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amywritesthings · 3 months

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press four for more options. | part two.

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin) Word Count: 3.5k Summary: After seeing your ex with his new girl at a work party, you take the not-so-smart advice from a friend to call a sex hotline to get over him. Your match? A baritone bossy dom named Levi.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - smut, alternate universe (modern), sex work, phone sex, dirty talk, dom!levi, light dom/sub, guided masturbation, pet names, nipple play, overstimulation, multiple orgasms Credits: dividers by @saradika-graphics

part one. / part three. | masterlist

2-5-1-2.

It’s an easy enough combination to remember, being Christmas Day and all.

Pressing 2, 5, and 1 is easy. The final '2' makes you second guess yourself.

You’re not sure why you’re panicking. He’ll pick up.

(It’s literally his job, idiot.)

Fuck it.

Your index finger hits the '2' and the hashtag to finalize the combination.

When you hear the line go dead, you tense every muscle in your body.

No breathing.

No blinking.

Just waiting for that silky, sultry siren song to come over and confirm your bias that it’s the single sexiest voice you’ve ever heard.

—but it’s that automated lady you tried to bypass from the menu.

“Please enter your credit card number, followed by the expiration date—”

“Oh, Goddamn it,” you groan, shouldering the phone to shuffle your purse around.

Eventually after some digging, you find your card before she can continue a second loop of her payment spiel.

You can’t believe you’re legitimately putting your credit card information out there for anyone to steal.

Yet, if Annie’s been doing this for ages, then it ought to be safe.

Right?

After typing in the necessary numbers and confirming they’re correct, you’re so out of your own head that you don’t even realize the line switches from slight static to smooth nothingness.

“So you finally called back.”

“Shit!”

The buttery smooth greeting — or lack thereof — makes you nearly drop your phone.

You gasp and manage to catch the device just in time to hear a chuckle, graveled and low, on the other end.

“And just as jittery as last night.”

“Levi,” you greet breathlessly, straightening your outfit like he can actually see it.

You swear you hear a smile in his voice.

“Hey, baby.”

Oh sweet Jesus.

“Or do you prefer it when I call you Scarlet?”

You prefer literally anything he’ll give you, is what you want to say back, but you don’t want to automatically appear as though you’re ready to be walked like a dog at minute one.

“I’m… fine with ‘baby’,” you confess after a beat, focusing on the swirl of the marble counter below you just to dissociate to his voice.

“Thought so,” he arrogantly states before making this grunting noise, like he’s rolling his body in a chair to get more comfortable. “Are we talking again?"

"Is that alright?"

"You know it is." Levi's voice lifts, softer now. "And how's your Saturday so far?”

“Very mundane and super lackluster,” you admit. ��I’m sure you’ve had a much more interesting day than me.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he replies without skipping a beat.

“No?” you ask with a smirk. “I’d say getting people off with the sound of your voice makes for a pretty interesting job.”

“Who said it’s only just my voice?”

Son of a bitch.

The phone shifts from your right shoulder to your left.

“It isn’t?”

He makes a noncommittal hum, and it runs straight to your core. “That's confidential, sweet Scarlet."

"Boo," you joke. "You're no fun."

"You haven't seen me at my fun yet," he corrects. "Speaking of fun: how are you not hungover?"

“The power of heavy tylenol and H2O? Which... I have to apologize that."

"For what?"

"Uh, I pretty much poured my heart and soul out to you last night.”

He chuckles. "I didn't mind it. Feeling any better about that situation?”

“I haven’t really thought about it since last night, so you’re already a miracle worker.”

"Oh?"

"Yeah, no joke."

“Huh." He clicks his tongue. "And what have you been thinking about?”

You say it without realizing you’ve said it out loud:

“You.”

Both ends of the phone go silent.

Your eyes widen, wanting nothing more than to take a pan out of one of the cabinets to bash your head in with anguish.

“In, like, an interested sense.”

Shit, that isn’t much better.

“An… interested sense,” he repeats, slower this time. His vowels dip deep.

“Oh no,” you bemoan. “Okay. Let me restart: I mean it in like a — you were on my mind? Today, sort of way. So I called.”

“...uh-huh.”

“Because the call ended so quickly!” you add. “I didn’t think it was going to end so abruptly at the fifteen minute mark, but I wasn’t done talking to you, so I called again.”

“You’re shit at asserting yourself, aren’t you?”

His words make you blink twice.

“Huh?”

“You don’t like making decisions or having to explain things,” he replies without judgment. “You think if you want something, then it makes you selfish.”

Ouch.

“Well, when you put it like that,” you reply in a bitter, yet lifted tone of surprise.

You hear a noise on the other end. A ‘tch’ if you can make it out.

“Sorry," he apologizes. "Too far?’

“No! Too real,” you admit with a small laugh. “And I’m sure you don’t want to play analyst-therapist tonight, so.”

“I’m here to do anything you want,” he reminds, syrup-y sweet.

“Anything?”

“Mostly anything,” he adds, and there’s a tiny chuckle bubbling between the words that makes your heart flutter. “Can’t hold a tune worth a damn and I don’t know how to speak some languages, so there are limitations.”

You laugh despite yourself, feeling your stress melt.

Then—

A small groan, like his head's tilting backwards. “Damn, I like hearing that.”

You turn away from your kitchen counter, subconsciously padding to your bedroom. “Hearing what?”

“Your laugh,” he explains. “It’s sweet.”

“Sweet?”

“Very.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” you say, rolling your eyes playfully.

Dark hair. Gray-ish blue eyes. Sharp nose. High cheekbones.

Fit.

When your eyes flicker to your own bed, you try to picture a version of him waiting there.

He could be leaning back on his elbow, button-down shirt splayed open like a newly-peeled present.

Maybe his legs are parted.

Maybe he stares at you like you’re all he could ever want.

His voice cuts through the fantasy, causing your breath to catch.

“What do you want, baby?”

Then it drops an octave lower.

“...c’mon, be selfish for once.”

For once.

Like he can read your soul through a damn cell phone.

But Levi is right — your entire short-lived relationship with Porco and just about any other man before him has been through a small lens. Fitting in the middle seat just to never make any noise. To bend with the curve rather than against it to create your own path.

It’s just a sex hotline, but for some reason, his words resonate.

Be selfish.

Wasn’t that the point of calling in the first place?

“Anything?” you repeat a second time, much softer.

Levi shuffles on the other line then exhales like he’s getting comfortable.

“What do you need?” he asks, tone low and words slower.

Purposeful.

“What do you want?”

You close your eyes, drawing in a slow, steady inhale.

Are you seriously doing this?

No more overthinking.

“Should I... get comfortable?” you ask, too afraid to say what it is that you want.

What you’re about to do.

“Mm, you near a couch or a bed?”

“A bed.”

“Don’t get on it yet,” he orders, “but walk towards it. Bend over it.”

Jesus Christ.

“Bend over it?” you ask with a shaky breath of disbelief.

“Yeah,” he confirms. “You’re home from a long day. I’m home from a long day. All you’ve wanted all day is to have someone tell you what to do, right?”

As much as your face feels like it's on fire, you slowly walk to your bed and put the phone down between your splayed palms.

You press the speaker option to ‘on’, and feel a wave of arousal hit your gut when you hear him sigh through the phone.

“I thought you said you wanted me to be selfish,” you remind, bending over your bed.

“You’re allowing me to take charge,” he retorts with little hesitation. “You’re letting me take care of you the way you always should’ve been taken care of. Your ex-boyfriend has no fucking clue what he’s missed out on.”

You exhale, trying to keep it together.

“Levi—”

“I’m right here, baby,” he huskily promises. “Right here. Not leaving you.”

You feel ridiculous.

You’re so turned on it’s almost laughable.

“You ready to let me take control?” he eventually asks, and you nod like he can see you.

“Yeah, I’m— I think so.”

“I like using a red-yellow-green light system,” Levi hums. “Red’s a hard stop. Yellow is negotiating, a slow down to check in. Green means you’re in.” He pauses, and you lean down closer to your phone, bending further. “Color?”

Even on speaker, his voice rips straight through you.

“Green,” you decide, blurting before your brain can catch up.

“Good girl.”

You’re not going to survive this.

“Are your lights off?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he decides. “I want you to crawl slowly onto the bed now. Can you do that for me?”

Your hand slides obediently, passing over the phone as you begin to rest one knee on the mattress. It dips with give.

“All the way up to your pillows, then you can lay on your back — but keep your eyes closed.”

“Okay.”

Eventually you drag your phone with you as you crawl to the headboard of your bed, only to then slowly turn around and drop to your back.

“Are your eyes closed?”

With the phone speaker right at your ear, it almost lends itself to the fantasy of him hovering above you.

His lips dip at the edge of your ear, the static lost to you.

“Yes,” you exhale, relaxing into the bed.

“Good. You’re doing so good for me already, and we’ve barely started.” He pauses, shifting once more. “What’re you wearing, baby?”

“Something so not sexy,” you joke, and it earns a breathy laugh from him.

“Bet you can make anything sexy,” he tells you, and it shoots straight to your lower belly.

“How would you know?” you ask, your hand already reaches for the hem of your shirt. “You’ve never even seen me.”

“No, but I hear you, and it’s fucking delicious.”

Your breath hitches, and you can hear it; the smile in his voice.

“Take everything off, except your underwear.”

“Bra, too?”

“Only if you’re comfortable,” he tells you, and it’s much less breathy. It’s certain, like he wants to check in — make sure you’re just as into it as he sounds. “Would you rather I help you take that off?”

Your brain blanks.

Slowly you push your jeans off first, kicking them to some unknown corner.

Then you rise, ripping your t-shirt off of your body, until you’re sitting in your mismatched bra and panties.

“How would you take it off of me?” you boldly ask, though you can’t quite get rid of the shake of anticipation in your voice.

“Fuck, I’d love to,” he grunts, and your face burns. “I’d be so busy pressing small, slow kisses to your neck. Reach up and touch your neck for me. Feel how I’d kiss it.”

You do.

As surprised as anyone else, you reach up and press your fingers against small parts of your neck, earning him a tiny gasp and noise of want.

“Dragging down to your throat.”

You press two gentle fingers to your skin again, following his path, before slamming your thighs together to try and relieve the heat between your legs.

“My finger would just… slip, right under the right strap of your bra.”

Your fingers dance across your collarbone, slipping your middle finger just under the delicate strap to mirror.

With your eyes closed, the motions lend to an almost out-of-body experience.

Like your hand trailing down your body isn’t yours; it’s his.

You’re his, right now.

“Is this okay?” he whispers, and you nods furiously.

“Very.”

“Good. Let me pull the other one down. I wanna see how pretty my girl is.”

The praises, the way he so easily speaks this way, has you all sorts of flustered.

Slowly you raise your other hand to pull down the strap, and whimper when you tug down as far as you can.

Your breasts spill out over the cup, allowing your hardened nipples to greet the night air.

“Can I touch you?”

The words almost make you open your eyes, as if you’ll see this mystery man hovering over you.

You know he's not here.

You wish he were right here.

“Yes.”

“How do you like to be touched, baby? Show me.”

“Levi,” you whine, allowing your shaky hands to run along your breasts.

You’re afraid, you’re exhilarated, but when you finally pinch the little buds and roll them between your fingers, you’re too far gone to care.

“Fuck—”

“Feels good, huh?” Levi’s own breathy voice interrupts your curse. “You look so beautiful like this. Letting me play with you— God, I could do this for hours—”

“Want you to.”

You don’t even recognize your own breathy tone.

Hell, you only hear him.

You only feel him.

“Need more,” you pant, and he hums with amusement.

“No,” he replies, “think I’m gonna play with you a little more right here for now.”

You accidentally pinch your nipples, harder, like he’s teaching you a lesson.

“Levi.”

“What, is my girl getting impatient?”

His girl.

You don’t even know him, but you’d sure as hell like to be.

(How easy is it, for you to fall so fast from your judgmental high horse when Annie first slipped you this number — only for you to be moaning on your bed, hands groping and kneading your breasts, for a man you didn’t know?)

