for a smoke break, needing a moment away from the noise. the air was cool, carrying the faint scent of salt from the ocean. you leaned against the wall, the cigarette in your hand a small comfort against the monotony of the day.

the sound of a motor rumbled in the distance, growing louder until it filled the air. your eyes flicked toward the source, and there he was, pulling up on his dirt bike like he owned the place. the red and black machine gleamed under the dim streetlights, and for a moment, you just watched as he killed the engine and swung a leg over. he took off his helmet, revealing that same buzzcut and piercing blue eyes that had lingered in your mind longer than you cared to admit. he saw you almost immediately, a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth as he approached.

“you get lost again?” you called out, unable to resist. your tone was teasing, but the sight of him sent an unexpected jolt through you. “figure 8’s on the other side.”

he chuckled, low and amused, the sound like gravel in his throat. “must’ve taken a wrong turn.” his eyes dropped to the cigarette in your hand, and his smirk deepened. “those things’ll kill you, y’know?”

you scoffed, tapping the ash off the end and watching it scatter to the ground. “not fast enough, obviously.”

“let’s hope not,” he replied smoothly, his gaze steady on yours. “not until i get a glass of scotch.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the faint tug of a smile. “two nights in a row, it must be good.”

he tilted his head, the smirk on his face turning downright devious. “among other things.”

the way he said it sent a chill down your spine, one you couldn’t quite shake as you turned and headed back inside. you heard his footsteps behind you, steady and unhurried, as though he knew exactly where he belonged.

behind the bar, you reached for the bottle of single malt without needing to ask. he took the same seat as the night before, his movements deliberate and lazy, like he had all the time in the world. you poured the drink and set it in front of him, doing your best to ignore the way his eyes seemed to follow your every move.

“caught the news last night,” you said casually as he pulled out his wallet. “sorry for your loss.”

the change in his expression was instant, the smirk wiped clean in less than a second. his jaw tightened, and his light blue eyes grew cold. “don’t be,” he said flatly. “i’m not.”

you had to resist the urge to roll your eyes at the obvious deflection. “he’s your dad, is he not?” you asked, more curious than you should’ve been.

rafe’s lips twitched, but it wasn’t a smile. “sure, why not?” his tone was stoic, detached, and it made you regret bringing it up. the silence that followed was heavy, thick with something unspoken that you couldn’t quite place.

he sipped his drink, his gaze fixed on the counter as though it held answers to questions you didn’t even know how to ask. to you, it was just another reminder of how different your worlds were. but to him, the weight of that silence carried memories he wouldn’t let surface, not here, not now, not ever.

the bar buzzed around you, but for a moment, the two of you might as well have been the only ones there. you busied yourself with wiping down the counter, giving him the space he clearly needed. whatever his relationship with his father had been, it wasn’t your place to pry. but as you glanced at him, you couldn’t help but wonder—what kind of man grew up in the shadow of someone like ward cameron?

you were midway through rinsing a glass when a new customer slid into the seat beside rafe. the man was tall, blond, and sun-kissed, his skin bearing the unmistakable sheen of someone who spent most of their days by the water. his outfit—a white wifebeater and faded shorts—screamed local. rafe stiffened beside him, his easy demeanor shifting as he leaned back in his seat, jaw tightening. the newcomer leaned forward onto the bar, turning his attention to you.

“excuse me?” his voice cut through the background noise, drawing your focus. you walked over, keeping your expression neutral.

“what can i get you?” you asked casually, pulling a towel off your shoulder and tossing it onto the counter.

the man grinned, clearly enjoying himself as he pretended to think. he was already swaying slightly, the telltale sign of someone who’d started drinking well before stepping through your door.

“well,” he began, dragging the word out like it was some profound thought, “i’d ask for a beer, but it depends.” he paused, his smile growing wider. “does the beer come with a phone number?”

you bit back the urge to roll your eyes, a skill you’d perfected over countless encounters like this. leaning forward, you fixed him with a stare so sharp it could cut glass. “a restraining order, actually,” you replied coolly, your voice devoid of humor.

the man laughed, clearly not deterred. if anything, your response seemed to fuel his bravado. “come on, sweetheart,” he said, tilting his head as though to charm you. “what kind of customer service is that?”

you turned away, doing your best to ignore him as you crouched to grab a beer from the fridge. the cool air brushed your skin, offering a brief reprieve from the heat of the room. you popped the cap off the bottle, your back still turned, oblivious to the way the man leaned back in his seat, his eyes glued to the way your jeans stopped below your waist. what you missed, someone else didn’t.

the first crash was deafening, shattering the rhythm of the bar in an instant. you whipped around, the beer in your hand sloshing slightly as your eyes widened at the scene before you.

the blond man was on the ground, sprawled awkwardly, his face contorted in shock and pain. towering over him was rafe, his knuckles already bloodied from the first blow. the air felt electric, charged with the sheer force of the rage radiating from him. “come on, sweetheart,” rafe sneered, his tone mocking as he delivered another punch. “what kind of manners are those?”

the man barely had time to respond before rafe grabbed him by the front of his tank top, hauling him up like a ragdoll. the look in his eyes was something primal, something feral. “i might just make you my bitch if I don’t kill you first,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

the man whimpered, his bravado completely gone, but rafe wasn’t finished. his fist connected again, the sound of impact reverberating through the room.

“rafe, stop!” you shouted, your voice cutting through the chaos. you scrambled out from behind the bar, pushing past the growing crowd of onlookers. it took more than just you to pull him away. one of the other bartenders jumped in, followed by a bouncer, both of them struggling to wrestle rafe back. his chest heaved, his hands still twitching with barely-contained energy as they held him.

you crouched beside the man on the floor, who was clutching his face and groaning. his nose was bleeding, and one eye was already swelling shut. your heart pounded as you turned back to rafe, fury and disbelief written all over your face. “are you trying to get me fired?” you snapped, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and adrenaline.

his gaze shifted to you, his blue eyes dark and unreadable. for a moment, he didn’t respond, his breathing heavy, his hands still shaking as they hung at his sides, blood dripping from his knuckles. “yeah,” he said finally, his voice dripping with venom. “because that’d be such a shame.”

his eyes flicked back to the man on the floor, his lip curling in disgust. you saw it then—the side of rafe cameron everyone warned you about. the man who was a ticking time bomb, always seconds away from detonating.

your manager’s glare burned into you, sharp and unrelenting, but the message clear as day. with a sigh heavy enough to rattle your ribs, you turned back to rafe, still seething where he stood, blood dripping onto the floor like a crimson metronome. “come on,” you muttered, jerking your head toward the back. “let’s fix you up before you make this night even worse.”

rafe followed without protest, his steps heavy and deliberate, the energy of the room shifting as you led him through the door behind the bar. the hallway was dim, illuminated only by the flicker of a fluorescent bulb, the walls lined with scuffed paint and the faint smell of bleach. you shoved open the door to a small office-slash-medical-room hybrid—a cluttered, utilitarian space with a desk shoved against the wall and a first-aid kit hanging by the door.

“sit down,” you snapped, pointing at the worn metal chair in the center of the room. he obliged, sinking into the chair with an infuriating calmness, his long legs sprawled out as if he owned the place. he didn’t say a word, but his gaze tracked you as you rummaged through drawers, the scrape of metal and plastic breaking the silence.

it wasn’t until you turned back with supplies in hand that you noticed it: the black grip of a gun tucked into the waistband of his shorts. “are you kidding me?” you hissed, your eyes narrowing. “you’ve gotta be shitting me. second night here, and you’re ready to get me fired.”

rafe didn’t respond immediately, his eyes drawn to the streaks of moonlight slicing through the cracked blinds. the faint silver light caught the sharp angles of his face, softening them just enough to be dangerous. “i have a permit,” he said finally, his voice low and disinterested, as if that explained everything.

you almost laughed. almost. “put that shit away,” you ordered, gesturing sharply.

he smirked but complied, pulling the weapon free and sliding it into his jacket instead. only rafe cameron could make following directions look like a favor. “unbelievable,” you muttered, stepping closer. “hold still.”

you crouched beside him, your fingers deft as you dabbed antiseptic onto a rag. the smell was sharp, stinging your nose as you pressed it to his knuckles. he didn’t flinch, his stoicism unnerving as you worked to clean away the blood and dirt. his hands were strong, calloused in a way that hinted at a life rougher than the one you’d imagined for someone like him.

“you wanna tell me what the hell that was about?” you asked, your tone cutting.

“he was staring at you,” he said simply, his voice devoid of emotion.

you glanced up, caught off guard by the frankness of his statement. “so what? i deal with creeps like that all the time. doesn’t mean you get to knock their teeth in.”

his lips twitched, the faintest shadow of a smirk. “guess i’m not good at letting things slide.”

“yeah, no kidding,” you shot back, shaking your head. his knuckles were raw and split, the blood pooling in thin lines that you carefully wiped away.

the silence between you stretched, thick and charged, until finally, you leaned back and surveyed your work. his hands were still trembling, though whether from adrenaline or something deeper, you couldn’t tell. “all done,” you said, straightening up. “now, if you’ll excuse me, i’m clocking out before someone else decides to bleed all over my bar.”

rafe stood, towering over you as he adjusted his jacket. “i’ll take you home.”

you blinked, caught off guard by the offer. “my legs work just fine,” you replied, your tone sharper than intended.

he didn’t budge, his gaze steady and unwavering. “i wasn’t asking.”

before you could protest further, he was leading you back to the front, where his bike waited. the night air was cool against your skin, the hum of cicadas filling the silence as he handed you a helmet.

“don’t tell me to hold on tight, because i won’t,” you warned as you climbed on behind him, the words almost daring.

he chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “we’ll see about that.”

the engine roared beneath you, and despite your earlier words, your arms instinctively wrapped around his waist as the bike lurched forward. the wind whipped past you, pulling at your hair as the world blurred into streaks of light and shadow.

by the time he pulled up to your house, your pulse was racing for reasons you refused to examine too closely. you slid off the bike, your legs unsteady as you removed the helmet and handed it back to him.

“thanks for the ride,” you muttered, stepping onto the porch. rafe followed, his gaze sweeping over the small, weathered house you called home. you braced yourself for some snide comment, but he said nothing, his expression unreadable.

“it’s not much,” you admitted, crossing your arms defensively.

“it’s enough,” he said simply, his tone carrying none of the judgment you’d expected.

you looked up at him, the moonlight casting an ethereal glow over his features, highlighting the sharp planes of his cheekbones and the curve of his lips. there was something magnetic about him, something that made your heart stumble even as your mind screamed at you to stay away.

no matter how much your mind screamed at you, you knew you wouldn’t listen. when he kissed you, it wasn’t sweet or gentle. It was rough, insistent, a collision of mouths and unspoken tensions. his hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours, claiming and demanding in a way that left you breathless. it wasn’t romantic. it wasn’t kind. but it was everything you didn’t know you’d been craving.

“we’re so not doing this,” you exhaled with a shaky laugh, breaking the kiss as reality clawed its way back into your mind. your palms flattened against his chest, as though a barrier of mere inches could hold back the tide of whatever this was.

but rafe didn’t flinch. his hands, rough and warm, rested on your bare waist, his thumbs drawing lazy circles on your skin that sent sparks racing through your veins. his gaze, piercing and unrelenting, locked onto yours like a challenge, daring you to contradict him.

“yes, we are,” his eyes seemed to say, the intensity of his stare enough to make you forget the very air around you. “are you scared?” he whispered, the words slipping from his lips like silk. they weren’t a question, not really. they were a taunt, a gauntlet thrown at your feet.

he leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear, sending a shiver rolling down your spine. his nose brushed against the shell of your ear, his lips so close they grazed your neck, and you swore he could feel the way your pulse fluttered beneath your skin.

“i’m not scared of anything,” you shot back, your voice firmer than you felt. defiance burned in your chest, even as the sensation of his mouth barely ghosting over your jaw made your knees weak.

“maybe you should be,” he murmured, his voice low, his tone a promise more than a threat.

the words undid you. they stripped away your composure, your restraint, until nothing remained but the white-hot pull that had been simmering between you all night. your fingers moved before you could stop them, wrapping around the back of his neck, the tips grazing the bare skin there. the contact sent a shiver through him that you felt as much as saw.

and then you were kissing him again, your lips colliding with his in a frenzy of heat and need. there was no hesitation this time, no room for second thoughts or retreat. he tasted like scotch and rebellion, smelled like leather and something darker, something dangerous. you weren’t scared, but you should have been. everyone was scared of the devil.

his hand found the small of your back, his touch searing through the fabric of your shirt as he pushed you backward, through the open door to your house. your legs gave out slightly, the doorframe digging into your spine as you kissed him harder. rafe’s other hand roamed up your side, his fingertips tracing the line of your waist, up to your chest, cupping one of your tits through the fabric. your breath hitched, your eyes fluttering shut as he squeezed gently.

“you must do this a lot,” you half-joked as his lips find their way back to your neck, wet and sloppy as they travel down to your collarbone. he grunts against your skin, “could say the same about you,” he retorts. the room spun around you as he backed you further into the house, his hands never leaving your body, his mouth never leaving your neck. you felt the wall behind you, your body trapped between the hardness of the wall and the hardness of, well, him.

his hand slid around your thigh, diving under the fabric of your jeans, fingertips grazing the wetness of your panties. your hips bucked slightly at the touch, betraying your own eagerness. “haven’t been fucked in a while, have you?” he murmured, his voice a dark promise. “what’s the matter, baby? did i turn you on?” you wanted to defy him more than anything, but you were powerless to resist.

instead, you fought fire with fire, raising your knee enough to press it against the center of his shorts. no matter how tough your bones were, they did little to prepare you for just how hard and heavy he felt, throbbing under the thick material of his shorts. “you’ve got it worse than i do,” you do your best to retort, but it’s not easy, not with his fingers rubbing sweet circles against the damp spot of your panties, drawing out every whimper he can from you.

