#I think there’s video of me doing it at thanksgiving dinner too

[wannabehockeygf]

greedy - quinn hughes

“He said ‘I’m just curious, is this for real or just an act?’

Can’t tell if you love or hate me,

Never met someone like that.”

summary: when you’re a bartender in a popular local club, the captain of the canucks who’s also one of your regulars takes a liking to you

pairing: quinn hughes x fem!reader

word count: 9.3k. i’m so sorry.

warnings: 18+ NSFW! fingering (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, slight degradation.

notes:

- this is soooo different for me! have never written about a hughes brother before even though they’re super popular here.

- missing vancouver hockey. sorry leafs nation.

- also this is probably some of the nastiest smut i’ve ever written!

- not proof read

- the eye colour thing again… sorry if they’re green.

***

Friday nights at The Roxy Cabaret were like trying to squeeze into your favorite pair of jeans after Thanksgiving dinner—uncomfortable, chaotic, and leaving you questioning your life choices. Honestly, it felt like the entire population of Vancouver had made a pact to invade this dingy club all at once. Not that you were complaining, though—well, maybe a little. It wasn’t like you had a choice; the rent wasn’t going to pay itself.

Sure, you worked there, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t hold a deep, burning, soul-crushing hatred for the place, right? Well, okay, maybe "hatred" was a bit strong. You did occasionally wander in on your nights off, blend into the crowd, and pretend you were just another twenty-three-year-old who didn’t have to worry about the bartender recognizing you. Because let’s face it, you needed a break from serving vodka sodas to tipsy twenty-somethings trying to relive their high school glory days.

What really got under your skin, though, was the crowd that showed up when you were on the clock. And by "crowd," you meant the entire Vancouver Canucks roster, who seemed to think The Roxy was their personal post-victory playground. It wasn’t that you disliked hockey—you were indifferent to it, like you were to a distant relative’s Facebook posts. If it was on, fine, you’d watch. But you weren’t exactly lining up to buy season tickets.

Most of the guys were fine—great even. Some of them were downright charming, the kind of guys you wouldn’t mind chatting with when things slowed down. Plus, they tipped like they were trying to make it rain dollar bills in a music video, which you appreciated. But then there was Quinn Hughes.

Oh, Quinn. Captain Smug himself. He had a way of getting under your skin like an itch you couldn’t scratch.

"Another round, please, Princess," Quinn drawls, tapping his fingers on the bar like he owns the place.

You grit your teeth, mentally counting to ten as you shake up a cocktail. "Can you get Brock to order it? He isn’t an egotistical asshole."

Quinn just laughs, that infuriating smirk of his widening even though he looks like he could use a nap. "Aw, come on, Princess, don’t be like that. You know you love me."

You resist the urge to roll your eyes so hard they might get stuck. Instead, you stick to your customer service script. "That’s not my name," you say, yanking out shot glasses like they owe you money.

"I know," Quinn says, brushing a strand of hair out of his face like he’s in some cheesy romance movie. "But you act like a princess, so it suits you."

Oh great, now your jaw’s tightening. Fabulous. You grab the tequila bottle with a little more force than necessary. "What do you want from me, Quinn?" you ask, trying not to let your annoyance seep too much into your voice.

He leans in closer, his smirk practically reaching his ears. "How about a smile, Princess? Is that too much to ask?"

You force the kind of smile you reserve for customer service nightmares, tight-lipped and entirely devoid of warmth. "Is that good? Can you go now?"

Quinn chuckles, taking the tray of drinks from you like he’s doing you a favor. "Always so feisty. But I like it. Keeps things interesting."

"Fuck off, Quinn," you mutter, wiping down the counter with the enthusiasm of someone scrubbing a crime scene. "I’m not here to entertain your ego."

He leans in even closer—so close you can practically count the flecks of mischief in his eyes. "But you do entertain me. Every time you brush me off, it just makes me want you more."

You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief. "You’ve got a funny way of showing it. Just because you’re some big-shot athlete doesn’t mean you can treat women however you want."

Quinn’s gaze slowly trails up from your lips, where it’s been lingering far too long, to meet your eyes. "Ah, come on, you know I always take good care of you."

And damn it, he’s right. Quinn is probably your biggest tipper out of the entire team. And while you like the money, you hate seeing his stupid messy brown hair and annoyingly pretty blue eyes at your bar every time they win.

"Sure you do," you say, swiping someone else’s card through the machine, mentally willing him to disappear into the sea of other customers.

You watch Quinn walk away, his broad shoulders cutting through the crowd like he’s parting the Red Sea. It’s infuriating, really, how someone so damn annoying can also be so… well, hot. There, you admitted it. The guy is hot. Like, "should come with a warning label" hot. But that doesn’t mean you’re about to give him the satisfaction of knowing you think that. No way. Not in this lifetime, or the next, or even if you were reincarnated as a particularly enthusiastic poodle.

Quinn Hughes is the human equivalent of a pop-up ad—persistent, unwanted, and impossible to get rid of without a lot of cursing. Every time you brush him off, he just comes back stronger, like he’s powered by your irritation. And maybe that’s what’s so maddening about him. He knows exactly how to push your buttons, and he enjoys every second of it.

The problem is, you’re starting to wonder if you enjoy it too.

Nope. Not going there. You are not going to be one of those girls who gets all flustered over a guy just because he’s got a good smile and a credit card that could probably buy out half the bar. You’re stronger than that. You’re resilient. You’re… currently mixing a drink with far more focus than necessary because all you can think about is what it would be like to grab him by the collar of that too-tight shirt and kiss that stupid smirk right off his face.

You’re shaking your head at the absurdity of it all as you pour the next round of shots, hands moving on autopilot. It’s bad enough that Quinn Hughes has invaded your workspace like some kind of hockey-playing parasite, but now he’s wormed his way into your thoughts too.

“Get a grip,” you mutter under your breath, lining up the glasses like they’re little soldiers marching to their doom. Because really, that’s what this is—a battle of wills. A tug-of-war where the prize is your sanity, and you’re losing.

A couple of your regulars wave you over, and you force your focus back to them, slapping on that customer service smile that’s become second nature by now. They’re nice guys, the kind who tip decently and don’t try to flirt with you in that obnoxious, entitled way that some customers do. They’re also blissfully ignorant of the 5’10, 180 pound storm cloud currently hovering over your head, which is exactly how you like it.

But just as you’re starting to enjoy a break from the chaos, you catch sight of him again. He’s leaning against the bar a few feet away, talking to Brock, who seems completely unfazed by the fact that Quinn has probably just sent your blood pressure through the roof.

You steal a glance at Quinn, hoping he won’t notice, but of course he does. He always does. His eyes meet yours, and for a split second, you forget how to breathe. It’s ridiculous, really. The guy’s just standing there, doing absolutely nothing, and yet he has this stupid effect on you. Like he’s some kind of gravitational force, pulling you in against your will.

You force yourself to look away, focusing on the drink in front of you like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. But it’s too late. The damage is done. Your brain has already gone down that treacherous path, imagining what it would be like if you gave in just once.

But that’s a dangerous game, and you know it. Because if you give him an inch, he’ll take a mile. Hell, he’ll probably take the whole damn kilometer. And then where would you be?

Nope. Not happening. Not tonight, not ever.

You’re not sure when exactly it started—the whole Quinn Hughes thing, that is. Maybe it was the first time he sauntered up to the bar, eyes twinkling like he knew something you didn’t. Or maybe it was the time he tipped you a hundred bucks just for bringing him a water, like he was trying to buy your affection. Which, spoiler alert, didn’t work. Or so you’ve been telling yourself.

But you can’t deny it any longer: Quinn Hughes is a problem. A major, five-alarm, get-the-fire-extinguisher kind of problem. Because somewhere along the line, your irritation with him has twisted into something… different. Something dangerous. Something that makes you wonder what it would be like to grab him by that annoyingly perfect jawline and just—

“Hey, Princess, you gonna make me another drink or just stand there daydreaming?”

And there it is. That voice, like smooth whiskey poured over gravel, cutting through your thoughts like a knife. You don’t even have to look up to know it’s him. Of course it’s him. Because Quinn Hughes has a sixth sense for when you’re starting to get a grip on your sanity, and he’s hell-bent on ruining it.

You set down the bottle of vodka you’ve been holding, turning to face him with what you hope is a look of mild disinterest. “Back so soon? Didn’t think you could tear yourself away from your adoring fans.”

Quinn grins, leaning against the bar like he’s got all the time in the world. And maybe he does. After all, what’s a Friday night without irritating the bartender who’s secretly trying to figure out what color your eyes really are because the lighting in here sucks? Not that you’d ever admit to that. “I just couldn’t stay away from you, Princess. You know how it is.”

You roll your eyes, but it’s half-hearted at best. “Again, not my name.”

He taps his fingers on the bar, a rhythm that’s almost hypnotic. “I know. But I like it. It suits you.”

“What, because I won’t roll over and worship the ground you walk on?” you shoot back, crossing your arms. You know you’re playing with fire, but there’s something addictive about sparring with him. Like a game of chicken, except you’re both too stubborn to swerve.

Quinn’s grin widens, and you can’t help but notice how his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. Damn him. “Exactly. I like a girl with a backbone.”

You open your mouth to retort, but the words get stuck somewhere between your brain and your tongue. Because for some reason, all you can think about is the way he’s looking at you right now—like you’re the only person in this crowded, chaotic club that matters.

So that’s why you decide to go for it.

“You ever had hate sex, Hughes?”

You can almost see the gears in Quinn’s head grind to a halt at your question. The usual smug smirk falters for a split second, and it’s the most satisfying thing you’ve seen all night. You’ve finally done it—left Quinn Hughes speechless. But the victory is short-lived because, as always, he recovers faster than you can blink.

“Hate sex?” he echoes, his voice dropping an octave, making you question all of your life choices up to this point. He leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear, and you suddenly realize you’re standing way too close. “Princess, if that’s your idea of a pick-up line, I’ve got to say, I’m intrigued.”

And there it is, that damn smirk back in full force. He’s trying to throw you off, but you refuse to back down. You’ve already started this ridiculous game, so there’s no turning back now.

“You didn’t answer the question,” you reply, your tone as steady as you can make it. “Ever had hate sex?”

He lets out a low chuckle that sends shivers down your spine—not that you’d ever admit it. “I don’t know. Guess we’d have to define ‘hate sex’ first.”

You narrow your eyes at him, your mind racing with all the ways this could go horribly wrong. But damn it, you’re committed now. “I’m pretty sure it’s when you can’t stand someone, but you still want to rip their clothes off.”

Quinn’s eyes darken just a fraction, and you can feel the tension between you both ratchet up to an unbearable level. It’s like the entire club fades away, leaving just the two of you locked in this absurd, heated standoff.

“Is that what you want?” he asks, his voice smooth and infuriatingly calm. “You want to rip my clothes off, Princess?”

You clench your jaw, determined not to let him see how flustered you are. This is Quinn Hughes, the guy who drives you up the wall every single time he walks into this bar. There’s no way in hell you’re about to let him get the upper hand.

So, you do the only thing that seems appropriate. You lean in, so close that your lips are almost brushing his ear, and whisper, “Maybe I just want to shut you up for five minutes.”

“You think you could handle it?” His voice is a low rumble now, and there’s something about the way he says it that’s got your stomach doing somersaults. “Because if we’re going there, I don’t do anything halfway.”

Oh, for the love of— You’re pretty sure your face is betraying you right now, showing just how much his words have affected you, but you can’t let him know that.

Quinn is still watching you, eyes glittering with amusement and something else you can’t quite place. There’s a challenge there, a dare hanging in the air between you, and you’re suddenly very aware of how close he is. Too close. Close enough that you can see the faint stubble on his jaw, the way his hair falls messily over his forehead, and those damn blue eyes that seem to see right through your carefully constructed defenses.

For a moment, you consider backing down, playing it off as a joke. But then Quinn would win, and that’s simply not an option. So, you double down, leaning in just a little bit closer, your breath brushing against his skin.

"Handle it? Quinn, I think you’re forgetting who you’re talking to." Your voice is steady, but inside, your heart is doing its best impression of a drum solo. This is insane. You’re flirting with Quinn Hughes. Quinn Hughes, the guy who spends his Friday nights at your bar making your life just a little bit more complicated than it needs to be. The guy who seems to take an unholy amount of pleasure in riling you up. The guy who—God help you—makes your pulse race every time he so much as glances in your direction.

Quinn’s lips curve into a slow smile, and you can’t help but notice how annoyingly perfect his teeth are. Of course they are. Everything about him is infuriatingly perfect, from his tousled hair to his broad shoulders that you really shouldn’t be noticing right now. "You’ve got a mouth on you, Princess," he murmurs, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine that you desperately try to suppress.

You swallow hard, trying to keep your composure as you stare into Quinn’s infuriatingly perfect face. Seriously, who gave him the right to look this good, especially when he’s being such a smug asshole? You remind yourself that you don’t like him. You don’t. Except maybe you do, a little bit. Okay, a lot. But that’s beside the point.

Quinn’s eyes are locked on yours, and you can practically feel the heat radiating off him. It’s like standing too close to a bonfire—one wrong move, and you’re going to get burned. But damn it, you’re not backing down. Not when he’s looking at you like that, like he’s just waiting for you to slip up so he can swoop in and… do what, exactly? You’re not even sure anymore. And that’s the most dangerous part.

“Someone’s gotta put you in your place, Hughes,” you manage to say, your voice coming out a little breathier than you intended. You’re aiming for sassy, but it’s hard to pull off when your heart is practically doing backflips in your chest.

His smile widens, and you want to slap it right off his face, but also—God help you—maybe kiss it off too. “Is that so?” he asks, voice dripping with amusement. “And you think you’re the one to do it?”

Oh, he’s good. He’s really good. And damn it, you walked right into his trap, didn’t you? Because now you’ve got to follow through, or else he’s going to lord this over you for the rest of eternity.

But before you can figure out a clever retort, Quinn’s gaze flicks past you, scanning the crowded bar. When he looks back at you, there’s something new in his eyes—something that sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

“You know,” he says, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “this place is a little too crowded for what I have in mind.”

Your breath catches in your throat. Oh no. Oh no, no, no. He’s not suggesting what you think he’s suggesting, is he? Because if he is, you’re in way over your head. And yet… there’s a tiny, traitorous part of you that’s intrigued. More than intrigued. You want to know what he has in mind, even though every logical part of your brain is screaming at you to abort mission and run for the hills.

You tilt your head, trying to play it cool even as your heart races. “And what exactly do you have in mind, Hughes?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Quinn leans in closer, so close that you can feel his breath on your cheek. “Somewhere private,” he murmurs, “Where we can… talk.”

“Talk,” you repeat, your tone dripping with skepticism. “That’s what we’re calling it now?”

He chuckles softly, and the sound sends a jolt of electricity straight to your core. “Unless you’ve got a better idea.”

Oh, you do. You’ve got a lot of ideas, most of them involving doing things to Quinn Hughes that would definitely not fall under the category of “talking.” But you can’t just give in, can you? That would be too easy, and Quinn would never let you live it down.

But then again… maybe it’s time to stop overthinking things. Maybe it’s time to let go, just this once, and see where this crazy, ridiculous, probably-terrible idea takes you.

“Fine,” you say, surprising yourself with how steady your voice sounds. “Let’s go.”

Quinn’s eyes light up with something that looks a lot like victory, but you’re not about to let him have the upper hand. Not entirely, anyway.

“Lead the way, Princess,” he says, his voice a low purr that sends a thrill of anticipation coursing through you.

You roll your eyes—because of course you do—but there’s no denying the excitement buzzing just beneath the surface. You’ve got no idea what you’re getting yourself into, but one thing’s for sure: it’s going to be one hell of a ride.

With one last glance at the bar, you turn on your heel and start making your way through the crowd, Quinn hot on your heels. You can feel the tension between you both, crackling like static electricity, and it’s taking everything in you not to turn around and grab him by that stupidly perfect jawline right then and there.

You slip through a side door that leads to a narrow hallway, the noise from the bar muffled by the heavy walls. The air is cooler here, the dim lighting casting long shadows that dance along the worn carpet. You can feel Quinn’s presence behind you, close enough that you can practically feel the heat radiating off his body.

“Where are we going?” he asks, his voice a low rumble that makes your stomach flip.

“Storage closet,” you say, not even sure where the idea came from, but it’s out now, and there’s no taking it back. You know the staff keeps some of the extra supplies in a small room down the hall, and it’s as good a place as any to… well, whatever this is.

Quinn’s chuckle is dark and throaty, sending another shiver down your spine. “Kinky,” he murmurs, but you can hear the approval in his tone.

You reach the door and push it open, revealing a small, dimly lit room lined with shelves full of bottles and boxes. It’s cramped, barely enough room for the two of you, but that’s probably a good thing. The last thing you need is space to think about what you’re doing, because if you stop to think, you might just lose your nerve.

Quinn steps in behind you, closing the door with a soft click. The sound echoes in the quiet space, amplifying the tension that’s been simmering between you both all night.

For a moment, neither of you moves. You just stand there, staring at each other, the air thick with unspoken challenges and barely restrained desire. And then, like a rubber band snapping, the tension breaks.

You’re not even sure who moves first—maybe it’s him, maybe it’s you—but suddenly you’re pressed up against the shelves, Quinn’s body crowding into yours, his hands bracing on either side of your head as his lips crash onto yours

It’s not gentle. It’s not soft. It’s every bit as intense and heated as the tension that’s been simmering between you from the moment you met. His lips crash against yours with a force that sends your head spinning, and for a moment, all you can do is cling to him, your hands fisting in his shirt as you kiss him back just as fiercely.

This is no sweet, romantic moment. This is raw, unfiltered desire, born from all the frustration and irritation that’s been building between you two for so long. It’s everything you never thought you’d want, and yet here you are, giving in to it completely.

Quinn’s hands are on you now, pulling you closer, as if he can’t get enough. And maybe he can’t. Maybe you can’t either. All you know is that this is happening, and there’s no stopping it.

“Damn it, Hughes,” you murmur against his mouth, trying to inject some venom into your words, but it comes out more like a plea. You can feel his smirk, the arrogant bastard. He knows he’s got you, and it only makes you want to kiss him harder.