“Y-You said,” you stammer, “to be selfish, and I want—”

“Shh, I’m gonna take good care of you, okay?” Levi interrupts on the other end. “But you have to do something for me, too.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t want you holding back on me. No shyness. No second guesses. I want you, I want to hear what I do to you. Is that understood?”

You can’t take it.

Your one hand leaves your chest to skim down to your belly, unable to wait any longer.

“I want you to touch me,” you hiccup.

“Yeah?”

His voice wavers in the response before it strengthens. Demands.

“I want those panties gone first. Take them off and spread your knees. Feet flat on the bed.”

No need to be told twice; you hastily pull your panties down your hips, your knees, until they pool at one of your ankles.

Your knees knock together before spreading, and you squeeze your eyes shut.

“I want to touch you, too, baby.” Levi swallows, coating his throat. “How wet are you for me?”

Fingertips run past your lower belly to touch the apex of your thighs, gasping with surprise and relief when you feel that familiar electricity.

“Really fucking wet,” you admit.

The groan he emits is delicious. “Fuck.”

For a moment, you feel completely out of your depth.

This is meant to be a sex hotline, but there are lines blurred in your mind. Something about the sheer image of him leaning back into his chair, fucking a fistful of his cock while he has a phone operator headset against his ear, only turns you on that much more.

“If we had time, I’d spend all night memorizing what you taste like. What you feel like. How you let go — for me, only for me.”

“Only for you,” you promise, unable to stop yourself from drawing circles over your clit.

You moan, head bent back against your pillow.

“Fuck, you’re touching yourself, aren’t you?” he asks, and his voice seems less controlled now. It’s got a hint of raggedness, and it only quickens your pace. “You feel amazing, you know that? Such a pretty pussy, all spread and wet for me—”

“Shit, Jesus, Levi,” you gasp, knowing that you’re not going to last long. You’re too wound up from the night before. “If you keep talking like that—”

“What, are you gonna come for me?” Amusement tickles the question. “Oh, you can come for me, baby, but I’m gonna need at least two from you tonight.”

Your fingers press a little harder to your clit, and you keen.

“Wh– At least?”

“As if I’d ever be satisfied with only one,” he murmurs. “No, I wanna watch you come apart. Feel it on my fingers with those cute little contrac—”

That’s it.

You moan louder than you expected, the taut bowstring suddenly snapped in half.

You arch off the bed, relentlessly rubbing your fingers against your body to ride out the insane orgasm that you — that Levi has given you.

Even if you’re blissed out, you hear it on the receiving end:

“That’s it. That’s my girl. Fuck, you sound amazing. I know it’s gonna be tough, but keep going for me, okay? Don’t stop.”

“It’s sen– ha, sensitive!” you whimper, wanting to stop your hand.

“Mm-mm, you said you’d be good. Be selfish, baby. Give me two.”

“But Levi!”

Everything is on overdrive.

Your hand; your body; your mind.

You imagine he’s hovering over you, working you with his hand with a near-sadistic relentlessness.

As you battle your own refractory period, your toes curl, teeth clenched.

You want to be good.

You want to be so good.

And somewhere in that overwhelming intensity, you feel it: the ebb and flow of pleasure returning, crawling through your veins and forcing you to not give up.

To give this to him.

Then you hear it: panting.

As if he’s getting off to this himself. Your eyes snap open, wide, to an empty room.

When your cheek turns to the phone, you confirm that’s what you hear:

Ragged breaths, albeit softly, with added grunts of control.

Like he’s holding back.

Something about that image of him in a chair, his hand relentlessly pumping his cock in time with your hand, your whimpers and moans, does damage.

“I need— mm— want— please.”

“I’m right here, baby,” Levi promises, though his voice is weaker. You can even hear him swallow again. “Right fucking here, wanna hear you cum so bad.”

Maybe you really were pent up enough for two, because soon you’re slipping — falling — into that blissful nothingness while your body clenches on itself, clit fluttering from a second release.

It’s less intense, but that doesn’t make it any less good.

Everything throbs in your body as you come down, panting, with a slight sheen of sweat on your skin.

You turn to your phone, totally gone in the bliss of the aftermath.

Levi has grown silent as well; only light puffs of air come through the speaker now.

“Feeling better?” Levi asks with a hint of pride in his voice.

“Shut up,” you answer with a gentle laugh of your own. “I’m… shit. I guess that’s why they pay you the big bucks.”

That statement gets Levi to laugh, and your heart feels twice as full.

“That’s one way of pillow talk, I guess.”

The man pauses.

“Are you alright?”

As if he’s truly concerned, worried about your wellbeing.

You don’t allow yourself to fall for it, not completely.

This is his job — even if it felt so real, in the moment.

“Much better,” you promise, smiling to yourself.

“Happy to help,” he hums, his voice returning to that stormy swirl of seduction and softness.

The sobering reality of an empty bedroom should deter you, but all you can do is smile.

(When is the last time you genuinely felt giddy? Excited? Satisfied?)

“Hey, Levi,” you murmur eventually, slowly sitting up to unhook your bra and toss it away. No need to keep it on.

“Yeah, baby?”

You’ll never get over the way he sounds when he calls you that.

It’s permanently stuck to your frontal lobe, obscuring any other logic or reality.

“Am I still allowed to call?”

“Allowed?”

“Yeah, even though we…”

“What, you think you get one experience and your membership is up?”

Levi chuckles, shifting in his seat — or bed — or wherever he is.

“You can call me anytime you want.”

“Any?”

“Between company hours, yeah.”

“Even to talk?”

“Of course,” he answers, softer this time. “Always to talk. Go get some rest.”

“Mm,” you mumble, turning on your side as exhaustion takes over. “I will, but only because I want to and I’m being selfish.”

It surprises you to hear him laugh again, but it’s louder now.

More prominent.

As if he genuinely enjoyed your joke.

Get your head out of the clouds, girl, is what you want to say to yourself, but you can’t be bothered to care.

“Good. You earned it.”

A noise emits from your tired throat to acknowledge him, too sleepy to formulate a real sentence.

Then his voice drops to a whisper, for your ears and your ears alone.

“Goodnight, baby.”

You press the ‘end call’ button and fall into the deepest sleep you’ve had all year.

Author's Note:

Thank you for reading part two of P4! This is insane. I still cannot believe the feedback I got in part one. Seriously, you all made my June. I hope this next part has satisfied your curiosity of how Levi would be a hotline operator.

Thank you for likes, and even more love to those who choose to reblog this to help spread the word of this series or reply in the comments. ilu xo

#levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x female reader #attack on titan fanfiction #snk fanfiction #snk fanfic #aot fanfic #aot fic #snk fic #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi ackerman smut #levi ackerman fanfic #shingeki no kyojin fanfiction #fic: press four for more

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aprikota · 2 years

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small talk is sooooo overrated talk to me about something deep like your mother’s maiden name and the street you grew up on and your favorite pet and the make of your first car and the city you were born in

#tell me your credit card number and don’t forget to make the conversation extra deep by including the cvv and expiration date

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stcantarella · 6 months

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CRASSUS needs your help!!!! in order to help him put out fires, you need to give him your credit card number, the special little number on the back, and the expiration date!

#150 #marcus licinius crassus #crassus

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munson-blurbs · 1 year

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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

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

Summary: After you attend Harris's birthday party, Eddie's forced to confront some big feelings, and a Valentine's date has the two of you navigating a much different type of big feeling.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), oral (f! receiving), fingering, protected p in v, slight breeding kink, very fluffy smut, brief mention of parental abandonment

WC: 8.6k

Chapter 12/20

Eddie's card credit to @girlwiththerubyslippers Mixtape credit to @lofaewrites Divider credit to @saradika

The mingled scents of wood polisher, stale cigarette smoke, and old frying oil invade your nostrils the second you step into Hawkins Lanes. Bowling balls thud as they make contact with the fiberglass lanes, subsequently crashing into the waiting pins. You offer a smile at the exasperated teenager clearly nursing a hangover, holding back a dry heave as he sprays a pair of red and blue shoes with a can of deodorizer that, given the undertones of pungent sweat permeating the air, is likely well past expired.

“I’m here for Harris Munson’s birthday party?” It comes out like a question rather than a definitive statement, and you hold up the gift bag in your hand like it’s some kind of evidence.

The teenager jerks a thumb towards the back left of the building, not bothering to look up. “Party room’s down there,” he mumbles, and you thank him as you walk along the pink and purple carpet.

You’ve arrived a little early, hoping to steal a few moments with Eddie before the chaos of the day begins. Wayne is the only one in the small room, stretching to hang up a sign proudly declaring ‘Happy Birthday,’ each letter a different color of the rainbow. He grins when he sees you approaching, and you hold one end of the sign in place as he adheres it to the door frame with Scotch tape.

“Good to see y’again, darlin’.” Wayne greets you with a grin, taping your side of the banner.

You put your arm down and return his smile. “You, too!” you chirp, glancing around the room. “Where can I put Harris’s present?”

The older man points to an empty table off to the side. “Right over there should be good,” he figures aloud. “Ed just took Harris to the little boys’ room, but they’ll letcha know otherwise.”

You nod, gently placing the bright yellow bag atop a table covered with a Hot Wheels-themed cloth. Amusement dances on your lips at the realization that Eddie must have splurged on decorations; it’s far better quality than one from the local 99-cent store.

“Ms. Sweetheart! You’re at my birthday party!” Harris’s enthusiastic voice captures your attention, and you spin around just as he’s launching himself into your arms. A tiny human rocketship.

“I am!” You laugh, motioning towards the gift table, “and I left your present over there.”

Harris’s face lights up and he starts towards it, arms outstretched and ready to tear through the tissue paper, but the sound of his dad clearing his throat stops him in his tracks.

“Remember,” Eddie says, keeping his tone calm but firm, “we’re gonna open everything once all your friends are here, after we eat cake.”

Harris juts out his lower lip in a pout. “But Daddy,” he protests, “I wanna open it now!” He stomps his foot indignantly, and you have to suppress a laugh at how silly it looks with the clown-esque bowling shoe on.

“Harris, can you wait until you open the ones from your friends?” You phrase it like a favor, hoping to appeal to him that way. “I’m really excited about what I got you and I want them to see you open it, too.” Of course, you couldn’t care less about what a bunch of random four- and five-year-olds think about your gift, but you had to think quickly before the whine escalated to a tantrum.

He releases a sigh of exasperation but ultimately concedes. “Okay, I guess I can wait.”

Eddie mouths thank you and winks as the four of you walk out to the lanes to wait for Harris’s friends. You feel a hand slip into yours, too small to be Eddie’s, and beam when Harris looks up at you with pure joy.

“Daddy! Grampa Wayne! I’m holding Ms. Sweetheart’s hand!” he exclaims, baby teeth on full display

Eddie ruffles Harris's hair. “I’m jealous.” If prompted, he’ll claim that he’s envious that his son chose to hold your hand instead of his. But you and him–and Wayne, let’s be real–know the real meaning behind his statement.

As Harris’s friends arrive and the birthday boy greets each of them with a hug, you and Eddie spring into action and line them up to get fitted for shoes. There are five kids, three boys and two girls, and though you recognize them as Ms. Marion’s students, you don’t know any of them by name. The bowling shoe laces are flimsy, and a few of them struggle with the fine motor skills necessary to tie them.

“Can I help you with that?” you ask one boy, who nods and extends his leg towards you. You crouch down and rest his foot on your knee as you double-knot the laces. When you finish, you look up to see that the rest of the kids have formed a line for your shoe-tying expertise.

Eddie returns from dropping off the guests’ gifts in the party room, laughing when he stumbles upon the queue of children. “You don’t have to do all that, Sweetheart,” he tells you, using his hands to assess the weight of different bowling balls before distributing them to the kids.

You shrug as you finish tying the last shoes. “I don’t mind.”

Eddie has reserved two lanes for the party, and before anyone can figure out who will be bowling where, Harris is tugging on his Black Sabbath t-shirt.