“ease my pain, why don't you?” he murmurs softly. you watched him through hooded eyes as he crouched down, his fingers tugging down your jeans until they're pooling around your ankles. you complied, raising your feet to rid yourself of the blockage. when you did, he took a moment to admire you—pressed against the wall of your own home, standing in nothing but a skimpy top, panties soaked, and a pair of heels he didn’t plan on letting you take off.

when you tried to, he was quick to stop you. “heels on,” his voice was coated in authority, and you’re quick to pull back. “everything else, off.”

“bossy, aren’t you?” you couldnt help but ask him, but it only encouraged him. you watched as he leveled the playing field, peeling his own shirt off, leaving him in nothing but his shorts. he seemed skinny, thanks to his height, but you had clearly been deceived. he was toned, everything about him was toned in just the right places.

your eyes trailed down to the metal tucked in his shorts, and you allowed yourself to pull the weapon out, holding it in front of him. “really?” you couldn’t help but ask. he offered a smile amd a shrug, unable to protest as you sat the gun on the table beside him. better safe than sorry.

you couldn’t help but trail a hand down his chest, your feather-light touch sending shivers down his spine as you traced every muscle and crevice from his collarbone to his hips. youd never admit it out loud, but he was incredible. “see something you like?” he teased, attaching his lips to your neck a final time as his fingers tugged at your shirt, eager to get it out of the way. you whimpered at the feeling, the way he’d bite down enough to make you wince, but run his tongue over the surface a second later. “don’t flatter yourself,” you managed to say.

but he had every intention of doing so. he allowed your shirt to fall to the floor as his lips travelled south, making their way down your collarbone and over your clothed tits. you tilted your head back, fingers instinctively pulling him in closer by the back of his neck, drawing him in further between your tits. he unclasped your bra with ease, giving you the impression he had definitely done this plenty of times, but you were too desperate to care. “should’ve just told me you wanted it rough,” he said, and you swore you could feel his smirk against your skin.

his hand slid down to cup your ass, his fingertips ghosting over the lace of your panties. with a sharp tug, he pulled them aside, revealing the sticky mess that had been hidden beneath. “dripping all over my fingers, huh?” he murmured, his voice low enough to send a tremor through you. his finger slid through the slickness, teasing your entrance before pressing inside. you moaned, your legs shaking, your hips thrusting back against him. “fuck, rafe, too much,” and you wished you were exaggerating. his fingers were thin, slender, hitting all the right spots like they had them mapped out.

his eyes searched yours as he began to pump his finger in and out of you, his strokes measured and deliberate. “not enough, never enough,” he countered, his tone almost mocking. you whined, desperate for more. he smirked, adding a second finger, his thumb finding your clit and circling it with just enough pressure to make your knees buckle. you leaned into the wall, using it for support as his digits worked their magic. you were dripping all over his fingers, wetting them from the tips to his knuckles.

when he pulled them out, it almost felt cruel, a long whine drawn out of you as the feeling of emptiness replaced fulfillment. “so fucking needy, jesus, shit,” he groaned, taking a second to admire how glossy his fingers were, how hard the sight of your arousal had him. “just a second, i promise.” you nodded, watching as he brought his shorts down, leaving him in his boxers, but only for a second. it was enough for you to catch the trailer, to see what awaited you.

when his boxers followed, you really wished for another minute to process the sight. his cock flopped against his abs, twitching. his tip was stained an angry red, beads of pre-cum trailing down the underside of his cock, following a prominent vein before collecting under his balls. “stroke my ego, just like that,” you heard him say, but you didn’t care. you needed him.

his hand wrapped around his shaft, stroking it slowly, teasingly. “you like watching, don’t you?” you nodded, your eyes glued to his hand as it glided up and down. “good,” he murmured, his eyes darkening. “i’ll put on a fucking show for you.”

he stepped closer, pressing the tip of his cock against your clit, hard and ready to split your folds open. you could feel the heat, the urgency, and the promise of what was to come. he leaned in, his breath hot on your face. “gonna take this dick like a fuckin’ champ.”

your cheeks burned with a mix of embarrassment and desire, his words hitting you in the core of your being. you didn’t know why, but you craved his dirty talk, his filthy mouth whispering bittersweet nothings that turned you into a trembling mess. “yes, please, fuck me,” you breathed, your voice a shaky whisper that seemed to echo through the room.

rafe smirked, his hand still working his cock. “that’s my girl,” he said, and the term of endearment had your stomach doing somersaults. his eyes never left yours, not even as he pushed his cock past your folds, eyes glued to the way your jaw dropped, your eyes rolling into the back of your head at the sensation of his bare tip splitting you open.

you were soaked, the sound of his skin slapping against yours obscene, filling the room as he picked up his pace. he leaned in, his teeth capturing yours in a brutal kiss that had you moaning into his mouth. your nails scratched at his back, leaving deep red grooves that you knew would scar. his hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he thrust into you, his strokes deep and unrelenting. “fuck, shit, pussy’s squeezing my cock,” he groaned through the kiss, breathless.

the room spun around you, the sensation of his bare length inside you, the feeling of his teeth on your lip, his tongue in your mouth—it was all too much. your body felt like it was on fire, every nerve ending a live wire ready to spark and explode. “yes, yes, fuck, yes,” you chanted, your voice a desperate mantra that matched the rhythm of his hips.

his hands slid to your throat, thumbs pressing against the pulse that beat frantically. you gasped, the sudden pressure a jolt of electricity that shot straight to your core. his grip tightened, not enough to cut off air, but enough to make you aware of your vulnerability. “you like it rough, don’t you?” he whispered, his voice a dark caress in your ear. you didnt even have to answer, the feeling of your cunt clenching around him told him everything he needed to know.

his hand slid down to grip your neck, his fingers tightening as he slammed into you, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing off the walls. “you want it harder?” he growled, his teeth grazing your earlobe. you nodded, your breath coming in ragged gasps. you weren’t sure how much harder it could get—with him pounding your pussy, you could feel the way he throbbed, pulsing deep inside of you, but you had to expect the unexpected from him. the unexpected came as he leaned back, hand wrapping around the barrel of his gun. your eyes widened, but you were in no position to resist—you didn’t even want to.

there was something dangerous in his eyes, something you had only seen once, just a few hours earlier at the bar, but it drew you in more than you wanted it to. his pace never faltered, his hips slamming against your flesh as one hand held your leg up high, the sight of your cunt swallowing him whole only adding fuel to the fire. his other hand held the gun, finger to the trigger, as he pressed it to your temple.

“tell me you’re scared,” he murmured, gripping your thigh in a way that told you to expect a bruise or two. the cold metal of the gun you knew had to have been loaded dug into your skin, his fingers locked around the trigger.

“scared,” you barely managed to whisper, tits shaking with every forceful thrust. “i’m scared, rafe,” but your words were like music to his ears, the clenching of your cunt a sign that you were just as horny as you were scared.

he threw his head back, pushing your leg up even farther, enough for it to sting deliciously as he rammed into you, the head of his cock bruising the entirety of your pussy. “you should be,” he hissed, sweat dripping down his chest. he lowered the gun, giving you a temporary feeling of relief, one that didnt last long. he brought it closer to you, tapping your bottom lip with the muzzle. “didn’t i tell you?”

your eyes widened at the sight of the weapon so close to you, his fingers never leaving the trigger, but you knew your best option was to oblige. your lips parted, and he was quick to push it into your mouth. he groaned at the sight, watching your swollen lips wrap around the barrel enough to send him over the edge. “doin’ everything i tell you to, fuck, you’re so good.”

you felt the metal of the gun slide along your tongue, his hips moving with the rhythm of your mouth. you didn’t dare bite down, not with how close he was to climax. his hand tightened around your throat, his other hand keeping the gun in your mouth as he fucked you harder, his strokes becoming erratic. “you’re gonna take it all, baby. all of me. every single drop,” he promised, and the thought of his hot, sticky cum filling your mouth had your pussy tightening around his cock.

you felt your orgasm approaching, the tension in your body coiling like a tight spring ready to snap. you moaned around the gun, the vibrations of the sound traveling up the barrel and into your mouth. rafe’s eyes glazed over, his movements becoming sloppy with lust. “yeah, just like that,” he whispered, his thumb pressing into your neck, cutting off just enough air to make your world spin.

the gun slipped from your mouth with a wet pop, and you gasped for air, your chest heaving as his grip around your neck loosened slightly. his eyes snapped to yours, searching, hungry, as he pulled out of you, his cock glistening with your wetness. before you could protest, he turned you around, pressing you into the wall. his hand found your throat again, squeezing as his cock nudged at your entrance from behind.

the fear and arousal had started mixing in a heady cocktail that had you on the edge of oblivion. with a smirk, he slammed into you, his bare skin slapping against yours in a way that was almost painful. your eyes rolled back as he fucked you mercilessly, his hand around your neck keeping you in place, his other hand pressing against your stomach to keep you steady.

his thumb brushed against your clit, the sensation making you moan, your knees buckling slightly. he chuckled darkly, the sound sending a thrill through your body. “such a sweet thing,” he said, his voice deep and guttural. “letting me fill this sweet pussy up.” you could only moan, unable to do anything but submit to his will. the pressure built inside of you, a crescendo that was only heightened by the way he choked you, the way his cock hit just the right spot deep inside of you.

his strokes grew more erratic, his breathing becoming ragged. “yes, yes, fuck, cum for me, cum all over this cock,” he demanded, his voice a mix of pleasure and command. and like a good little slut, you did. your orgasm hit you like a freight train, your body shaking and convulsing around his cock, your cunt pulsing with every beat of your heart.

his grip on your neck tightened, his thrusts becoming even more punishing as you came. your nails scraped against the wall, leaving marks that would surely be there when the sun came up. you could feel your eyes water, your vision swimming with the pressure he applied, but it only added to the intense pleasure that flooded your body. “fuck, yes, take it, take it all,” he groaned, his hips jerking as he emptied himself inside of you. his cum filled you, hot and thick, and you felt the stickiness of it trickle down your legs. he leaned into you, his body pressing you into the wall, his breathing harsh and heavy in your ear. for a moment, you felt it all, right before youe vision betrayed you.

the morning greeted you with the kind of disorientation that made reality feel like a cruel trick. your head throbbed, and your body ached as if every muscle in you had given up the fight. blinking against the sunlight streaming in through the window, you became acutely aware of the rough texture of the couch beneath you. the blanket draped over you was haphazard, your clothes were gone, and a sickening weight settled in your stomach.

it didn’t take long for the memories to come flooding back: rafe’s hands on your skin, his lips on yours, the way he’d devoured you as if you were the only thing keeping him alive. and now? nothing. the couch was empty, and the only remnants of him were the bruises on your neck and the dull ache between your thighs.

you exhaled shakily, pressing your palms against your face. what had you expected? a note? breakfast? rafe cameron wasn’t the kind of man who stayed. he took what he wanted, and you’d been foolish enough to give it to him.

the guilt settled like a weight on your chest as you forced yourself to your feet, rummaging for clothes. the shame was suffocating, curling around you as you dressed in silence. by the time you stepped out of your house, the sun was high, and the day was already slipping away.

at work, the tension was evident. your manager’s icy glare followed you as you prepped for the event that night. “last night was your first strike,” he said coldly, and you knew there was no room for argument. you nodded silently, biting back the urge to snap. the day dragged on, and despite the busy prep work, rafe never appeared.

by the time the sun dipped below the horizon, the event was in full swing. the bar was packed, music pumping through the speakers, and you were moving through the crowd like clockwork. but you couldn’t stop the gnawing feeling in your chest, the anticipation every time the door swung open. he still wasn’t there.

frustrated, you stepped outside for a smoke, seeking solace in the familiar burn of nicotine. the beach in the distance was scattered with people, laughter and music drifting on the wind. that’s when you saw him. rafe was leaning against the hood of his bike, his head tilted as a girl’s hands tangled in his hair. her lips moved feverishly against his, her body pressed against his in a way that made your stomach twist.

“it’s not that serious,” you muttered to yourself, exhaling a shaky breath. but it didn’t stop the sting, the ache that settled deep in your chest. you extinguished the cigarette against the wall and went back inside, needing something—anything—to dull the edges of your emotions.

the first drink went down easy. the second burned, but you welcomed it. you poured yourself a third before a light tap on your shoulder startled you. “excuse me,” a voice said, nervous and unsure.

you turned, offering a faint smile to the tall, sunkissed guy standing behind you. “are you on your break?” he asked hesitantly.

you shook your head, setting your glass down. “it’s okay. i could use the distraction. what’re you having?”

he slid onto the stool, rubbing the back of his neck. “a mai tai would be alright.”

nodding, you set to work, your movements automatic. you slid the drink across the counter, noting the way he fidgeted with his fingers. “busy night,” he said, trying to make conversation.

“yeah, i guess,” you replied.

he shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “came with a friend, but he’s with a girl right now.”

you sat beside him, crossing your arms. “sorry to hear that.”

“it’s fine,” he said, taking a sip of his drink. “i’m topper, by the way.”

before you could respond, a familiar presence loomed beside you. you turned slowly, your stomach sinking when your eyes landed on him. “this the friend you were talking about?” you asked topper, though your gaze stayed fixed on rafe.

“yeah,” topper said, oblivious to the tension. “you two know each other?”

rafe opened his mouth, but you were quicker. “no,” you said firmly. “no idea.”

rafe’s expression was unreadable, but you didn’t care. you spent the rest of the night ignoring him, focusing on anything but the way his eyes bore into you. when your shift finally ended, you clocked out and stepped outside, only to find him waiting.

“what do you want?” you snapped, already exhausted.

“what’s wrong?” he asked, his tone laced with faux concern.

“fuck off, rafe.”

he grabbed your arm, spinning you around to face him. “is this about sofia?” he asked, realization dawning on his face.

“so she has a name,” you said bitterly, yanking your arm free.