Or punch him.

Maybe both.

“Problem?” he murmurs, voice thick with amusement as he pulls back just enough to look into your eyes. His lips are slightly swollen, his hair disheveled from your hands, and he looks annoyingly good like this. All messy and untamed, like you’ve undone him somehow, when you know it’s the other way around.

You want to tell him to shut up, to stop looking at you like that, like you’re some puzzle he’s close to solving. But you’re too breathless, too overwhelmed by the intensity of it all. So instead, you grab the front of his shirt and yank him back down to you, your lips crashing together again in a bruising kiss.

He groans into your mouth, his hands slipping under your shirt, fingers skimming the heated skin of your back. You shiver at the contact, hating how good it feels, hating that he knows it too. You can feel his smugness in every touch, every shift of his body against yours.

And yet, you don’t stop him.

Because you’re just as guilty.

You’ve been wanting this—wanting him—even though you’ve been denying it, pushing it away, convincing yourself that you despise him. But the truth is, that hatred has always been laced with something else. Something darker, more dangerous. Something you’re only now beginning to understand.

It’s infuriating.

It’s intoxicating.

“You’re such an asshole,” you mutter against his lips, your voice tinged with frustration as you nip at his lower lip. You want to hurt him, just a little, to remind yourself that you’re still in control, that this isn’t just him getting what he wants. But when he groans in response, his hands tightening their grip on your hips, you realize that maybe you’re not as in control as you thought.

“You say that like you don’t love it,” he replies, his voice husky as he trails kisses along your jawline, down to your neck. Your breath hitches when he finds that sensitive spot just below your ear, the one that makes your knees go weak. He’s too good at this. Too good at getting under your skin.

You don’t want to enjoy this. You really don’t. But your body isn’t exactly cooperating, and the traitorous warmth pooling in your stomach isn’t something you can ignore. It’s maddening how much you want this, even as every logical part of your brain screams that this is a terrible, horrible, no-good idea.

But logic be damned, because the way Quinn’s lips are moving against your skin is making it very hard to care about consequences.

“You’re such a smug bastard,” you mutter, trying to inject some bite into your words, but they come out breathy, almost like a sigh. Ugh. Could you be any more pathetic?

Quinn chuckles against your neck, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “I thought you liked that about me,” he murmurs, his voice thick. His hands slide up under your shirt, fingers skimming over your ribs, making you gasp. “Or at least, you like it enough to let me do this.”

He’s right, and that just pisses you off even more. You do like it—hate it, love it, whatever it is, you’re feeling it with every nerve in your body. You can feel his smirk against your skin, and it only fuels the fire inside you.

You yank at his hair, pulling his head back just enough so you can meet his eyes, which are dark and stormy with desire. “Don’t get cocky, Hughes,” you warn, even though you know it’s a losing battle. “This doesn’t mean anything.”

He raises an eyebrow, that damn smirk still plastered on his stupidly perfect face. “You keep telling yourself that,” he says, his voice low and rough. “But we both know you’re full of shit.”

“Full of shit?” you echo, narrowing your eyes at him, trying to keep your wits about you even as his hands roam over your body. “That’s rich, coming from the guy who’s all talk and no—”

Quinn’s lips are on yours again before you can finish the sentence, cutting off your words with a kiss that’s somehow even more intense than the last one. It’s like he’s determined to prove you wrong, to make you eat your words, and as much as you hate to admit it, he’s succeeding.

But you’re not about to let him have the satisfaction of knowing that. Not yet, anyway.

You push back against him, shoving at his chest just enough to create some distance, even though your body is screaming at you to do the opposite. His eyes flash with surprise, and you smirk up at him, a little breathless but still in the game.

“Easy there, Hughes,” you murmur, your voice laced with false bravado. “I didn’t say you could take control.”

Quinn arches an eyebrow, his lips quirking up into that infuriatingly smug smile that makes you want to both slap him and drag him closer. “Oh? I must have missed the memo where you were the one calling the shots.”

You grit your teeth, not entirely sure whether you want to punch him or kiss him again. Maybe both, but that would just be giving him the upper hand. Instead, you decide to hit him where it hurts—his ego.

“Please,” you scoff, leaning in close, your lips brushing against his ear as you speak. “You’ve been in my palm since the moment we met. Don’t flatter yourself.”

He lets out a low, amused chuckle, his breath warm against your neck. “Is that what you tell yourself when you’re fantasizing about me at night?”

Your stomach flips at his words, but you refuse to let him see the effect he’s having on you. Instead, you tilt your head, letting your lips ghost over the shell of his ear as you whisper, “In your dreams, Hughes.”

But as much as you’re trying to play it cool, you can’t deny the electric tension between you both. It’s like the air is crackling with it, making it hard to breathe, hard to think. All you can focus on is Quinn—his hands, his lips, his damn voice that keeps pulling you deeper into this mess.

His hand slides down your side, settling on your hip, and your breath catches when he pulls you closer, your bodies pressed together in the cramped space. You can feel every inch of him, the solid warmth of his body, the way he’s holding you like he doesn’t want to let go. And maybe he doesn’t. Maybe you don’t either.

Quinn’s lips are back on yours, but this time, it’s slower, more deliberate. Like he’s savoring the moment, taking his time, driving you absolutely crazy with how good it feels. You’re so wrapped up in it, in him, that you almost don’t notice the way his hands are working on rolling up your shirt until it’s halfway up.

You pull back, just enough to look up at him with narrowed eyes. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He gives you a look that’s all innocence, but there’s nothing innocent about the way his hands keep moving, sliding under your shirt, his fingers grazing your skin. “Just making sure you’re comfortable,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough in a way that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Comfortable?” you repeat, your voice coming out a little higher than you intended as his hands roam over your bare skin. “You think this is making me comfortable?”

Quinn leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “No, but it’s making you hot, isn’t it?”

Your breath hitches, and damn him, he’s right. He’s so infuriatingly right. But you’re not about to admit that. Instead, you try to muster up some semblance of defiance, even though you can feel your resolve crumbling with every touch, every heated look he throws your way.

“You wish,” you manage to say, but the words lack the venom you were aiming for. Instead, they come out breathy, almost like a plea, and you hate how much that turns you on.

Quinn grins, and it’s a wicked, knowing grin that makes your stomach twist in the most deliciously infuriating way. “I don’t have to wish,” he says, his voice a low rumble that makes your knees weak. “I can see it in your eyes.”

Before you can respond—before you can even think of a comeback—he’s kissing you again, his lips moving against yours with a fervor that makes your head spin. You’re drowning in him, in the heat, the intensity of it all, and for a moment, you wonder if you’re going to lose yourself completely.

But then Quinn’s hands are on your hips, lifting you up onto the shelves, and you gasp at the sudden movement. You grab onto his shoulders, your fingers digging into his skin as he steps between your legs, his body pressing against yours in a way that makes it hard to remember why this is such a bad idea.

“Quinn,” you murmur, trying to sound like you’re in control, like you’re not about to fall apart at the seams. But your voice betrays you, coming out shaky, uncertain, and Quinn hears it. Of course he does.

His hands slide up your thighs, fingers teasing the edge of your shorts, and you can’t help the way your breath hitches, the way your body arches toward him, desperate for more. Damn it, you shouldn’t want this—shouldn’t want him—but there’s no denying it now.

“You can stop this anytime you want,” Quinn whispers against your lips, his breath warm and tantalizing. “Just say the word.”

But you don’t say anything. Because you can’t. You don’t want to stop, not when his hands are on you, not when his lips are trailing down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Not when every nerve in your body is screaming at you to let go, to give in to this insane, reckless desire.

Instead, you pull him closer, your fingers tangling in his hair as you kiss him with everything you’ve got, trying to show him that you’re not backing down, that you’re just as in this as he is. Maybe more.

Quinn groans against your lips, and you can feel the way his body tenses, the way his hands tighten their grip on your thighs. It’s intoxicating, the power you have over him, the way you can make him unravel with just a kiss, a touch.

But then his hands are slipping under your shorts, and your breath catches in your throat. It’s happening, it’s really happening, and suddenly, you’re not sure if you’re ready for this. If you can handle what comes next.

“Quinn,” you murmur, trying to sound like you’re in control, like you’re not about to lose it completely. But he’s not listening, or maybe he is, and he just doesn’t care, because his hands are still moving, still exploring, and you’re melting under his touch.

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, and the look in his eyes is enough to make your stomach flip. It’s dark, intense, full of heat—and, damn it, he’s giving you that smug smile again, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice rough and breathless, a contrast to the arrogant tilt of his lips. “You good?”

Good? Is that a joke? You’re anything but good right now. Your heart is racing, your mind is spinning, and your body—well, your body is betraying you in every way possible, pressing closer to him, silently begging for more.

“I fucking hate you,” you manage to choke out, though the words feel flimsy, a pathetic attempt at maintaining some semblance of control. Quinn’s eyes narrow slightly, and you know he doesn’t believe you for a second. But instead of calling you out on it, he leans in, his lips brushing against your jawline as he murmurs, “Then why are you so fucking wet?” He punctuates the words by brushing his fingers against the damp fabric of your underwear.

Your brain short-circuits at his words. Like, did he really just—? You’re torn between the urge to slap that smug look off his face and the overwhelming desire to pull him closer, consequences be damned. The nerve of this guy, thinking he can just—

But then his fingers move, and every coherent thought you had goes flying out the window. A gasp escapes your lips, and you curse yourself for giving him the satisfaction, but, damn it, how are you supposed to keep your wits about you when his hands are doing that?

Quinn’s watching you, his eyes dark with amusement and something much more primal. “What’s the matter?” he teases, his voice a low rumble.

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to muster up some sort of retort, but all that comes out is a breathy, “Shut up,” which only makes his smirk widen. God, you want to wipe that grin off his face so badly, but every time you think you’re about to regain control, he does something that completely derails you.

Like now, for instance, when his fingers dip beneath the waistband of your underwear, and your hips jerk forward entirely of their own accord. Quinn’s chuckle is low and throaty, and you feel the vibrations of it against your neck as he nips at your skin, leaving a trail of barely-there bites that make your pulse race.

“Shutting up doesn’t seem like your style,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear, making you shiver. “But I think I can find a way to keep you quiet.”

You don’t get a chance to ask what the hell that’s supposed to mean because his hand finally dips lower, and suddenly, you’re not sure whether you want to moan or curse him out. Your body makes the decision for you, your head falling back against the shelf as a breathless moan escapes your lips, and you feel Quinn’s grin widen against your skin.

“God, you’re so fucking—” Your words get caught in your throat as he moves his fingers just right, and the sound that comes out of you is more of a whimper than anything else. It’s humiliating, really, how easily he’s reducing you to this—a writhing, desperate mess—and the bastard knows it.

“Sensitive, are we?” Quinn’s voice is laced with amusement, but there’s a huskiness to it now, a slight hitch in his breath that tells you he’s just as affected by this as you are, even if he’s better at hiding it. “That’s cute.”

“Cute?” you manage to gasp, trying to muster up some semblance of defiance, even as your body betrays you by arching into his touch. “I’ll show you—” Your words trail off into a moan as he circles his fingers just right, and suddenly, the only thing you want to show him is how quickly you can come undone if he keeps this up.

You're about to fire back with something scathing, something that’ll put Quinn in his place, but all that comes out is a breathy gasp as his fingers work a little faster, a little rougher, hitting that spot that has your entire body going slack against the shelves. God, if anyone walked in right now, they'd have one hell of a show.

"Something you wanted to say?" Quinn’s voice is thick with that damn arrogance, but there's a slight edge to it now, like he's barely holding it together himself. Good, you think. If you’re going down, you’re taking him with you.

"Y-you're…" You try to form a sentence, anything to wipe that smug grin off his face, but the words get tangled in your throat as Quinn’s other hand slides up your thigh, his touch hot and demanding. "You're such a…"

He smirks, his lips hovering just over yours, so close you can feel the heat of his breath. "Go on, sweetheart. I'm dying to know."

"Oh, fuck off," you mutter, but your voice lacks any real bite, especially when his fingers dip lower, making your hips jerk forward involuntarily. "Quinn…"

He pauses, his lips still pressed to your jaw, and for a moment, you think maybe—just maybe—he’s going to stop, give you a chance to catch your breath, to regain some semblance of control. But then he moves again, his fingers slipping past your last shred of dignity, and you let out a sound that’s somewhere between a moan and a curse.

"That’s what I thought," Quinn whispers, his breath hot against your skin. "I knew you couldn't keep that tough act up forever."

"Screw you," you hiss, but your words are cut off by another sharp gasp as Quinn’s thumb brushes over a particularly sensitive spot. "Oh, God…"

"Already there," he murmurs, his lips finding that spot just below your ear that makes your knees go weak. He presses a kiss there, soft and maddeningly slow, before pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with desire, and you can see the barely-contained hunger in them. It sends a thrill of both fear and excitement racing through you.

"Quinn, I swear, I’m gonna—" you gasp as his fingers continue their relentless assault, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. "Or maybe I'll just—"

"Just what?" he presses, his eyes locked on yours, daring you to finish the sentence. "Come all over my fingers? Because that’s what you’re about to do, isn’t it?"

There’s a part of you—the sensible, rational part—that’s still trying to cling to some semblance of control, some dignity. But that part is losing, rapidly being overpowered by the heat pooling in your stomach and the way Quinn’s looking at you like you’re the only thing he wants in the entire world.

For a moment, you consider making some sort of last-ditch effort to regain control, to pull away and regain your breath. But then Quinn’s thumb brushes over that spot again, and all thoughts of self-control go out the window. Instead, a moan slips past your lips—loud and unrestrained, filling the tiny storage closet with a sound that’s undeniably needy.

Quinn’s smirk widens, his eyes darkening with satisfaction, and damn it, he’s enjoying this way too much. “That’s right,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine. “You’re gonna come for me, yeah? Or do you want my cock instead?”

Your brain is short-circuiting, struggling to keep up with the intensity of the moment. The idea of him inside you, combined with the way he’s touching you, is almost too much to bear. You’re on the verge of losing it, and every part of you is screaming for release.

Finally, you manage a breathless, “Fuck it,” and let your hands wander lower, fumbling with his belt, your body arching against his in a desperate plea for more. You don’t care about the consequences, the logical part of your brain completely overridden by the burning need coursing through you.

“I swear, if we ever make it out of this closet,” you gasp, your fingers struggling with the stubborn belt buckle, “I’m going to have a hard time looking you in the eye.”

Quinn chuckles, his breath hot against your ear. “I’ll take that as a compliment. But right now, I think your focus should be on something else.”

You manage to loosen his belt, your hands shaking with anticipation. The urgency of the moment makes every touch and every breath more intense. “And what would that be?” you retort, trying to keep some semblance of your usual sarcasm. It’s hard, though, when his fingers are still doing deliciously wicked things to you.

Quinn’s fingers trace teasing circles, making your breath hitch and your body squirm against him. “Oh, I don’t know,” he murmurs, his voice a velvet caress against your ear. “Maybe on getting me out of these pants before I lose my patience.”

“Geez, Hughes, such a gentleman,” you manage, your voice breathless as you finally get his pants undone. The way he’s looking at you makes you feel like you’re the center of his universe. It’s a heady feeling, and it’s only adding to the feverish heat between you.

You push his pants down just enough, and as you finally free his hard length, you’re met with the unmistakable evidence of his own need. The sight makes you gasp, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.

Quinn groans into your mouth when you reach inside his jeans, his hips jerking forward as if seeking more contact, more friction. You’re both teetering on the edge now, the line between control and complete surrender blurred beyond recognition. It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once, and you’re not sure if you want to keep pushing him or if you just want to let go and fall into the abyss together.

“God, you drive me fucking crazy,” Quinn breathes against your lips, his voice rough with need, and there’s a moment—a brief, fleeting moment—where you think you see something more in his eyes. Something deeper than just desire, something that sends a jolt of fear straight to your heart. But then his hands are on you again, pulling you closer, and whatever that look was, it’s gone, replaced by the raw, primal hunger that’s been simmering between you from the start.

You shudder as he grips your hips, his fingers digging into your skin with just enough force to make you gasp. You can feel him, hot and hard against your palm, and it’s taking everything in you not to just give in, to let him take what you both so clearly want. But there’s still that stubborn part of you, the part that refuses to let him have the upper hand, that wants to make him beg, make him come undone for you.

“Say please,” you whisper, your voice barely above a breath, your lips brushing against his as you speak.

Quinn freezes, his eyes narrowing as they lock onto yours, and for a moment, you think you’ve pushed him too far, that he’s going to pull back and leave you hanging on the edge of oblivion. But then a slow, wicked grin spreads across his face, and his grip on your hips tightens.

“Please?” he echoes, his tone dripping with arrogance, as if the very idea of him begging is laughable. “Sweetheart, I don’t beg.”

You raise an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips as you stroke him slowly, deliberately teasing, watching with satisfaction as his breath hitches, his bravado faltering ever so slightly. “No?” you murmur, leaning in to nip at his bottom lip, your voice low and taunting. “You sure about that?”

Quinn’s eyes darken, and for a split second, you think you’ve got him—that you’ve managed to gain the upper hand. But then he’s moving, faster than you can react, pinning your wrists behind your back with one hand while the other yanks your shorts down in one swift motion, leaving you exposed and vulnerable in a way that sends a rush of heat straight to your core.

“You want to play games?” he growls, his voice low and dangerous, the sound of it sending a shiver down your spine. “Fine. But I don’t play fair.”

Before you can respond, before you can even think to respond, he’s pressing into you, his body solid and unyielding, and all coherent thought flies out of your head as he finally, finally gives you what you’ve both been craving.

The world tilts on its axis as he thrusts into you, hard and deep, and you’re not sure if the sound that escapes your lips is a moan or a sob or something in between. All you know is that you’re completely, utterly lost in him—in the way he’s filling you, stretching you, driving you to the brink of madness with every rough, relentless movement.

Quinn’s breath is ragged against your ear, and you can feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your belly, threatening to snap at any moment. You’re so close, so fucking close, and it’s taking everything in you not to just let go, to give in to the blinding pleasure that’s consuming you from the inside out.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Quinn groans, his voice strained, and there’s something raw, almost vulnerable in the way he says it, something that makes your heart stutter in your chest. “I’ve been imagining this from the first moment I walked in here.”