“We wanna play in teams,” he reports matter-of-factly. You’re not sure who ‘we’ refers to, since you didn’t see him corroborating with any of his friends, but you don’t question it aloud. “Team Harris and Team Daddy.”

Eddie gasps with feigned offense, bringing his palm to his heart. “What? You don’t want me on your team?”

“Nope.” Harris shakes his head, curls swaying back and forth. “I want Ms. Sweetheart on my team.” He pauses as he glances around the group, eyes brightening when his gaze lands on the eldest Munson. “You can have Grampa Wayne.”

“Old man’s probably gonna break a hip.” Eddie grumbles teasingly, picking up a red marbled bowling ball and hoisting it up to his chest.

Wayne scratches the top of his head. “And yet I can still kick your ass.” He keeps his voice low so that little ears can’t hear, but you and Eddie can, and you tuck your lips into your mouth so none of the kids catch on.

Harris is up first, squatting down and using two hands to roll the ball down the lane. His method proves to be somewhat effective when he knocks down a few pins, and the scoreboard screen flashes a giant number 5.

“That’s how many years I am!” Harris proudly announces, skipping back to where the rest of his team is standing. He cocks his head at the ball return’s open mouth for the neon green ball that Eddie had handed him earlier, eagerly scooping it up when he spots it. Assuming the same stance, he once again rolls the ball and successfully topples two more pins.

Eddie raises his brows incredulously. “Hmm, let me try that strategy.”

“I don’t think there’s enough pins for all of your years,” you quip, and Eddie sticks out his tongue in your direction before mimicking Harris’s approach, knees aligned with his toes. He draws the ball back between his legs and releases it a few inches ahead of him, smirking as it cascades down the lane.

His cockiness is apparently earned, since he gets a strike. He attempts a victory moonwalk, clumsily dragging one foot behind the other in a manner that would make Michael Jackson regret ever making the move popular. The heel of his shoe catches on the floor and he stumbles backwards, landing on his ass.

The kids burst out into peals of laughter, and you and Wayne join in once it is evident that Eddie’s not hurt, only embarrassed. You stoop down, clutching your ball between your palms as you grin. “That’s what you get for gloating,” you whisper in his ear, a joking lilt in your voice. “Try setting a good example for the kids next time.”

Unbeknownst to you, one of the kids, Kelly, strikes up a conversation with Harris while you’re up to bowl. “Is that your mommy?” she asks him, strawberry blonde pigtails softly swishing as she looks over at you.

“No, but she’s gonna be my mommy soon!” Harris replies happily. “She and my daddy are gonna fall in love and then she’ll be my mommy.” His voice lowers as concern mars his words. “But don’t tell anyone, okay? Because it’s my birthday cake wish and I need it to come true.”

Kelly nods, taking this obligation seriously, and she averts her gaze when she spots you walking back to the ball return. Since you’d only knocked down eight pins, you take another turn, slipping your thumb, middle, and ring fingers into the holes, frowning when you don’t get the spare you’d hoped for.

Harris’s chipperness brings a smile back to your face. “Ms. Sweetheart, can you teach me how to bowl like a grown-up?” He blinks a few times, hammering in his naturally docile nature.

“Of course!”

When it’s Harris’s turn again, Eddie watches you go up with him. It’s noisy, but he zeros in on your sweet tone among the clattering of bowling pins and cacophonous conversations.

“See, you put your middle finger and ring finger here, and your thumb here,” you’re gently explaining. “And then you lift the ball back just a bit, bring it forward, and let it go.” You go through all of the motions without actually letting go of the ball, Harris’s eyes glued to your every move. “You try.”

Harris follows your instructions, pink tongue poking from his mouth in sheer concentration, and knocks down a single pin. Eddie braces himself for his disappointment, maybe even escalation to a tantrum, so he’s pleased when his son spins back with a wide, toothy smile.

“I did it! I knocked it down!”

“You’re amazing! I’m so proud of you, Harris.” Eddie’s posture softens as Harris runs into your arms and gives you a giant hug, tiny fingers digging into your biceps as he squishes the side of his face just below your collarbones. When he does this, Eddie notices that Harris’s cheeks have lost some of their chubbiness; his son’s baby-like features subtly disappearing to make way for attributes of the older child he’s growing into. It brings a slight pang to his heart, and he swallows the emotion and focuses instead on the bonding moment between you and the not-so-little boy.

There’s a shared love; more than that, there’s trust. Harris knows he can rely on you to teach him with kindness and patience, that you won’t berate him or yell at him for doing something incorrectly. You��re his Ms. Sweetheart.

Wayne takes note of the goofy smile adorning his nephew’s face, nudging him before he drops the bowling ball on his foot. “I know you’re in love with her, but she ain’t worth losing your toes over.”

Eddie’s face flushes pink, the tips of his ears burning now that he's been caught. “I’m not in love with her, Wayne.” At least, I didn’t think I was yet, but now I might be.

“Whatever you say,” Wayne mutters under his breath, taking careful steps towards the lane. “You, uh, might wanna wipe the drool from your chin before you take your turn, though.”

Team Harris ultimately wins, mostly because Wayne throws the game so the birthday boy can have a victorious moment. You, Eddie, and Wayne quickly corral the kids into the party room, seating them at a large rectangular table for cake and presents before anyone can take offense over the game results. The three of you breathe silent sighs of relief when you easily shift their focus to the next activity.

Eddie pulls his lighter from his back pocket, flicking it on and lighting the five thin blue and white striped candles unevenly jabbed through the chocolate frosted homemade cake. He picks up the plate, supporting it from the bottom as he leads the group in a hilariously off-key rendition of Happy Birthday.

Harris squeezes his eyes shut before blowing out the flames with gusto, a big grin on his face when he opens them again.

Feeling a hand clap on his shoulder, Eddie swivels his body to see his uncle armed with a disposable Kodak camera. “Let me get a picture of you and the birthday boy,” Wayne insists, peering through the little viewfinder and snapping a photo. Eddie’s crouched down, right arm slung over Harris’s shoulders. Both of them wear matching smiles; the only difference is that Harris is still sporting his baby teeth.

“Now Ms. Sweetheart!” the little Munson declares. Eddie goes to leave, pressing his palms to his knees and standing up, but Harris grabs his wrist and pulls him back. “No, Daddy. You and me and Ms. Sweetheart together!”

You shuffle over to stand on Harris’s other side. When you place your hand on his upper back, Eddie’s slides over yours, the two of you and Harris chiming “cheese!” in enthusiastic unison.

Blinking from the brightness of the flash, you extend your arm and make a ‘gimme’ motion with your hand. “Let me get one of the three of you,” you say to Wayne, who begrudgingly places the camera in your outstretched palm.

Eddie pulls him in closer. “Alright, Munson men. Flex those muscles!” You giggle as the three of them bend their arms to show off whatever biceps they have.

“Ms. Sweetheart, who’s got the biggest muscles?” Harris asks as you lower the camera.

You scrunch up your nose as though seriously contemplating the question. “Um, me, obviously!” You smack your own bicep, sending Harris into hysterics.

“That’s so silly!” he cackles, glancing up at Eddie. “Daddy, isn’t Ms. Sweetheart so silly?”

You expect him to agree with his son, but he just puts his hands on his shoulders and gives a quick squeeze as he says, “Nah, she’s the strongest person I know.” Your stomach flip-flops when he peers at you through his impossibly long lashes. He picks up the plate and brings it over to the smaller, empty table. “Let’s cut this cake before the kids start revolting.”

The two of you use plastic knives and forks to divide the cake into slivers and toss them onto paper plates. Once all of the kids have their slices, Eddie licks the excess frosting from his fingers and hands you a plate.

“Havin’ fun?” He carefully wraps the question in a joking tone, but you can tell that he’s genuinely curious about whether you’re enjoying yourself.

You spear a piece of your slice with the plastic fork. “I am, actually.” The chocolate melts in your mouth, and your tongue glides over your lips to catch any crumbs. “I haven’t been bowling since I was a kid.”

“And it shows,” he teases, wincing when you flick his cheek. “Hey, now—violence is never the answer. What values are you instilling in these impressionable young minds?”

Harris pops up from his seat, waving an empty plate. Whatever cake bits were left on it have tumbled to the floor. “Daddy, I’m done! Can I open my presents now?”

“Jesus, did you inhale that thing?” Eddie wonders aloud, but ultimately agrees. He grabs a bunch of thin napkins and wipes Harris’s hands and face, laughing when the boy sputters as the paper presses against his lips. “Har Bear, you don’t wanna get your presents all messy.”

Once he’s all cleaned up, Harris grabs each of the gifts and brings them to his seat at the head of the table. He tears through brightly colored wrapping paper at lightning speed. Eddie tries to keep track of who gave what as his son unveils a Hot Wheels track from Charlie and his brother Brendan, a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle action figure from Kelly, a G.I. Joe from Emma, and—regrettably—a tub of Gak from Zachary. He makes a mental note to pick up a harmonica or a kazoo or something else noisy when that kid’s birthday rolls around.

The last gift left is from you, and you twiddle your thumbs as you await Harris’s reaction. Should I have gotten him a toy?

“It’s a stencil kit,” you feel the need to explain, as though you wouldn’t be able to handle the embarrassment of him asking what it is. “So you can trace shapes for your art. It’s got all different ones: food, animals, holidays…” You clamp your mouth shut, willing yourself to stop talking.

Your panic is short-lived; Harris’s brown eyes light up as he runs to you and wraps his arms around your legs in another giant hug. “I’m gonna draw you so much things!” he promises, gazing up at you excitedly.

“I can’t wait to see what you make me.” A drawing from Harris holds a deeper meaning than you ever realized. It’s more than a simple display of creativity; it’s a symbol of love and acceptance into his life.

He looks at his dad now with pleading eyes. “Can Ms. Sweetheart come to our house after the party so I can draw her a picture? Please?” He stretches out the last word so that it has at least five syllables.

Eddie looks at you expectantly, a timid smile on his lips. “Well?”

“I think that’s a great idea.” Your response earns you another quick squeeze from Harris before he darts back to his seat to further inspect his gifts.

Eddie’s warm voice is low in your ear, his fingertips ghosting the small of your back in a manner that lets you—and only you—know how starved he is for touch. “And you can help me get rid of that slime thing, too.”

Once the party has ended and you, Eddie, and Harris are back at their apartment, the cherubic boy takes the stenciling kit into his room.

“I’m gonna do art in here so you can’t peek,” he declares, clutching the kit to his chest as though there’s already something to hide.

Eddie chuckles, raking a hand through his curls. “Okay, bud. We’ll be out here, watching TV. You go be a little artíst.”

Once he hears the bedroom door click shut, Eddie puts the TV on a random channel and plops on the couch with a soft oof. You sit down next to him and he puts his arm around you, allowing you to snuggle in closer. The shirt fabric against his underarms is slightly damp with the day’s sweat, but you’re far too comfortable to even consider it an issue.

Your unsuccessful attempt at stifling a yawn has Eddie grinning. “Can’t hang with the kids anymore?” he goads, lips flush against your scalp.

“It’s exhausting being on the winning team,” you playfully retort, adding in an over-the -top fake yawn to drive home your point. “Not that you would know.”

“Oh, yeah?” He pulls you closer to pepper kisses across your neck and cheek until you’re a giggling mess. Satisfied with his handiwork, he allows himself to sink deeper into the cushions and lets out a yawn of his own.

You rest your head on his shoulder, gently brushing his curls back so they’re not in your eyes. A hum of contentment escapes you as you fully relax for the first time today.

You feel a slight nudge on your chin as Eddie tilts it upwards and kisses your lips. The gloss you’d applied before the party is long gone, a casualty of conversation and cake consumption, but he has no complaints.

“Been wanting to do this all day,” he murmurs, shooting shivers down your spine. “And when I saw you helping Harris? Baby, I just…” he searches for accurate words. Nothing he can think of seems to fully convey the depth of his feelings, but he tries his best. “I’m so fucking lucky. We’re so fucking lucky.”