“get over yourself,” he called after you. “you should’ve known it was casual.” his words hit like a slap, but you didn’t look back. you couldn’t.

the next few days were a blur of muted colors and sharp-edged feelings that refused to dull. you didn’t go to work; the thought of stepping back into that bar, facing the memories etched into its walls, was unbearable. instead, you sought solace in the one place that had always calmed you—the beach.

the sand felt cold beneath your feet, even in the mid-morning sun. the rhythmic crashing of the waves usually soothed you, their endless cadence like a lullaby for your restless mind. but today, they felt distant, like a song you no longer knew the words to.

you sat by the shoreline, knees hugged to your chest as the salty breeze tangled in your hair. there was no anger, no fire—just an aching hollowness that stretched out inside you. mourning someone who was never really yours wasn’t a dramatic storm; it was a slow erosion, like the tide pulling pieces of you away until you were left unrecognizable.

you replayed every moment with him in your mind, dissecting every look, every word, searching for signs of something deeper, something real. but the truth was glaringly simple: rafe cameron wasn’t yours. he was never meant to be.

as the day slipped into evening, the sun sinking low on the horizon, you wandered aimlessly along the beach. the golden light painted the world in soft hues, but it couldn’t reach you. the weight of your thoughts dragged you back to the sand, and you sat again, staring at the endless expanse of water, feeling as though it mirrored the vast emptiness inside you.

you didn’t notice the presence beside you at first. the silence had become your companion, so when the soft crunch of sand gave way to stillness, you barely registered it. but then you turned your head, and there he was. he didn’t look at you. his gaze, like yours, was fixed on the water. the sharp angles of his face were softened in the twilight, but the tension in his jaw betrayed him. he said nothing at first, and neither did you. words felt too heavy, too complicated for the fragile stillness between you.

“my dad had a choice to make before he died,” he said finally, his voice low and rough, as though dragged over gravel.

you didn’t turn to him, didn’t acknowledge his words beyond the faintest flicker of your lashes.

“he told me he had to choose between me and my sister,” he continued, his tone clipped, detached. “he told me it’d always be her.”

the confession hung in the air, heavy and raw, but you stayed quiet, your eyes locked on the waves that seemed to stretch forever. “the first night i came into the bar,” he said after a pause, “it was the anniversary of ward’s death.”

your throat tightened, but you remained silent, letting him unravel the threads of himself piece by piece.

“i bent over backward for him, y’know?” his voice cracked, but he recovered quickly, masking the vulnerability with bitterness. “did some things i wasn’t proud of for him, but none of it mattered.”

his laugh was low and bitter, barely more than an exhale. “so forgive me if i’m a little hesitant to let you in.”

there was a challenge in his words, a dare for you to contradict him. but you didn’t. you stared at the water, your voice soft when you finally spoke. “i’m not him, rafe.”

he nodded slowly, the movement barely perceptible out of the corner of your eye. “yeah,” he said, his tone heavy with resignation. “but most of them are.”

you could feel his eyes on you, searching for something—what, you weren’t sure.

“i told him once that I knew something was wrong with me,” he continued, his voice quieter now, almost distant. “but he told me to keep it quiet. that’s how much he cared.”

the silence that followed was suffocating, filled with all the things neither of you could say. the ocean stretched endlessly before you, its waves crashing softly against the shore as if mocking the turmoil inside you.

“i’m sorry,” you said finally, your voice barely audible over the sound of the water.

“for what?” he asked, his tone edged with disbelief.

“for what he did to you.” he didn’t respond, and you didn’t push him. The two of you sat there, side by side, two broken pieces that didn’t quite fit together but couldn’t seem to pull apart.

tears pricked at your eyes, hot and unwelcome, and you blinked furiously, determined not to let them fall. but it was no use. the weight of everything—the loss, the pain, the hopelessness—was too much. a single tear slid down your cheek, then another, until they were falling freely, carving silent trails down your face. you didn’t wipe them away, didn’t hide them. what was the point?

you felt him move before you saw him, his arms wrapping around you from behind. his chin rested lightly on your shoulder, and his grip was firm, possessive. for a moment, you let yourself lean into him, the warmth of his body a cruel comfort against the chill of the night.

but even as he held you, even as your tears soaked into his shirt, you knew the truth. you would worship something that has destruction in its blood, blind and desperate, chasing something you could never truly have. rafe cameron was the kind of man who would burn you to the ground and then light another match just to watch you smolder. and yet, there you were, willingly stepping into the flames.

you stared out at the ocean, its vastness swallowing you whole, and you knew you were lost, eyes dilated as you watched the clouds float. you would practice the worst religion of them all, praying for something you knew you’d never have.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

#obx #outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader smut #rafe smut #rafe angst #rafe x reader smut #rafe fanfiction #north carolina

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tinylilacbun · 3 months ago

Text

celebrating rafe's birthday ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

"Daddy gonna like this?" You ask, sitting on the counter with your legs dangling back and forth while Sofia makes the last touches on Rafe's birthday cake.

"I'm sure he will." She smiles, sticking the last candle into place. "You wanna go wake him up, sweetie?"

You jump off the counter without a second thought, rushing to the bedroom, hearing Sofia chuckle as you go.

As you reach your guys shared bedroom you jump onto the bed, crawling to lay on top of Rafe who's sleeping on his stomach, his head comfortably resting on his pillow.

He stirs a little when he feels your weight pressing him more into the mattress, groaning sleepily.

"Happy birthday daddy!" You giggle, repeatedly kissing his cheek to wake him up. "C'moooon gotta get up."

"I'm up...I'm up." He mumbles into his pillow and you roll off him to lay by his side, waiting for him to sit up. Rafe squints an eye open, jolting slightly when you're right in his face, grinning at him widely.

When he finally does get up he scoops you into his arms before you could escape. Sofia quickly lights the candles on the cake as she hears your playful banter approach the kitchen.

Her smile grows when Rafe enters the kitchen with you thrown over his shoulder while you laugh, meeting him halfway to kiss him. "Happy birthday, babe."

"Thanks..." He smirks, not really used to getting this much attention on his birthday in general. He turns his gaze to the table, seeing the decoration and the probably self baked cake. "Y'know you didn't-"

"Shut up and blow out the candles, idiot." She interrupts him, stepping aside.

Rafe carefully sets you back down on the ground before going to blow out the candles in one go. You and Sofia cheer for him and he reaches out to pull you both closer for a hug, kissing the top of your heads. "You both are the best gift I ever had."

"Daddy! You have to open the presents!" You say, squirming out of his hold to grab one of the bags, holding it to him. "This from me and mama."

He smiles and takes it from your hands, sitting down on a chair to place it on his lap, reaching into it he pulls out a new polo shirt, a custom made keychain that has a picture of the three of you on it, and two drawings.

"This is amazing, thank you..." He says genuinely, he's really grateful for you both, that you actually take the time to get him something even though other people would say it's the bare minimum but for Rafe its more than enough.

"Can we eats the cake now?" You ask excitedly, knowing how amazing Sofia's baking skills are.

"Yea, of course, baby." Rafe smiles at you, grabbing the knife to cut three pieces, waiting as Sofia gets the plates.

Soon enough he places a plate in front of you, chuckling when you instantly dig in.

Taglist

For everything:

@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @devilslilbabysblog @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @wandaslittlewhore @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @lovelyy-moonlight @yoruse

@mythixmagic @iris-xoxo-juhu

For Rafe:

@chiaraanatra @chimindity @erikasurfer

#little!reader #daddy!rafe x little!reader x mama!sofia drabble #age regression

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shybunnie20 · 10 months ago

Text

BFF!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

friends to lovers

★Locations ★My Masterlist

Summary: Eddie calls on you to help him plan his first date, and you wish that you were the one going on it with him.

Author's Note: This isn't quite as polished as I'd like it to be. But, I'm pushing through my last few weeks of college, so I'm working with the few brain cells I've got left lol. I still love how it turned out and the ending is worth all of the self-loathing, I promise.

No use of Y/N, est. friendship, ages aren’t specified but E & R are approx. in their early twenties & it’s an early 90s AU, Reader has never been asked on a date before. Mild angst with happy ending!

Word count: 8.9k

Warnings: Reader dwells on poor self-worth & feels undesirable, acts of eating and multiple mentions of food, contains profanity.

Nestled in the quaint corner of Campbell Ave and 2nd Street, you’re engrossed in a call with a customer, jotting down an order for two bouquets consisting of pink-white lilies and snapdragons. Your eyes follow the effortless glide of your glitter gel pen across the paper, detailing their contact information.

Similarly to Goldilocks, you’ve found a place of employment where the pace is just right. You can handle whatever tasks Joan, the owner, asks of you. Sweeping the wood floors with a stiff-bristled broom, tending to the plants, and arranging flowers adorned with decorative ribbon and crisp paper are all within your grasp.

This place gets steady business, but the concept of a lunch or dinner rush is nonexistent. However, you do face a unique kind of rush occasionally. Now and then, a frantic lover bursts through the doors, bug-eyed, having realized they’ve forgotten a special anniversary or birthday at the very last minute.

As you recite the customer’s order and callback number into the phone’s receiver, their confirmational “uh huhs” cut through the buzz of the line. Suddenly, your attention is diverted by the sight of a van pulling into the parking spot out front, slightly askew. A small smile teases the corners of your mouth as you make a conscious effort to refocus on closing the conversation at hand.

The plastic shell of the phone clacks as you hang up, and you watch Eddie hop out of his van, and round the front of it with an unusual pep in his step—more than you’d see his best days.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Eddie’s voice carries across the room, accompanied by a genuine smile that lights up his face. He strides to the register counter you’re currently manning, wearing a vermillion polo shirt embellished with the neatly embroidered String and Strum shop logo on the breast. His hair is pushed back from his face with a black bandana, resembling a biker-like edge, tied firmly to ensure no stray curls disrupt his work as he repairs guitars and sells instruments for commission.

In seconds flat, he’s already scrunching his nose like a bunny, sensing a sneeze on the horizon. Being in a room packed with fresh plants is nothing short of hell, but he’s willing to endure it for the sake of seeing you. While he can handle flowers in small quantities, the confined space never fails to tickle his system like nobody’s business.

Vision blurring with mild irritation, Eddie blinks hard to disperse it. “Hey, how’s today going?”

You shrug, suppressing a giggle at the wiggle of his nose. “As good as it can, I guess. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

Eddie sets a grease-stained paper bag on the counter that separates you, along with a cup of soda. “Figured you could use a midday pick-me-up.”

“Must be my lucky day because I overslept and didn’t have time to pack a lunch. Well, that and I found a penny on the sidewalk.”

Eddie crosses his arms and tilts his head. “Don’t give luck all the credit. I have instinctual powers, y’know. My Munson senses were tingling and I knew you were in need.”

“My hero,” You exclaim, clasping your hands and swinging them to the side like a swooning princess.

Eddie chuckles with you, watching as you wipe your palms on your apron and eagerly dig into the bag, pulling out a foam to-go box. As you promptly open it and take a bite of your lunch, you can’t help but groan and throw your head back in satisfaction. Your eyes meet his thereafter, causing him to twist his mouth to the side and momentarily look away.

“How much do I owe you?” You ask, your words slightly muffled as you continue to chew.

Minnie, Joan’s cat, gracefully leaps onto the counter to greet Eddie. She perches herself beside the cash register, allowing him to scratch under her chin. “Nothin, consider it a favor,” He says with a wet sniffle, the tingling in his nose unrelenting.

The silence that falls is comfortable for you, but he’s seemingly lost in his thoughts as he continues to pet Minnie. Then, he looks at you with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Speaking of which, I just so happen to know a way that you can return the favor.”

Having taken a sip from your drink and another bite of your food, the inflection of Eddie’s voice causes you to slow your chewing. “And what might that be?”

“Come over later to find out.”

Your shoulders slump, eyes widened with mock defeat. “No! I can’t stand here and wonder all day. I'll die. The suspense will kill me.”

Eddie pouts mockingly, his sweet honey eyes betraying his faux-frown. “Then I'll be sure to have the prettiest floral arrangement for your funeral. Only the best for you.”

Your brows knit together in an authentic pouting. The irony of needing to meet an untimely demise to receive flowers from a guy isn’t lost on you.

He motions toward the untrimmed bundle of carnations on the workbench behind you. “Actually, if you’re not too busy, could you string those up for me quick so they’re ready to go for your wake?”

“Ha-ha.” You leer at him, taking the next bite of your food rather aggressively. “You’re cruel, you know that?”

“I beg to differ since I surprised you with your favorite from Val’s and all,” Eddie retorts, biting the inside of his cheek.

You grumble, “Yeah, and it’s fucking delicious.”

Eddie checks his watch and huffs. “Alright, I’ve gotta get goin’." He raps his knuckles on the countertop and beginning to walk backward. “See you later tonight.” He points at you before spinning on his heel and exiting the shop.

The bulky keyring on Eddie’s jeans jingles loudly as he steps onto the sidewalk. Abruptly, he stops in his tracks. For a moment he’s frozen, and then he braces himself against the nearby lamppost. It hits him like a brick wall and he sneezes mightily.

Heads of nearby passersby turn in his direction, startled by the noise. As he straightens his posture, Eddie remains still, trying to find his center of gravity and regain his composure.

“You good?” You call out, your voice just barely reaching him through the propped-open doors. Taking a casual sip of your drink, you watch as Eddie steadies himself. Still clutching the street lamp with one hand, he manages to stick his other arm out and give a thumbs-up.

True to your word, you arrive at Eddie’s place straight after work. The sun is setting, casting a warm glow through the patio door onto the walls of the living room. The apartment is in its usual state of disarray, expectedly so, since it’s home to three guys who aren’t particularly concerned with tidiness.

Toeing off your shoes, you’re unphased by the subtle smell of dust in the air. What strikes you as odd is how quiet it is. Typically, at least one roommate is home, blasting the TV in the living room or music from their respective bedrooms. But the only sound permeating the silence is the erratic thumping and screech of the water pipes behind the paper-thin walls of the bathroom.

As you snoop around the kitchen, hoping to find a box of saltine crackers or really anything to stop the gurgling in your belly. Having come up empty-handed, you turn your attention to the resilient plant that you challenged Eddie to care for—Keanu Leaves, as he so proudly named it.

Finished with your fruitless search of the kitchen, you make your way into Eddie’s bedroom to settle comfortably into the chair that only you sit in; it’s your spot. While you get cozy, the beans rattle as they perfectly mold to your figure. You knock on the wall beside you, signaling your arrival to Eddie.