Your hands are still pinned behind your back, your body arched against the shelves, completely at Quinn’s mercy. And damn it, he knows it. He knows exactly how to push you to the brink, how to make you lose every ounce of control you thought you had. His movements are powerful, purposeful, each thrust driving you closer to the edge, until you’re teetering on the brink of oblivion.

“Quinn—” You gasp out his name, your voice shaking with the intensity of it all, and he groans in response, the sound vibrating through you like a living thing. His grip on your wrists tightens, the roughness of his touch sending a jolt of pleasure-pain straight through you.

“You’re mine,” he growls against your ear, his breath hot and ragged, and there’s something possessive, almost desperate, in his voice that makes your heart race even faster. “You’re fucking mine.”

And you’re so damn close, so close to falling apart entirely. But there’s still that stubborn part of you, the part that refuses to give in, to let him have all the control. So, you tighten around him, just enough to pull a sharp, choked-off groan from his throat, and you feel a surge of satisfaction as his rhythm falters, just for a moment.

“Fuck, you’re—” Quinn’s voice is hoarse, strained, as if he’s holding onto the last shreds of his control by a thread, and it sends a thrill through you to know that you’re the one doing this to him. “You’re so fucking tight.”

“Yeah?” you manage to breathe out, trying to sound cocky despite the tremble in your voice. “Maybe you should—”

But you don’t get to finish the thought, because Quinn shifts his angle just slightly, and suddenly, he’s hitting a spot that has you seeing stars, that has your back arching off the shelves and a cry escaping your lips before you can stop it.

“There it is,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear, and you can hear the satisfaction in his voice, the triumph. He’s found your weakness, and he’s going to exploit it for all it’s worth. “Right there, yeah?”

All you can do is nod, biting down on your lip to keep from crying out again as he starts to focus all his attention on that one spot, his movements growing more precise, more deliberate. He’s relentless, driving you closer and closer to the brink, and you can feel yourself starting to unravel, to lose the tenuous grip you have on your composure.

“Quinn, I—” You don’t even know what you’re trying to say, don’t even know if you can say anything at all with the way your breath is coming in short, desperate gasps.

Quinn’s chuckle against your ear is low and dark, the sound a tantalizing contrast to the rough, punishing way he’s moving inside you. “What was that? Didn’t quite catch it over the sound of you moaning my name.”

The arrogance in his voice is infuriating, but it’s also the last thing on your mind right now. Every thrust he gives you is like a jolt to your system, making it harder to stay focused, harder to cling to whatever shreds of control you have left. Your head is spinning, and you’re almost grateful for the way his body is pressed against yours, anchoring you in a whirlwind of pleasure.

You let out a breathless laugh, even as your body betrays you by arching into him. “You’re insufferable,” you manage to gasp out, trying to hold onto some semblance of your usual bravado. “And you’re really bad at this whole ‘being a gentleman’ thing.”

“Is that so?” Quinn’s voice is a low purr, his breath hot against your ear. “Keep telling me how much you hate me. It makes this so much better.”

You roll your eyes, even as a moan escapes your lips, the sound muffled by the way you bite down on your bottom lip. “You’re such a jerk,” you manage to say, though your voice is shaky and breathless, betraying just how much he’s affecting you.

“Yeah?” Quinn’s breath is hot against your neck, and you feel the brush of his lips against your skin, sending a fresh wave of heat pooling in your belly. “That’s not what your body’s telling me, sweetheart.”

You grit your teeth, determined not to let him have the satisfaction of knowing just how much he’s getting to you. But it’s a losing battle, and you both know it. Especially when he starts moving faster, his pace relentless as he drives into you with a force that has your entire body trembling.

“Fuck,” you gasp, your fingers digging into the shelves as you struggle to stay upright. “You’re—” Your words are cut off by a sharp cry as he angles his hips just right, hitting that spot inside you again that has your vision going white around the edges.

You don’t have time to think, don’t have time to process the fact that you’re completely, utterly exposed in a storage closet with a man who has made a sport out of driving you insane. All you can do is feel—every touch, every thrust, every ragged breath against your ear is pushing you closer to the edge, closer to losing the last of your control.

“God, you’re so… fucking… cocky,” you manage to choke out between gasps, your voice trembling with a mixture of frustration and desire. “It’s disgusting.”

“Mm-mhm,” Quinn’s voice is a low growl, his words vibrating against your neck as his teeth graze the sensitive skin there. “And you’re just an annoying brat who brushes me off every time I say something nice. But I figured it out, you just wanted me to rail all that attitude out of you.”

You try to respond, to counter his taunts with some biting retort, but all that comes out is a breathless moan as he picks up the pace, his thrusts becoming more frantic, more urgent. “Fuck, Quinn,” you gasp, trying to hold onto the last remnants of your control. “You’re—”

He interrupts you with a sharp, possessive growl. “I’m what? Don’t hold back now. Tell me how good it feels.”

Your head is spinning, your thoughts a jumbled mess of desire and frustration. “You’re a complete—” Another moan escapes you as Quinn hits that spot inside you again, making it impossible to form coherent thoughts. “A complete… asshole,” you manage to choke out, your voice trembling.

“And you love it,” Quinn’s voice is a triumphant whisper against your ear. “You love every second of this. Don’t you?”

You can’t even respond, the pleasure overwhelming you to the point where you’re just barely able to hold onto the edge of sanity. All you can do is nod, your body arching into him, your hands still pinned behind your back, completely at his mercy.

“You’re so close,” Quinn murmurs, his voice low and rough. “So fucking close. I can feel it. And I’m going to make sure you get there. I promise.”

His words send a fresh wave of heat through you, and you feel yourself starting to unravel, your body trembling with the intensity of it all. Quinn’s movements are relentless, pushing you closer and closer to the brink, until you’re on the edge of a precipice, ready to fall into oblivion.

“Quinn, I—” You try to speak, but the words are lost in a cry as he thrusts into you with a force that has your vision going white around the edges.

Quinn’s grip on your hips tightens, his voice a rough whisper against your ear. “Come for me,” he growls, his breath hot and urgent. “Let go. Give it to me.”

And with those words, you shatter, your body convulsing with a pleasure so intense that it’s almost painful. You cry out his name, your voice echoing through the storage closet as you come apart, your entire world dissolving into a blur of sensation and release.

Quinn follows close behind, his movements growing erratic as he drives into you with one final, powerful thrust. You can feel his release inside you, hot and thick, and it sends a shiver through your entire body. He groans against your ear, his breath ragged and heavy, and you can feel the tension in his body as he finally, finally finds his own release.

The two of you are left panting in the aftermath, your bodies pressed together in the confined space of the storage closet. Quinn’s breath is hot against your ear, and you can feel the rapid beat of his heart against your back.

“God,” he murmurs, his voice a rough whisper. “That was… intense.”

You manage a shaky laugh, trying to catch your breath. “Yeah,” you agree, your voice still trembling. “That’s one way to put it. Now, get off of me. I have to get back to work.”

[navybrat817]

Do Stud and Smartie do a nice Thanksgiving or do they just have a relaxing day?

It would be low-key if they celebrated, nonnie!

So Thankful

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You share some laughs with Bucky while you cook together.

Word Count: Over 1.1k

Warnings: Puns (so many puns), fluff, being thankful, inner monologue, established relationship, feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Short and sweet for Stud and Smartie. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

It was Bucky’s idea to start cooking early so you could eat sooner and relax later. You were more than okay with that. While today reminded you of the blessings to count and memories to cherish, neither of you wanted to go overboard. A nice, simple meal to show that two of you were thankful for the good things in your life and each other was more than enough.

No traveling. No stress. Just each other.

I’ll always be thankful for you, Stud.

You glanced over at Bucky as he checked on the food in the oven before you went back to your task at hand. The kitchen was a safe haven in your apartment and making meals together was something you looked forward to no matter what the occasion. Though the space could be hectic at times with the banging pots and sizzling sounds, it was also an area to relax and have fun with your creations.

The impromptu dance breaks brought an extra layer of warmth in between cooking.

Bucky looked over your shoulder as he came up behind you with a small hum. “Looks good,” he commented as you added a pinch of spice to one of the side dishes.

You angled your head to brush your lips along his jaw and took a moment to breathe him in. He wrapped an arm around your waist in return and he pulled you close. “You look even better.”

“You think so?”

“I know so,” you smiled.

“I'm a mess,” he mumbled, giving your jaw a kiss. “Don't even have a shirt on.”

“And I'm thankful for that,” you sighed dreamily. He said earlier that he’d put a shirt on once you finished cooking, but you would've been happy if he stayed in his sinfully sexy gray sweatpants only. “So, so thankful.”

“I don't think our families would appreciate me video chatting with them without my shirt on,” he joked.

You snorted as you tried to picture the look on your mom and dad’s faces. As much as you missed not seeing them today, the video chat would help. If Bucky really didn't wear a shirt, they would make light of it.

And nothing would top the hickey discussion, your cheeks hot from the memory alone.

“Becca would never let you hear the end of that,” you said, leaning back against him. “And you may have to put a shirt on, but you'll have to eventually get out of those pants.”

He chuckled deeply, your eyes fluttering shut when his mouth touched your ear. “Will you help me with that?”

“You know I will,” you replied, smiling to yourself. “And I hope this dinner won’t be the only thing filling me up tonight.”

Bucky pulled away from your ear before he burst out laughing, the happy sound reverberating in the room as his chest moved against your back. It was like he was sharing his laughter with you. “Well, I’d love to stuff your turkey,” he said once he caught his breath.

“Yeah?” You smirked, turning in his arms to face him. “You wanna butter my biscuits?”

What’s a day like this without puns?

His eyes crinkled like he was going to laugh again. “Oh, yeah. I’ll butter your biscuits real good,” he rasped. It wasn't fair that his puns sounded sexy while yours sounded ridiculous. “Maybe I'll candy your yams, too.”

“Oh, my God,” you giggled when he pushed his body against yours and pressed your back into the counter.

“I’m not God. I'm just Bucky,” he grinned, leaning in close enough that his lips touched yours. “But maybe I can show you my meat thermometer and you can drop to your knees like you’ll pray for me to put it in your mouth.”

I mean, yes.

“Okay, seriously. What the hell have you done with my Stud?” You demanded, trying to shove him back even as heat shot through your body. Your beefy man didn't even have the gall to budge.

“Just let me check your temperature,” he pleaded with an innocent stare, a great contrast to what he was offering. “Make sure you’re hot and ready.”

“How did you say that with a straight face? How?!”

“This is me. This is who you're marrying,” he said proudly, your cheeks warm at the reminder that the gorgeous man in your personal space was going to be your husband. The heat rose more when his gaze swept over your body. “And I can't decide what I want first. Thighs or breasts. Both are juicy and delicious.”

You sharply inhaled as his eyes darkened a shade. “I don't know if I want you to stop or continue, but I’m telling everyone at Friendsgiving this weekend what you said.”

He tilted his head as if he was contemplating the options. “I think you want me to continue, especially since the turkey isn't the only thing that needs basting.”

I’ve created a monster.

You giggled all over again, your side almost aching. “St-Stop,” you wheezed.

He framed your face and kissed the tip of your nose, his touch almost drawing a whimper from you as you calmed down. “I'm sorry,” he said sincerely before he smirked again. “Why don't I give you something to gobble on until we eat? It might help.”

I must stop this man.

“You think you’re so ‘punny’,” you said, resting your hands over his. And he was. He would always find a way to make you laugh.

The charming smile he gave you was almost hot enough to melt your panties. “I like to think I'm adorkable.”

Yes. Yes, you are.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “This is what I have to look forward to, huh? A lifetime of this?”

Bucky’s eyes went soft before he closed them, pulling you in for a deep kiss. He kissed you like it was as easy as breathing, open, steady, and natural. It was like the floor beneath your feet vanished. You floated, but his lips and tongue tethered you to him. It reminded you how loved you were.

And you would always be thankful that he gave you that gift.

“As long as you're by my side, it’ll be the best life I live,” he whispered, giving you another soft kiss. “And I’m very much looking forward to it.”

You had to swallow the tears in your throat. Who wouldn't choke up at that? “I’m looking forward to it, too,” you whispered, your heart racing at the fond look in his eyes. “And Stud?”

“Yeah, Smartie?”

You smiled, having to get one last pun in. “You’re welcome to mash my potatoes anytime.”

Oh, these two. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[jo-harrington]

Developmental Achievement (A Store Manager Verse Story - Steve Harrington/Reader)

Previous Part: Incremental Planning

Pairing: Steve Harrington x HawkTheaterManager!Reader

Summary: Steve messed up and now he needs to fix things if he wants to win you back, hopefully for good.

Warnings/Themes: AU where the Upside Down doesn't terrorize Hawkins. November through January 1986, Steve and Robin work at Scoops (OR DO THEY?), Reader works at The Hawk Theater (formerly at Dippin' Dots AND Wicks and Sticks; you job hop...it's a thing), Relationship Break, Hopeless [Romantic] Steve, Tie in with the Store Manager Verse

Note: So this is the end of our Steve saga of the SMVerse, kind of wrapped up in a neat little bow. Is it the best? Probably not, but it's silly and corny and cheesy and I needed all of those things yesterday and instead of RELEGATING IT TO MY FIRST FAVE...I'll inflict it upon Stevie. Tagging @dr-aculaaa and @loveshotzz because COME AND GET HIM. (@deathbecomesthem ...and a possible Easter Egg?)

You can find my masterlist here for more fics featuring pretty much exclusively Eddie Munson content but also a little Steve.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

Steve Harrington fucked up.

Ok. Ok. That’s not right.

Steve Harrington really fucked up.

If he was being honest, he always seemed to fuck up when it came to you, his...well...he could really only call you his ex now, couldn't he?

From rivals in ice cream where he missed every sign that you might like him, to sickeningly-sweet dates around Hawkins because he was being too boring of a boyfriend, and finally to Thanksgiving Dinner with his parents where he absolutely stuck his foot in his mouth.

He thought making a joke about your job-hopping was funny--from Dippin' Dots to Wicks and Sticks to KB Toys, it's lucky you decided he was worth sticking around for--but it only put you under his parents' scrutiny.

He got an earful as he walked you to your car after dinner was over. You stayed a few steps ahead of him until you got to the driver's door and turned to him with tears in your eyes.

"That was embarrassing, Steve," you said through clenched teeth.

"I'm sorry, I..." he was at a loss for words, especially making you cry. As strong as you were, you never seemed to be flustered at all; what was happening? "I thought it was a joke. We always laugh about it. I’m gonna work at scoops forever and you’re gonna work everywhere else."

"But it’s meeting your family, you shouldn't joke about...about what a huge flake I am that you're lucky I don't jump from boyfriend to boyfriend just like I go from job to job. They're never gonna look at me the same way again. You only get one first impression."

"You shouldn't worry about what they think about you. I've stopped caring about what they think about me too."

It went back and forth before you threw your hands up and got in the car.

You didn't even kiss him goodnight.

Then sometime during Black Friday weekend, you stopped by Scoops before your shift and broke up with him.

"It was nice, Steve," you said, barely able to look at him. "But uh...I don't know. I need to know I'm with someone who doesn't think I'm some kind of joke."

He chased after you, even with his manager screaming that if he left he'd be fired, and begged you to reconsider.

You didn't.

He watched you ride up the escalator to head to your shift.

And when he got back to Scoops, he was actually fired.

What a great day.

---

Of course, Robin quit as soon as Steve was fired.

"Can't stick it out without you dingus," Robin announced as she approached him in the parking lot shortly after, tossing her hat at him. "And you can't have Scoops without...Stoops. Get it? Because you're stupid. Scoops? Stoops? Stupid. Why aren't you laughing?"

It was pretty funny.

But Steve was heartbroken.

Unemployed and heartbroken.

Robin insisted that she could land them both jobs at Family Video--

"Keith hates me. Pretty sure he calls me Sleeze Harrington."

“Well he loves me. I can vouch for you, come on."

--but Steve was sure that he would have a better chance at winning you back if he kept working at StarCourt.

What an epic bust that was.

Not the job part.

Well, that too.

Most of the stores near the toy store were done hiring seasonal help, and the best that he could land was a temp job as a Mall Santa.

On the upside, it meant that he could walk around the mall on break in his Santa suit and watch you with you none the wiser until he could beg you to take him back.

"It sounds creepy," was the unfortunate response from Steve's newest friend and personal relationship expert, the Claire's Store Manager.

He stopped by before his shift to pick up some of his lucky strawberry lipgloss to make sure he was very pouty and puckery for the moment you realized you'd made a mistake...and after effectively getting it all over his fake beard, the Manager decided to take pity on him and listen to his woes while helping him clean up.

"I'm gonna need to start charging you for advice," she laughed and wiped him off with tissues from the ear piercing station. "You seriously need it if that's the idea you came up with."

"You're a real Lucy Van Pelt," Steve deadpanned. "I'll buy you cookies one day just...please...help me."

"Have you tried just talking?" she questioned. "Wasn't that your problem in the first place? Way back when? You didn't communicate."

"But they're mad at me, they don't want to talk. And I need to fix it."

"Then give them some space, and try again, ok? Give it a week or two. They probably just need time to cool down, sounds like you really hurt their feelings."

"And if they can't forgive me?"

"Then you move on," she sighed. "Sometimes things just don't work out and even though it doesn't make you feel ok, you have to be ok with it."

So he waited a week.

A week was long enough, right? His own personal Lucy said so.

He chose a day he wasn't scheduled at Santa's workshop and waited for you in the food court where he knew you'd seek refuge during your lunch break, just like the two of you had taken your breaks together. He wore his best polo, made sure his hair was perfect, applied some of his lucky lip gloss and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

But you never showed up.

Not during your usual break. Not an hour later. Not even at the supposed end of your shift.

Maybe you were working a double?

So as much as he told himself he wouldn't follow you because it was creepy, he ran up the escalator two steps at a time to KB Toys where you would surely be.

Or not.

"They don't work here anymore kid," your former manager sighed after he asked about you. "I'm sorry."