The feeling of your body against his relaxes him further; a marvelous white noise replaces the plethora of overanalyzed problems constantly buzzing through his brain. The heaviness of sleep falls over both of you, and you shift your body even closer to his in a primitive quest for the safety his presence brings. Whatever show is on the fuzzy TV set is now a dull hum until it’s muted by the dreams your subconscious brings.

Eddie only stirs fifteen minutes later when the bedroom door hinges give a soft squeak, ears trained to pick up on Harris’s innocuous noises that often precede chaos. Grogginess overpowers attentiveness, so he misses the smile on his son’s face and the way he whispers, “my birthday wish is coming true.”

Gray clouds cover Hawkins the next day, drenching the small town in cold rain. And while Eddie is certainly grateful that it’s not snowing, this means that he has to find indoor activities to keep his endlessly energetic son occupied.

Luckily, Harris is still enamored with his birthday gifts, particularly the stenciling kit you’d given him. He sits at the kitchen table now, tracing an outline of a cow on a Valentine for his classmate. Eddie’s not quite sure of the correlation between the animal and the holiday, but he’s learned that some battles are best left unfought.

“That looks great, Har Bear.”

“I know.” Harris agrees, not looking up from his drawing as he says, “Daddy, you should make a Valentime for Ms. Sweetheart.” Before Eddie can answer, Harris slides over a piece of red paper and a black marker.

“I should, huh?” Remembering a trick he learned back in elementary school, Eddie folds the paper and draws half of a heart against the crease. He has to use Harris’s blunted safety scissors, much too small for his fingers, to cut the paper. Pleased when he sees that it actually resembles a heart, Eddie taps the marker against his dimpled chin as he contemplates what to write. “You really like Ms. Sweetheart, don’t you?”

Harris nods, putting down the blue marker he’s using and reaching for an orange one. “Mhm. I love her, Daddy.”

Eddie’s heart soars at the confirmation of Harris’s adoration of you, but he tries not to make it obvious. “That’s, uh, that’s good.” He finally decides on a simple message: Be Mine, and he signs his name underneath with a dash. It feels a little less impersonal than “from,” but isn’t as strong as “love.” Do I love her? He wonders. No, it’s only been one date. He can’t fall in love this quickly. It’s not possible. “How’s this? Be mine,” he reads aloud, underlining each word with his finger.

“Oh, I like that.” Harris picks up a green marker and writes the same two words on a pink sheet of paper. The letters are a little too big for the paper’s limited space, and he ends up squishing the “e” in “mine” very close to the edge. “How do you spell ‘mommy’?”

Eddie’s throat goes bone-dry. “You wanna make a card for your mom?” Harris has never wanted to make anything for his mom before; never brought her up, really, but maybe that was changing now that he was in school and surrounded by children with present mothers.

But Harris shakes his head. “No, it’s for Ms. Sweetheart. I wanna write ‘Be Mine Mommy.’”

It takes Eddie a second to realize that Harris means “be my mommy,” and he massages the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Um, Har, you can’t just ask her to be your mom.”

“Why not?”

He doesn’t want to tell Harris that wants to make sure you’ll stick around, nor does he want to make a promise neither one of you can keep. “Because you…you just can’t, okay?” It comes out harshly, and he sputters to fix his tone when he sees Harris’s lower lip quiver.

“But it’s not fair! You didn’t have a daddy, so you got Grampa Wayne as your daddy. I don’t have a mommy, so I want Ms. Sweetheart as my mommy!”

Eddie flash backs to their zoo trip, when Harris had innocently asked him if Wayne had taken him out on father-son days. There’s no child-friendly way to articulate that Wayne had initially been legally obligated to act as his guardian. “I know, bud. I know you do–”

“Then why can’t I ask her?” His expression shifts from anger to confusion, brows pinching together.

Because she could say no, Eddie thinks. Because the responsibility of being a mommy was too much for your biological mother to handle; why would Ms. Sweetheart take it on? What if she doesn’t have a problem being your mommy, but she finds issue with the idea of being connected to me?

He takes a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. “Look, Har. I know you want her to be your mommy. And between you and me, I’d love for her to be your mommy, too.”

“But–”

“But, grown up feelings are weird sometimes,” he presses on, borrowing your verbiage from Thanksgiving, “and feelings like love take time. But I’m gonna make you a promise right now.” He sticks out his pinky finger. “I promise that if me and Ms. Sweetheart fall in love, I’ll tell you, and I’ll let you ask her to be your mommy. Is that a deal?”

Harris looks dubious, but ultimately hooks his pinky around his dad’s. Eddie breathes a sigh of relief that the crisis has been averted for now.

“Before we can ask her to be your mommy,” Eddie continues, “I need to figure out the perfect Valentine’s Day date to impress her. Wanna help?”

Harris purses his lips in concentration, resting his chin in his hand. “How about McDonald’s? They have a ball pit!”

Eddie has to tuck his lips into his mouth to keep from laughing out loud. “A definite contender,” he finally manages. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Friday night. Valentine’s Day.

You had been unsure whether Eddie wanted to do anything for the holiday; your relationship was still so fresh, and you didn’t want him to feel pressured. When he crept into your classroom Monday morning with a coffee and a heart-shaped note—far more conspicuous than he’d intended to be—you couldn’t hide the excitement on your face.

The card reads Be Mine and currently resides under a magnet on your fridge, finding a home among the plethora of drawings from Harris. It’s got some creases in it that Eddie had explained were the result of Harris shoving it into his backpack that morning. You thought it was perfect as is.

“Are you free on Friday? For Valentine’s Day?” he’d asked, shoving his hands in his jean pockets. When you answered in the affirmative, he visibly relaxed. “Great. I’m taking you out.” His smile lights up his face. “Wear something that you don’t mind getting messy, and I’ll pick you up at 6.”

You’d wanted to try and pry more information from him, but Carol Perkins and her son Frankie walked in just then, and you’d put away the heart as quickly as you could as Eddie scrambles from the classroom.

You stand in your bedroom now in your Levis 501s and a fuzzy red sweater, taking one last look at your makeup in the mirror reflection. You scrape your fingernail along the bottom of your lip to wipe off any excess gloss. Underneath your outfit is a special surprise, wishful thinking if the night goes well.

At 5:55, you sling your pocketbook over your shoulder and make your way down to the lobby. You spot Eddie the moment you step out from the elevator. He’s pacing, hands shoved in his dark wash denim pockets and lower lip pinched between his teeth.

Your voice draws him from his thoughts. “Happy Valentine’s Day, baby,” you say, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him so your stomachs touch. “You look really, really handsome.”

“You’re…you’re beautiful.” He’s almost breathless as he says it, eyes roaming down your body and taking in the view. The way your sweater drapes the slope of your breasts has his heart leaping into his throat. He kisses you slowly before proclaiming, “My beautiful Valentine.”

You reach into your purse and pull out a tiny red gift bag, letting it sway and dangle from your fingertips. “I got you a little something.”

The tissue paper crinkles as Eddie rifles through it to pull out a silver lighter, much heavier in his palm than the usual plastic Bic he uses. “Sweetheart, this is…” He takes a closer look and reads aloud the engraved words etched on the front. “Fill my heart with song…”

“It’s from Fly Me to the Moon. Because of Thanksgiving, when you played the record, and Grandma…” you trail off, not wanting to get choked up, “and because you’re a rockstar. My rockstar.” You kiss his lips again, feeling his palm softly cup your cheek.

“I have something for you, too. Um, I didn’t get to wrap it, but I hope you like it.” He unzips his jacket, exposing the gray t-shirt clinging to his pecs. He digs into the inner pocket and clutches a cassette tape, handwritten label stating,“Ms. Sweetheart’s Mix.”

“‘S nothin’ crazy, just some songs that remind me of you.” There’s an array of genres and artists on there. Guns ‘N Roses, of course, as well as Frank Sinatra. There’s Def Leppard’s Pour Some Sugar on Me, Un-Break My Heart by Toni Braxton, and a plethora of songs with ‘sweetheart’ in the title: Bob Dylan’s Sweetheart Like You, Bing Crosby’s Let Me Call You Sweetheart, The Spaniels’ Goodnight Sweetheart Goodnight.

Tears prickle along your lash line, and you blink them away before you smudge your mascara. “Thank you, Eddie. I love it.” You hold the gift in two hands, giving it a small shake to emphasize your excitement.

A small pang in his chest has Eddie realizing that he wishes you’d ended that statement with you instead of it, but he tries to shove the thought down by kissing you, tongue parting your lips, hand traveling up your side. His hands aren’t even touching skin, only your sweater, yet it’s so electrifying that you feel your thighs clench in wanting.

“C’mon,” you urge him gently, “let’s go on this date before we end up making out in the lobby all night.”

Eddie cocks his head. “Would that be such a bad thing?”

“Eddie…” Truthfully, you’re thinking the same thing, but your desire for a romantic Valentine’s Day date with him propels you towards the door. You take his hand so he dutifully follows.

“Fine,” he relents with an exaggerated sigh, smile showing off the soft dimples in his cheeks. “But only because you’ve got me wrapped around your little finger, y’know that?”

“Oh, I know.”

Twenty minutes later, Eddie’s car pulls up to The Novice Chef. You’ve never been–taking care of Grandma didn’t allot you much time for hobbies–but Jess has told you about their incredible cooking classes. She and Robin went to one right before Thanksgiving and insisted that they’d perfected the art of turkey basting.

“Figured we could learn how to make pizza since we’re basically funding the local Surfer Boy,” Eddie grins, turning the key in the ignition. The car stills and the two of you unbuckle your seatbelts, pushing open the car doors. “Just, uh, no olives on my half.”

You find an unoccupied cooking station with two aprons on it, the venue’s cursive logo displayed on the front in an eager advertisement. You slip one over your head and Eddie does the same, twirling his finger in a turn around motion. You feel the brush of his fingers on the small of your back as he ties the strings in a bow. After returning the favor for him, you squeeze his waist, giggling when he yelps in surprise.

“What was that for?”

“I dunno; you’re just really squeezable.”

Eddie just shakes his head, already missing your touch after that brief moment. He slides a rubber band down his wrist and ties his hair in a bun at the nape of his neck before slipping his rings off of his fingers. He flexes his hands, almost taken aback by their nakedness, and you suppress a heaving sigh when you catch sight of the protruding veins, dark purple snakes that disappear amongst soft arm hair.

“All right everyone, let’s get started.” The unfamiliar voice brings your attention to the front of the room, where the instructor is standing behind his own station. “My name’s Argyle, and I’ll be your tour guide on our journey through Flavortown.” He claps his hands and rubs them together. “First thing we’re gonna do is knead the dough.” He gives a demonstration and then invites the class to try on their own.

“Damn, that dude has some badass hair,” Eddie muses, noting the man’s long raven locks that are pulled back into a waist-length ponytail. He nods approvingly and flips the silver bowl of dough onto the table. A small puff of flour rises as it hits the surface with a thwack, and you’re very glad you’d heeded his warning not to wear something new.

Eddie presses the heel of his palm into the dough, kneading it with precision. Flatten, stretch, flatten, stretch, until he’s satisfied with the consistency. He shapes it into a thin circle, fingertips digging into the edges to form the crust. The movements are hypnotizing, and it’s not until he clears his throat that you bashfully realize you’ve been staring.

“Y’good, Sweetheart?” A sly, knowing grin stretches from one cheek to the other; now you’re certain that he’s caught you.

“Y-Yeah.”

The next step is to spread the sauce onto the dough, Argyle explains, and Eddie places the crust onto the pan and steps aside so you can take over. You dip the ladle into the pot, filling it to the brim. Bits of dried basil and oregano swim in a red tomato sea as you use the ladle’s base to evenly distribute it across the crust.

“Y’got a little somethin’ on your face.” Eddie whispers in your ear, making you stop mid-swirl.

“Huh? Where?” You use the back of your free hand to wipe at your cheeks and chin for any sauce that may have splattered, but a close inspection shows nothing.

Eddie leans over you, his chest flush against your back. You fight the urge to press the curve of your ass to the seam of his jeans, wiping a sweat-slick palm on your apron. “Right…” he swipes his finger down the ladle’s curved side, catching some sauce and dotting it on the tip of your nose, “here.”