You resume the magazine left sitting open on the page you stopped on. You occupy yourself in the article about predicted spring fashion trends as you wait. After a minute or two, the pipes go quiet from the shower being turned off.

Eddie strolls into the room wearing nothing more than a clean pair of boxers. Droplets of water trickle down his toned and tatted chest. Harshly ruffling his curls with a bath towel, he smirks at you. “If it isn’t Little Miss Zombie, back from the dead.”

“Less than alive and in the flesh,” you reply, your annoyance at being made to wait all day still evident. You hold grudges better than anyone he knows, and Eddie is well aware that he’s not immune to being subject to it.

Your tummy rumbles loudly, the discomfort only emphasizing the sharpness of your tone. “When was the last time you got groceries? I didn’t see any preserved brains I could help myself to.”

“I’m definitely due for a restock,” Eddie says as he drapes his wet towel over the back of his desk chair. Then, he grabs the bottle of mousse from his dresser and dispenses a foamy dollop into his palm. “Funny you should ask, though. That’s sorta why you’re here.”

You flip the page of your magazine, not pulling your eyes from the glossy print. “You told me to come over to go grocery shopping?”

Eddie rubs his palms together to spread the product and then runs his fingers through his curls. “Not quite,” he starts, his tone cryptic. “I’ve been tasked with providing a meal, of sorts.”

Finally, you look up at him. Watching him scrunch his damp hair with the remainder of the product that’s making his palms go tacky, you wait for him to elaborate.

Eddie’s eyes flit to the other side of the room, rather than meeting your awaiting gaze. “I have a date.”

You stare blankly at the back of his head, as still as a statue while your blinking intensifies. Dumbfounded, you struggle to survive the bombshell he just dropped on you. It’s as if a nuclear explosion has shattered your eardrums, leaving his continued words to sound muffled through the high-pitched ringing.

A million and one questions swirl in your mind, only adding to the disorienting whirlwind of emotions. Since when is he dating? Why all of a sudden? As you try to piece everything together, you note that he hasn’t had any recent romantic interactions, at least none that you’re aware of.

You always thought he’d confide in you if he was seeing someone, but now you’re not so sure; especially since you’re only finding out about this now. Without a doubt, Eddie has never had trouble attracting attention. But he’s always seemed so content with the ways things are. So why now?

Eddie turns to face you, a splash of desperation in his eyes. “I feel like doing this is the best way to know if she likes me back.”

Your mouth has gone dry, and you try to sound more curious than interrogative, but it doesn’t quite come off that way. “Who is this mystery woman, anyway?” A couple of names come to mind, some of the most beautiful girls in town—none of whom you hold a candle to.

His side of the room falls quiet when he’s hit with your question. Eddie’s eyes drop to the carpet. While it might seem like he’s lost in thought, it’s actually a glaring sign of evasion. You can’t help but feel a little hurt by his reluctance to tell you who it is.

A small smile forms as he leans back against his dresser, as though he can’t keep himself upright during his current daydream. Folding his arms across his pecs and rubbing his jaw, eyes still downcast, Eddie begins to gush about her. “She’s just- god, she’s something else. The way she laughs, it’s like... the sun coming out after a storm.”

“Sounds like quite the catch,” you mutter, trying to keep your tone neutral. You watch closely as blush tints Eddie’s cheeks and his smile threatens to grow. Without saying another word, Eddie walks out and returns to the bathroom.

You’re quick to follow, hopping up from your chair. “Do I know her?”

“Technically, yeah." Standing in front of the foggy mirror, he wipes it with the back of his forearm. Then, he starts rummaging through the counter drawer for his pair of shears.

You stand just outside the open door, the lingering humidity from his scorching hot shower kissing your skin as it disperses into the hallway. Leaning back against the wall, you cross your arms like he did moments ago, albeit far more tensely. Technically? It must be one of your ex-friends, then. That would explain why he’s been keeping you in the dark.

It’s your duty to be supportive, but right now, you could hurl. The thick nausea swirling deep in your gut is a storm raging within, overpowering your ability to stay present.

While trimming his bangs over the basin, the shears glint in the hushed light of the wall sconce. Eddie steals a glance in your direction, but his eyes dart back to his reflection too quickly to catch the discomfort etched on your face. “So you’ll help me, right?”

As you watch yourself anxiously wiggling your toes inside your sock, you mumble, “I can't if you won’t tell me who it is.“

“Sure you can, you’re a girl. You know how this stuff works.”

You scoff, your brows shooting up as your head jerks back. You open your mouth to object, but he promptly cuts you off.

“Ah, ah! Slow your roll." Eddie points the shears in your direction. “I’m not saying you’re all the same, but there’s gotta be some common ground of expectations, right?”

You don’t have the strength to argue, so you reluctantly allow for his generalization. “I guess so.”

“Like yeah, I could just study one of those lady magazines you’re always reading. But then I wouldn’t have a way of knowing what is and isn’t bullshit,” Eddie explains, his tone half-joking. “That’s why I’m going straight to the source, oh, wise one.”

Far too consumed with trying to narrow down who the chick could possibly be, you can’t be bothered to give him a huff of amusement through your nose. “Can I at least have a hint?”

“Nope.” The shears hit the countertop, their metallic resonance echoing against the porcelain. He pivots to face you, hands resting on his hips. “Alright, Sherlock. How about you quit trying to crack the case and help me pick out a tie.”

“A what now?” You squawk, eyes widening in disbelief.

Eddie chuckles softly and rinses the hair trimmings down the drain, then flicks off the bathroom light. “I have to dress for the occasion. This is a big deal for me,” he elaborates as he strides back into his room. “For her and me.”

Once again, you find yourself on his tail, trailing close behind back into his bedroom. You unfold your arms and instead, start to rub the inside of your wrist with your opposite thumb. “Yeah, I get that. Just seems a bit out of character for you.”

Rifling through his closet, Eddie pulls out a hanger with a navy button-up shirt and nonchalantly tosses it onto the end of his bed. “Maybe, but at least she’ll know I’m taking this seriously." Eddie reaches for the high shelf to retrieve a tattered shoebox. Lifting the lid, he presents it to you. “Here’s what we’re working with.”

You step closer, your fingers deftly plucking out the rolled ties one by one, laying them flat beside the slightly wrinkled shirt. Side by side, your shoulders nearly brush. Meticulously comparing the patterns and colors, neither of you seems drawn to any particular one.

“Here, maybe it’s better to do it this way,” Eddie suggests, picking up and beginning to slip into the shirt. His thick fingers falter as he attempts to maneuver each small white button through its corresponding hole. Once halfway dressed—having tastefully paired his plaid boxers with a dress shirt—he smooths out the material from his chest to his belly.

Eddie grabs the nearest tie and lays it against his shoulder. He faces you expectantly, anticipation evident in his gaze, awaiting your feedback.

Your eyes flit between the tie he’s holding, the array laid out on the bed, and the hopefulness in his round eyes. “These are easily the three ugliest ties I've ever seen. No offense.”

He blows a playful raspberry at your harsh criticism and shakes his head. “None taken, they’re not mine. But Wayne might be a little hurt when I call him next and tell him you said that.”

Shooting him a pointed look, your brows furrow in skepticism. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I just might,” Eddie teases with a smile before turning his attention back to the bed. He tosses the first tie aside and reaches for the mustard paisley one. “What about this one, does it compliment my eyes?” He bats his dark brown lashes.

You clutch your chin in contemplation, carefully assessing the combination of hues. However, the richness of his chocolate irises captures you. You wade in their depths. The hot flash that envelops your body is enough to break the trance he inadvertently put you under. With a disapproving shake of your head, you dismiss this tie as well. “Nope, next.”

Eddie looks at you for a moment longer, even though you’re not doing the same. A faint frown creases his features as he tosses the vetoed tie aside, forming a rejection pile.

You pick up the remaining tie and drape it over his shoulder, admiring the harmonious pairing of the navy in the tie with the shirt, accentuated by its white and black diagonal stripes. While you ponder, Eddie watches your face intently, holding his breath.

You nod, a trace of delighted approval in your expression. “We have a winner.”

“Hell yeah, blue on blue it is." He wraps the tie around the back of his neck but struggles to recall the proper technique for tying it. Attempting a few different nonsensical loopings, he groans, his determination waning. “Stupid son of a bitch, wouldya just-”

“Don’t hurt yourself. Let me do it," you offer. Not receiving protest, you step closer to him.

Eddie uses one hand to gather his product-enhanced curls into a makeshift ball, allowing you to access the collar of his shirt. He juts out his freshly shaved chin, granting you ample room to work. Standing this closely, you catch the clean scent of shaving cream lingering on his skin.

You begin to effortlessly tie the knot. Without pausing to consider what you’re about to say, the words spill from your lips. “Why’re you asking for my opinion on stuff like this, anyway? You should be doing what you think she’ll like, not me.”

“You always know best.” Eddie’s expression softens to something more vulnerable. “When you’re taking the next step in a relationship, you want everything to be as perfect as it can be, y’know?”

It’s common sense to him. No one understands him like you do, making you the perfect person for navigating this nerve-wracking experience. But for you, it’s perplexing. You’ve never been on a proper, formal date. The idea of one remains an unfulfilled pipe dream. Yet, here you are, agreeing to help Eddie plan his.

Your only frame of reference comes from romance movies and horror stories of dates gone wrong recounted by your girlfriends. Of all the things you could be in the world, you find yourself an unassuming tree. Sturdy and dependable, sure. You serve your purpose. But you don’t captivate onlookers with blooming petals like flowers do. Instead, you take pride in your intricately branched personality, valuing it as your true strength that often goes overlooked.

Even so, it feels as though your traits fail to enchant others regardless; nobody seems willing. You go unnoticed, and you’ve come to terms with that.

Beautiful wildflowers get plucked from the ground and carried away to be cherished. Meanwhile, you simply exist, rooted in no man’s land, devoid of admirers. You may stand tall, but you’re easily overshadowed by what other women have to offer.

Perhaps this is why you like working at the flower shop. It’s somewhat cathartic to witness the delicate petals fall from time to time. It brings you a strange sense of satisfaction to hack away at their stems. The best part, though? While it’s a little twisted, you know that those flowers that dazzle in their pristine state are destined to wilt. They’ll shrivel and brown.

Whilst among your shared group of friends in public, you’ve witnessed Eddie getting nudged by one of the guys to direct his attention to a smoke show walking by. You watched as they bit their knuckles and exaggeratedly gawked. You don’t compare, it’s not even apples to oranges. It’s like… apples to rocks. A delicious, shiny fruit compared to you, mere clunky chunks of earth.

If life were an album, you’re the track that everyone skips within seconds of hearing the intro. Except for those rare moments when someone half-listens by accident and they resonate with you—that’s how you and Eddie became friends. He’d stumbled upon his new favorite song, one worth revisiting. What he sees in you is what everyone else overlooks.

Eddie is the only man on the face of the earth who treats you like you’re worth being around. Only an oddball would prefer to spend time lounging beneath the shade of a crooked tree instead of homing a rose in a crystal vase. That’s one thing you love about your best friend; he doesn’t make you feel like you fade into the background.

All fairytale cliché bullshit included, you want to be sought out in a crowd. You want to light up the room for someone. Much to your dismay, that can happen platonically too, and it has in this case.

If Eddie only knew how much the little moments matter to you—the ones where he makes you feel prioritized and valued. You know you’re not anything close to special or remarkable, but he always made you second guess that thought.

Obviously, you hadn’t meant to fall for him. It was kind of like catching a cold; one day, there was a tickle in the back of your throat that you didn’t usually feel. Unsuspecting, the days went on, and that sensation only worsened. You started to panic a little but ultimately continued to deny your worst thoughts.

Before you knew it, you were bedridden, bitten by the love bug. You didn’t go down without a fight. You thought that you could be strong and deny it access to your heart, but it had already invaded. So, all you could do was wait it out.

You tried to distance yourself, hoping to recover and act like nothing ever changed inside of you. But Eddie didn’t let you get too far away.

It wasn’t love at first sight, rather, a creeping plague. There was no swooning and giggling, no struggling to keep your hands to yourself. The change was undetectable. You were a frog in boiling water, unaware of the gradually rising temperature until it was far too late.

It wasn’t until your chest started to ache every time you said goodbye at the end of spending time together that you realized you were in too deep. You genuinely debated going to the doctor to get the pang checked out, but luckily you didn’t. Otherwise, you’d have wasted a good chunk of money to find out that you’re a lovesick idiot.

Unfortunately, this is an illness you’ve been stuck with since, and you’ve at least learned how to distract yourself from it. But when you fail to do so, your imagination wanders. Naturally, you’ve wondered if pressing a mere kiss to his cheek would burn everything to the ground.

The forbidden territory beckons, tempting you to envision breaking those unspoken agreed-upon rules that forbid things like hand-holding and cuddling. The two of you uphold mutual respect, adhering to the expectations of friendship. Both of you reserve that level of touch for expressions of romantic affection. Actions such as those have no place in a true friendship.

That’s the most confusing part of this for you. How did you manage to catch such strong feelings for him when you’ve not crossed any lines? Sure, he’s a tactile person; maybe that has something to do with it. Eddie makes physical contact with those he trusts, but it’s not like he’s hanging off of you at any given moment. You receive the same treatment as the others in his inner circle: a hand on the shoulder, a pat on the back, and a brief gripping of the forearm to get your attention.

You’re not supposed to want the touches to be more frequent, much less of a different nature. The line has to be drawn somewhere, and it’s been plainly drawn in the sand. You understand and accept that. But why, of all lines in the world, does it have to be this one that you want to cross so badly?

Most of your days aren’t all that miserable. But there are those days that are more difficult than the rest, though it’s not his fault. Last weekend, the two of you were at a mall, and some chick waved at him flirtily. He returned it immediately, though playfully enough that it was almost mocking. He was fucking around and had no intention of entertaining the idea of approaching her. Regardless, it was humbling for you, to say the least.