"W-well where did they go?" he asked frantically, pathetically.

"Didn't say, not really my business to ask. Put in their notice...right after Black Friday, actually. Right before the Christmas rush too."

If he was heartbroken before...his heart was just gone now. Obliterated. Non-existent.

Along with any hope of trying to win you back.

---

Steve stuck through the rest of the holiday season at the mall; you could call him many things but a quitter wasn't one of them. However, come the new year, he needed a new job again, and he took up Robin's offer to butter Keith up and get in at Family Video.

He was offered an opening key shift, a decent employee discount, a better paycheck than both Scoops and Santa's workshop combined, and unlimited access to choose the movie playing overhead whenever he was in charge.

"You're lucky the other person I was about to hire bailed," Keith said after his first week. "Got a job at the Hawk or something. Can't blame 'em. Free popcorn and all that."

The distraction helped the heartache.

Surprisingly, he got a few phone numbers. Nothing ever came of them, nursing a broken heart the way he was, but it was nice. He'd been tempted to call you, several times in fact, but in the end he just decided fate knew better. Still, he denied himself the role of Hawkins' resident heartthrob.

"Are you hearing yourself right now?" Robin scoffed at him as he scrubbed off yet another phone number that had been written onto the palm of his hand by one customer or another. "Resident Heartthrob. Seriously? Ok Cassanova."

"What else do you wanna call it?" he asked, holding his arms out helplessly. "They can't resist the Harrington Charm, even when I don't want to use it."

"It's because you keep putting on sappy romance movies when you're here. Girls like that shit, a guy in touch with his feelings."

"First Nancy and then..." he trailed off, thinking about you sadly. He had to let you go.

"Are you kidding me?" Robin hit him upside the head and shoved him out of the way so she could start processing returns. "You can't even say their name? You need to get over it."

"It's hard."

"Were they your soulmate or something?"

"Robin, all men must...have someone who will never take advantage of a love bright as the sun."

"Love?"

"Someone to stand beside them."

"You're quoting the Monkees now."

"They were the one," Steve lamented. "And now they're--"

He trailed off as his eye landed on something outside the window.

"They're what? On the Last Train to Clarksville?" She made a buzzer noise. "Try again."

"No they're walking in right now, act casual," Steve announced and started typing away at the keyboard of the computer.

The doorbell chimed as you set foot inside Family Video and Steve glanced up to get a look at you for the first time in weeks.

Ok, so maybe he was being a little pathetic with this heartache.

Maybe it wasn't that bad for him.

It was pretty bad.

But when your eyes met, Steve could just tell...it had to have been just as bad for you too.

Because he knew you by now. How many months had you been dating? Dates and lunches and breaks spent together. Was it love? Maybe. Probably. Even if it wasn't, it was damn near close to it. So he knew the way your eyes lost their sparkle a little bit when they landed on him, knew the way your shoulders sagged, knew the words that refused to escape your lips when you saw him.

Stevie Stew. Pookie Bear. Dumb dumb. All the pet names he missed too.

Robin greeted you with an exaggerated lengthening of your name and a pointed glare shot directly at Steve.

"Hey Rob," you cleared your throat and offered a strained grin. "How are you? Didn't know you were working here."

Your eyes shifted to Steve and then back to Robin.

"Either of you."

"I've been here since before Christmas," Robin leaned against the counter as you approached and thumbed over her shoulder at Steve. "And of course dingus over here just couldn't stay away."

"You're the dream team, of course," you nodded. "Scoops Troop. But, uh, not anymore I guess."

"We're workshopping a new name."

The two of you laughed and then you excused yourself to peruse the shelves for a new movie. Robin even offered to show you some new tapes with a low pull it together hissed at Steve as she rounded the counter to show you a new display.

Steve willed himself to say something, Do something. Anything. Say hello, walk over and suggest a new movie, say that it was good to see you, that he missed you.

Communicate, god damn it.

But he was frozen.

Even more when you and Robin returned a few minutes later debating which John Hughes flick you should get: Sixteen Candles or Weird Science.

"You could always get both," Steve suggested, the words rocketing out of his mouth violently as you reached the register.

"Uh, yeah, actually..." you nodded. "That's a good idea, I think I will."

Steve typed in all the information and got your rentals rung out, and as he asked if you wanted candy or popcorn, you laughed.

"You know what, I'm actually all candy and popcorn'd out," your smile faltered when your eyes met again. "I'm...uh...you know."

"Know what?" Steve asked dumbly.

"I'm over at the Hawk," you nodded. "New shift manager and everything. I was...I was actually supposed to work here when Mr. Phillips offered me a dollar more at the theater. And the popcorn didn't hurt."

"I didn't know that," Steve shook his head.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

You and Steve stared at each other for another long, drawn out minute.

You opened your mouth to say something--

"Can we ta--"

--before Steve, idiot that he was, pushed your tapes across the counter at you and practically shouted at you.

"Your rental's due back on Friday by 2pm, enjoy."

Robin gave him the silent treatment for the rest of his shift.

---

"Do I show up with flowers?"

"Flowers?"

"What's that voice, you don't like flowers?"

"Not really."

There he was, back at Claire's the following day, sitting in the chair at the Ear Piercing Station as the manager restocked the jewelry wall. A bag of fresh chocolate chip cookies from the food court sat on top of the station and the two of them periodically reached in for a treat as Steve regaled her with his tale.

"I know they miss me, I just know it."

"Then why did you freeze up?"

"Because I'm an idiot. Help. Please."

So far, the manager hadn't really been able to offer him much advice outside of a shoulder to cry on and a listening ear. Especially now as he planned a way to win you back.

"Everyone likes flowers," Steve argued skeptically. "You're telling me Munson hasn't gotten you roses or something?"

The shop bell rang, a chain rattled, and leather squeaked, and instead of the manager answering with a gentle tone and an eye roll like she'd been doing all day, Eddie Munson himself chimed in.

"If I was a jealous man," he started with an exaggerated glare at Steve. "I would say you're here flirting with my girlfriend."

Eddie "The Freak" Munson was somehow the Dad to Steve's reluctant Mom when it came to the ragtag gang of Freshman that they shared role-model-ship of, and because of that their previous animosity had been turned into some kind of...agreement.

Could Steve say Eddie was a bad guy? No. Was he still wondering why the kids liked him so much? Yes. Could the two of them get along? Up for debate.

Which was why Steve wasn't so concerned when the metalhead was feigning some kind of intimidation tactic; they had an agreement that went from unspoken to shaken on come the new year: No fighting in front of the kids, no making fun of each other's hair, no stealing Eddie's girlfriend.

"What are you doing here?" the manager laughed at the two boys antics and crossed her arms over her chest. "Don't you have school?"

"I came to ask you a very important question," Eddie smiled a lovesick smile at her, Steve momentarily ignored. "But imagine my surprise when someone else is sitting in my spot."

"It's not your spot. And I'm giving him advice."

"Again?"

"He's hopeless, apparently."

"I'm right here," Steve exclaimed and got to his feet, ready to leave. "I didn't come here to be made fun of. I actually need help."

He didn't like the way Eddie clapped him on the shoulder, or steered him out of the store, or gave him a patronizing smile.

"Listen," Eddie started once they were out of the store. "I know you're having some issues but seriously, you need to get your act together."

"And how should I do that Munson? I've thought of everything and your girlfriend keeps telling me that my ideas are stupid."

"I'm sure they are stupid," Eddie nodded. "I trust her judgment."

"What would you do to win her back? If you fucked up?"

"I wouldn't fuck it up, Number one," Eddie smirked. "Even at the risk of jinxing myself there. Rule Number One in the Munson Relationship Doctrine, don't fuck it up."

"Well that page is missing from the Harrington Relationship Doctrine, because I clearly went and did that."

"Rule Number Two," Eddie continued, ignoring Steve. "Is by making a grand and personal gesture. Didn't you ask Nancy Wheeler to Junior Prom by having the cheer squad perform a routine just for her a few years ago."

"Yeah that took a lot of begging," Steve nodded eagerly, already formulating a plan. "But I could do it again if I--"

"I heard she hated it," Eddie shot a sour expression. "So no, not that."

"Then I'm out of ideas," Steve admitted.

Eddie threw his head back and groaned, and Steve was sure he heard him say something along the lines of and Buckley called him Hawkins Heartthrob.

"Listen," Eddie recovered, tightened his grip on Steve's shoulder with one hand, and jabbed him in the chest with the other hand. "Don't ever say that I didn't do anything for you ok? Where does your friend work? The Hawk?"

"How do you know that?"

"News travels fast when you're friends with 5 freshmen and Robin Bigmouth Buckley ok?" Eddie shook his head. "Now listen to me. Your friend works at the theater? Showing movies right? And what are movies made of?"

"Film?"

"Sure. And the kids...Dustin...what club is he part of at school?"

"Uh...Hellfire Club. Chess Club..."

"AV Club," Eddie insisted with an exaggerated nod. "And where do you work?"

"Family Video."

"And what is in a vid--you know what?" Eddie groaned. "I don't have time for this. How are you not putting two and two together Harrington?"

"I don't know what I'm supposed to be putting together."

"What they all have in common?"

Steve took a second as Eddie leaned closer expectantly, as though trying to transmit his idea through osmosis because Steve was just not getting it.

Until the osmosis was successful and Steve had his lightbulb moment.

"Oh!"

"There you go!" Eddie's face stretched with a feral grin. "I see the wheels turning. Ladies and Gentleman, I believe a plan is underway."

---

It took a little more than a week, the combined efforts of the AV Club and Hellfire Club, and a good chunk out of Steve's paycheck for supplies and to bribe them all and the projectionist at the Hawk.

But the plan was in place.

Steve found out your schedule, bought tickets for a 5pm show of Hey there, It's Yogi Bear.

There couldn't have been a worse movie to choose, but it was the only one he could buy out the theater for.

He showed up to the Hawk promptly at 4:30, got his soda and popcorn, and hung around the lobby impatiently. He was pretty sure he'd ruined his hair from the number of times he'd run his hand through it.

Slowly his friends started to filter in: The Sinclair kids and Max, Mike Wheeler and Will Byers with Nancy and Jonathan in tow--that wouldn't be nerve-wracking or embarrassing at all if the plan didn't work out. At some point, Eddie's van pulled up in front of the Theater and Dustin, Jeff, Gareth, and Dave all walked in bickering about nachos and sour worms, before Eddie and the Claire's Store Manager followed suit, Eddie telling his friends to shut up.

Steve was beginning to sweat at 4:55 when Robin ran in, hand in hand with a new girlfriend that he'd seen waiting for Rob when he dropped her off at school in the morning.

That he'd been maybe a little too in his own head about you to hear Robin rave about for the past few months. He really did feel bad about that.

"Thought you were gonna be late," he accused Robin.

"Me? Late?" she beamed. "Never. Do we have time to grab candy?"

"Just go," he waved them off, then shot Robin a secret thumbs up as she pointed to her crush excitedly, then got nervous when he spotted you across the lobby, talking to one of the ushers.

You faltered when you locked eyes with him, waved back when he sent you a little hello, and then you scurried into the box office.

He allowed himself one more moment of heartache. Then at 5 on the dot, Steve entered the theater and sat in the back row, as close to the projection window as he could get.

The previews started, and for a moment, Steve looked at all his...well, they were all his friends now, weren't they? Here to support him on this hare-brained endeavor. He suddenly felt loved in a way that he didn't think he'd ever felt before, not like this.

The only thing missing was you.

Suddenly the projection started skipping, and he could hear his accomplice in the projection booth shuffle around, then a door opened and closed.

"And so it begins," Eddie said dramatically a few rows ahead.

"Shut up, you're gonna give it away!" Dustin shouted at him.

Everyone started chattering until Steve sent them all a shhhhh when he heard the projection booth door open and shut again and your voice, clearly irritated, started speaking.

"What do you mean it isn't working? Did you try...I don't know...unplugging it and plugging it back in? Re-roll the film and try it again...here let me see..."

Steve felt himself shake with anticipation as the projector started up again, but the images on the screen were decidedly not Yogi Bear and Boo Boo.

"What the hell?" you exclaimed.

On the screen were pictures of you and Steve, all the polaroids and film strips from the little Photo Booth at Starcourt that you'd taken together over the months of your relationship. The ticket from the aquarium that he'd saved. The note you'd pinned to his back one morning when you hugged him before his shift that said "Steve Harrington is a loser."

He heard your snort as the scene panned up to a shot of himself sitting at the desk in his room writing a letter, shot on the Wheeler family's camcorder. The Steve on the screen looked up into the camera and startled.

"Oh," he laughed. "Didn't see you there. It's been a long time, hasn't it? I uh...I really wanted to talk to you and figured there wasn't a better way than writing a letter."

"Nerd," you called through the projection window, garnering laughs from his friends.

The scene faded to Movie Steve in a turtleneck skipping rocks at Lover's Lake in a very artistic shot that Director Dustin was apparently "proud of."

"But a picture is worth a thousand words so I'm pretty sure a video is worth a million." Movie Steve said your name sadly and looked deep into the camera. "I messed up, I was an idiot and a jerk and only took my own feelings into consideration when I made that joke to my parents. I don't care how they felt about you because I'm past the point of caring how they feel about me. My screw ups.

"And unfortunately I made the biggest screw-up of my life that night. I might not care what they think about me...but I care what you think about me."

The scene changed once again, Movie Steve leaning over the counter at Family Video filling out a form on a clipboard.

"There are a million better movies out there than this one you're watching right now Honey, but none of them are able to show just how truly sorry I am, and how much I miss you. I know that we still need to talk things out in person but I hope this shows how much I'm willing to put in the work so you'll forgive me."

A few rows ahead, he could hear Eddie speak along with Movie Steve, he leaned into his girlfriend and said "I wrote that line. Pretty good, right?"

"Uh huh," she pushed his head away from her. "Sap."

Eddie turned back to look at Steve and shot him a thumbs-up.

The scene changed one last time to a panning shot of Steve walking out of StarCourt mall towards his car.

"This is your chance to decide now. I wouldn't blame you if you chose never to talk to me again. I'll wait outside once your shift is over, but I'll respect your choice either way. I miss you Honey, and I love you."

Movie Steve got in the car and drove away into the sunset, only for the camera to pan over to Corroded Coffin playing a sweet ballad that Steve knew was your favorite.

The screen faded to black and the audience erupted into applause before the real previews resumed and the eventual movie.

Steve listened intently for some sign of life from the projection booth, but aside from a few footsteps and the door opening and closing again, there was nothing.

--

After the movie was over and all of his friends went their respective ways, Steve sat by his car until the end of your shift. When the last lights of The Hawk marquee finally turned off and the employees all started filing out, he knew he was holding his breath.

The last person out of the building was you, and as you turned around and spotted him, you stopped in your tracks.

Just like the other day at Family Video, it was a standoff between you and Steve, and although Steve wished that you would just come running into his arms to kiss him, insisting your forgiveness, he knew things were never that easy.

"That, uh...was something," you finally broke the silence.

"It was, wasn't it," he agreed.

"Was that your idea?" you asked. "Pretty sure those were all your friends in there."

"Yeah I bought out the whole theater."

"You bought...seriously?"

"I wanted to make sure you weren't embarrassed...in case anyone else saw."

"And I wouldn't be embarrassed by your friends?" you scoffed.

"Well they all helped me make it so I think I was more embarrassed asking them all for help than you." You let out a long sigh and put your face in your hands and Steve started talking rapid-fire. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I know that sucks when...when I already did. But I promise I'll do better. I'll be better. I'll be anything you need me to be, I just...I need you back."

You said something but it was muffled by your hands.

"What?"

"I said," you pulled them away and looked up at him with watery eyes, and he felt his heart drop again. "Do you really love me? You said so...at the end of that...whatever that was."

"I mean...yeah I guess I do."

"You guess?" you laughed.

"I do!" Steve said with more confidence this time. "I do love you. I'm...sorry I didn't say anything sooner."

"I'm sorry you didn't either," you muttered. You closed the distance and grabbed the lapels of Steve's jacket in your hands, as though you were about to shake him. "Do you know...the real reason I was upset?"

"There's...a real reason?" he asked.

"Why I broke up with you."

"Oh. Uh...no."

"I mean," you took a great breath of confidence. "Yeah I was mad because you made me seem like a joke to your parents on Thanksgiving, and I know...I know their opinion doesn't mean that much to you. But after I left it got me thinking...what if you made a joke like that...because I was a joke. And maybe thats why nothing was ever coming of our relationship because it was just...you didn't care about me. You didn't...love me, the same way I loved you."

Steve felt the invisible hand clench around his heart; it was like Nancy all over again.

"Loved?" he whispered weakly, the sense of deja-vu undeniable. "Honey..."

"So I had to end it. To protect myself. And I took a long hard look at myself when I got to work. The what? Third job I had since I started at StarCourt? I realized that maybe...I was a joke. Maybe you were right, that I was...this job-hopping, unreliable...thing and that's why I quit. And I started looking...for a management position somewhere so I could be better."

"But you were already great," Steve assured. "Can we get back to that...loved thing?"

"Steven..."

"Sorry."

"Let me finish."

"Ok."

"And you know what I found out since I've been here?" you asked. "I...kind of hate working at a movie theater. And I need to leave again. I'm...I'm a free spirit. I can't be tied down to one kind of job. I saw an ad in the paper for an arts and crafts instructor at the Park District and I sort of wanna quit before applying, I would be great at that."

"You would," Steve laughed, still unsure of where this was going.

It was always a bit of a rollercoaster with you though, and it was another thing about you that he loved.

"So...tonight seeing all of that," you waved an arm behind you at the theater. "Seeing you...realizing that you loved me all along...I don't know. I don't need your love to keep being who it is that I am, it's just nice to know that you love me, the same way I love you."

"Love me?" he asked hopefully.

"Yeah."

He whispered your name desperately and then cupped your face in his hands.

"I love you Honey."

"I love you too, Steve Harrington."

You pulled him into you and smashed your lips to his. The heartbreak faded away from both of you, and in its place, undeniable love and affection for each other.

Steve Harrington might have been many things, he might have fucked up.

But he was happy to say he was someone who could fix it.

With love.