“Eddie!”

“Don’t worry; I’ve got it.” He leans over and licks the sauce off, a quick lap of his tongue on your skin. The unexpected sensation makes you giggle louder than you’d intended. You clap a hand over your mouth, surely smudging the gloss, but you’ve already drawn the instructor’s unwanted attention.

“Lovebirds, are we here to flirt or to make pizza?” Argyle punctuates his rhetorical question with an exasperated sigh. You duck your head in shame and Eddie just coughs to stifle his own mischievous laughter.

“All right, now for the cheese,” Argyle continues, dipping a hand into a glass bowl and retrieving the ingredient. “Some people think that ya just pile it on; the more cheese, the better, but there’s an art to–hey, not cool, man!” He’s looking right at Eddie, and you glance over to see your date drop a handful of shredded mozzarella into his open mouth.

“Sorry,” he mumbles through a mouthful of cheese, but you’re willing to bet that his apology is anything but sincere.

Argyle rolls his eyes, not even attempting to hide his irritation. “You got one more strike, and then you’re out.” He points one finger at Eddie and then jerks his thumb backwards to emphasize his point.

“Yes, sir,” Eddie salutes, and you elbow him in the ribs.

Once the cheese has been sprinkled across the sauce–whatever remains after Eddie’s impromptu snack, anyway–you reach for the mushrooms. Eddie’s sharp gasp makes you freeze up before you can grasp any.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demands, placing his flour-coated hands on his hips.

You flick your gaze from the bowl of mushrooms to his impatient face. “Um, putting toppings on the pizza?”

“Not that one, you’re not,” he argues with a disapproving shake of his head. “Vegetables don’t belong on pizza.” He picks up the bowl of pepperoni and starts layering the slices on top, either unaware or indifferent to the fact that some of them stick together in a double layer of cured meat. “This is more like it.”

You nudge him, triumphantly layering mushrooms around where he’s placed the pepperoni slices. “It’s called compromise, Eddie. It’s how relationships work.”

His jaw drops and he places his hand over his heart like a southern belle who’s just been presented with extraordinary gossip. “Oh, this is a relationship?” He snickers when you give him a small shove. “I had no idea. I just thought we were two friends who make out sometimes.”

“God, I hate you.”

“I hate you, too.”

An hour later, stomachs filled with pizza that might rival Surfer Boy’s, you and Eddie return to your apartment. A tense stillness fills the air when he walks you to your door, daring either of you to speak your mutual desire into existence.

You’re the one to break the silence. “I had an amazing time tonight, Eddie.”

“Yeah?” he asks almost incredulously, as though he doubts the truthfulness behind your words. He pushes the insecurity aside with a joke. “Even though I almost got us kicked out?”

The memory brings a smile to your face, though you would imagine that the annoyed instructor would not share the same sentiment. “I still need to get you back for that.” You lick his nose and giggle, knocking his hand away when he lifts it to his face. “Don’t wipe it off!”

“And what if I do?” Eddie takes a step closer, resting one hand on the small of your back and putting the other on your cheek. He kisses you and you lean into it, pressing your body against his. His tongue parts your lips, and you hook a finger into his belt loop as you melt into each other.

“Do you wanna come in? Or do you have to get back home to Harris?” You’ve pulled the trigger. There’s no turning back now, and though you’re certainly in a healthier place than the last time you’d made this suggestion, the fear of a similar reaction has your heart in your chest.

He shakes his head, nose rubbing against yours. “Wayne’s staying with him tonight.” He omits the fact that his uncle was the one who’d offered to babysit overnight, a not-so-subtle hint at his expectations of Eddie’s evening plans.

“All night?”

“All,” he kisses you again, “night.”

You fumble with your keys and unlock the door, Eddie wrapping his arms around your waist from the back as though he never wants to let go. As soon as you get it open, its grimacing creak mere background noise to the pounding in your ears, you’re kicking off your shoes and pulling Eddie into the bedroom.

Your hands on his shoulders pin him against the door, only moving them to the hem of his shirt to begin tugging it over his head. It proves to be a difficult task as you try keeping your lips on his neck, but he wraps his fingers around your wrists and stops you.

“Been dreamin’ about worshiping this body…you,” he clarifies, pupils blown so wide that they overtake his chocolate irises. “Please,” he adds, a slight break in his voice. His begging starkly contrasts the bravado that dominated his personality the night you’d met. There was no patience or tenderness, just teeth clashing and hands searching for the fastest and easiest way to bring pleasure.

You nod. “I have a surprise for you first.” You take off your sweater, drawing it slowly up your torso to build up the anticipation, and toss it to the side.

Eddie goes slack jawed at the sheer mesh bra that leaves nothing to the imagination, just as you’d expected him to. He quickly snaps his mouth shut and swallows, a last-ditch attempt to salvage his machismo before he fully loses his mind.

“It’s a matching set, if you wanna see.”

“Uh-huh.” Eddie walks over, pressing kisses to your collarbones that leave your knees weak. His thumbs graze your breasts, slipping the bra straps down and unhooking the clasp. It falls to the ground and he stoops a bit, bringing his mouth to one hardening nipple and sucking it before moving onto the other. “Perfect.” He trails kisses down your stomach, dropping to his knees as he does. “Perfect.” He lifts one hand, kissing each individual finger right on the first knuckle. “So perfect.”

He remains on his knees as his nimble fingers, still cold from the brief walk to your building, unbutton your jeans, and you shimmy out of them eagerly. His eyes widen when he sees that your panties do, in fact, match your bra: a red-tinted mesh thong that has everything on display.

“Baby,” he moans, grabbing one ass cheek in each of his big hands and pressing soft kisses to your clothed pussy. “Baby…f’me?”

“All for you, Eddie.” Your breath hitches when you feel his lips graze your most sensitive spot. He’s not intentionally teasing you, but logic has no place in your current state.

He kisses down your thighs. “Lay down f’me, yeah?” You do as he asks, laying your head down on the pillow as your body sinks into the mattress. Eddie climbs on top of you, slotting one knee between your slightly open legs. He brings his lips to your ear, gently biting your earlobe and singing in a low murmur, “got it bad, got it bad, got it bad…”

You giggle, the breath from his whisper tickling the shell of your ear, and you tilt your head slightly so you can see his face. “Can I undress you now?” He nods, and you wrestle with his shirt to expose the pale expanse of skin. There’s a dusting of curls across his chest, thicker in the middle and thinner around his nipples. You plant a kiss on his left bicep and drag your palm down his tummy, practically concave during his teenage years but now has a slight softness to it, stopping when you reach the bulge in his pants. He groans at your touch, and you feel his cock twitch slightly. Eager to alleviate his pent-up energy, you undo the button and tug down his zipper, cupping his erection through his navy blue boxers.

“Not yet,” Eddie mumbles, “not done showing you how much I l–care about you. How much you mean to me.” With a burning in his cheeks from what he’d nearly admitted, he drags your thong, a wet patch formed on it, down your thighs and past your calves until it drops to the ground unceremoniously. He balances your legs on top of his shoulders and pulls himself in closer, nudging your clit with his nose as he licks a stripe up your folds. His lips wrap around your sensitive bud, brushing it with his tongue. Soft brown eyes peer up at you, desperately seeking your approval.

“F-Feels good,” you manage, words caught in your throat as pleasure seeps into your body. “Please keep going.”

Eddie needs no further convincing, reveling in your growing wetness against his face while slipping his middle finger into your pussy. You whimper at the feeling of him inside you, bracing yourself for a comment about how needy you are, but he just continues to draw you closer to your orgasm. His finger glides in and out, in and out, rhythmic but not too slow. The bed shifts ever-so-slightly, and you realize he’s rutting his hips against the mattress, desperate for relief.

Your hand finds purchase in the curls adorning his scalp, digging your fingers into them and giving a small tug. Eddie lets a second finger into your tight hole, curling them upwards and hitting your sweet spot over and over.

“Right there, th-that’s it, please, Eddie,” you beg, your moans barely audible over the sounds of him fervently fingering you and lapping at your cunt. “Fuck, Eddie, ‘m gonna cum!”

Eddie just lets out an “mmm,” in acknowledgment, the vibrations shooting through your core and bringing you right to the edge. Your release overtakes you and your thighs instinctively squeeze against either side of his head. He makes a mental note to ask you not to do that because he absolutely needs to hear every noise you make while you cum.

“Y’good?” he asks as you drift down from the high, still perched between your legs. He wipes his slick-glistened lips with the back of his hand before licking the taste of you from his fingers. “I can keep going, trust me.”

“Need you closer.” You try to sit up, but your legs fail you, and you flop back onto the bed. “I have condoms in the top drawer–”

“Brought my own,” he grins, reaching into his back pocket–now positioned just under his ass from the way he’d dry humped the bed–and pulls out three connected foil packages. “Ribbed, for her pleasure.”

“Such a gentleman,” you tease, but it’s the truth. The way he took care of you, made sure you were okay after, offered to continue eating you out despite the raging hard-on he’s sporting…his chivalry isn't lost on you. You watch as he strips down until his body is rid of any clothing, tearing one wrapper and rolling the rubber down his cock, and you bite your lip in anticipation of its delicious stretch.

There’s an unspoken disappointment at the addition of the barrier, regardless of its practicality. You want to be as close as you possibly can without anything in the way, but neither of you are in any rush to give Harris a sibling.

Imagine it, though, Eddie can’t stop himself from thinking. Imagine the intimacy of filling her up every night until she’s carrying my baby. Taking any little bit that drips out and stuffing it back inside to make sure it takes. Imagine kissing her growing bump every morning to greet her and our unborn child.

He puts one thigh on either side of yours, looking into your eyes as he asks, “Yes?”

“Yes.”

Eddie lines up with your entrance, pushing in gently and keeping his gaze trained on the way you take him in. Inch by inch, he disappears into your wanting hole until he bottoms out. He holds your hips while he finds a steady pace, and as soon as you arch your back, he’s slipping his hands around your waist just above the curve of your ass. “I can’t believe you’re mine,” he whispers. “You make me so fucking happy.”

Your hands grasp at his shoulder blades and you kiss him, tongues intertwining while you moan into each other’s mouths. “I’m always yours, if that’s what you want,” you promise, wrapping your legs around his.

“Of course, that’s what I want. Most beautiful girl in the world, asking me if I want her to be mine.” He grins cheekily, burying his head in the crook of your neck and sucking on it lightly before asking, “do you want me to be yours?”

“Yeah,” you exhale as his cock presses against your walls. “Yeah, I want you to be mine.” You smile, moving your hands to the nape of his neck and deepening the kiss. You want to be the only one he touches like this, the one who goes to bed next to him every night and wakes up next to him every morning. The one who celebrates his wins with him and brings comfort during the losses. You want everything that comes with belonging to each other.

Eddie thrusts into you, pulling wanton moans from your lips. “Say my name,” he pleads. “Need to hear you say it.”

“Eddie,” you pant, not able to fathom a single thought beyond the pleasure you’re feeling and who’s bringing it to you. “Eddie, ‘m so close. You feel too…too good.” Good is an understatement; perhaps a more accurate adjective would be euphoric, but finding a more elaborate term is low on your priority list.

Eddie’s peak is not far behind, with the feeling of your warmth around him bringing him closer every second. “Always wanna make y’feel good, baby,” he says. His face hovers just above yours, a bead of sweat sliding down the bridge of his nose onto the tip of yours. “I gotta–”

“Cum for me, Eddie,” you tell him, and with your permission, he pistons his hips a final time and spills into the condom. Your walls contract around his length as you finish with him.

Eddie stays inside you as the two of you catch your breath, smiling and stealing kisses from each other. He’s never felt anything like this before; for him, the thrill of sex is typically fueled purely by the primal instinct to get laid, but he’s in no rush to let you go. His cock begins to soften and he slowly pulls out, chuckling when you whine at the loss of fullness.