In that moment, the world reminded you that there’s a reason you walk at his side at a respectable distance, not tucked under his arm. If anything, it’s for the best. There’s a sense of liberation in admiring him without the burden of articulating your feelings. There’s no pressure to meet a girlfriend quota or live up to a higher standard. What Eddie expects of you now is what you’re capable of, and clearly, all that you’re good for. You’re good for filling the void, but apparently not so much anymore.

You’re not lustrous and aching to jump his bones, and you’re certainly not desperate enough to kiss him on a whim by not allowing yourself to overthink it. But perhaps you are just desperate enough that a man simply paying your emotions, interests, and existence of any mind can shackle you to him. That has to be what’s done you in; Eddie gives a shit about you.

In reality, there’s more to it than that. Eddie is selective about who and what he lets in. He doesn’t care for conformity and lack of individuality. The idea of blending in with the majority of society repulses him. You find the flawed aspects of the Munson doctrine fascinating and raw. He’s not perfect and Eddie doesn’t care what others think of him, to a degree.

Not unlike you, he’s complex. Eddie is anti-establishment but still prefers a bit of structure over chaos in his day-to-day life. He’s independent and cynical as hell, but he’s also appreciative of his support systems and isn’t ashamed to rely on them. He’s not much of a rule breaker nor is he rebellious, but he’ll happily stir up a little trouble in good fun if given the opportunity.

Eddie is a hypocrite in some ways and a walking contradiction in others. You love that he’s unapologetic about being that way. He owns it for the most part, and you admire that.

His presence overstays its welcome in your thoughts. You’ve often yearned for him to call you in the dead of night, admitting that he can’t sleep without the sound of your voice. Many times, you’ve fought the urge to do that. He owes you sleep, countless nights of it. It’s a debt that will never be repaid, an outstanding balance.

Despite the attempts at trying to talk yourself out of it, you still can’t bring yourself to stop loving him. Even as he’s actively pursuing someone else, you’re unable to shake this. You could be paralyzed from head to toe, and you’d still feel the love you have for him in your bones.

Once Eddie is officially with someone, he won’t have much time or energy left for you. The anticipation of being thrown aside for something new and far prettier has shattered your heart before any changes have occurred. Yet, any fragment of his presence surpasses total absence. The greed isn’t worth it, and you know you should be grateful for getting any piece of him at all.

The phrase fizzles on the tip of your tongue like a smoldering ember, threatening to sear through the muscle… I’m happy for you.

You should say it, but you can’t. Because if you did, that would be a blatant lie. It’s not even possessiveness that has you so bitter, it’s envy. You wish you were in her place.

“There.” You adjust the knot with a delicate tug, ensuring its tightness before letting the material slip through your fingers. Unable to meet his appreciative gaze, you offer a sad smile and take a half-step backward.

Your sigh, cleverly concealed as a deep breath, escapes as you settle back into your chair with a plop. “So, um,” you begin, picking at your cuticles absentmindedly. “Where are you taking her? Somewhere fancy?”

“Nah.” Eddie meticulously revamps his curls one final time in the mirror, wanting them to fall just right. Then, with great care, he tames his bangs to lay perfectly in place. “She’s gonna come over here. I thought it’d be more intimate. Besides, I can’t exactly swing a reservation right now. I’ve been tight on cash this week.”

Your fingers come to a halt, the stinging sensation apparent. Looking over at him, your eyes meet his in the reflection. “Ya big dummy, you shouldn’t have bought me lunch when that money could’ve gone toward buying her a nice dinner.”

“Don’t start with that shit,” Eddie warns as he digs through his dresser in search of pants to wear. “I’m happy to do that for you,” He pulls a pair of dark jeans from the bottom drawer.

“It really did make my day, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Having donned his pants, he nears his desk where his black grommet belt lies on the floor. Eddie threads his belt through the loops of his jeans, the buckle jingling before he secures it in place. “I felt better knowing you were taken care of.”

It’s only now occurring to you what he’s implied, and you think how absurd it is for him to host a dinner when he’s culinarily challenged. “Wait, since when do you cook?”

“Oh, I don’t. But you do.”

“Hardly.” You scoff, downplaying your abilities. Placing your magazine back in your lap, you flip the page despite not having read it. Unexpectedly, you feel the urge to quell his enthusiasm, to set him up for failure by trying to poke holes in his plan. “I mean, food is one thing, but atmosphere is another. Aren’t the guys going to be here?”

Eddie moves the clutter on his desk around in a quest to find something. “I kicked them out for the night.”

Like a spear plunged into your chest, you swallow hard. Not only is he having a girl over for dinner, but he’s gone out of his way to guarantee privacy because he’s hoping to get lucky too. More than likely right there, on that very bed, feet away from you. The cramped twin-sized mattress, where they’ll inevitably be body to body.

He turns to you after locating what he was searching for, fastening the slightly fancier watch around his wrist; it only supersedes his Casio due to it being analog, as opposed to digital. “I’ve been wanting to try that dish you keep raving about. You can teach me how to make it. Two birds, one stone.”

“It’s not difficult, you could handle the recipe.” You shrug away the opportunity to cook with him because the domesticity of it would more than likely kill you.

“I wanna do it together.” His voice softens, genuinely asking as nicely as possible. “Please.”

“Sure, yeah.” You maintain your downcast gaze and slump back in the chair, wishing for a black hole to open and swallow you up. “What if she doesn’t like it, or what if you don’t?”

“If you like it then it has to be good.”

Eddie’s seemingly endless compliments cause no sense of flattery. Instead, you’re consumed with persisting nausea as you envision a stunning girl seated across from him while they share laughter and partake in unspeakable activities in this very room.

Abruptly, a wave of heat washes over you, causing the soles of your feet and your palms to grow clammy. The scent of newly sprayed Old Spice floods the room and you’re overwhelmed by it, struggling to draw a breath. “I’ll be right back.” You all but choke on your words, swiftly rising to your feet and hastily leaving. Eddie watches curiously as you do.

In the living room, you push the heavy sliding door aside, stepping out onto the balcony to catch your breath. You inhale as deep as physically possible, and the stirring evening breeze cools the hot tears gathered along your lash line. Cars pass by, and you distract yourself by watching a person leisurely walking their dog. You do everything in your power to divert your thoughts away from him and the impending date.

A few minutes later, Eddie emerges from his room and slides open the door to the balcony, poking his head out to check on you. “Y’ready to go?” The shift in your energy is immediately evident to him, though he can’t quite pinpoint what’s amiss. He figures you’ve had a long day and you’re tired from your shift. Maybe you’re a little hangry, too.

With your arms folded on the balcony rail, you continue to look out into the neighborhood. “Go where?”

“The store, duh. We’ve gotta get ingredients, do we not?” He says to the back of your head.

You nod meekly before turning to face him. “Right. Yeah, I’m ready.”

Eddie flashes a warm smile before sliding the door open wide enough for you to pass through. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand then, hot stuff. We’re losing daylight."

Arguably, you’re not losing daylight fast enough. You wish the sun would fall from the sky. That way, it would always be dark and you could hide in the shadows forever. You follow him inside and slide the closed with a subdued thud.

His car keys drag and jingle while he swipes them off of the counter. Once he reaches the entryway, Eddie drops the keys on the floor beside him as he kneels to put on his sneakers. A few seconds later, you’ve joined him to do the same. Eddie glances at you as he feels the evening breeze that slipped in finally reaching this side of the room. “It’s a little chilly out, wanna borrow a hoodie or something?”

Quickly tying your shoes to avoid prolonged eye contact, you get to your feet, hugging yourself as you do. “No, I’ll be fine.”

Eddie snorts and stands, his shoes now tied as well. “I’m getting you one." He heads to his room, gesturing for you to follow.

“I said I’ll be fine without one,” You opt not to follow, instead calling out to him to compensate for the distance and his half-open door.

“Shut up, I’m getting you one and you’re gonna wear it ‘cause I said so.” His tone drips with feigned amusement at your stubbornness. “Come in here.”

As you step into the room, Eddie offers you the hoodie, watching as you just stare at it. “Sweetheart, put it on. You’re gonna freeze to death if you don’t. Then, I’ll have no choice but to cancel my super hot date because I’ll be too busy defrosting my ice sculpture of a best friend with a blow drier. You want me to blow you all night? I know you-”

“Okay, okay! I’ll put the damn thing on,” you agree begrudgingly, take it from him. “Happy?”

“Try elated.” Eddie smiles from ear to ear and winks at you, content that you’re allowing him to do what he deems best for you, knowing you’re too stubborn to do so for yourself. He’s got your back, always. Even if it means enduring a bit of attitude in the process. Eddie likes that about you, he always has. With a final glance, he leaves the room, flicking off the light switch.

Left standing in the dark bedroom, you blindly navigate the article of clothing to locate the opening. However, as soon as you go to put it on, it occurs to you that this hoodie is not fresh out of the wash.

The distant floral scent left behind by dryer sheets mingles with his natural aroma, enveloping you as you pull the sweatshirt over your head. He grabbed whatever was at hand, inadvertently submerging you back into the very sensory experience you fled from. The spicy notes from his cologne turn you into a human lava lamp, effectively melting you on the inside.

The mingling of Old Spice, tobacco smoke, his unique essence, and a hint of spring meadow flood your mind. You consider the idea of keeping the hoodie. You could tell him that you forgot to return it, and he’ll forget about it. Eddie can afford to lose one hoodie, he’d survive.

“Let’s go!” He barks, impatience peaking as nerves gnaw at him with each passing minute bringing him closer to the dinner.

Exiting his bedroom, you find Eddie stationed at the front door, propping it open with his foot. Once within his view, you extend your arms and twist your expression to emphasize your annoyed compliance.

“One last thing.” Eddie withdraws his foot, causing the door to slam shut, its latch clanging twice against the wood from the force. He reaches out and pulls the hood up, adjusting it to cover most of your head. “There.”

You stick your tongue out at him, your grin eliciting one from him in return. “Alright, let’s-” He begins, but instead of turning, he fakes you out and grabs both drawstrings. Eddie tugs them, causing the hood to cinch tightly around your face.

“You’re an ass.”

“Yeah, well.” Eddie turns around to leave this time and holds the front door open for you. “You’re stuck with me.”

With a narrowed glare, you fix the hood and your hair on your way out of the apartment. Eddie is close behind, closing the door and locking it. You take the opportunity to collect yourself and adopt a supportive, cheerful demeanor.

These are gonna be the longest two hours of your life.

You can’t fucking believe it. You’re preparing a meal for another woman, and doing so willingly. You tried to guide him through the prep process, but he grew frustrated. Now, he’s on dish duty, conquering the mountain of dirty dishes piled up on the counter.

She may be getting a delicious and intimate dinner, but at least you get moments like these. But soon enough, she’ll have them too. If everything goes to plan, the memories of these moments will be all you have left of Eddie. As you lose yourself in the sound of his voice, the ramblings about a sale he made at work eventually circle back to the topic of his evening.

As he excitedly goes on, his voice carries a boyish enthusiasm. Unseen by you, Eddie bounces on the balls of his feet while standing at the sink. Ten minutes seem to fly by unnoticed as you both focus on your tasks.

After taking the food out of the oven, his demeanor flips like a switch. “Oh, it’s time for me to leave apparently.” You barely have the chance to take off the oven mitt all the way before he’s practically pushing you out of the apartment. “Be sure to heat it up at 375 degrees,” you suggest, struggling to put on your shoes fast enough.

“Sure thing. I’ll let you know how it goes!”

“Looking forward to it,” You lie. Eddie waves you off before closing the front door. Left standing alone in the hallway, you feel foolish.

Finally arriving home, you crawl onto your bed. The weight of reality crashes down upon you, and you physically collapse under the weight of your emotions. The pain in your chest burns up the back of your throat as you sob. This was a harsh wake-up call, but it’s what you needed to finally confront yourself.

It’s better this way. Not having to reject you outright or politely turn you down, Eddie doesn’t have to hurt simply because you are. This is best because Eddie doesn’t have to feel guilty or pity you. Just as you’ve loved him in silence, you can grieve the loss of him in it too.

Ten minutes pass and just as you’re starting to drift asleep from exhaustion, your telephone rings. The ringing in the kitchen pulls you from your room. You drag your feet on the way there, clearing your throat and taking a deep breath before answering the phone.

“Hey, uh,” Eddie sounds panicked. “Can you come back over? I forgot the most important fucking thing and-”

You cut him off. “Relax, I’ll be there in twelve." Abruptly ending the call without another word, you rub your sore eyes, blow your stuffy nose, and splash your face with warm water. The last thing he needs is for his night to be ruined because he notices how hard you’ve been crying. If your feelings get in the way of him having a good time with the girl he’s head over heels for, then you don’t deserve his friendship.

Entering the building and letting yourself back into his apartment, you’re caught off guard by how different the space looks. He worked his butt off to tidy the living room and make certain that everything is presentable. Besides being notably neater, you also notice the faint smell of air freshener.

The apartment is blanketed in darkness, illuminated only by the flickering flames of candles and the light from the table lamp in the living room. Hushed music emanates from the record player in his room. It’s a genre you wouldn’t have expected him to own, because of how slow and romantic it sounds. You wonder whether he bought it specifically for this occasion.

Upon hearing the front door creak open, Eddie halts his pacing in the living room. “Thank god, you’re here.”

You teeter on the heels of your feet, feeling out of place in the carefully arranged setting that isn’t meant for you. “I really shouldn’t be. It’s quarter to seven, she’ll show up any minute now.”

Eddie makes his way over to you, rounding the dinner table and draping his arm along the back of the dining chair farthest from where you stand. “No, no. Don’t worry about that, she’s already here.”

Your eyes flit towards the bathroom, expecting to see a sliver of light escaping from beneath the door, yet the hallway is pitch black. There’s no dolled-up gal standing in his room either. You look back at him with a furrowed brow, confusion etched on your face. “Where, exactly?”

He can’t think of a time he’s ever had to remind himself how to breathe correctly. Eddie holds his hand out to you, his anxiety mounting. With hesitation, you extend your hand and place it in his. He wraps his trembling fingers around yours.

Rarely have you been in this position, and in those instances, it was never an act with deeper meaning. It’s only ever happened in urgent moments, like darting across a bustling street to avoid being separated—a mere safety measure.