[intimidating-fettuccine]

Thanksgiving in the mansion

Happy Thanksgiving everyone! I almost took today off because I have a lot of cooking to do, but I got the idea for this and wanted to do this instead. Happy Thanksgiving to all my fellow people that celebrate it, and if you don't celebrate I hope you just have a great Thursday and eat something yummy.

Thanksgiving in the mansion is one of those holidays that almost always turns into absolute chaos. There's people trying to bake and cook things, there's people trying to steal all of the food while it's being baked, and then there are the people who intentionally try and annoy Slender while he's focused on all of his cooking and end up getting whacked with a wooden spoon because they pushed him too much and made him angry. Needless to say, it's your standard holiday in the mansion.

When it comes to food, Slender cooks a FEAST for Thanksgiving and it's one of his favorite holidays because of that. He makes a giant breakfast, he makes appetizers for people throughout the day, and when it comes time for Thanksgiving dinner, that giant, long ass table that everyone sits at is PACKED with yummy delicious foods and desserts, and Slender fucking loves it because cooking is his passion and he would do this every day if he could. There are also so many desserts??? Slender and Tim both make apple pies, Slender makes a pumpkin pie, Jane bakes a cheesecake, Jason bakes an actual cake, and LJ makes a bunch of candies for everyone, they're really lucky the mansion has so many people living there with how much food there is.

Toby is BANNED from the kitchen. Toby is not allowed in the kitchen because he will eat all of the ingredients and food before it's fully ready or on time, and Slender and Tim get tired of yelling at him to stop so he is simply not allowed in the kitchen, much to his disappointment. This leads to people trying to sneak out a few snacks for Toby to try and cheer him up, and then THEY get banned from the kitchen and eventually, everyone is just hungry and grumpy because they can smell all this yummy food and none of them can go in there unless they're part of the cooking team, which none of the people that were stealing food are. 

Also, Slender does the white mom thing of making everyone say one thing they're thankful for before they're allowed to eat dinner. Everyone is sitting down, plates completely filled up, ready to finally gorge themselves on all of this food, and then Slender's like "Now, hold on. None of you have told me anything you're thankful for yet!" And he clasps his fucking hands over his knee as he sits down and waits for every single person to say something, and most of them end up speedrunning through it to get to the food, but he allows it so long as it's an honest answer.

I think after dinner they all probably get pretty comatose from how much food they all ate, and they'll go to the big living room and either take naps together or just watch shows and movies together as a group. I think when they aren't quite as tired, some of the creeps like Jeff, Tim, Toby, Brian, Liu, Natalie, and Pup will go outside and throw around a football or play some soccer or something to relax and have a good time. Sometimes the others will come out and watch or join in, and Slender usually tries to take pictures and videos of it to save it as a good memory for later to reminisce with.

Thanksgiving is one of those days when everyone is getting along and having a good time together, so everyone is usually much friendlier and happier to be in each other's company. It's a day when there's no sadness, or resentment, no inner turmoil. Everyone comes together and bonds as a family and it's a very relaxing, happy experience, and that's the actual main reason that Thanksgiving is Slender's favorite holiday. Not just for the cooking, but the fact that these people he's come to love as his family are all happy, loved, and cared for. If only Toby would keep his hands out of the cake, maybe then Slender could be at complete peace.

[queenmayor23]

How do we tell our son?

Y/N, Buck, and Eddie leaned on the kitchen island, watching Christopher play his video game.

"So, how are you two planning on telling him?"

"Yes, Eddie, how are you planning on telling your son?"

"Oh, so he's my son now."

"He's been your son since he was born. I inherited him just a year and some change ago."

"Yeah, this one's on you."

"Why don't you tell him?"

"And have him hate his favorite Uncle Buck? Not a chance. Have you even tested the waters on this conversation yet?"

"I asked him if he liked Y/N once."

"And?"

"And he asked if he could have his sleepover party at your place, and I had to tell him no because I was horny and we were fighting, and I didn't want him and his friends to wake up to us…. doing us. You know how much I love angry sex."

"Was that when you brought Chris to Maddie's, and we did that thing with the rope and the nipple clamp…"

Eddie stood behind Y/N, signaling Buck to stop, but it was too late.

"You what?"

"Bebe. I'm sorry-"

"Edmundo. Diaz."

"Somebody's in trouble."

"Not helping Buck."

"Are you serious? That was supposed to be our thing. The one thing that we didn't share with Buck. We share clothes, food, beds, but not that."

"I was upset, and I'm so sorry. Can you forgive me for the sake of our son?"

"Yes, just because you said "our son," and it sounds so nice when you say it."

"If you like that, you should hear me call my husband's name."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

Eddie and Y/N were chest to chest. They would have burned down the building if their sexual tension were a fire.

"You mean we could live with Y/N forever? Awesome!"

Y/N and Eddie look at the sofa to Christopher and Buck looking back at them.

"I helped."

"Dad, when do we move to Papa's house?"

"I thought you liked living here."

"I do, but Papa has a park across the street, and last time, he told me that he would teach me how to play basketball so I could beat a meatball."

"A meatball?"

"You are looking a little beefier than usual."

"Me? You think you two can beat me?"

"You are a man of many talents, but basketball is not one of them."

Y/N pats Eddie on his shoulder, earning a disheartened frown. Chris turns around to resume his game, and Buck enters the kitchen to refill his water bottle.

"Great, now that's over. Now, all you have to do is tell the crew."

"You didn't tell the 118?"

"No, I thought you did."

"Why would I tell them you spend all day with them?"

"Who doesn't know? Hen knows that means Chim knows; therefore, Maddie knows."

"Buck knows."

"Ravi was your best man, so if he doesn't know, he's more of a himbo than me."

"Bobby knows from our anniversary dinner."

"Did you tell Athena?"

"No, she scares me. But she's not stupid she has to know."

"How about this? At the Halloween party, just announce it. You'll have everyone in the same room and only have to do it once."

"That's not a bad idea."

"Look at you, Buck-a-roo."

"I help."

Buck smiles like a puppy dog, receiving a cheek rub from Y/N as his face falls in thought.

"Same room?"

"What? What's wrong now?"

"The holidays. Last year, we were in Cancun with the crew for Thanksgiving, and-"

"You were in the hospital for Christmas."

"So, which family gets what holiday?"

"My family hates Thanksgiving, so we do Christmas in Texas."

"My family will kill me and send a search party for me if I miss a New York Christmas two years in a row."

"You are just adding to the headcannon."

"Here we go again."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Eddie thinks I'm in a mafia family just because I'm a New York Italian."

"Your father's name is Don. You have a weird fascination with gold chains and wearing sunglasses all day, you have a cousin named Vinny, you call people meatball, you said they called you Baby Gambino when you were a kid-"

"Because I was a chubby kid and snuck off to our family's bakery..."

"It's not just a bakery; it's bakeries, meat markets, pizzerias, wine shops, grocery stores, and that's just the stuff you've mentioned."

"... and I don't know how many times I have to tell you my father's name is John, but with his accent, it sounds like Don. You know what, how about you ask him? We do Thanksgiving in Texas and Christmas in New York, and when we're all at the table, you can ask him in front of my whole family."

"Maybe I will."

"If you want to die."

Y/N playfully nudges Buck into a light chuckle.

[neverlookatthisblog]

Thanksgiving

Smut

A/n: this one is a bit older I made it last year on thanksgiving and posted it to Wattpad but I decided to post it p.s I haven’t written smut in so long don’t know when I’m gonna come back to that😭😭

Today was thanksgiving and jack suggested that you two spend the day at his parents house   You decided to wear leggings that complimented your ass well and a random t-shirt

While you guys were on your way to his parents house you guys got into a argument

"Jack I don't know why you are taking it this seriously I'm doing it for my job" you said putting your arms up

"Y/N!!! It doesn't matter now can we just drop it"

"Whatever" you said as the car stopped in front of the house you quickly got out the car and slammed the door

"Really!!!" Jack yelled you flipped him off walking to the door knocking on it you were greeted with a warm hug from Maggie

"Heyy y/n!! I'm so happy to see you how are you" she said you faked smiled as if you and jack weren't in a heated argument

"Good thanks for having me" you said walking into the house you felt jack behind you he talking to his dad

You guys kept giving each other death stares

"Y'all Okay" clay asked sitting down next to you on the couch

"Not sure your brother is acting like a pussy" you said not caring anymore

"I heard that" he said walking by "OH- I'm sorry do you think I care" you rolled your eyes clay just awkwardly nodded and got up

⤷

It was time to eat everybody was around the table Maggie noticed that you and jack weren't sitting next to each she thought it was odd since you too were lovey Dovey all the time

Everyone was going around the table saying what they were thankful for it was jacks turn

"Well I'm thankful for a lot you know I'm thankful for my family" jack said staring at you putting his hands in fist on the table you squinted your eyes at him

"But you wanna know what I'm also thankful for-" everyone waited for him to finish including you he made eye contact with you

"I'm thankful for you!" Jack said looking at you

You  smiled but in reality you weren't happy with him everyone ate dinner

⋆.ೃ࿔*:

You helped Maggie with dishes avoiding jack

"I don't know what you two are fighting about but I think you should go talk to him" Maggie said as you handed her the plate so she could put it in the dishwasher

You sighed "you don't need help?"You asked you really didn't wanna have that conversation

"Y/n go talk to him" she said you nodded walking out to go look for him you eventually found him in the basement playing video games with clay

He noticed you he paused the game

"Hey clay I'ma talk to y/n real quick " clay nodded walking back upstairs

"Listen I don't wanna argue with you no more " you said playing with your nails

"Me either baby"jack said putting his hand on your waste kissing you passionately

A couple minutes later you were on the table clothes everywhere legs spread

"Jack fuck!!" You moaned as he licked circles around your clit you grabbed his head pushing it a little further into your pussy

"I'm gonna cum" you moaned and that's when jack pulled away

"What the hell!!!"

"Turn around" Jack demanded you rolled your eyes true around looking at paintings on the wall

You felt a hard slap on your ass

"Stop with the attitude I could leave you here and go back upstairs" jack said in you ear

"Whatever" you said without saying anything jack slammed into you 

"Oh fuck" you moaned jack was pounding into so hard that the table started rattling

"The next time you catch an attitude" jack said grabbing a fistful of your hair

"Ima make sure your ass doesn't cum" jack slapped you moving his hips

"Fuck I'm gonna cum again" You whined jack pulled your hair tighter

"Shit" jack moaned you moved your hips meeting his thrusts

"Cum with me" jack said letting go of your hair as you both came breathing and panting you layed there for a minute

You finally got up putting on your clothes you and jack walked back upstairs where everyone else was

"So how did it go"Maggie asked smiling

"It went great" you said relying in your head what just happened

[stevesbipanic]

Boy For All Seasons

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 Ao3

After that it became rare for the boys not to see each other. Steve always dropped off and picked up the kids from Hellfire but now he came inside and chatted with Eddie while they packed up. Eddie was now a glorified employee of Family Video often helping Steve and Robin put back tapes while they talked about whatever came to mind. Before long, Thanksgiving weekend had arrived.

"Hey Stevie, how many Harringtons do you guys manage to fit in that big house of yours this time of year?"

"What do you mean, Eds?"

"Ya know, for Thanksgiving, oh or do you guys do the visiting, I guess a lot of y'all have big houses. Do you take turns?"

"Um, no, we used to visit my grandma but we haven't since she died when I was little, I think my parents are in Fiji this year."

"But then how do you have Thanksgiving dinner?"

"I...don't, just watch the football game and have a couple beers."

"Well, I'm sure Wayne would love someone who understood the game this year."

"You, you want me to join you for Thanksgiving?"

"Of course, Stevie, besides I'm pretty sure Wayne is signing the adoption papers as we speak."

Steve laughed, "He's known me for like three weeks, Eddie."

"Yeah, and? He's gotta get in quick, knows Dustin's mom's aiming for ya."

Steve smiles, "Ok Eds, I'll be there, but you better not have some turkey costume stocked away."

"Wouldn't dream of it, plus the church already borrowed it."

That weekend Steve was welcomed into the home of the Munsons.

"I brought pie," Steve said wrapped in a soft sweater when Eddie answered the door.

"You know you didn't have to bribe me, sweetheart, but it is much appreciated," Eddie replied taking the pie as Steve stepped inside.

"Game started yet?"

"Not yet, which side you rooting for, son?"

"Lions all the way, I have some pride after all. Better not be putting on the Cowboys game either."

Eddie barely understood what had been said but the look on Wayne's face made it clear this was the right answer. Eddie finished up dinner while gazing foundly at the two men on the couch. The air was warm and comfortable despite the time of year, if Eddie allowed himself to dream it felt like family, but he didn't want to get his hopes up just yet.

The three of them crowded round the too small table for dinner, Wayne making a little speech as he carved the turkey. They went around and said what they were thankful for this year.

"I'm thankful for the plant giving me a bonus so we could have this beautiful bird tonight."

"I'm thankful for Stevie for allowing me not to have to watch the game again this year."

"I'm thankful for both of you having me here tonight."

"We wouldn't want you anywhere else, Steve."

Later, after they'd shared pie around and it was time for Steve to head back home, Eddie stopped him.

"Hey, it's late why don't you just crash here?"

"That would be great actually if it's not too much trouble?"

"Course not."

"If you have a spare blanket I can just take the couch."

"Nonsense, my bed has plenty of room, c'mon."

Eddie's bed certainly did not have plenty of room for two fully grown boys, but neither of them complained as they lay back to back. Eddie was quick to fall asleep with his bed being nice and warm. For once, he woke up early the next day and was blessed with Steve curled into his chest, a relaxed look gracing his face. Eddie knew then it was too late, his hopes were up and he just hoped they wouldn't be left to fall.

Tags: @zerokrox-blog @smallfrogpleasedtomeetyou @eboyawstenn @sharingisntkaren @goodolefashionedloverboi @the-redthread @steddie-there @questionablequeeries @liorereshkigal @mightbeasleep @carlyv @my2amgaythoughts @gregre369 @space-invading-pigeon @bisexualdisastersworld @epiclazershark @sherrylyn628 @raisedbylibrarians @swaghettoni

[scribeforchrist-blog]

Prayerlessness

MEMORY VERSE OF THE WEEK

=========================

+ 2 Chronicles 15:7 But as for you, be strong and do not give up, for your work will be rewarded.”

=========================

VERSE OF THE DAY

+ ROMANS 8:26 Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.

=========================

SUBJECT: Prayerlessness

=========================

** SAY THIS BEFORE YOU READ; HERE’S SOME CHRISTIAN TRUTHS **

I AM CONSTANT IN PRAYER

I AM A WARRIOR

I AM LOVING

I AM CONNECT TO THE VINE

********************************

THOUGHTS:

=======================

 Sometimes, we get to this season where we don’t want to pray; we feel like it’s a chore or a lot to do because we are taking away from our day. Every day, I pray for an hour in the morning, an hour in the afternoon, and 30 minutes or more of silence. I sit and wait for him to speak to me, and I do this every day, whether it’s the weekend or not and sure it takes away from things I want to do, but the point of prayer is to spend time with God and to separate ourselves from other things so we can put him first.

   If we think about it, he put us first when he gave his son to us so that we could have eternal life, so all we have is time to give to him. Still, sometimes, we are prayerless because we feel we won't have time for other things if we pray. Still, my mother taught me early on that if I put God first, he’ll make time for everything I want to do. He indeed does. I study guitar in the evening, and when I get out of the silent prayer with him, I usually have 30 minutes to practice. I’ll rush to get my guitar, and I practice. Sometimes, I can squeeze 30 more minutes in before dinner of video games, but sometimes, if my prayer session lasts longer, I don’t get to do both; in my opinion, when we choose God over all the things we want to do we win spiritually, but sometimes we get into this season where we choice everything over him because we don’t want to stop doing our plans.

  Genesis 3:10 He answered, “I heard you in the garden, and I was afraid because I was naked; so I hid.”

   A lot of times in verses, you'll see Jesus stop and go pray, and he’ll leave everything to do this; you see Daniel go pray three times a day, and you read about Moses going to the mountaintop to talk, see they got away from everything else around them. Still, prayerlessness sometimes happens when we allow guilt or sin to keep us away because we feel that if we go to him, he will shun us, and he doesn’t; he doesn’t do any of that; if we listen carefully, he’ll talk to us about what we did, it's our anxiety that causes us to think he hates us are he's going to rain down brimstone on us, and he isn’t.

   Adam and Eve refused to speak to God; they refused to communicate because they knew what they did was wrong and against what he said, and he never wanted us to be this way with him; he always wanted us to know he heard us when we speak, the bible tells us prayer continuously.

  •1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.

 

•Romans 12:12: Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, and constantly pray.

 

•Colossians 4:2 Continue steadfastly in prayer, being watchful with thanksgiving.

   In these verses, we see where God is saying talk to me, let me know what you are thinking, tell me about your day, and do it as much as you like; you're not bothering me, and a lot of times, people will tell you that you can talk to them, but then out of nowhere, they are annoyed by you. Still, I can say this: God isn’t like that; he desires for us to communicate, but a lot of times, we lose that momentum because we feel, oh wow, he wants all my time and he doesn’t,

  As we do this, we are dying spiritually, and spiritual drought looks just like a plant that doesn’t get water, just like anything that requires maintenance; when we leave our prayer life like this, we are inviting things to go wrong, and that’s allowing the devil to get in the way the bible tells us to go to our room and shut the door, and that’s so we can have privacy with God. We can do it in secret without our phones, TV, or anything; it is just us and God and our thoughts, and that’s when we bring everything to him.

  Matthew 6:6 But when you pray, go into your room, and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret. And your father who sees in secret will reward you.

    ***Today, we learned about praying to God and doing it all the time, and when we don’t, we are killing our relationship with him by ignoring him. Another thing, just in case we forget what to pray for, that is one of the reasons why the Holy Spirit is there to help us in our weakness, and he's there to intercede when we don’t know what to do. Romans 8:26 Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.”

   Suppose we ignore him and do other things. In that case, we will come to a place where we are allowing ourselves to do anything, or we get into a rhythm of repeating sins, which we talked about his week; we can't continue to go on in sin, and when we don’t pray we are acceptable to do this why we must keep our selves protected and pray to God so he can show us what we are doing.