“Gotta toss this,” he says, removing the condom with a soft hiss and tying a knot. “Then I’m gonna hold you, mmkay?” Part of him is waiting for the post-sex adrenaline to wear off and the inevitable crash down when he realizes he’s mistaken lust for passion, urgency for belonging, but that doesn’t happen. As much as he’d love to be inside you again, hearing and feeling your satisfaction as you unravel for him, what he wants more than anything is to lay next to you and keep you safe. Safe from what, exactly, he’s not sure, but something compels him to protect you.

He takes you in his arms, the two of you a tangled, sweaty mess of naked limbs. Perspiration mats his sparse chest hair to his skin, but you press your cheek to it anyway and breathe in his scent. Your body grows heavier as sleep overtakes you, but Eddie’s low voice pulls you back for just a second.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?”

I love you. The words want to flow freely but come to a screeching halt on the tip of his tongue. It’s only your second date, and his mind is clouded with the sappiness of Valentine’s Day and oxytocin; what if he just thinks he loves you? Or what if he truly does, but you don’t feel the same way? Would you tell him, or would you pretend to reciprocate to spare him the hurt? Which is worse?

I love you. But it’s too soon to feel that, to know it for certain. And if he rushes things, he’ll get Harris’s hopes up–get his own hopes up–only to be met with heartbreak and disappointment.

I love you. And what would that admission accomplish, anyway? Where would you go from there? What would it change?

“Get some rest,” is what he settles on, biting the inside of his lower lip in shame. He kisses your forehead and watches you drift off, grateful when the exhaustion of the evening hits him and he follows suit.

I love you, is his last thought before he falls asleep, but he convinces himself that he’s not ready to speak it into existence.

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roosterforme · 10 months

Text

Always Ever Only You Part 19 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Before Bradley leaves for the top secret mission, you manage to send him on a special mission of your own. You want a little taste of how Bradley might have operated in the past, and he's willing to indulge your role playing fantasy. He's prepared for the possibility that you might laugh in his face, but he's not prepared for the other roadblock.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, self doubt, fluff, smut, spanking, role playing, bad pickup lines

Length: 6600 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order. Always Ever Only You masterlist. Gorgeous banner by @mak-32

You were practically giddy from nerves on Thursday night as you sat curled up on Bradley's lap on the couch while you talked on the phone with your mom. Your husband was running his fingers up and down your bare thigh and underneath his shirt that you were wearing, and your head was resting on his shoulder.

"When are you thinking about coming out?" you asked, switching the call to speakerphone so Bradley could hear everything. You looked up at him and smirked; he loved your parents and they loved him, but he hated when they stayed at your house. Last time they visited, he lied to your mom and told her he had hotel points that were going to expire before booking them a room at a five star hotel on his credit card. That way you and he could still have loud sex wherever and whenever you wanted to.

You kissed his cheek as your mom said, "Maybe the beginning of July? Just for a few days?"

"Oh, we could go to a Padres game like dad wanted to last time," you said, already thinking about getting tickets.

Bradley cleared his throat and said, "I think I have more hotel points. I could book you a room at that nice hotel again."

You had to clap your hand over your mouth before you started to laugh, and he just grinned at you.

"Oh, that hotel was lovely," you mom crooned. "But don't go out of your way, Bradley. Only if you have points that will expire."

"I always have points that are about to expire," he said quietly before you elbowed him in the ribs. "Ow!"

"That actually sounds great, mom. How about you get back to me with exact dates next week sometime? Bradley will be away on a short deployment, but he should be back by the start of July."

"Sure. Let me check with your dad, and we can let you know. Love you both."

"Love you," Bradley said the same time you did, and then you ended the call.

"You're the worst," you told him as you tossed your phone aside and straddled his lap. He looked so satisfied with himself, all you could do was shake your head. "Your ego is huge now, too. You're going to become a nightmare for me."

"My ego isn't huge, Sweetheart," he whispered. "Maybe other things are, but not that."

You rolled your eyes and kissed him softly. "Don't even try to deny that you've been strutting around since you got home from work and told me that Cyclone said you were 'one of the best pilots to ever come out of Top Gun'."

Bradley shrugged and bent his elbows, tucking his hands behind his head. "He said it, not me."

You scooted a little closer, nudging his cock intentionally with your thigh. You could feel him twitching for you, already getting a reaction. "That's why they picked you for the mission. You're the best, Roo."

"We should talk about tomorrow night." His voice was deep with that biting rasp that made your skin feel hot. "Go over the details since you won't let me see you after work."

You bit your lip and braced your hands on his shoulders. You bought a tiny dress and some new heels for tomorrow night, and you didn't want him to see you in them before he met you at the bar. You didn't want him to know anything about that until he saw you. "Well..." you started, scooting a little closer still. "You're going to meet me at One Trick Pony in North Park at 8:30. Don't forget to leave your wedding ring at home."

"I told you, I don't like taking it off unless I have to," he murmured, and you nearly moaned at his words. But he didn't touch you at all; he kept his hands behind his head.

Your body was practically vibrating at the possibilities for tomorrow night. You would be getting the full experience of what Bradley was like before he met you. Part of you had been dying to know how he would have tried to pick you up if he only wanted to sleep with you. But mostly you were thrilled that nearly two years ago, he wanted a whole lot more than that when you met him.

"Well, if you want to fully role play as strangers, you'll have to leave it behind. Just for a few hours. I'm taking both of mine off tonight before bed so I don't forget in the morning."

"You're not wearing them to work?" he asked, looking a little upset.

"It's just for one day. And you can't come home after work. You'll have to get ready in the locker room so I can get ready here."

His cheeks were a little pink now as he examined your face. "I already told you, this is just going to be embarrassing. There's no way I could have pulled you if we met at a bar, Baby Girl. I'd have taken one look at you, and I don't think I would have even tried it. If you and I hadn't been assigned to work together when we met, I would have absolutely never stood a chance."

You kissed the tip of his nose and whispered, "You have literally no appreciation for just how hot you are, Bradley. And that doesn't even begin to delve into all of the other wonderful things you have to offer."

Finally he brought his hands to your hips, but instead of removing your shirt like you were hoping, he scooped you up and carried you to the bedroom. "We should get some sleep so I can be well rested when you're laughing in my face tomorrow night."

When you pulled him down on top of you in bed, you said, "Or, we could stay up and have sex."

"No," he said, shaking his head as he stood next to the bed with his semi hard cock poking his shorts. "Not tonight. I want you good and needy tomorrow. I'm hoping that'll make things easier for me."

You whined his name and said, "There's no way I'm not leaving One Trick Pony with you, Roo. That's a given."

"I know, but I guess I kind of want to feel like I earned it." He was blushing again as he walked into the bathroom. "Like I impressed you or something."

You groaned and rolled over so you were face down on your pillow. He really had no idea.

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

You had Bradley all tied up in knots. He hadn't even seen you at lunch or anything, and now he was showering after a long day in the air. His body was sore. He was exhausted. He was leaving on Monday for South Korea before heading somewhere classified. And he had less than two hours until he was supposed to meet you at some civilian bar you told him you went to one time with Cam and Maria.

In theory, tonight should be fun. Role playing with you? He fucking loved it. Getting to take you home from the bar and sleep with you? He lived for it. You were his wife, of course he was excited about that part. But his bad lines and terrible moves of yesteryear were something he hadn't thought about since... well since he met you. The best part about being with you was that he never had to pull that shit out to try to impress you. He was just himself around you, and you seemed to like that from the start. Sure he was nervous the first few times he talked to you, but that was because he was already infatuated with everything about you. Not because he was looking to fuck you in the backseat of his Bronco and then forget about you the next day.

He took an extra long shower, and luckily everyone else had cleared out by the time he finished up. He made sure his mustache looked good, and he shaved the rest of his face. He fixed up his hair so it looked tidy, and then he dressed in his black slacks that were a little snug in all the places you liked. And then he slipped on his black shirt with the tropical white and gold floral print. As he did up the buttons, he wondered why you wouldn't let him get ready at home. Maybe you bought a new dress. Now he was getting excited. Maybe it was short. He quickly packed everything up in his locker and headed out to the Bronco.

After he killed some time by stopping for food, he realized it was nearly 8:00. North Park was trendy, so he wanted to have time to find parking and get to One Trick Pony on time. He found a spot a few blocks away, on a quiet residential street, and he checked himself in the mirror one last time before locking the doors and making his way to the bar.

There were students and artists and musicians out, and he felt like he stuck out like a sore thumb. He was used to the Hard Deck, not a trendy civilian bar with dim lights and music that was recorded post 1978.

He was too old for this. He'd just zip in here, let you laugh at him, and then take you home to bed where he'd teach you a lesson and beg you never to make him do this again. The bar was already kind of crowded, and when he checked the time on his phone, it was 8:28. Showtime. He just needed to figure out where you were.

He did a lap around the room as he ran his thumb along his bare ring finger with a grimace. There were some girls looking at him. They looked like they could have been in college, and he wasn't sure if they were going to laugh at him or try to buy him a drink. He just nodded in their direction when they waved to him. He missed his ring. He missed his own bar. And he missed his wife in his arms.

Where were you? Bradley didn't even see you anywhere as he started his second lap. Then the color red caught his eye. He saw the back of someone sitting on the last stool at the bar through the crowd of people that looked like it could be you. That looked like your hair. That was definitely your hand, and when you turned to look up at the man who was standing next to you, Bradley could see your beautiful profile.

He took off in your direction with a grin threatening his lips as he tried to keep himself calm. When he got closer, he stumbled. You were spinning sideways in your seat, still looking at the man standing there, and his eyes were looking straight down your dress. If that sexy little thing even qualified as a dress.

"Shit," Bradley gasped, because you were wearing a tiny bit of wine red fabric that clung to your body and left almost nothing to the imagination. And you had on black heels that laced up your calves and tied in cute little bows that he wanted to run his lips all over. When your eyes skimmed the crowd in his direction, they paused on Bradley for the briefest beat, but you gave no indication that he was familiar to you, let alone that he was your fucking husband.

No, you were every bit of the smoking hot stranger you wanted to be tonight, and Bradley's cock was already throbbing at the sight of your straw pressed to your bright red lips as you drank. And then it all clicked into place for him. That other guy bought you a drink. But of course he did. You and Bradley agreed not to break character, and Bradley was stupid enough to not even realize through his own nerves what that meant: that you'd appear one hundred percent single. It meant you'd have other guys all over you!

You were out of his league when he met you, and you definitely still were now. And this fucking wall street douche bag wannabe in a gray suit bought you what looked like a dirty Shirley Temple which kind of matched your dress. Bradley had no doubt in his mind what the douche bag was thinking. He had to be imagining your tits and how perfect they'd look with your dress on his floor later. But he was never going to have that distinct pleasure. Bradley would make sure of it.

Be took a deep breath and closed the distance to your stool. You knew he was here now, so there was no sense in delaying this any further. He wanted your undivided attention, and he wanted it now.

"What did you say your name was again, sexy?" gray suit asked you as he inched closer.

You told him your first name, and Bradley's skin crawled.

"Fuck, that's so pretty," he replied. And then he had the nerve to repeat your name a few times as Bradley came to stop right near you before the douche bag added, "I just want to make sure I get your name right for later, doll. You know, for when you come home with me." Bradley gave him a bland look as jealousy rose to the surface. Yeah, that wasn't about to happen.

You didn't look too impressed by this guy as you sipped your drink and glanced at Bradley out of the corner of your eye. And holy shit, you were even more exquisite up close. Every curve of your breasts and thighs was just right there for him and everyone else to see. Your makeup made your eyes look even more animated than usual, and your red lips were dying to be kissed by him. It had been almost two years since Bradley had done this shit, but he supposed he could do it one last time.

"Hi," Bradley rasped, and you turned to look at him with a soft smirk. The asshole in the gray suit just glared in his direction and sized him up with his tumbler in hand. But if there was one thing Bradley wasn't afraid of, it was a skinny blond guy in a designer suit with bad taste in whiskey. So he kept his eyes on you as he said, "You're gorgeous."