Eddie’s attention fixates on your hands, willing them to respond to his touch. Then he notices your puffy, reddened eyes. “What’s the matter?” He instinctively squeezing your joined hands.

“It’s stupid.” You pull away from him, retracting your hand to wipe away the smeared mascara beneath your eyes.

Rather than forcibly turning you to face him, Eddie gracefully moves around to stand in front of you once more. “I bet it’s not,” he says softly, his compassionate expression tinged with concern. He reaches for both of your hands this time, praying you can’t feel his pounding pulse through the contact.

Eddie delicately lifts your hands and peppers velvety kisses across the tops of your knuckles. The warmth of your skin against his lips sends a shiver shooting through his core, goosebumps rising across his body.

You emit a wet giggle from the shock, uncertainty, and embarrassment bubbling within you. “What the hell are you doing?”

He chuckles a little too, his eyes sparkling as they reflect the dancing flames behind you. “What’s it look like? This is all for you.” Eddie presses one more featherlight kiss to your hands before lowering them, but he doesn’t let go, keeping them securely in his own. “It’s our first date.”

You’re the prettiest little package of unusual. From the moment he first heard your song, he couldn’t shake you. Eddie couldn’t get your tune out of his system, but it’s not like he wanted to. Never before had anyone shown him such unconditional care; no one had ever gone out of their way to get to know him like you did. You’re the safest thing he’s ever known, but you’re also the scariest, in the best ways possible.

The thought of confessing how you make him complete, unlike anything he’s ever experienced, is nothing short of terrifying. Yet, the fear of not seizing the opportunity to love you outweighs the fear of rejection. There’s no turning back now.

Your eyes wander to the table, taking in the details: the thoughtfully arranged mismatched plates and silverware, the glasses filled with expensive wine. At the end of the kitchen island sits a teddy bear beside a bouquet. In addition to the flower petals, there are red, white, and pink balloons scattered across the floor.

You turn away before he can see your face contort, biting your lip harshly to suppress the sob rising in your throat. It’s all useless, though. A broken cry escapes your lips.

Eddie’s stomach lurches and pressure builds behind his own eyes. The change he just caused is palpable, the damage has been done. He releases both of your hands and plants his on the sides of his head, stepping away. “Shit, shit, shit. I’m such a fucking idiot. I read this all wrong.”

“You’re not and you didn’t. They’re happy tears now.”

His frantic expression mellows out, his arms drop to his sides, and the tension in his body gradually dissipates. “Happy tears?”

You respond with a soft hum and nod, a grin forming as you admire the table setting and gifts once more before looking back at Eddie.

“Oh,” he chirps, wearing a cheek-splitting smile as he brings his palms to your face. He wipes away your fallen tears with his thumbs. Eddie studies your expression intently. “I didn’t mean to make you cry sad ones.”

“It’s not your fault.” You close your eyes, relishing the sensation of his fingers calmingly swiping along the apples of your cheeks.

“It is and I’m sorry.” Eddie inches closer, his toes now touching yours. “I wanted it to be a surprise ‘cause I thought spontaneity would make it more memorable.”

You look at him questioningly. “It’s not exactly spontaneous when you had me cook my own dinner.”

“Fair enough. You’ve got me there.” Eddie thought it was a foolproof plan. If you made the food, there was no chance that you’d hate it. “I went about this all wrong, huh? I should scrap the whole thing and start from scratch.” He becomes distracted, his train of thought shifting to how he’s going to clean this up and figure out a different approach.

“Don’t do that. Just ask me.” You grasp his forearm to regain his attention. “Ask me out and maybe I'll say yes.”

“Maybe?” Eddie scoffs airily, unsure if you’re teasing or genuinely undecided. He clears his throat and theatrically composes himself, gesturing with a downward motion of his hand in front of his face. “Okay, uh, would you like to have dinner with me?”

“No.”

Eddie’s mouth falls open.

“I’m fucking with you.” You smile devilishly and wrap your arms around his middle.

Finally, he can hug you the way he’s always wanted. Eddie brings you in close and tight, his arms encircling your head. “You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” He murmurs into your hair, inhaling deeply to indulge in every aspect of you he can.

“A little.” You laugh. You remain in each other’s embrace for a moment longer before easing apart, though still connected by your pairs of lassoed arms.

Eddie’s laughter melds with yours, the relief in his tone evident. “Now that the cat's outta the bag, I can finally tell you that I absolutely love when you’re a crybaby.”

You pull a comical expression, raising your eyebrows and widening your eyes. “What, why?” You take in the scattering of freckles across his T-zone while he responds.

“Honest to god, it’s mesmerizing to watch you experience things so intensely. It’s fucking beautiful.” With nothing but adoration in his eyes, Eddie strokes your hair, relishing the way it feels against his skin. “Can I call you my crybaby?”

“No, you cannot!” You swat at his chest and attempt to push him away, but he laughs smugly and brings you back in close. Your hands find purchase on his biceps, surrendering to him entirely. Locked in each other’s gaze, time seems to crawl.

Eddie’s hands, having made their way down to caress your hips, settle on the small of your back. “How about just baby?” He nudges the tip of his nose against yours, his voice taking on an almost sultry tone. “You like the way that sounds?”

All you can do is nod dumbly, watching his eyes fall to your lips.

Eddie mumbles, “Me too.” His hands flex where they lay, tugging you slightly so that your bodies are flush and you have no choice but to lean against him. “Would it be okay if I kissed you?” Eddie licks his lips, his eyes finding yours again, the chocolate pools of his irises swirling.

You nod, slide your hands up his shoulders, and wrap them around his neck. The air was stolen from your lungs, rendering your voice a ghost. Eddie leans in and his lips hover over yours, your eyes fluttering closed in time with his. Then, you feel the gentle pressure of his lips against your own.

For a few moments, you’re out of sync, a mere beat behind due to nerves. But after taking a brief breath, you find each other without trouble. When you slot your lip between his, it’s as though there’s a sunrise in his veins; a new dawn spreads through his body. You tug a fistful of curls at the nape of his neck, your lips clicking wetly with one another, chests heaving in unison.

When the two of you finally have to part to breathe, Eddie whispers, “Jesus Christ.”

“You can say that again.” You exhale, releasing the grip you have on his hair and soothingly scratching the area with your nails.

“I mean I could.” Eddie borderline purrs, tightening his arms around your waist. “But I’d much rather keep kissing you.”

“Hard to argue with that." You smile against his lips and give him a quick peck, which he happily returns. Then, your mind begins to wander. “You got me flowers?”

He can’t discern if there’s a trace of disdain or disbelief in your tone. Eddie knows that you consider flowers cliché and overrated; after all, you deal with them all day. But just because you see them that way doesn’t mean he does.

Eddie pulls away slightly to get a good look at you. “Yeah, of course I got flowers for my flower. How could I not?”

Truthfully, he’s bummed about not being able to find a bouquet as exceptional as you. You’re unlike anything from this world, resembling something from his cherished sci-fi novels. You’re resilient, showing up any old rose or daisy. You unfurled your petals solely for Eddie and allowed him to see you bloom. Nothing on earth compares to you. So, a regular bouquet would have to do.

You comment with a slightly teasing tone, “I had no idea you’re a hopeless romantic.”

“Too much?” Eddie bites his lower lip, afraid that you’re offended.

“No, not too much." You remove your one hand from his hair and rest it on his chest, drawing mindless shapes while you avoid eye contact. “Far more than I deserve though." You’re slightly taken aback when Eddie cups your face without hesitation, forcing you to look at him. Despite his assertiveness, his touch is tender.

“Sweetheart." Eddie’s eyes carry an intensity you’ve never seen, brimming with affection and sincerity. “You deserve everything good that this world has to offer. I can’t give you that, but I can give you all of me. That much I can promise.”

Reblogs are greatly encouraged and appreciated! ♡

★My Masterlist

tags:@nj01@tlclick73

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wheatnoodle · 2 years ago

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robin is using everything in her power to find steve a boyfriend. now that she had finally gotten her head out of her ass to see that nancy didn’t find her rambling annoying, but charming and that got comfy in their new relationship, she wanted nothing more than the same for her best friend.

for too long, robin has stood back and watched as steve got used and played again and again. too many men and women coming around and flashing him pretty smiles and saying all the right things just to take him on a date, get him to drop his pants, and then he’d never hear from them again. she sees the way it effects him, the way he seems to be deteriorating right before her eyes.

he’s given up flirting with the babes that walk in the front door of their job, choosing to stay behind the counter. he leans on his fist, flips through a magazine and only glances up to say hello.

unless, of course, that customer is eddie munson. eddie, who will come in so quiet and lean down in steve’s space to break him from his trance. and steve will smile. and he’ll blush. and he’ll giggle and look away so eddie can’t see how flustered he is. and he waves the late fees every time. and she continues to watch.

robin is using everything in her power to get steve eddie as a boyfriend. sweet eddie who holds the door for steve and makes him smile brighter than robin has ever seen.

and it’s this reason that she was able to convince steve to join her and nancy at a bar in indy and invite eddie along so he “doesn’t third wheel”. meaning it’s also this reason she’s currently tearing apart steve’s closet for the perfect “date me!” outfit. because if he pulls up to this place in a polo and robin’s the one who brought him? she could never go back.

“robs, i can’t wear these.” steve is bright red in the face as he looks over his shoulder in the mirror. she got him in the tightest jeans he owns, the denim light and hugging every single curve from the waist down. he’s lucky he can even breathe in them. he hates how his butt is on display and there’s no room in his crotch to move comfortably and what if his knees get cold where they’re exposed to the outside elements?

“you absolutely can and you absolutely will. turn around and let me pretend you’re a girl so i can drool over your ass,” robin whistles from her place on his bed. she’s surrounded by piles of clothes, a multicolored avalanche of preppy and she just might go insane. “now you need a shirt.”

“i don’t get why you’re putting in all this effort. i’m just gonna embarrass myself in front of him. especially if i try to make a move,” steve grumbles and tugs his current sweatshirt over his head. robin’s got a pair of scissors from his bedside drawer and a clearly well-loved pink floyd t-shirt in hand. “what are you doing?”

“how much do you love this shirt?”

“robin don’t you-“

“how much, steven.” her gaze is firm and he knows it best to just give in. he rolls his eyes and shakes his head with a huff and robin smiles back at him in victory. he’s turned back to the mirror, listening to the sound of slicing fabric behind him.

she tosses it to him once she’s done and he pulls it over his head. dear god his waist is on display. and the trail of hair down to- oh this is humiliating. “robin.”

“steve!” she squeals, clapping her hands together.

“robin,” he whines, throwing his head back and tugging at the jagged edge of the shirt.

“steve!” she answers in the same tone with a bright smile. “you’re so hot! eddie is going to eat you up and if he doesn’t, then somebody else absolutely will.”

“you think so?” steve looks at her through the mirror. a soft smile tugs at the corners of his lips and she can’t help but smile back, full of love and warmth.

“i know so.”

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things season 4 #steddie #robin buckley #qpr stobin #platonic stobin #codependent stobin

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auras-moonstone · 1 year ago

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hi i cant tell u how excited i am everytime i get your notifications 😭😭 also i know if i send a rec you'll do an amazing job so i'm requesting one rn i hope u like it!

barista y/n and ethan landry who are coworkers after class, they're always teasing eachother and there is some (light) flirting

y/n hasn't realized yet how attractive he is, until he passes behind her grabbing her waist to get on the other side of the counter to get an order.

it's not rlly a plot but GOD i'm imagining ethan in his tight little polo shirt and the apron around his waist, his front curls w a little bit of sweat onto them while he makes coffee..... i'm so weak 😭

thank you so much😭🥺 i was so excited to write this! love the concept so so much. hope you like it 🫶🏻

glitch — ethan landry

word count: 1,747

pairing: barista!ethan landry x barista!fem!reader

summary: ethan has a crush on his co-worker, and she doesn’t reciprocate that crush until one touch changes everything.

warnings: a bit suggestive, but no smut

TRUTH WAS, ETHAN HAD BEEN SIMPING HARD FOR Y/N SINCE HIS VERY FIRST DAY OF WORK. How could he not when she had that graceful smile on her face that made every customer weak in the knees? Ethan clearly wasn’t not the exception, he could work-ship the ground she walked on. But the attraction was very much one-sided.

It wasn’t that he was invisible to her, but she just didn’t see him the way he wanted to. They did flirt a bit, but while he did it with the intention of making her notice him in a romantic way, she only did it for fun, there weren’t any second intentions involved. Besides, Ethan had to watch every day the way boys would hit on her and asked for her number and how she wrote it in the palm of their hands. It broke his heart knowing she would never see him in another light.

“How many times did you have to write your number in someone’s hands today?” Ethan asked faking a laugh as they closed the cafe.

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully “Today was a chill one, so not much.”

“Have you ever gone on a date with any those guys?” he asked curiously. She never talked about going on dates, or never mentioned she was seeing or texting someone.

Y/N looked at him with surprise eyes. “Eth, please tell me you don’t believe I actually hand in my number that easily.”

“Wait what?”

The girl laughed, and punch him in the arm lightly. “You do think that! God, Ethan. I give them fake numbers. I don’t want random people texting me.”

“Can’t you just say no?” Ethan asked confused.

“I don’t want them to feel bad.” she shrugged.

“So you give them fake numbers and make some strangers let them know the pretty barista gave them a fake number?” Ethan asked incredulously.

Y/N grimaced “Okay, that sounds bad too, but I least I don’t have to see their rejected faces and they don’t get turned down in public.”

Ethan laughed, and the pressure on his chest evaporated. Was it crazy that he felt relieved by this new information? A bit. “So that means that I shouldn’t bother to ask for your number?” he acted disappointed.

Y/N chuckled. “Econ geniuses are my weakness, so I would never give you a fake number.”

Ethan blushed and shoved her “Shut up! I’m not an Econ genius.”

“Anyone who passes that dreadful class is a genius in my eyes” she said, shoving him back. “Let me give you my number, but don’t ghost me, okay?”

“I would never.”

“Good, cause you’d break my heart.” she joked, writing down her real number on his palm. Her hand felt so good on his, Ethan wished she would never let go. “There you go. Text me, we should hang out outside of work.”