  Earlier this week, we talked about Jesus knowing us, and even after we sinned, he knew we would do this sin. Still, when we do, we must go to him and say, Father, I'm sorry, and he will comfort you right where you are; he will hold you close; he loves every side; he even loves the side Adam and Eve was hiding he just wants to show us a better way to respond.

  For the Holy Spirit to teach us and show us, we must go to him and not hide what we are doing; I am so honest when I go to prayer with God. I am so direct and honest in a humble way ,because I don’t want to hide how I am feeling and what I am doing. God just wants to be our friend, our guide, and I hear many people say no, he doesn’t want to be our friend; he does. He's your father and your shepherd, but it’s up to us to go to him and get out of this season of prayerlessness,

©Seer~ Prophetess Lee

========================

PRAYER

========================

Heavenly Father, thank you for today. We ask you to help us to pray to you regardless and not to hide when we do wrong but to help us be strong and come before you and hear your voice. Lord, help us to spend more time with you and to love you more. We want to be on the straight and narrow and spend our life dwelling in you and not in this robotic way but in this authentic way, lord, give us more understanding and more wisdom and knowledge; lord, we give you our life and our situations, lord we ask you to please give us revelation into things we are praying for and hear us when we speak to you, lord we love you and thank you so much for everything. In Jesus' Name Amen

========================

REFERENCES

========================

+ Jeremiah 33:3 Call to me and I will answer you, and will tell you great and hidden things that you have not known.

 

+Matthew 7:7 Ask and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you

 

+ Isaiah 59:1-2 Behold, the Lord's hand is not shortened, that it cannot save, or his ear dull, that it cannot hear; but your iniquities have made a separation between you and your God, and your sins have hidden his face from you so that he does not hear.

========================

FURTHER READINGS

=========================

 Proverbs 22

Micah 5

Exodus 6

Psalm 120

=========================

[camp-queer-and-there]

lucille my old hag can you hit that

THIS SHIT LACED😭 im forreal a freak just lmk👀👅 ohio skibidi toilet oi oi oi😏 maxdesignpro WHAT!? HELP ME! HELP = 👍 fetus sebastian hes so ugly i cant would you rather have 1 million dollars or CANCER! art is lowkey so amazingly beautiful...gigachad sigma LET HIMM COOK!🗣️🗣️ uwu >_< anyone got anyone spongebob x reader👀 only in eastern latvia💀 ohio final boss grimace shake charlie the steak ishowspeed kai cenat the amazing digital circus pomni garten of banban caseoh gyatt super mogger looksmaxxing based and redpilled diabolical lick😈erm what the sigma oh! thats not!- getting my top surgery done at claires POV: youre ben shapiros mom and hes convincing to let him get gta5 i feel like calling you a slur.. what type of gay are you, since you dont have it in your bio... the european mind cannot comprehend this drew phillips: hello im drew phillips the ahh magic i finna be in the pit on cap. 123°!? gurrrll we are not thanksgiving turkeys😂and thats on period fahrenheit lankybox elisocray INSANE UNBOXING! gegagedigedagedago we can go gyatt for gyatt fuck that we can go rizz for rizz 19 bucks for the fortnite card double pump with the fanum tax THE BIG APPLE! drake vs kendrick beef p diddy dr disrespect annoying orange if garlic was a person my name is drake and im here to say.. kendrick lamar your disses arent okay! diss me diss me now you gotta kiss me quandale dingle mf doom dookie baby girl my pookie wubbleshmubble kins whats hurts more than being yelled at be skinned alive probably pov: i am your cashier during february (and i notice you are black) you look like tyler the creator if he was in my dreams ray william johnson sybrian dancing lady oh when the saints go marching in oh when the saints go marching in todoroki gives birth alone jumbo josh is lost in the zumb sauce lightskin touch the moon bozo cant im walking my fish why are frogs so stupid show me your griddy show me your griddy.... show me your... DOHHH THATS ONE WAY TO HIT THE GRIDDY. THATS ONE WAY TO HIT THE GRIDDY grwm to go to bath and body works temu workers getting ready to clock in day in the life of a twitch streamer your final challenge.. let yo bih go through your phone!... AH HELL NAW YO ASS TWEAKIN JIGSAW quavo stop thats the gayest shit ever amoeba sisters angst preppycon 2024 kart ride into spongebob youve been here before.. a weirdcore dreamcore kidcore clowncore playlist. my talking tom her body tea is insane😭 my aura is unmatched DO NOT PLAY CREEPY BATH GAME AT 3AM!!!!!!!! *THIS IS WHY* ALMOST DROWNED school isnt done but i am💀 omg u did call me baby.. maybe ..omg did he call her baby.. maybe.. im not okay..... bark for me. pov family dinner😭💀why u so pissed ...what me when i get mustard for christmas yall when i put on my dad fit "FREAKYbob" I AINT ANSWERING!! HELPP IM DEADDDD wait no im not maya winky boyfriend takes you out to eat but his opps slide on him [boyfriend asmr] mrbeast might ne TOO BIG to he cancelled squid games i hope someone dies and goes to hell today me staring at the sephora employee in the eye as i "sample" a $800 perfume cats when you cover their cage with a blanket blud thinks hes the main character💀 omg a rare gyatt sighting ninja fortnite sneako the ocky way new yorkian vermontian how 10 yr old me felt after putting "i dont speak tags" in an argument holy fricking smokes dude.. my cut is insane... shout out to my barber dawg! bro thinks hes the thinker waterless baked water what i would wear to my isis execution why did my dog just punch me😓 #STOPBULLYING💯

i mean.. i kind of ocd😁 you mean OBESity stop doing the golden freddy pose youre scaring the kids when a client wants to trauma dump first session when i dont have enough diamonds on episode so now i gotta shit in the school hallway in front of my crush phone and youtube video lobster activity someone shot trump in the ear he wouldnt have missed goku drip well my mother always said the best flowers get picked first dudes been waiting for his mcflurry since 1786 ladies ladies one at a time please😍 rio de janeiro the oppblock hazbin hotel boy rejoice creepy autism simulator my scary silent hill whos ivan mac n cheeks freak island home sweet home.. blud always looking at sum😭😭😭when face id acting up so you gotta LOCK IN fuck im washed WAIT IM GOATED why the mob isnt a fucking aesthetic: a thread this where the magic happens👅 style griddy👀

what

- ⌛

[fairysteve]

Steve doesn't get depressed. He doesn't.

He just gets tired a lot more than he used to, but he has also gotten a few more concussions. And it's november, the sun setting earlier is of no help. And family video is exhausting, long shifts alone while Robin is at school.

It's completely logical that he's tired. That he doesn't have the energy to eat as often. That he finds it harder to get out of bed in the mornings.

Driving Robin is a great motivator. He doesn't know what he would have done without her.

But she's clearly wrong, because he does not get depressed.

At least that's what he told her as he was driving her home earlier. Alone, still in his car because he doesn't want to be home, Steve feels the depression like a heavy blanket over his shoulders. Comforting yet smothering.

November isn't a good month for him.

It's the anniversary of too many things, and it's the month of Thanksgiving. He can't stand playing nice with his parents over dinner. The last two years, he had barely recovered.

But they already had the threat to Hawkins this year. And his parents aren't coming home for Thanksgiving.

Steve hasn't told anyone. He knows Claudia would invite him if he asked. He knows Max could use the company. He knows he has people willing to listen and care.

But he doesn't know how to put words to what he's feeling. The way even Robin exhausts him when being around her used to fill him with energy.

He shouldn't be buying drugs when he's trying to save up to move out, but he finds himself parked outside Munson's trailer. Barely remembers driving there. Knows that Max will see him if she's home.

Does he even have money on him?

Oh, who cares. He can just sit in his car until his brain cooperates enough to go home.

Or at least, that was Steve's plan. The knock on the window thinks otherwise, startles him enough that he hits his head.

Eddie Munson is looking through the passenger window, and when Steve doesn't react fast enough, he opens the door and gets in.

"You should have told me we had a date, Harrington. I would have dressed up."

Steve attempts a smile, but if Robin's energy exhausts him, Eddie's absolutely drains him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to drive here."

Eddie makes a show of looking around, with wide eyes and a playful smile that makes something twist in Steve’s chest.

"Strange place to end up on accident. What can I do for you?"

"No, really, I don't even think I have money on me." Steve makes to pat himself down, but his hands fall back down seconds after he raised them.

He's just so tired.

"You okay?" The smile has left Eddie's face. Steve misses it.

"Yeah. Long shift." He shrugs, a small what can you do sort of gesture.

Truth is, Steve can't remember when he last had a good night's sleep. He's so tired all the time, and he spends most of his time at home in bed, but sleep still escape him. And when he does sleep, the nightmares wake him.

Unless he has some help. But he doesn't have the money for that right now.

"Okay. You should come in then." Eddie interrupts his thoughts.

"What?"

"Well, I can't let you drive home when you're looking dead at the wheel, and the trailer is comfier than your car."

"I don't wanna disturb-"

"Wouldn't have offered if you were gonna be in the way. Just come in, Steve."

Hearing his first name is enough to get him out of the car. It just sounded so right in Eddie's voice, and Steve is running on minimal brain capacity.

Maybe he should talk to Robin about being depressed. After he tells her about spending time with Eddie, no drugs involved.

For now, he's just gonna follow Eddie's lead. Starting with going inside his home.

[envihellbender]

An immobile feedee accidentally crushes their feeder to death

Rating: Explicit

Characters: Aspen, Damien (OCs)

Content: death feedism, feedee/feeder, fictional Reddit post

Summary: Gainer influencer tells the story about their dead feeder on AITA of all places.

r/AmITheAsshole

u/fatasspen [deactivated]

AITA for sleeping on top of my (29nb) partner (22m)? [Asshole]

So this is such a stupid thing but my partner’s family won’t let it go and are threatening legal action so I just wanna know if I’m actually in the wrong or not. I’m really certain I’m not but let’s see. Give it to me Reddit!

So, full disclosure I am 759lbs and something of an influencer in the weight gain community, I’m not a sex worker, I don’t do porn. I just show off my meals, you know that sort of thing. (I’m fatasspen on the gram & TikTok if anyone’s curious.) My partner, Damien, was reeeeally into it too. He actually used to feed me on camera, cook for me, film me, edit for me - he was the best. I really miss him! Anyway, his family never really got our lifestyle, used to make snide remarks when we went over for Christmas and Thanksgiving dinner and he’d hand feed me and insist on weighing me afterwards (said it was inappropriate. It’s not like we were fucking on the table?!!)

Anyway, so here’s what happened. Last night after he’d made me the best meal, stuffed me, and we did a good few videos, we started to get a little silly. I cannot stress enough that I was so full I couldn’t physically move at this point, but Damien loved feeling my weight on top of him! I have so many videos of him begging me to do it. He sometimes did it to feel safe, especially after phone calls with his mom and dad FYI. So he asked me to roll on top of him again, right? Hes begging me, he’s all “please Mama, I need to feel your flab all around me.” And I said sure but he has to help because he’s stuffed me soooo good. So he gets me on the hoist (we have our apartment filled with different mobility stuff for me to get around) and pulls me up. Then he lies down as he has done before and lowers me on top of him. Only this time it kinda went wrong. I knew it did instantly cause I heard a loud snap and some crunching noises, and he was really quiet, my Damien was never quiet. Maybe I should’ve moved then, cause I could feel how still he was underneath my huge, gigantic ass but … I was exhausted and stuffed. It’s not like I could’ve called an ambulance. Plus I was pretty sure he was dead so, he wasn’t gonna be any less dead if I called them then.

Whatever, so I call the ambulance in the morning after I wasn’t so stuffed and could roll off him, and I guess I kinda fucked hobby telling them I just woke up with him beneath me. I was so touched when I saw his corpse, he had a smile on his face and cum splattered over his belly. So he clearly was having a good time when he went. Anyway, so when his mom and dad found out they were furious. The hospital and police are investigating me because apparently it looks suspicious but I told them he was clearly having fun! I think they were made cause I guess his body rotted and got a little gross.

His parents have been calling me non-stop, screaming at me and telling me I killed their son. The cops have interviewed me and are opening up this whoooole investigation for no reason. We were two consenting adults who engaged in kink, we loved each other. His death was a tragic accident and I am very much mourning him too. Now his mom is even trying to stop me going to the funeral?? Can you believe that shit???

Anyway, Reddit… AITA?

Top Comments

u/mustardpackets72:

So I looked them up and something they left off was they posted photos of Damien after the event on their Instagram. Doesn’t look like he’s been rotting at all in it, but he does in the morning after ones. Fucking disgusting behaviour. I hope your fat ass gets the chair, OP. YTA.

u/remorsehorse replied:

Yeah I scrolled down and Damien looks starved and is bruised to hell. I don’t think he was there consensually…

u/stuffedworm64:

Grossest thing I’ve ever read… not convinced this isn’t fake and you’re not jacking it to this right now OP. YTA.

u/remorsehorse replied:

Its real …. Look at their socials. Yikes.

u/toastedpoptarts428

Okay so, I used to be a big fan of u/fatasspen before they met Damien and honestly none of this surprises me at all. I’m not sure why they’re lying, they have plenty of videos that are definitely porn. And it’s not like any of their fans are looking for anything different. Sure, I signed up to their Patreon and even paid for some custom content, I’m a freak whatever. I’m sure a lot of you have weirder fetishes so I’m just going to skip past that part. They’ve always had this image of the big fat mama who wants a cute feeder they can dominate and keep as a slave but it was always portrayed as like… a fantasy thing? Or so I thought until Damien appeared. In the first video on Patreon something didn’t look right, they introduced him as their new boyfriend. Except he wasn’t conscious. He was knocked out on a bed. Fatasspen said that it was just because he was so exhausted after a stuffing and fucking session. I got the ick immediately, I couldn’t explain it at the time. I commented asking about it but their fans shouted me down saying it was probably just a fantasy and to stop ruining the vibe.

At first Damien wasn’t really there. He was talking on camera a little solemnly but nothing too worrying. When he started showing up in pictures though is when I got really freaked out. His pupils were blown so much you couldn’t see his irises. He constantly had such bad bruising and cuts, his hair was greasy and whenever he spoke on camera his voice was really slurred. Me and a few others commented this and wanted FatAsspen to explain if it was a fantasy or not. We said if it was we’d shut up! Their little posse harassed us and eventually I got blocked from their Patreon, Instagram, Facebook, and TikTok. I tried reporting them but nothing came of it, and I didn’t know their address or name beyond Aspen (which may or may not be a pseudonym.)

I’m really sad it’s had this ending, and also… this isn’t the first partner they’ve had, it’s just the first one to help with their videos.

[crescentrivers]

I had a dream involving Hatchetfield. I was watching a let’s play of a video game that took place in Hatchetfield. I think it was a fan game and not official. The youtube channel I saw it on was either ManlyBadassHero or a YouTuber that was made up for the dream.

It was a visual novel, probably a horror game, I don’t remember seeing anything scary in the dream but reasonably I think it was a horror game. The art style looked kind of like the art style for the game dead plate but also some parts of it looked like my art style and some parts of it looked live action (dream inconsistencies I guess) I mostly remember parts looking like dead plate though. The main character was a teenager (older highschooler?) who I think was a girl. She was pale and had short light brown hair (not super short but above the shoulders) and I think her eyes were blue. I don’t remember her name (I don’t think the dream even gave her one) but she definitely wasn’t a canon Hatchetfield character.

My memory of the actual plot is very bad I don’t think the dream itself even showed much of it but here it goes: (under the cut)

So I think the game took place on Thanksgiving or around thanksgiving break, no it didn’t involve Wiggly that would make too much sense. Instead it started with the main character and her family summoning Pokey for whatever reason. I’m not sure what was going on or how the MC felt about this but I don’t think she was a cultist, she might not have been fully into this plan.

So the MC’s family wasn’t super wealthy, I think they were poor or struggling or something. (This might’ve been the motivations for the summoning thing but really idk) I think the family was also dysfunctional or neglectful considering at some point (I think multiple times actually) the parents just left the MC at home while they went to go eat dinner somewhere leaving the MC to make or get her own food. (I think some other stuff happened that made the relationship seem bad aswell) When they were gone MC would talk to Pokey (who was still there, for some reason) and he might’ve helped her with the entire needing to get food cause her parents left thing.

This wasn’t like- part of the deal or the reason he was summoned, if anything MC was talking to him secretly and her parents didn’t know. (Dreams have inconsistent weird plot holes what do you want from me)

I wish I could tell you what happened after this point but I have no idea what the actual story was supposed to be. Just the main character interacting with Pokey and her family and I’m guessing there’d be different endings/routes depending on what you did in those interactions

Also this is unrelated but I had a different dream a few weeks ago where Wiggly was there and my grandma got diagnosed with dementia, those two events were not related at all they just happened in the same dream. I have no idea what Wiggly was even doing (I have a very vague memory that might’ve involved him being in a commercial or being filmed for something but idk also I don’t think he was acting super evil he was kind of just there before leaving and then the dementia plotline happened)

[jo-harrington]

Jo, my love 🤍

For a little Heaven/AASB prompt: A Nightmare on Elm Street

Chelsea my love 💜 This has been sitting in my drafts for so long. (The last blurb game I played.) I love you and know you needed a little time to feel better, but hopefully this can make you smile a little. Sorry this is so late, I am TRASH.

Haven't ready Heaven yet? Find it here. And find the Master List for As Above, So Below here.

December 1984

It had been a month.

A month full of nightmares and worry and tentative touches.

Eddie walked on eggshells around you, making sure you knew how much he cared about you—how much he loved you—while he whispered sweet nothings in your ear, hoping to soothe whatever demons lurked just beyond your consciousness.

But he couldn’t deny it anymore.

You lied to him.

And he needed to confront you about it.

“You saw Nightmare on Elm Street without me,” he exclaimed as you opened the door to greet him, ready for a night in.

Your previously excited expression fell.

“Eddie, I—”

“Nope,” he interrupted and pushed past you into your apartment. “I don’t wanna hear it. You said you didn’t want to go with me and you went anyway.”