Your smirk grew into just the tiniest smile as you said, "Well, hello there. Are you going to tell me your name?" you asked. "Ethan here already told me his before he bought me a drink." You gestured to the other guy, to Ethan, and then uncrossed and recrossed your legs. On any other evening, Bradley's hands would be all over your body. He'd already be suggesting the two of you head home for the night.

"My name's Bradley. And I'm fighting the urge to make you the happiest woman in this bar right now."

Your laugh was so genuine and surprised, Bradley cracked a smile too. He held out his right hand, and you shook it as you told him your name. He added on your last name hyphenated with Bradshaw in his mind, reminding himself that you were already his. Then he nodded toward the exit with one eyebrow raised.

"Nice try, Bradley. But I'm not going anywhere with you," was your response as your hand slipped out of his with a grin. Then that straw returned to your lips as you finished your drink, your eyes skimming over Bradley's outfit like you'd never seen it before. In reality his clothes were all hanging up next to yours in the bedroom closet in the home that you shared.

"Can I get you another one?" Bradley asked, letting his eyes settle on your empty glass.

Ethan stepped a little closer to him and said, "Hey, man. I was buying her drinks first. Why don't you go find someone else?"

Bradley snorted and squared his shoulders. "That's not gonna happen, man. This one's the only one I want."

Your smile grew as you set your empty glass down for the bartender to take. "Can I get you another one?" she asked you, and both Bradley and Ethan said yes immediately.

You looked a little overwhelmed as you adjusted your dress, and Ethan had the audacity to moan. Bradley's hands clenched into fists as the other man leaned in and brushed his fingers along your neck. Another man was touching Bradley's wife, and there was nothing he could do about it unless you broke character. He felt short of breath as he thought about all the ways he'd love to pound Ethan into the ground. Nobody else should have intimate knowledge of your soft skin right now.

Then the douche bag spoke, and Bradley's stance faltered at the obnoxious line he used. "Doll, if you look this good in your little red dress, I don't know if I'm going to be able to handle you out of it later. But I can't wait to give it a try," he crooned in what Bradley was sure he thought was a charming voice.

"I can guarantee you can't handle her, Ethan," Bradley rasped as he watched you remove his hand from your body yet again. There were some nights you were so needy, Bradley could barely handle you himself, but he'd die before he saw someone else give it a shot. "And you're never gonna find out for sure."

Bradley never fought over a girl in his life. In the past, he'd just find a different one and head in that direction instead. But right now, he was going to have to guarantee that he was better than Ethan. So he reached over and handed his credit card to the bartender when she dropped off two more drinks for you. "Here you go, gorgeous," he murmured just for you. "Make me jealous of that straw again."

Once again, Bradley got a genuine laugh out of you as he stood to his full height. You looked up at him with your straw resting on your lip and said, "Thank you, Bradley," before taking a sip. His cock twitched in his pants as Ethan stood there impatiently, jockeying for position with you.

And then you stood up from your bar stool, still sipping your drink. Your heels were so high, your height hit a different spot on Bradley than he wasn't used to. And now you were kind of sandwiched between him and Ethan in the crowded space. When you looked up to your right through your long eyelashes, Bradley was there. But Ethan was on your left, and it appeared as though he was thinking about touching you again.

Bradley glared at him as you paused sipping your drink and asked, "Are you really jealous of my straw, Bradley?"

You wanted to hear more of his lines as you looked up at him, he could tell. He knew they were corny, but when he hesitated too long, he could feel your attention drifting to Ethan. So he told you, "I'm jealous of the straw and the glass and the whole damn drink, Sweetheart."

Your soft laughter made Ethan grab for the other fresh cocktail on the bar top in frustration. "Here's another one. The one I paid for," he reminded you.

"Nah," Bradley said, never taking his eyes off you. "She seems like a one drink kind of girl." Your straw was marked up from your lipstick, and he took a deep breath before feeding you another line. "And that's a nice shade of lipstick you're wearing. I wonder what it would look like on me."

But the thing was, it didn't feel like a line when he said it to you. Yeah, it was ridiculous, but he really did want your lipstick all over him. And he really was jealous of your straw, because on a normal night, he'd have had his lips on yours by now.

"You'd like to find out, wouldn't you?" you asked, clearly enjoying teasing him right now. "I think red might be your color."

"It's my favorite color," Bradley said softly. "Your lips and your little dress are just confirming that fact for me, Sweetheart."

You giggled and ducked your chin to the side. "I have a red car, too."

Bradley wanted to ask if you were wearing those red panties he was obsessed with, but he could tell that Ethan wasn't going to be deterred. "Did I mention that I'm an investment banker? And that I'd love to take you for a ride in my Ferrari?" Ethan asked, trying his best to nudge Bradley out of the way.

Bradley wanted to laugh; this poor guy had no idea that you drove an absolute relic and couldn't give a shit about his overpriced import. "Investment banking?" you asked him. "I have a degree in engineering. You must be very good at math."

Ethan shrugged with a smirk, because he finally had your attention now, and Bradley was the one getting antsy. Your body was still close to his, but he couldn't touch you yet. He hadn't earned that right yet. Ethan's hand was on your elbow as he told you, "There are very few things I'm not good at." Then he leaned in close to whisper something in your ear, but your eyes were on Bradley, daring him to win you in this match.

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

Ethan's breath was on your neck, and you were frozen in place, your dirty Shirley Temple gripped in your hand. Maybe this tiny dress was a bad idea after all. But Bradley had been doing so well, getting you laughing unexpectedly with his stupid lines. You knew he'd keep you safe right now, and if you lunged at him and told him you were done with this whole game and wanted to go home, he'd get you out of here immediately. But you wanted to finish this. You just hadn't planned on someone like Ethan being part of the scenario.

Bradley's fists were clenched as he stood just inches from you and watched things unfold. The shade of pink rising high on his cheeks left you biting your lip as you firmly pushed Ethan a few inches away from you. He didn't have a mustache or pretty brown curls or eyes that you wanted to look at all night. He wasn't yours. You decided to help Bradley out as you asked him, "So, what do you do?"

Ethan looked annoyed as Bradley perked up again. "I'm a pilot," he said, his voice deep and dangerous. "For the Navy." Even if you didn't know that voice by heart, you'd be ready to throw your arms around his neck and beg him to keep talking. Your nipples were hard in your tight dress, and you could feel Ethan's gaze on your body. But Bradley was looking you right in the eye as he smiled softly.

Ethan scoffed. "The Navy? Don't you have your own bars full of tag chasers to hang out at?"

Bradley swallowed hard, the scars on his neck bobbing with his Adam's apple. "The chance of finding a woman like this in a Navy hangout would have to be one in a million. That's why I came here tonight. Because there's no chance of that ever happening again."

You practically moaned for your husband, standing there feeding you subtle lines about the early part of your relationship with him. You wanted him to touch you, but he wasn't yet. And you wanted to touch him, but you were waiting for him to take things to the next level when he was ready for it. You sipped your fresh drink, your head feeling a little lighter as you squeezed your thighs together in need.

"One in a million?" you asked Bradley, your new straw already covered in your lipstick marks.

He nodded and ran the backs of his fingers along your cheek, and you wanted so badly to melt into him. "Yeah... you're one in a million."

"Listen, doll," Ethan interjected loudly. "Maybe you don't know what a tag chaser is, but there's no way this guy doesn't have them all over him on the regular. He looks the type."

Bradley's cheeks were red now as he looked down at the floor. Somehow Ethan managed to touch on one of the topics your husband was most sensitive about without even knowing it. "I wouldn't be surprised," you told Ethan. "He's built like a brick shithouse, and he's got a mustache." You ran one hand up Bradley's forearm and bicep to his paper plane tattoo. Then he met your eyes, and you added, "And his lines aren't crude."

It was obvious how Bradley was able to pick up women with such ease. He wasn't handsy or gross or over the top. If this was his tactic years ago, it probably worked every single time. You wanted to kiss him in the worst way right now.

"I mean, I'd at least let you spend the weekend after I fuck you," Ethan said, returning to his drink in defeat as you held your straw out to Bradley. "Not so sure about him."

You rolled your eyes as that deep blush returned to Bradley's cheeks, but when you asked, "You wanna try my drink?" your husband nodded and bent a few inches. And then there was a smudge of your lipstick on his bottom lip that was making you giddy.

"Thought you were hot and smart," Ethan mumbled. "Tag chaser. Just a dumb bitch."

Then Bradley's hand was on your back, pulling you a little closer to him as he snapped. "She's way fucking smarter than you, asshole." You watched your husband take several deep breaths, and you were a little nervous he might go after Ethan. But then he turned to you with soft eyes. "You have a master's degree, Sweetheart? You seem like you probably do."

You nodded and bit your lip as you tried not to laugh at the question he already knew the answer to. "I do, actually."

"See? She's smart. Fuck off, Ethan," Bradley grunted, his eyes on your face as the other man finally wandered away. "Do you want another drink?" he asked, his hand still at a respectful spot on your back. You were about to give him a filthy kiss, and then you caught yourself. You were still role playing. This wasn't over just because Ethan walked off leaving you alone with your husband.

You felt excited goosebumps on your arms. "No. I think I've had enough," you replied, easing yourself back onto the bar stool and crossing your legs so that you were seated sideways.

Bradley leaned in close to your face with one hand braced on the bar top and one resting on your knee. "Then how am I supposed to show you my big move?" he asked, stroking your skin with his rough thumb.

You bumped your nose with his as you asked, "What's your big move, Bradley?"

He was all smiles now as he said, "I always have good luck when I bump a pretty girl's bar stool and accidentally spill her drink all over her legs."

You were laughing softly at his description of what happened to you at the Hard Deck that very first night. "I don't think that's even necessary now," you whispered. "You have my full attention."

"Well that's only fair since you've had my full attention since I arrived."

You felt wild, like your skin was electric. Every stroke of his familiar hand further up along your leg felt brand new in a way that you couldn't explain. This was your Roo right now, touching you so intentionally, but it also wasn't. You needed to find out what all of this would feel like.

You brushed your lips against his, and your whole body clenched for him. He chased you for another kiss as soon as you started to pull away. And you let his hand slide up inside your short dress as he brought his other one up to stroke your cheek.

"You're exquisite," he whispered between kisses, watching his own fingers trace your cheek as you melted inside. "One of a kind."

"Bradley," you whimpered, afraid you and he were both about to break character. "Do you use that one on all the girls?"

He ran his thumb down along your lips as he shook his head. "That's not a line. It's just the truth."

You giggled and kissed his thumb before his hand trailed down to your neck. He didn't stop. He was stroking the tops of your breasts as you gasped, but his eyes remained on yours. He looked cocky and so sure of himself now. As he should, because he already knew exactly what you liked and how to make you lose your cool. "Bradley," you moaned.

"God, I love the way that sounds," he murmured, and you wrapped your calf round his thigh. "You make my name sound so good."

You kissed him before running your lips along his mustache. "I bet you could keep me saying it." Your fingers were in his hair, and you were already wet for him. You knew you'd never react to a random guy at the bar like this, and something told you Bradley wasn't out there a few years ago telling women they were exquisite. But it didn't matter. None of it mattered as you made out with your husband at the bar and pretended you had just met him.

He broke the kiss and let his forehead rest on yours. You were on the edge of the bar stool and precariously close to letting him find out you weren't wearing underwear as you moaned his name loud enough that you were afraid someone else might hear you over the music that was playing.

"I know for a fact I can come up with at least a dozen ways to make you scream my name, and that's if I'm only using my mouth, Baby Girl."

You gasped and rubbed your knee along his hard cock. "Baby Girl, huh? Is that what you call all the girls you hit on at the bar?"

"Absolutely not," he growled, pressing himself against you for more pressure. "Only the one I want to call me Daddy."

Fuck. Okay. You were ready to go. When you looked at him, your new shade of lipstick was smudged across his mouth, and it really did look great. You knew for a fact it would look great on his cock, too.

"I want you right now, Daddy," you whispered.