“Really?” Ethan’s eyes shone and his heart started doing cartwheels.

“Of course, Eth. I actually like being around you” she smiled softly. Ethan would definitely mark that day as the best day of his life. “I can set you up with someone and we can go on a double date!” his face fell. So much for hoping. “Or, we can do something just the two of us. Now that I think about it, we don’t actually know much about the other. What a fake friendship we have.”

Friendship. That’s all he was ever going to have with her, and he needed to come in terms with it. Y/N was amazing, and he should be lucky to have her around, even if it was just as a friend.

Although, on a wednesday morning, the turning point happened. The university’s cafe was completely packed, and so they had to work ten times faster than usual. Stress filled the air of the small shop.

“Ugh, stupid machine! You had to choose this day to work like shit?” Y/N groaned, hitting the coffee machine. The coffee poured down slowly, and knowing it was going to take ages for the cup to be filled, she took one step backwards in frustration.

Ethan, who was trying to get to the other side to deliver a drink, bumped into her. Being in a rush, he almost made her lose her balance when they collided, but he grabbed her by the waist just in time to steady her. “Sorry! Are you okay?”

Y/N wanted to say yes, but she was not okay. Not because he had hurt her, but because the feeling of his big hand on her waist left her speechless. It produced a glitch on her body, a malfunction that caused her brain to not be able to utter a single syllable. She only managed to nod before setting her eyes on the coffee machine as if it were the most interesting thing on the planet.

For the rest of the stressful shift, Y/N found herself sneaking glances towards the tall boy every time she could. She couldn’t help it, her eyes diverted on their own and every time Ethan would pass by her, her whole body tensed and yearned for one more touch.

Ethan’s electric touch had been like a bug that altered her whole system. How in the world did she not notice him like that before? The way his cute polo shirt hung to him like a second skin—giving him the look of a hot nerd that Y/N was now a complete sucker for—, the way he adorably frowned in concentration as he prepared a drink, or the way his beautiful curls sticked to his forehead because of the sweat—honestly, she had no idea sweaty men could be that attractive. That’s what Ethan Landry was. He was so fucking attractive, and now that Y/N saw it, it took her lots of self-control not to push him against the counter and kiss the hell out of him.

“Tough shift, right?” Ethan said as they cleaned the now empty cafe.

Her gaze dropped down to his arms, his biceps flexed as he cleaned the counter. He was so hot. “Yeah.”

“What’s wrong with you today? You seemed off the entire day.” he asked confused.

“Nothing, I’m just really tired.” she said casually, forcing herself to look away from him.

“God, yes. My body is about to collapse.” he groaned as he stretched his arms. The action cause his shirt to ride up, showing a bit of his lower stomach.

Y/N’s grip on the cloth tightened as she felt the heat growing between her legs. I get it, I’m an idiot for not noticing how hot he is! Stop torturing me, she said to her hormones. “Same.”

Ethan laughed. “Seriously, what’s going on? Do you feel sick? You’re flushed, your face is really red. Do you have a fever? I can finish cleaning, you can go home, or wait for me and I’ll drive you.”

And he was so fucking sweet too. She wanted to rip her heart out and give it to him. “No, I’m okay.”

But Ethan didn’t believe her, so he walked towards her and cup her cheeks, making her breath hitch. “You’re not. What are you not telling me?”

Y/N sighed, he was not going to let go. “Trust me, you don’t wanna know.”

“I wanted to know, now I need to know. Tell me.”

“I’m horny, okay?” she blurted out in an exasperated tone. “And it’s your fault!”

“W-what?” he took one step back, eyes widened.

“Yes, you put your hand on me today and I can’t just stop thinking about your long fingers on the curve of my waist. And you won’t believe half the things I’ve seen inside my head since. You have been driving me crazy the whole day”

Ethan’s mouth was dry. At first, he thought she was messing with him, but her shiny glossy doe eyes were telling him a different story. She wanted him. “Try me. No, actually, show me.”

And it was then when the cafe’s temperature raised, when lust filled the air and their bodies turned warm with need. Five seconds later, Y/N fastened herself to him with a stitch—she grabbed Ethan by the collar of his polo, and tugged him down to met her lips in one ferocious kiss. She walked him backwards until his lower back hit the edge of the counter. He moaned both in pain and excitement.

The girl sneaked her hand down his shirt and felt his toned abs, groaning in delight against his lips. “So fucking hot. I need you.”

Ethan grabbed her by the forearms to change positions and then turned Y/N around so that her back was against his front and her stomach pressed against the marble counter.

He bit her earlobe and then started dragging his wet lips down the skin of her neck, sucking on her sweet spot. His veiny rough hands slipped inside her shirt, exploring the skin of her stomach and then they settled on her waist, giving them a squeeze. “You liked this, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” she replied breathlessly, resting the back of her head on his chest.

“Isn’t this better though?” he asked huskily on her ear as he trailed his fingers upwards, cupping her breasts. “No bra? Lucky me.”

“Eth…” she moaned, clenching her thighs, desperate have him inside her.

Noticing that, Ethan used his right leg to spread her thighs apart. “Bend over the counter, love.” he commanded, raising her skirt up to her hips and unbuckling his belt. “Be a good girl and moan my name.”

When they left the cafe, they were both still flushed by the dirty and hot encounter they had. Ethan still couldn’t comprehend how the day ended—he had walked inside the cafe that morning, the idea of fucking Y/N didn’t even cross his mind because he knew he had no chance. And now he was leaving with his hand intertwined in hers.

Y/N, on the other hand, didn’t even want to think about her life before that shift, when she wasn’t at Ethan’s mercy, when she didn’t know he kissed slowly and with passion, that he was a very dirty talker, that his touch felt like heaven, that he loved being praised as much as he loved praising, that he made the hottest sounds and that even though he had been attractively rough during sex, he was a fucking sweetheart after it, making sure she wasn’t in pain and had a good time. Now, Y/N was all about Ethan Landry.

#ethan landry #ethan landry fluff #ethanlandry #ethan landry fic #ethan landry smut #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry angst #ethan landry x you #ethan landry oneshot #ethan landry x y/n #ethan landry drabble #jack champion #jack champion x reader #jack champion x y/n #jack champion oneshot #jackchampion #jack champion imagine #jack champion fluff #jack champion fanfic

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apomaro-mellow · 2 years ago

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I finally wrote about stobin carhops

“I can’t believe we got another job using one resume”, Steve said.

“I can’t believe you said we were managers at Scoops”, Robin said.

“How are they gonna check, Robs?”

“Good point. You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

The new job at a local burger joint was decidedly in the ballpark of both of their abilities. The only drawback for Robin was....the skates.

“So these are a requirement? Not like, a suggestion?”, she asked, looking at the roller skates warily. Steve was already lacing up.

“They are in fact a requirement”, Cheryl, their current manager said.

Robin slipped and slid while on wheels. Which was why for about 90% of their first shift, she rolled along arm in arm with Steve.

“What’s even the point of having someone skate your food to you? I mean it seems like a total novelty. Purely for shits and giggles for customers.”

“You nailed it. It’s novelty.” As they rolled around the lot, Steve used the hand that was free to deliver food to the different cars. Robin used her free hand to write down the orders.

This system worked for about a week before Cheryl told them they couldn’t do that anymore. The very next day, Robin dropped five orders (two of which were on purpose) and was removed from her carhop responsibilities.

She kept her post at the register and the pick up window.

The uniform consisted of a white polo-style shirt with red accents. Most of the staff wore red pants to match. Some of the girls beat the heat with red shorts though.

“What are you wearing?”, Robin asked when Steve clocked in one day in those very same shorts.

“Uh, the uniform?”

“Uh-huh. Feelin’ the heat lately?”

“It’s been pretty warm the past few days”, Steve said.

“And I best the change has nothing to do with the fact Eddie said he’d be by on your lunch break today.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Steve tried to look neutral but his voice was way too chipper for someone who had to smell grease this early in the morning.

Robin knew for sure Eddie had arrived. She didn’t have a full view of the lot when she was at the register but she did see Steve lose control and skate right into a light pole. That could only mean Eddie was nearby. She let them have their lunch alone, knowing they would be sickeningly lovey-dovey the whole time.

-------------------------------------------

“You know....”, Steve started. “I bet Vickie would lose it if you were in shorts.”

“Actually, she said my teeth are my best feature”, Robin smiled wide.

“You two are so weird”, Steve laughed through it while mopping the floor.

“This from the guy who spent two whole hours staring at his boyfriend’s hands.”

“I didn’t-”

“TWO HOURS!”

------------------------------------

Steve let out a sigh when he saw that Eddie had driven Erica along as well.

“You already know”, Erica said. “Chocolate vanilla swirl.”

“Erica, I know I said free ice cream for life but-”

“But nothing. You thought you could get out of it by switching jobs. But karma always finds its way back.”

“I don’t think me working at a fast food place is karma. Right?”, Steve looked to Eddie, like he was worried this really was the work of cosmic forces.

“I don’t know...” Eddie leaned out of his open window to get a better look at Steve’s legs. “Feels like karma to me.”

Steve grinned when he noticed being checked out and leaned in towards the window. He opened his mouth but Erica beat him to it.

“You can flirt when you’re not on the clock. Ice cream. Chop chop!”

-------------------------------

It was a slow day for once, so Robin and Steve were sitting on the hood of his car, sharing some fries between them.

“What do you think our next job is gonna be?”, Steve asked.

“I think after this we should branch out. Maybe go for the federal government? Or at least look for managerial positions.”

“Would a place hire two managers at once?”

“One for the day shift and one for the night?”, Robin said, pointing at herself for day and Steve for night.

“But then we’re not gonna see each other.”

“Shoot, you’re right. What about working as mail carriers? You drive, I’ll put them in the box.”

“That’s actually perfect.”

“Great!”, Robin exclaimed. “So when this place burns down or gets destroyed by a quake-”

“Or a flood, or a tornado, or another fire-”

“Point is, we already know what our fallback is. And it’s perfect because everybody always needs mail.”

“It’s kind of crazy how we’ve never been fired. And that our past work places have been leveled”, Steve said. “I really think we could put anything on our resumes at this point.”

“Lemme get a couple of college credits before we start lying to get better jobs.”

“So another couple of months?”

“And you’ll be talking to the new CEO of something or other.”

“Co-CEO”, Steve reminded her, holding up a medium soda.

“Co-CEOs”, Robin tapped hers to his in a toast.

@little-gae-shit

#apo writes #stranger things #fanfiction #platonic stobin #steddie #robin buckley #steve harrington

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jzembroidery20 · 1 year ago

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steddiealltheway · 1 year ago

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Part Three of The Danger of Romanticizing. Part One. Part Two. Ao3 Link.

Over the next few days, Steve asks Robin to tell Eddie he says hi, adding it to his morning routine. And every day without fail, he gets a responding hi back. Sometimes, he even gets a question about what the polo of the day is. Robin starts shoving Steve sticky notes to write down whatever he wants to say which she hands off to Chrissy.

He finds himself looking forward to the notes whenever he gets home, fingers tracing over Eddie’s slightly sloppy handwriting before sticking them to his wall.

On Thursday, Steve comes home to find Chrissy sitting on the couch with Robin, fingers intertwined as they appear to do their separate class readings. “Hey,” Steve says, hoping that they’re not too deep into the studying zone.

Chrissy gives him a bright smile and says, “Hi, Steve.”

Steve can’t help but glance around, trying to find some trace of Eddie in the place. For some reason, he thinks that he would know if he was there.

“He’s out with his... friend,” Chrissy explains, giving Steve an apologetic smile.

Steve nods. “Right, the sort of boyfriend.”

“I wouldn’t call him that,” Chrissy says with a slight frown. She shakes her head and turns back to her work.

Robin stares at her girlfriend for a moment before asking, “How come you never talk about him?”

Chrissy glances at her and her expression immediately softens. Steve feels like he finally understood the phrase “heart eyes” when he first saw the way Chrissy and Robin look at each other.

“I haven’t met him yet. But Eddie doesn’t have the best track record with guys. I mean, he deserves the world, but he doesn’t understand why. I used to make him recite these affirmations to try to make him understand his worth, but he’s Eddie, you know? A lot of those deep emotions he deflects with jokes.” Chrissy sighs and holds up a packet of paper. “Sorry, I’m currently learning about coping mechanisms.”

“No apologizing, remember? You’re allowed to talk about the things you’re passionate about,” Robin gently reminds her.

Chrissy leans over and plants a soft kiss on her cheek. “Thank you,” she says softly.

Steve turns away as he watches Robin blush and duck her head. He resists the urge to make a comment that will ruin their moment and instead goes to the pantry and pulls out a box of pasta. He silently starts on dinner contemplating if he can pry about this mystery man in Eddie’s life through the sticky notes.

“Oh, Steve!” Chrissy says over her shoulder.

“Yes?”

“Eddie said that he’s sad to miss you and he hopes he can see you again soon.”

Steve smiles. “Tell him I hope I can see him soon.”

“Will do,” Chrissy replies with a bright smile.

And god, Steve really hopes he can.

-:-:-:-:-:-

The next morning is rough.

Steve sleeps through his alarm and in the process of rushing out the door he forgets to write Eddie a note and spills a cup of coffee on himself on the drive to work.

He walks in pressing napkins against his shirt, trying to soak up some of the liquid. Of course, this is the day he decides to wear a light pink polo.

“Nice look, Harrington,” Collin says loudly, causing everyone else to look up from their desk at him.

He already gets enough shit for being the boss’s son, so he’s sure that today will be worse than usual.

And it is.

It’s like everyone teams up on him to make jokes pretending to trip while holding coffee mugs in their hands. It gets old pretty fast, especially when his co-worker Aidan actually ends up pouring more coffee on him while he’s talking to a customer. And while he’s cleaning up again, Collin is able to swoop in and swindle his customer.

It’s all bullshit.

When the workday ends, he tries to grab his stuff and stalk off to his car quickly, but Collin manages to get in a quick, “Better luck next time, champ.”

Steve ignores him but he can’t help but feel like the final straw was broken for him.