After the whole incident that night in November—the one that had you practically clawing at his door, covered in soot and muck and smelling like smoke—he had treaded carefully. You had put on a brave face but he knew that you weren’t ok.

You flinched when he touched you if you didn’t expect him to. If you spilled any gas when you went to fill up your car, you’d scrub and scrub your hands until the skin was raw and throbbing.

However, the nights where you stayed together—whether at your apartment or at the trailer—and you woke up panting and in a cold sweat were the worst.

Which was why he didn’t protest when you turned down seeing the movie with him, despite having been excited several weeks before when you’d seen the preview for it on tv.

“That looks absolutely amazing. I can’t believe they’re waiting for November. They should have released it for Halloween!” You gushed.

“Listen, that Terminator movie seems pretty cool too,” he justified. “We’ll just have to wait.”

So the two of you waited, and Eddie waited even longer, it seemed.

He didn't bring it up when the Hawk began advertising it on the marquee--he thought he was giving you time before springing a nightmare monster on you--but at Thanksgiving, Wayne had mentioned it after the commercial popped up during dinner and you immediately became flighty.

"That the movie you kids were thinking' of seeing?" he asked around a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

"Yeah, we need to get tickets before the Hawk features another show." Eddie turned to you. "How 'bout it, angel? You're off tomorrow."

"Oh, umm," you pushed your fork through your macaroni and cheese and shrugged. "I'm kind of...tired. I was just gonna stay in, if you wanted to just come over and watch movies with me there."

Eddie agreed, of course. Not only was he eager for any amount of time he could spend with you, he just...didn't want to push you before you were ready. He also didn't want to be the kind of boyfriend who steamrolled you just because he wanted to do something.

He'd been around enough assholes like that and he knew, whether you explicitly said it or not, that you had been too.

Still...he really didn't want to wait until Family Video had the tape for rent.

So on the last day that it was at the Hawk, some dull little Wednesday at the beginning of December, he went. Brought Jeff, Gareth, and Dave under the guise of it being a treat for a great set the night before. (They really had done a good job.)

And on the way out, he noticed the poster still hanging outside of the box office. The creepy claws, Heather Langenkamp's petrified gaze. Maybe seeing the movie would be too much for you, but the poster would look really good on the otherwise-barren walls of your little apartment.

So told the boys to wait in the van so he could beg and plead and possibly bribe the theater manager--one of Rick's fishing buddies--to give the poster to him.

Imagine Eddie's surprise when the older man pulled a post it off the side of the cash register and said it was already spoken for. That surprise only increased tenfold when he recognized your name and phone number scrawled there.

Eddie asked when you'd claimed it.

"Yeah, a big group from Bradley's came by right before Thanksgiving" the manager shrugged. "You know old Tim likes to do...what do they call it? Team building? Whatever new fangled ways that you get out of paying out a holiday bonus."

Eddie didn't know how to feel...he knew you kept secrets...he did too. It wasn't that the two of you were lying to one another, per se...this certainly felt like a lie though.

Why wouldn't you just tell him you had seen the movie?

The two seconds it took for the theater manager to take a breath and get to his feet were an eternity for Eddie, and in that eternity, he spiraled in insecurity. His doubt in you, in your relationship, in himself.

He didn't want to do it. Didn't want to be this way. But what else should he think--could he think--but that it was his fault when everyone left?

The theater manager exited the box office and walked over to the poster display. He fished keys from his back pocket and unlocked the little window, then pulled the poster out and handed it to a numb Eddie, oblivious to his internal conflict.

"She said it was some kind of surprise for her boyfriend," the manager explained. "But...you're practically Rick's kid. I can't say no to you Ed. Just don't tell anyone where you got it. I don't want to get some kind of phone call saying I'm...out to destroy young love or something."

Just like that, all of the doubt exited his body.

Now here he was, standing before you as you stammered and tried to explain, as you tried to say that you had no choice. You paced and worried your fingers together and he knew he had to stop you before you got too caught up in your guilt.

He pulled the poster out from where it was tucked inside of his jacket and held the roll out to you.

"What's this?" you grabbed it from him with a frown.

"The scroll with the instructions for the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch," he grinned and urged you to look at it.

You unfurled the poster and the tension in your shoulders dissipated.

"You could have just gone with me again," Eddie offered. "I wouldn't have minded."

"I just...didn't want to be a disappointment to you," you sighed. "I know you were looking forward to it. You always cover my eyes during the jump scares. That's your favorite part."

"No," Eddie shrugged. "My favorite part is making out with you during the credits."

You rolled your eyes and rolled the poster back up to hit him with it.

"Hey now, don't damage the goods," Eddie laughed and grabbed you by the arms to stop your playful abuse. "It took a lot of work to woo old Bill into giving me that poster."

"I wanted to surprise you," you scoffed. "I was even gonna give him $20!"

"You seriously underestimate my ability to charm people, sweetheart," Eddie teased. "Hypnotize them, get them to fall for my devastating good looks."

"I guess I'm just immune to that charm," you snarked and he shifted his hands quickly to your waist tickle you. "Ah no Eddie!"

You shrieked and squirmed until you started to go limp in his arms, unable to withstand the assault any longer. His fingers slowed down and he took the opportunity to smack a kiss against your lips.

"Just you wait. One day I'll find the right words, the right enchantment," he vowed in a faux menacing voice. "And you'll never escape my spell, ever again."

[sequinsmile-x]

Backfire

Emily keeps her mouth shut right up until the moment she can't.

-x-

This could be read as a follow-up to my fic Penance, or as a stand-alone.

-x-

Words: 4.1k

Warnings: Discussion of grief/ Complicated family dynamics. The Vic classics.

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

“Crisis averted, I got the last pumpkin pie in the store,” Aaron says as he walks into the living room, smiling as his eyes land on his family. 

Emily was sitting on the couch, poised on the edge to jump up and intervene if needed. Her eyes were fixed on Jack, who was slowly walking back and forth in front of the couch. He had his hands out in front of him, his little brother, Zachary, tightly grasping his fingers as he took shaky steps, only managing a few at a time before he stumbles, held up securely by Jack. 

They all look over at him as he enters the room, matching smiles on their faces. Zachary immediately starts babbling, the noise they knew he meant to mean ‘Daddy,’ and Emily leans into Aaron’s side as he joins her on the couch, his lips pressing into the side of her head. 

“Hi sweetheart,” he mumbles, kissing her temple again. 

“Daddy, I’m helping Zach walk!” Jack exclaims, his excitement palpable. 

“I can see that, buddy,” he replies, his smile wide as he puts his arm around his wife. 

“How was the store?” Emily asks, turning to look at him, leaning in to kiss him briefly before she fixes her eyes back on the boys. 

“Exactly how you’d expect on the day before Thanksgiving,” he quips, “I practically had to flash my gun and badge to get that pie.” 

Emily laughs, “Well I’m sure Mother will appreciate your efforts, even if she doesn’t say it,” her smile becomes wistful, a rarity when she spoke about her childhood, “No matter where we lived we hosted Thanksgiving. Of course, it was all a show for everyone else,” she smiles at the site of Zachary finally falling onto his bottom, a shocked look on his face as his eyes meet hers, the 11-month-old crawling over to her. She picks him up, her son immediately settling into her side, his face pressing into her neck, “I always remember her having pumpkin pie, it’s the only dessert I think I ever saw her have.” 

“Dad, can I go play my video game?” Jack asks, delighted when Aaron nods in agreement, running off towards his bedroom where he kept his hand-held console, his footsteps against the stairs echoing throughout the house. 

“Your mother is bringing the turkey, making sure we have a dessert she likes is the least we can do.” 

Emily looks at him, her hand running up and down Zachary’s back, the baby babbling to himself against his mother, one of his fists tangled in her hair. 

“It’s not like she’s making it honey, she’ll have had her caterer do it,” she says, her eyebrow raised, “But it was nice of her to offer.” 

“It was nice of you to suggest that we have her over,” Aaron replies, smiling down at Zachary, “and Jess and Roy.”

“Well, you know my feelings about the last one.” She replies, her distaste clear, wincing slightly as Zachary pulls a little too hard at her hair. She reaches up and untangles it, tickling him to make him giggle against her, the sound still as precious to her as the very first time she’d heard it. “Come on Zach, not Mommy’s hair.” 

“I know what you think, Em,” he says, not wanting to argue again, the topic of his ex-father-in-law, and his treatment of Aaron one of the few things they never agree on, “But I know Jack is excited for him to be here, he was saying the other day that he’s excited to have everyone all together for once.” 

Emily sighs as she stands up, lifting Zachary onto her hip, an eyebrow raised at her husband. 

“You don’t have to try and convince me, love. He’s coming, we invited him, And I’ll be on my best behaviour as long as he is.” 

“Em-”

“That’s the best I can offer,” she says, smiling wryly at him, “Now, I’m going to take this one,” she says, bouncing Zachary on her hip so he giggles, “For his bath, can you start on dinner?” 

Aaron stands and kisses her, “Of course,” he raises an eyebrow at her, “Maybe something light, so we don’t have a repeat of last year?” 

She narrows her eyes at him, and she attempts to stop herself from smiling, although she fails. It was a conversation they’d had several times in the year since, something they playfully discussed whenever the opportunity arose. 

“I was 37 weeks pregnant.” 

“You ate enough mashed potatoes that you thought you were going into labour, only to be told by the doctor you had severe heartburn.” 

“Daddy is being mean to Mommy,” she says, addressing Zachary as she moves past Aaron, heading towards the stairs, “Maybe someone should remind him that he's the one who made all the mashed potatoes.” 

Aaron watches them go, deciding to keep any further commentary to himself, and he sighs. 

Something told him this Thanksgiving was going to be somehow more eventful than last year.

___

“Mr Brooks is…an interesting man.” 

Emily has to clear her throat to stop herself from laughing at her mother’s comment, and she turns to face her, handing her the glass of wine she’d requested, and readjusted Zachary on her hip. 

Roy hadn’t come to their wedding, not that he was invited, but it meant that he and Elizabeth had never met. Jack considered her to be a grandmother, even calling her as much. Emily knew it delighted her mother, even though Elizabeth would never say it, her joy at being a grandmother to both Jack and Zachary clear. It hurt sometimes, to see her being attentive with the boys in a way she had never been with her, but she never addressed it, only speaking about it with Aaron when it was just the two of them. 

She wanted the boys to have a family, which is exactly why she was allowing Roy to sit in her living room, despite his insistence on blaming Aaron for Haley’s death. She fixes a smile on her face.

“Jack’s happy he’s here, that’s all that matters,” Emily replies diplomatically, not missing how her mother smiles at her. 

“You might need to get some practice in, Emily,” Elizabeth says, going to walk past her but taking a moment to stroke Zachary’s cheek before she meets her daughter’s eyes, “Even I can see through that fake smile.” 

She leaves without further comment, rejoining everyone else in the living room. Zachary giggles in her arms, and she looks down at him, smiling as she pokes him gently in the belly, making him laugh harder. 

“What’s so funny, sweet boy?” She asks, lifting him further up on her hip, and kissing the side of his head. “We should probably go join everyone else.” 

She hears laughter, the fake one she recognised from her youth. Her mother’s ability to join even the most unlikely of people together second to none. 

“Gam-ma,” Zachary says, and Emily laughs, kissing the side of her son’s head again. 

“Yes, sweetie. Grandma,” she takes in a deep breath and prepares herself for an evening of awkwardness. The air thick with things that went unsaid, an unhappy spectre from her childhood that was visiting her home, something she wishes she didn’t have to expose her children to. “Let's go find everyone else.” 

___

“That was delicious,” Jessica says as she sits back in her chair, smiling over at Elizabeth, “Thank you so much, Ambassador Prentiss.”

“Please,” Elizabeth says, a polite smile on her face, “call me Elizabeth.”

Emily looks at her husband who was sitting next to her, and they exchange a small smile. “You’ll have to pass the compliments on to Mrs Harrison, Mother,” she smiles when Jessica raises an eyebrow in confusion, “That’s her caterer.” 

“Ah,” Jessica replies, turning her head to look at her father, her smile faltering when she sees the look on his face, “It was lovely, wasn’t it Dad?” 

He nods curtly, “It was fine.” 

Emily has to clench her jaw, her frustration towards the man almost at boiling point. All evening he’d been making small digs, glaring openly at Aaron on occasion in a way she deemed inappropriate, let alone around the children. She hadn’t missed the look on his face when Jack called her mother Grandma Liz, something Emily wasn’t ashamed to admit she’d taken no small amount of pleasure in. 

Everything in her was screaming to say something, to put the older man in his place. It had been since she’d first got together with Aaron, Roy’s frosty behaviour towards him clear at Jack’s birthday party. In the years that had followed, her annoyance with it, with the fact Aaron took it, like some kind of punishment he felt like he should bear, only grew. The only reasons she hadn’t said something were because her husband asked her not to, and because Jack loved his grandfather. 

The young boy had so few connections to Haley, so few people in his life who had known his mother, that she didn’t want to ruin one of them for him. She did wonder sometimes what would happen when Jack was older. When he was old enough to understand the bitter words his grandfather would throw at Aaron on occasion. 

That, she feared, was a bridge they’d have to cross when they came to it. 

“Zach has food all over his face!” Jack exclaims, pulling Emily out of her train of thought, and she looks at her son sitting next to her in his high chair, unable to stop her laugh from breaking free when she sees mashed potato all over his face. More if it smashed into his cheeks than she’s sure he ate. 

Aaron chuckles, his arm draped around the back of Emily’s chair, “He’s never looked more like you.” 

She glares at her husband playfully, an eyebrow raised before she turns her attention back to their son. 

“Come here messy boy,” she laughs, the sound echoed by Jessica and Elizabeth. She stands to pick Zachary up, and sits back down with him in her lap, “Aaron, can you grab the wipes?”

He does as she’s asked, reaching behind them to get the packet they kept in the dining room. She swore they had them in every room of the house, a side effect of having a baby in the house. Aaron opens the wipes and she takes one, smiling as Zachary predictably starts to wriggle in her grasp, never a fan of having his face cleaned. 

Jack laughs from across the table, never bored of his baby brother’s antics, “Zach, don’t be silly, let Momma clean your face.” 

She freezes and sees the moment his innocent words register with Roy. Jack didn’t call her Mom, he never had, and she was content with that. Ever since Zachary was old enough to have some understanding of what was going on around him, Jack had started to refer to her as Momma just to the baby, joining in on her and Aaron’s attempts to try and ensure it was his first word. 

Roy looks at his grandson, his eyebrows creased together, “What did you just say, Jack?” 

Jack looks back and forth between his grandfather next to him, and Emily and Aaron on the other side of the table. 

“I just said he should let Emily clean his face,” his eyes meet Emily’s and she sees his confusion, the way his eyes seemed to fill with panic, “Did I do something wrong?” 

“Of course not, sweetie,” Emily says quickly as she wipes the last of the food from her son’s face, “You did nothing wrong at all.” 

“She isn’t your mother,” Roy says, his voice tight, and it’s the sternest she’s ever seen Roy speak to his grandson, and she feels the rest of her patience start to wear thin, the ropes holding her together starting to fray, threatening to snap. 

“Dad-,” Jessica tries to intervene, throwing Emily and Aaron an apologetic look across the table, but she’s cut off. 

“Roy-” Aaron starts, ready to jump in, but Jack speaks at the same time, his innocence fueling his confusion at his grandfather’s attitude. 

“I know Emily is not my mom,” Jack replies, his eyebrows creasing in a way that made him look so much like Aaron Emily can feel her heart ache. 

Roy scoffs and shakes his head, “At least you know that,” he looks up at Aaron his eyes hard, “Sometimes I think everyone forgets.”  

Snap.

There’s a beat of silence, which is broken by Elizabeth’s chair scraping on the hardwood floor as she stands up. Emily looks at her, and she can see the fury in her mother’s eyes, something she had only seen on a handful of occasions. 

“Jack,” she says, smiling at the young boy, “Why don’t you show me and your Aunt Jessica that new game you were telling us about before dinner?” 

Emily doesn’t think she’s ever been more grateful for her mother’s diplomacy, the way she could read a room, and she sees how Jessica stands and nods, her eyes fixed on her father before she offers Jack a hand. 

“That sounds like a great idea.” 

Jack nods, clearly still confused, but takes his aunt’s hand and lets himself be led out of the room, Elizabeth on their tail. 

“Aaron,” Emily says, her voice tight, “Take the baby.” She turns just enough to hand off Zachary, who had picked up on the tension in the room, his hands fisted in her shirt. 

“Em-”

She looks at him sharply, sees the hesitance in his eyes, and clears her throat. “Take him.” 

Aaron nods, casting a quick glance at the man on the other side of the table before he stands, lifting his son out of Emily’s arms. 

She hears Zachary cry out at being removed from her embrace, the noise quickly followed by Aaron’s voice soothing him, fading slightly as they got further away from the dining room. She stares at Roy, her fury boiling over, burning her from the inside out. 

“Are you going to tell me off?” He asks, his lips set in a firm line. 

“The only reason I haven’t thrown you out of my house is that it’s Thanksgiving, and you’re Jess’s father. And Jack’s grandfather.” 

“Now wait a minute-”

“Oh no,” she cuts over him, as she stands, her body practically vibrating with everything she hasn’t said. “You’ve said plenty, it’s my turn. I’ve kept my mouth shut for years because Aaron has asked me to. Because Jack loves you. But I can’t do it anymore,” she blows out a breath, feeling her temper already rising, frustration simmering under her skin, “This isn’t what Haley would have wanted for any of you.” 

“You didn’t know my daughter.”  

“No, I didn’t. Not really. But I was there when she…” she drifts off, stood herself from being cruel, highly aware everyone else in the house would still be able to hear her, “I know enough to know she would never have blamed Aaron for what happened. She wanted Jack to grow up loved, and he has.” 

“By you?”

“Yes. By me. And his father, and his brother,” she crosses her arms tight over her chest and tries to blow out a steady breath, trying to calm herself, “I know you love him, Roy. I know that. And I can’t imagine your grief at losing Haley, but you cannot keep acting like this.” 

He scoffs and shakes his head, “So, what? You expect me to just accept that you get to play happy families, live my daughter’s life whilst she lays dead in the ground?” 

“You don’t have to like me,” she scoffs, “I don’t like you very much. You don’t even have to acknowledge my son’s existence. But if you like it or not I am in Jack’s life. I am the person who is raising him because his mother can’t, and I love him. And I will not allow you to continue on your rampage against his father.” 

He stands and shakes his head, half laughing, “What? You’re going to stop me from seeing him?” 

“Yes,” she replies simply, taking some enjoyment from the shock on his face, “I don’t want to, but I will.” 

Roy’s face hardens, his jaw tight. “You couldn’t.” 

“I can, I’m his legal guardian alongside Aaron, and if we think the relationship is doing him more harm than good that’s our call.” 

“He’s my grandson.”

“And he is my son,” Emily shouts, “I may not be his mother, but he is my son. I love him just as much as I love Zach, and I would do anything to protect them both.” 

Roy seems to sober for a moment, regaining some control over his temper, “And what does your husband make of this?” 

She clears her throat, tries to dislodge some of the emotion stuck there, “He is willing to allow you to continue to berate him, to blame him for something he could not have stopped. Because he knows it makes you feel better. He’s a much better man than you give him credit for.” 

“She died because he failed her.”

“She died because a psychopath wanted her to die, no other reason,” She clarifies, her jaw tight, “If you’d seen what I saw in that house…you’d know there’s no one else to blame.” She looks down at her hands, twisting her rings around her finger, “I think you should go.” 

She turns to leave the room, wanting nothing more than to seek out her family, but she pauses and turns back to face him, wanting to say one last thing. 

“Jack loves Aaron, he’s his hero,” she smiles sadly as she thinks about it, the way Jack looked up to his father, “We had to convince him to be someone other than Aaron for Halloween last month, otherwise it would have been three years in a row,” she shakes her head slightly, “Who do you think he’ll choose when he’s old enough to understand all of this if nothing changes?” She purses her lips and bites the inside of her cheek as she tries to control herself, “I don’t fancy your chances.” 

She turns and leaves without looking back. ___

Roy and Jessica leave soon after that, unnecessary apologies for her father’s behaviour whispered to Emily and Aaron as they hug goodbye. Elizabeth leaves not too long after, a genuine smile on her face as she hugs Emily and kisses her cheek, a quiet comment about what a lovely evening she’d had against her daughter’s skin. 

Emily sighs as she closes the door behind her mother, Zachary on her hip as she turns to look at Aaron. 

“What did your mother say?” He asks, smiling softly at her, his tired eyes giving away the strain the evening had caused him.

“I think it was her way of telling me she’s proud of me,” she replies, walking over to him. She leans into his embrace, his arms coming around her and Zachary as he sighs. “Are you ok? Do you want to talk about it?” 

“Yeah, shall we get the kids to bed first?” He asks, and she nods in response. He takes Zachary from her, “Jack’s already in his room, he said he wants you tonight.” 

She feels her chest tighten, aware that despite her best efforts Jack would have heard a lot of what was said. Everything she’d spent years trying to protect him from spilling out on their dining room floor. 

“Ok,” she agrees, leaning in to kiss her son’s head, cupping the back of it, her fingers trailing through his soft dark hair, “Goodnight, baby. Mommy loves you.” She looks at her husband as she steps back from them both, “I’ll meet you upstairs.” 

She walks up to Jack’s bedroom, taking a second to pause outside of his room, taking a deep breath before she knocks and then walks in. 

“Hey honey,” she says quietly, unsurprised to find him sitting up in his bed, his arms wrapped around a teddy bear Haley had bought him. It was one of his most prized possessions. It went everywhere with them, even on the rare vacations they got to go on as a family. She makes it across the room and sits on the edge of his bed, idly straightening his bedding over his lap so she had something to do with her hands. “How are you feeling?” 

He shrugs, “I don’t know.” 

“That's ok,” she assures him, reaching out and pushing some of his hair from his forehead, “It’s ok not to know.” 

“Grandpa was mean,” he says, his eyebrows creasing, “Why did he say that about my mom?” 

Emily sighs, shifting closer to him so she can hug him, grateful when he sinks into her, his arms tight around her. She wanted to explain to him, to let him know that grief was complicated, but he was so young, he’d already been through so much. 

“He’s sad honey, he misses your mom and…that means he says mean things sometimes.” 

Jack pulls back to look at her, “But I miss my mom, all the time. And I’m not mean to you or Dad. Or Zach” 

She smiles at him, “I know you aren’t, honey. You couldn’t be mean if you tried.” 

Jack nods, sniffing as he wipes a stray tear from his cheek. “Do I have to see Grandpa next weekend?” 

“That’s up to you,” she assures him, kissing his forehead, “But you don’t have to make the decision right now, ok?” He nods and she smiles at him, “Good, now lay down and I’ll tuck you in.” 

“Emily,” he says, rolling his eyes at her in a way she knows Aaron would say was all her, “I’m too old to be tucked in.” 

She chuckles and encourages him to lie down, “I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.” 

___

Emily stays until Jack falls asleep, closing the door softly behind her before she makes the short journey to the master bedroom.

Aaron is already in there, sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for her. He looks up at her as she walks in, a tight smile on his face. 

“Did he go down ok?” He asks as she walks across the room, joining him on the edge of the bed.

“Yeah, he’s fast asleep,” she confirms, sitting close enough to him that they were pressed together, their thighs touching, “Zach?”

Aaron’s smile turns genuine for a moment, “He was asleep before I got to his room,” he sighs, as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders, “Em-”

“I’m sorry,” she says, cutting over him, “I’m not sorry for what I said,” she clarifies, laughing humourlessly, “That was long overdue, but I’m sorry it was tonight. I’m sorry Jack heard I never…I didn’t want that.” 

There’s a moment of silence, and then she feels his hand on her thigh, the weight of it comforting. Familiar. She looks up at him and sees nothing but love in his eyes, adoration that always made her feel lighter than air. 

“Em, you have nothing to apologise for,” he assures her, squeezing her leg, “You were defending our family,” he smiles, his other hand cupping her face, his thumb delicate at her cheek, “How could I ever be anything other than grateful?” 

Her smile shakes and she chuckles, leaning forward so her forehead is on his shoulder. 

“I love you,” she says, wrapping her arms around one of his, wanting to be as close to him as possible. 

“I love you too,” he replies, kissing the top of her head, “And both of the boys do too. Everything else we’ll figure out.” 

She nods and pulls back, looking up at him, “Jack asked if he has to see him as planned next weekend, I told him he didn’t have to decide just yet.” 

Aaron sighs, “Whatever he wants.” Emily yawns, her head coming to rest on his shoulder again, her face in his neck. “You tired sweetheart?” 

She hums against him, “Yeah, turns out yelling at your husband’s jerk of an ex-father-in-law on Thanksgiving will do that to you.” 

Aaron laughs against the top of her head and holds her a little tighter. “I’m sure it does, let’s get ready for bed.”

“In a minute,” she says, increasing her grip on his arm as he starts to move away. 

“Ok, Em. In a minute,” the agrees, content to sit there with her snuggled up against him, a rare moment between just the two of them in an otherwise busy life of work and raising the boys. “It doesn’t seem so bad now does it?” 

“What doesn’t seem so bad?” She mumbles from next to him, not moving at all, sure she could fall asleep right here sitting up against him. 

“The mashed potato induced hospital trip last Thanksgiving.”

“Aaron.” 

-x-

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[pbandjesse]

I felt so bad today I had to stay home. My voice was totally gone. I couldn't even laugh!! Nothing would come out! Terrible. Uncomfortable. I was not having a very good day.

I didn't sleep great. I actually fell asleep sleeping on my back which I literally never do. I just couldn't get comfortable breathing on my side.

When I woke up I was coughing so hard. We think I have bronchitis. James told me I shouldn't go to work. And they were correct. I was worried about moving the car to the correct side of the street. And they said that if that was what was worrying me then they would go do that.

I would wash my face and did my lotions to try to feel better. But I still needed to stay home and stay in bed.

I don't remember James leaving. Which made James very worried when I told them that later. But I just somehow missed that conversation. Like I remember them coming in to check on me. And asking if they should bring anything home for me. But I missed them saying goodbye. So I was slightly distressed. But I would be alright.

My voice was very hoarse. I decided I should just try my best to not talk. Rest my voice and my body.

I would have my little sandwich James had made for me. Today was not exciting. I had my sandwich and enjoyed looking out the window. I watched a lot of videos. I texted with Jess. I texted with Celia. We came up with a silly plan about voting for best bird of the session next summer. I was not feeling great but I was trying to be positive.

I would gaslight myself into thinking I was fine when I didnt cough for a few minutes and then I would cough so hard I thought I was dying. My chest and throat feel bruised. It was pretty rough.

I thought about sleeping. But while my body was exhausted from coughing, my brain was totally awake. So I just spent a lot of time playing on my phone. Writing emails. Watching videos. Jess told me to be nice to myself and I was trying!

I just wanted to be fixed. I accidently kicked Sweetp and couldn't even apologize. It was tough.

I got an email from a fieldtrip next week and there was a mistake on our end with our calendar. Which then lead to a bunch of phone tag with Alexi and Elizabeth. I didn't realize Elizabeth was still on jury duty. And she didn't know I was home and it was just a lot of back and forth trying to figure out how to fix this. And it'll be fine but it is a little annoying we got all flip flopped.

James would come home soon enough. And we had discussed how I wanted taco bell. So they would take me there. Which honestly helped me feel a lot better. After they cooled off and I got shoes on, they had a quick call with Dante. I tried to say hi but it was just a squeak. And then we were off.

We drove out to Brooklyn park. And got to watch the pretty sunset over the water. Speaking of water there is going to be an event soon to jump in the harbor because it's safe to swim now. Mostly. I want to jump in the harbor?! James does too.

We got taco bell. It was great. I ate it on the drive back and it was exactly what I wanted.

When we got back here James took all our Halloween decorations down. Hung up the blanket I got them as a wall tapestry. Love it. We will wait to put our Christmas decor up until Thanksgiving. Though we need to get our Christmas egg down. We are trying to start a tradition. The ceremonial opening of the egg. Which is a little Christmas scene inside. Love the egg. We opened it last year after Thanksgiving dinner. That's the tradition. We're going to make it a whole thing.

We have been hanging out since then. James made themselves pizza dough. I laid in bed. Eventually I went and took a bath and it helped my chest congestion a little. But I'm still suffering.

I am going to try to sleep soon. I want to go to work tomorrow. So I really hope I feel a little better then I do right now. When I just started coughing so hard I started crying. Sucks. I do not like this.

I love you all though. And I hope we all feel better

[staygoldwriting]

💘 As You Wish-Part 3

 Read Part One and Part Two!!

Warnings: fluff <3, friends to lovers

Word count: ~1.5k

A/N: This is the Thanksgiving edition!! This one hit me in the feels (does anyone say that anymore?? oh well lol) so much! I hope you all enjoy it, please make sure to read the previous chapters first, and as always...

Please show love and support ❤️✨

“Morning, Robin,” Eddie said as he walked into the Family Video.

“Hey there,” Robin smiled softly. “You look a little down, what’s going on?”

“Eh, Y/N left this morning, so, you know.”

“I do,” she said slowly. 

“I miss her a lot when she’s gone, I mean, I haven’t seen her in so long and now she’s only here for like twelve hours? It just doesn’t seem fair.”

“Did you tell her that?”

“Why would I? Everyone misses their friends when they’re gone.”

“Eddie,” Robin said, reaching for his hand and looking into his eyes, “can you really say that she’s just your friend?”

Eddie looked at her intently, then pulled away. “It doesn’t matter, that’s just the way things are, I can’t change that.”

“Yes, Eddie, you can. Y/N’s probably waiting for you to change it!”

“Doubtful, why would she want to be with me? I’m not smart, or popular, or on the track to having the ‘perfect life,’ I’m just-”

“Exactly who she’d want to be with. When has Y/N ever asked you to be the things you just said? Never. You know how badly she wants to get away from all the jerks around her, away from all the pressures that she deals with? Listen, all I’m saying is that Y/N cares for you, a lot, and I think you care for her too. So, next time you see her, will you promise me that you’ll tell her?”

“Yeah, sure, but when am I even going to see her again?”

-💘-

Eddie rubbed his hands together as he hopped out of his van. It was Thanksgiving, and he promised Wayne that he’d pick up some extra rolls on his way back from work. As he entered the trailer, the smell of dinner filled his nose, and he looked at the modest spread on the table. He smiled, proud of his uncle’s hard work. He filled the empty basket with the rolls, then went to the back to look for Wayne. 

Wayne was sitting by the fire pit behind the trailer, talking with you. Eddie’s breath hitched as he saw you, laughing and almost spilling your hot chocolate. Eddie walked forward slowly, as if the scene in front of him wasn’t real. Wayne noticed him first, and you both rose to greet him.

“Hey there, my boy,” Wayne said, embracing Eddie. 

“Hey, Wayne, I got the rolls,” Eddie said slowly, staring at you. Wayne took notice and chuckled.

“No, you’re not seeing things, she’s really here,” Wayne said, patting Eddie on the back. “Her pre-law seminar got canceled, so she’s here. Good thing, too, why would a writer like Y/N need to go to a law seminar? Makes no sense.”

“Canceled, huh?” Eddie said, smirking.

“Nothing I can do about it,” you shrugged and smiled, “but it’s a secret between the three of us.”

Eddie chuckled and nodded, then looked at you, blushing.

“Well, are you gonna hug her or kiss her or something, son?” Wayne chuckled. 

“Right, sorry,” Eddie said, then hugged you tightly, kissing your cheek. “I just can’t believe you’re here.”

“You of all people should’ve known,” you smiled. “Come on, let’s go get you some hot cocoa, your nose is all cold and red.”

The three of you walked inside and took off your coats. Eddie washed up as Wayne made the final table arrangements, and you poured Eddie a mug of cocoa. As he came out, you handed it to him, and he sipped it quietly, looking at you.

“Do you need to poke me? I’m real, you know,” you blushed as he continued to stare.

“I know, I’m just happy to see you,” he smiled. “How long will you be here?”

“Well, it depends what I’m going to tell my parents, but I have a couple days.”

“That’s more than last time, so I’m grateful.”

“Me too, it sucked that I had to leave so quickly last time,” you said, then hugged Eddie. “Now we can take our time, hopefully.”

“Agreed.”

“Alright, you two, let’s sit down and eat,” Wayne smiled. You two sat down, and everyone joined hands as Wayne said the blessing. As you all began to pass around the dishes, your plates were soon filled, and your normal conversations took place, resulting in laughter and remembering great memories. 

“Can we share what we’re thankful for like we always used to do?” you asked hopefully.

“Of course we can,” Wayne replied. “Why don’t you start?”

“Okay, well I’m thankful that the seminar was canceled, or more so that I finally got the guts to do what I want and just ditch it,” you said, making everyone laugh, “and I’m grateful that I can spend my Thanksgiving with you all. Wayne, I’m thankful for you and how you’ve always taken me in as your own with no hesitation, and that you love us so honestly.”

“You know you’re family to me, sweetheart,” Wayne said, squeezing your hand.

“And Eddie, I’m thankful for you and how you’ve stuck by me since we were five. I’m thankful that you always give me the boldness to be myself, and I’m thankful that you always support me, and that you know me well enough that you stop me when I’m putting others’ needs before my own when I shouldn’t, even when they’re your own. I’m thankful for your selflessness, and for your unconditional love that could weather anything, even the biggest of changes,” you said, breathing shakily. Eddie leaned over and kissed your forehead gently.

“I’m thankful for you too, Y/N/N. I’m thankful that you have always been by my side, even when I don’t deserve it or everyone else is against me. I’m thankful that you always laugh at my jokes and cry with me when I’m sad. I’m thankful every time you come home, and I’m thankful for all the memories I have with you when it seemed like we were never apart. I’m thankful for your beauty, inside and out, and for making me see the good things in life when everyone and everything seems to be so harsh and cruel. I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too,” you said softly, reaching for his hand.

“I think you two’ve got it covered,” Wayne smiled. “Just hearing that makes me more thankful than listing every good thing that’s ever happened to me. Mostly because you two kids were the reason for most of it.”

-💘-

After dinner, everyone helped clean up and get everything situated. Wayne opened a beer and sat down on the couch, watching you and Eddie dry the last dishes. He smiled to himself, then stepped outside for a moment. When he came back in, he smiled at you both knowingly.

“I stoked the fire a bit in case you two wanted to go out there and talk,” he said.

“Thanks, Wayne, we’ll take you up on that offer,” you replied pleasantly, and handed Eddie the last dish. You went to the rack to find your coat, but it wasn’t there.

“Oh, sorry about that, kiddo. There’s been a leak by the coat rack, and it dripped on your coats. I’m sure I’ve got a blanket somewhere,” Wayne said, rising and grabbing a wool blanket. “Should be big enough for you both,” he winked.

“Thanks, Wayne,” you smirked, blushing. Wayne sure did know his kids. “Eddie, I’ll be outside.”

You wrapped the blanket around you, then walked out, sitting on the bench. Eddie came out a moment later, and you opened one side of the blanket for him to sit under. He sat next to you, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders, then brought you closer so your head was resting on his shoulder.

“Y/N?”

“Hmm?”

“You know how you said our friendship could endure any change?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, I was thinking that we need a change.”

You looked up at him quizzically, your heart beating faster.

“What kind of change?”

“Well, I mean, I-I don’t really know how to say it,” Eddie stumbled.

“Is it a good change?” you asked.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s a good change, a really good change.”

“I had a really good change in mind, too,” you said quietly, looking into his eyes, “but I don’t really know how to say it either.”

“I think I know now,” Eddie said slowly, then cupped your cheek with his hand. He leaned in and almost reached your lips, hesitated, then kissed your lips softly. As you both pulled away, you two were smiling widely, and you giggled.

“I liked the way you phrased that,” you said, trying to hide your blush.

“Was that the change you had in mind?” Eddie asked bashfully.

“Yeah, it was,” you replied. “So, what does this mean? Do you-do you want to make this change permanent?”

Eddie smiled, then kissed you again, just as gently. He pressed his forehead to yours. 

“As you wish.”

❤️✨

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