He gets stuck in traffic and wants more than anything to just get home, shower, change, and put on a shitty movie. When he finally gets to his apartment, he manages to drop the keys while unlocking the door twice before pushing it open only to find Robin standing on the other side.

“How was work?” she asks overly bubbly.

“How do you think it was?” Steve asks gesturing to his shirt.

Robin cringes and teases, “Clumsy day?”

“Not now, Robin,” Steve sighs, trying to take his shoes off quickly. He finally gets them undone and finds that he’s wearing one navy and one black sock.

Robin points down to them and laughs.

“Seriously, Robin, I’m not in the mood,” he says and crosses his arms.

Robin grabs onto his arms with a bright smile and says, “But I have a surprise for you.”

Steve sighs and ducks his head, trying to make his way past her.

“Hold on!” Robin says, blocking his way. “God, you reek of coffee.”

For some reason, the comment really gets to Steve, and he snaps, “Can you just fucking give me some space?” He storms past her and rounds the corner to his room only to find that they’re not alone.

He looks up and takes in Chrissy and Eddie standing in the living room looking extremely uncomfortable.

“I...” Steve starts then turns around mumbling, “Fuck,” under his breath as he practically runs out the front door, grabbing his shoes on the way out. He jogs toward his car and pulls on the handle, realizing it’s locked. He digs into his pocket and mumbles, “No.” He checks his other pocket and comes up with nothing.

Of course, he left them on the hook by the front door.

He quickly puts on his shoes, wincing when he feels a rock in his right shoe. He sighs and digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. He knows he shouldn’t run. He always runs.

He hears footsteps thudding on the sidewalk behind him. “Hey,” a voice softly says.

Steve squeezes his eyes shut a little harder before running his hands over his face and slowly turning around. “Hey,” he mumbles, making fleeting eye contact with Eddie before staring at the pavement.

“Going somewhere?”

Steve crosses his arms and leans back against the hood of his car. “I was, but I left my keys inside.”

Eddie digs into his pocket and pulls out a set of keys, dangling them in front of him. “I have mine. Come on,” he says, already stepping back on the sidewalk and walking away from Steve.

Steve pauses but follows him around the corner of the building where he’s parked. He wonders if he purposefully parked there in order to surprise him. God, it just makes him feel worse.

He climbs into the passenger seat and stares ahead.

“Where to?” Eddie asks.

Steve sighs, “Whatever store carries pints of coffee chocolate chip ice cream.”

Eddie starts his van and asks, “Your favorite?”

“Robin’s favorite.”

“Ah,” Eddie says as he backs out of the side parking lot. “I have an extra shirt in the back if you want to change.”

Steve almost passes it up, but he doesn’t think he can stand the smell of coffee any longer. He twists in his seat and glances at the back, finding a random shirt thrown on the seat along with a lot of random shit that Steve wants to ask about. Instead, he tugs his polo off and quickly shrugs on Eddie’s shirt.

In any other situation, he would’ve been ecstatic about the softness of the shirt and embarrassingly tried to smell the collar or something to commit the scent to memory. But the heaviness of how he treated Robin weighs too heavily on his mind.

They sit in silence for a few moments, and Steve grows increasingly sorrowful.

“Want to talk about it?” Eddie asks.

Steve glances at him, noticing the lack of judgment in his expression which puts him at ease. “I just had a really bad day at work, and I was an asshole and took it out on Robin.”

“Chrissy always tells me that we take out our stress on the ones we love the most.”

“There’s definitely a reason she’s a psychology major.”

Eddie snorts and shrugs, eyes not leaving the road as he talks. “She’s going to be an amazing therapist. But what I meant by that is that I’ve had my fair share of frustrating exchanges with Chrissy as well.”

Steve sighs and leans back in his seat. “Yeah, but usually I save the part where I reveal that I’m an asshole at least a few months after meeting someone.”

“Romanticizing yourself,” Eddie says with a small smile. He approaches a red light and turns to Steve to state, “You’re not an asshole. You’re just human.”

“A little too human,” Steve argues.

“The best people are.”

“Sounds like you’re romanticizing me,” Steve says, trying to brush off the sincerity of what Eddie said.

Eddie rolls his eyes and turns back to the now green light.

They sit in comfortable silence as they make their way to the parking lot of a grocery store.

With the words still weighing heavy on his mind, Steve finally says, “Thank you.”

Eddie pulls into a parking space and replies, “No need for all that.” He gets out of the car before Steve can argue with him.

As they make their way inside, Steve changes the subject, “Ever since you brought up how empty my room is, I can’t stop noticing it.”

Eddie winces. “Sorry, I have a tendency to chronically put my foot in my mouth.”

Steve shakes his head. “No, I didn’t mean that in a bad way. I just suddenly want to do something about it.”

Eddie suddenly stops in the middle of the store, causing the person behind them to nearly hit him with their cart. Eddie turns and says, “Sorry,” before placing a gentle hand on Steve’s back and guiding him away from the frozen aisle they were walking toward.

“Where-”

Eddie puts his finger to his lips and says, “No questions.”

Steve’s eyebrows furrow but he keeps his lips shut as Eddie guides him to some random place in the store. He lets the warmth of Eddie's fingertips through the thin layer of the shirt distract him for a few moments until he notices that they’ve stopped.

Steve glances around and asks, “Clocks?”

Eddie sighs and tugs him past the section to the picture frames. ��Stay here and pick a few you like. I’ll be right back.”

Steve can’t even give him a confused look before he takes off. He turns back to the frames, scanning them before he grabs a white frame with a gold stripe that he thinks looks nice. For some reason he also finds a small silver circular frame that he thinks is kind of cute and funny, so he grabs it. He holds the two side by side and smiles. They look horrible together, but he likes them.

Eddie suddenly appears at his side, winded as if he just ran across the store. He holds up a small disposable camera and smiles proudly. “And this should be good for now. Time for ice cream.” He turns and heads toward the frozen aisle before stopping in place suddenly again.

Steve runs right into him and stumbles back. “Do you do this often?”

“Absolutely,” Eddie answers. He glances down at the frames and says, “I just realized I didn’t look at what you chose. The small one is funny.”

“Right?” Steve says, relieved that he understands.

Eddie looks him in the eye and his smile grows. “Good choices.”

Steve finds himself flushing a bit red after the direct affirmation from Eddie. Luckily, Eddie doesn’t notice as he leads the way to the ice cream.

It takes a few moments to find the ice cream, but Eddie suddenly excitedly says, “Yes!” and grabs a pint out of the freezer. Steve can’t help but think that he might be his good luck charm.

They check out quickly. Eddie asks Steve to grab him a candy bar, taking the moment of distraction to hand the cashier money, paying for everything. When Steve realizes, he tries to protest but Eddie shuts him down saying, “I’m the one who told you to get those things. It would be a dick move to make you pay for them too.”

“I could’ve at least covered the ice cream.”

“And risked it melting while we wasted time with a second checkout?” Eddie asks, acting flabbergasted at the idea.

Steve just laughs and at least takes the bags from him.

“My hero,” Eddie jokes, fluttering his eyelashes. As they get to the car he asks, “By the way, what candy bar did you get? I forgot to check.”

“A Three Musketeer. I hope that’s okay.”

Eddie smiles and hits the center console excitedly. “That was the inspiration behind naming Dart! You know? D'Artagnan.”

Steve shakes his head coming up with nothing. Eddie digs into the bags and grabs the candy, pointing it out to Steve.

“Oh. Dustin’s going to be so excited to hear that. Three Musketeers are his favorite.”

“You really love that kid,” Eddie comments with a smile as he starts the car.

“He can be an annoying little shit sometimes, but I love him like a brother.”

Eddie laughs. “I’m excited to meet him.”

“Me too,” Steve replies and suddenly remembers what Dustin told him. “Hey, I didn’t know you also illustrated the book. I don’t know how I skimmed over that, but that’s incredible.”

A light blush covers Eddie’s cheeks. “It’s alright. I used to design stuff for Hellfire in high school, but I’m absolutely shit at faces. That’s why you never see The Boy’s face.”

“I somehow never noticed that. But I think it’s a good choice. It lets the reader kind of imagine themself in the role, you know?”

Eddie pauses for a moment before asking, “Yeah? You can relate?”

Steve shrugs and leans back. “I can relate to the found family, and I mean...” Steve trails off and looks down at his hands. “Sometimes I feel like an outcast. And yeah, that sounds ridiculous since I was a pretty popular jock in high school. But I had this kind of reality check and suddenly I didn’t see the appeal of being ‘King Steve.’ I spent the last semester of my senior year sitting next to my ex and her new boyfriend during lunch. It was a miracle that I put in my resume at this ice cream shop because that’s how I met Robin. But even at work now, I just don’t fit in.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know.”

“Maybe we’re the same,” Eddie cheesily quotes the title of his book. Before Steve can ask what he means, Eddie presses on. “I have one question.”

“Mhm?”

“Did they really call you King Steve?”

Steve groans, “Yes. God, I hate that nickname.”

Eddie laughs. “Alright, I promise not to call you that.”

“Thank you.”

“Your Highness.”

Steve sighs but he fails to hide the slight humor in his expression.

“Okay, I promise to never bring it up... After this car ride, my lord,” Eddie says with a wicked smile.

Steve buries his face in his hands for the rest of the ride home, trying not to laugh too hard at the ridiculous nicknames Eddie pulls out of his ass. But as they get closer to his apartment, his happiness dies down as he faces the reality of what he’s returning to.

Eddie quiets down during the last minute, sensing the shift in emotions from Steve. He parks outside and quietly asks, “Are you ready?”

“No,” Steve says, unbuckling his seatbelt and grabbing his bags before getting out of the car.

He slowly steps up to the front door but pauses to turn around to Eddie. “Thank you for all of this. Really.”

Eddie just puts his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “I had a good time. I hope your day has gotten a little better.”

“It has,” Steve admits with no hesitation. “As long as I can apologize to Robin after this and hope she forgives me.”

“Something tells me that she will.”

Steve glances up at Eddie, wondering if he can express how much that fills him with relief. He steps forward, intent on wrapping his arms around the man and holding him for as long as he’ll let him.

The door swings open before Steve’s arms can come up.

“Hey, I thought I heard the van doors shut,” Chrissy says with a small smile.

“How is she?” Steve asks immediately.

Chrissy puts a hand on his arm. “She’s alright. I think she’ll be happy to talk to you.” She squeezes him before turning to Eddie and asking, “You ready to go?”

Eddie’s eyes flicker to Steve before settling on Chrissy. He gives her a conflicted look, but Chrissy raises her eyebrows at him causing Eddie to sigh and turn to Steve saying, “Maybe I’ll see you soon? We’ll plan it this time.”

Steve feels his face suddenly get very warm with embarrassment. “That would be great.”

Eddie nods at him and turns away to make his way back to the van. Steve waves goodbye to the pair before going inside. He drops the bag with the frames and camera on their table in the small dining area before grabbing two spoons and the bag with the ice cream.

He purposefully makes his footsteps a little heavier as he makes his way to Robin’s room to prepare her for his presence. He lightly knocks on the door and waits.

“It’s open,” she says.

Steve slowly pushes the door open and finds Robin lying in her bed staring at the ceiling. “Hey.”

Robin turns and gives him a small smile. “Hey.”

“I brought the goods,” Steve jokes as he walks toward her bed.

Robin sits up and makes grabby hands at him, taking the pint and a spoon as soon as she can. Steve can’t help but think that’s a good sign, but he’s not going to pretend everything is normal. “I’m sorry I was an asshole to you. I shouldn’t have taken out my bad day on you.”

Robin glances at him with a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth. She takes a moment to eat before she sighs, “It wasn’t just you though. I shouldn’t have been so pushy and glossed over your bad day. And I definitely shouldn’t have surprised you like that.”

“Are you kidding? Any other day, I would’ve been ecstatic.”

“Just not today,” Robin says, staring down at the ice cream before taking another spoonful. She glances over at him and asks, “Want to talk about your day?”

Steve shakes his head. “Just Collin being an asshole and the other guys joining in.”

“Charles and Ryan?”

“Aidan this time.”

Robin sighs, “I wish I could go in there and give them a piece of my mind.”

“I think I deserved it today.”

Robin raises an eyebrow at him. “No matter how much of a dick you can be, I’m not leaving you, dingus. And you definitely don’t deserve that shit.”

Steve shrugs and takes a stab at the ice cream. “Eddie made things better.”

“Yeah?”

Steve nods and avoids eye contact as the coffee flavor melts in his mouth.

“Speak of Eddie, is he the reason you’re wearing a Metallica shirt?”

Steve glances down at the shirt and smiles. He had forgotten he was wearing it. “Yeah. He had an extra shirt in the back and let me change out of the coffee-stained one. I think I left that polo in his van though.” He shrugs and gets another spoonful of ice cream. “He’s really great.”

There’s a longer pause before Robin rests her hand on Steve’s and asks, “Steve, do you... like him?”

Steve’s eyes snap up to Robin quickly, swallowing a mouthful of cold ice cream in the process. His heart beats a little faster, and he hopes Robin can’t feel his pulse. “No, it’s not like that. Besides, I barely know him.”

“Yeah, but you’ve liked people with a lot less information about them.”

Steve sighs and puts his spoon down to lay his other hand on top of Robin’s and look her in the eye. “Even if I do like him, he has a sort of boyfriend. Plus, I’m not going to do anything reckless that will risk the happiness of your and Chrissy’s relationship, okay?”

Robin stares at him for a few seconds too long before she nods. “Okay. But... you can talk to me if those feelings ever change.”

“And they won’t,” Steve reassures her.

Robin looks conflicted before she gives him a small smile and goes back to the ice cream.

Steve is able to easily change the subject and things finally feel normal again once they’re both laughing so hard they have to wipe at the tears running down their faces.

But when Steve lays in bed that night, his thoughts drift to Eddie. He can’t fall for him. Really, he can’t. He can’t do that to Chrissy and Robin.

So, for once, he tries to turn off all the thoughts romanticizing the man. But he doesn’t know how to humanize the man when he’s been nothing but... perfect.

He’s so screwed.

Part Four

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