"I'm all yours," he replied immediately, carefully taking your calf in his hand before letting his fingers slide up your leg as he helped you down from the stool. As you stood and recovered from your daze, you watched him collect his credit card from the bar and quickly sign the slip for the bartender. But his other hand remained on you the entire time. "You coming home with me? I promise to take exceptional care of you."

The way your pussy clenched as you moaned was absolutely ridiculous.

"I'll take that as a yes," he murmured, bending to press his lips to your shoulder before he took your hand in his and led you toward the exit. You caught sight of Ethan as you passed him, and Bradley's hand dipped down to your butt. "You gonna say goodbye?" he asked with a smirk.

You waved and called out, "Bye, Ethan! I'm going home with Daddy here. He promised to take exceptional care of me." The other man looked annoyed as he turned away from you, still sipping his whiskey. "Let's go, Daddy," you told your husband, cupping his cock through his pants as you stepped out onto the sidewalk, leaving One Trick Pony behind.

"This way," he grunted, turning left and lacing his fingers with yours.

"Bradley," you gasped, trying your best to keep up with his long strides in your outrageously high heels. "Daddy, wait!"

"No," he grunted, simply picking you up in his arms and continuing down the sidewalk. You were giggling and wrapping your arms around his neck as you kissed his ear. His right arm was around your back, and your knees were bent over his left arm. He was rushing down the sidewalk like it was nothing.

"I'm not wearing underwear," you whispered, keeping your legs smashed firmly together and praying nobody could see anything. But it was dark, and soon Bradley was turning down one of the quieter streets.

"I know," he replied in that raspy voice. "That fucking dress looks like it was painted on you. Do you have any idea how little work I'll have to do on my backseat to get my cock inside your pussy and my mouth on your bare tits?"

"Bradley!" you nearly shouted, your mouth agape. "Do you say that to all the girls?"

He set you down next to the Bronco and wedged his thigh between your legs. You were absolutely panting as he unlocked the doors and said, "What do you think, Baby Girl? Nobody else looks like you or sounds like you or tastes like you. You're top tier."

"Oh my god," you whined as you rubbed yourself on his thigh. "I need you to fuck me immediately." Thank goodness it was so dark over here as he cupped your butt in both hands. Then Bradley hiked your dress up to your hips and opened the back door for you.

"Get in the fucking Bronco."

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

The fly of his pants was open, his cock was rock hard and hanging out, and you were slipping down around him with that perfect pussy. Bradley had the bottom of your dress hiked up and the top of it pulled down, and you were riding him on the backseat.

He had one big hand around the back of your neck, and the other was squeezing your tits as you whined, "Daddy."

Fuck, you had him so turned on, you and he were going at in on a residential street in the city at 10:00 pm on a Friday. He was always this feral for you, but you just had to go and add another layer to things. You just had to make him earn this privilege tonight. Because that's just how fucking hot you made him when he had to work for it.

As you bounced up and down on his cock and whined for him, he realized that tonight had in many ways been a great example of how he used to be with women. But it was also nothing like he'd ever encountered. Sure, he'd used some of those lines and his hand on a knee with other women before, but most of what he did and said was uniquely his reaction to you.

"Top fucking tier," he growled, leaning down to suck on your nipple as you rolled your hips against his.

"This is so hot," you gasped, head back and tits practically shoved in his face. He was trying his best to ensure that nobody was nearby who could potentially see what you were doing, but it didn't even matter. You and he wouldn't have made it home in this condition. Not tonight.

"Daddy," you whined a little louder now. You were bouncing on his cock hard and fast. Dirty. Raunchy. Like this was a one off. Like you and he were about to hit it and forget it. He shouldn't be this hard right now. He shouldn't be wrapping one hand around your neck and smacking your ass with the other. But he needed to hear you whimpering for him. "Oh my god!" you nearly shrieked.

Your eyes were wide as you tugged on his hair, and that dirty roll of your hips grew more languid as you made all those noises he loved as you came around his cock. "Jesus, Baby Girl," he gasped, pressing his lips to your tits and holding you tight as your orgasm left you a mess on his lap.

"Roo," you moaned, your hips rocking slower and slower, and that was it. One word and he was coming, too. Now you were all smiles and soft giggles, kissing his entire face as he squeezed your hips and fucked up into you until he was spent and you were filled with his cum.

If you broke character by calling him Roo, then he could too. He squeezed your leg and dug around in his pants pocket, his hips still rolling up against yours. You just felt too good as you kissed him. He took all three rings out of his pocket and broke the kiss. "Hey," he whispered. "Put these back on."

Bradley opened his palm and you looked at the collection of rings. You took both of yours with a smile and slid them on your finger while he did the same. "Did you take them to work with you today, Roo?" you asked him softly.

"Yeah," he grunted, still toying gently with your tits as you let your head rest on his shoulder. "Hated that you took them off last night."

You sighed. "You're so romantic. Tonight was so romantic."

He chuckled and shook his head, his cock still buried inside you. "You thought tonight was romantic? I had to outmaneuver that douche bag Ethan to get you. I had to work very hard for this."

"You did great, Daddy. But I must say, I'm not sure those lines really worked on other girls. You're just really, really hot."

"Hmm," he hummed against your forehead before kissing you. "Then it's a good thing you were already in love with me tonight. And it's a good thing I made you spill your beer on yourself that first time we hung out at the bar." He let his fingers trail down your legs to play with your high heels.

You pushed yourself off his shoulder and sat up as you murmured, "Like I said you're very romantic." Bradley watched you slide the tiny straps of your dress back up your arms as he gave both of your nipples one more kiss, eliciting more giggles from you. "Did you like my dress, Daddy?"

He grunted and lightly slapped your bare ass so you were biting your lip as you shimmied your dress up over your breasts. "Baby Girl, you look like Daddy's little slut in this thing. And that is not a complaint. It's a compliment. Yes, Daddy likes this dress. A lot."

Bradley should have been alarmed by the look in your eye and the way you were gently rolling your hips again, making him stir. "Please?" you asked softly. "Again? As Daddy's little slut this time?"

He stilled your hips with his hands and shook his head as you pouted. Jesus, he couldn't believe you were up for more role playing right now. "Hey. If you're gonna dress like a slut, then I'll fuck you like a slut. But I'm doing that at home in our bed. Because we're married. And I love you. And I need the drive home to recover."

Then a bright smile spread across your face, and you reached for the box of tissues on the floor. "Don't get cum on the upholstery," you whispered, and then Bradley was treated to the sight of your bare ass and pussy as you climbed into the front seat and pulled your dress down over your rear end. You turned around and looked at him expectantly as he cleaned his cum off of his cock. "Hurry up and buckle me in so we can get home. I need my Daddy."

Bradley smiled. "On my way, Sweetheart."

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

We are full steam ahead with these two role players. I hope you enjoyed this, because I was so happy to finally get to write it. Special mission and Bradley's birthday gift coming soon. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 20

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@chassy21

@solacestyles

@avoirlecoupdefoudre

@daisyhollyxox

@awesomebooklover17

@wintercap89

@rosesinmars

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@bcon24

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@gingerbreadandpaper

@emptyloverofmine

@chaoticassidy

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@sugarcoated-lame

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@o-the-o-grim-o-reaper-o

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@sylviebell

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@horseslovers2016

@gennyanydots

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@mattyskies

@hookslove1592

@blahehblah

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piratefishmama · 1 year

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Finders Givers | Prompted by @aellafreya

Curiosity.

Some may call it a dangerous thing. Some may argue for its ability to lead you to the truth of things. Some may claim it leads you to temptation, to regret, to suffering.

Steve Harrington, was curious.

He’d found the source of his curiosity while visiting a bar he’d planned on purchasing. It wasn’t a huge establishment. Or a well known one. Not exactly big bucks in the making but it was sat in a prime location atop a cellar that led to miles of underground tunnels which frankly.

He wanted.

He wanted them and not for legal reasons either. The tunnels weren’t on any official city map, predating them, Robin and Nancy, his right hand, and his researcher, found them by pure chance while on a fun little jaunt through the local libraries.

Fun being a stretch for Robin, but she needed to hang out with another woman her own age. And so did Nancy.

But he wanted those tunnels, they stretched all over the damn city, with just a little bit of work they could pop up anywhere, perfect for many a less than legal activity.

So many by-chance happenings had led him to that ratty little bi-fold leather wallet. Wasn’t even quality leather either. It looked old too, black with an embossed devil head pattern that probably came from some truck stop somewhere.

He could have just handed it in to the owner he was trying to buy out, could have even thrown it away, but curiosity was a devil sometimes. So there he was, sat down at one of the many tables in that little bar while one of his people did the majority of his work for him (honestly what’s the point of having people if they cant do your work for you?) perusing the contents and feeling more and more depressed by the second.

First, there was a wad of coupons and a single quarter in there instead of bills, which was never a good sign.

Second, a single, solitary, sad, badly rolled little joint.

Third. A single bank card with Mr E J Munson on it. Not even a credit card, just. A debit. Which statistically didn’t mean great things about this person’s credit score. Could just mean the owner was trying to avoid debt, but… doubtful.

Fourth, a stick of gum.

Fifth, a guitar pick.

Sixth, a library card, oof couldn’t even afford to buy the books.

An expired driver’s license desperately in need of renewal registered to Edward Joseph Munson, the photo made him look like he’d just gotten out of jail or some shit, his hair a terrible buzzcut and eyes too big, too dark, and too haunted to be anything else, but then that was just sometimes how those photos turned out. He could have been a totally innocent man!

It had his address on it, a few descriptors, height half an inch shorter than Steve himself, brown hair, brown eyes, male, 140lbs at point of issue (he’d been seventeen), date of issue, issuing State, along with a date of birth, clocking him at a year older than Steve, twenty nine, and… that he was apparently a donor.

And finally, a month old pay stub from a local fast food joint. So minimum wage worker at best.

It was… kind of sad really. Steve actually looked up the address on his phone, just for curiosities sake, because he was already in deep enough to look through a guy’s wallet, might as well google the poor saps address, just in case he felt charitable enough to drop it off on the way back to the high rise.

Oh there was that deep sadness some people might yell ‘I told you so’ about.

It wasn’t bad. But it sure as shit wasn’t good either. Steve knew of at least six bottom dweller drug dealers that operated out of that block, which explained the joint.

And also made him sadder about the joint, the weed probably wasn’t even all that good.

“Hey Robbie?” His long time friend and platonic soulmate turned her bored gaze over to him, she’d been playing angry birds on her phone, he could hear the war cries of those birds every time she launched one. “We done any charity this quarter?”

“Mmmmmnmnnnnoooooo?” It always looked good to the public for a rich guy like him to do charity work. Wouldn’t look too deeply into him if he was seen publicly doing good. “Unless you count telling Dustin to go wild in that nerd shop last week as ‘charity’, your child nearly emptied the damn shop.”

“Nah that was his birthday present, can’t call that charity.” He wasn’t going to reiterate that Dustin wasn’t his child. He was basically mom at that point.

“Alright, so what’re you thinking?” She sat up, turning to face him properly, putting her phone screen down on the table “Sponsoring something? A drive? There’s this cute little animal shelter in Japan called HEART I read about last month, ran by just a woman and her husband working with volunteers, could be a good thing to donate to? Helping animals is always good for PR.”

“…Those sound way better than what I was thinking, this guy’s wallet is bumming me out.” The expression on her face could have probably put grumpy cat to shame. “Pick one of your choices and do something with it, whichever you want. Imma do something about this wallet.” It didn’t have to be a big PR stunt, the fact that he was doing it on the DL as well? It always came back around all sunshine and roses because people believed it was totally selfless.

Didn’t do it for PR, couldn’t be doing it for PR, he hadn’t announced it.

It was always for PR. Always. The reaction just took a little longer to circulate and people were suckers.

“Just give it back to him? That should be charity enough. It’s like nine bucks to replace a driver’s license, you’re saving him nine bucks. Charity.”

“For someone who started out poor, you’re awful, Robin Buckley. Deal with this bar thing for me would you? I’m going to go on an adventure.” Curiosity was a powerful thing!

“Alright but if you come home with another stray I’m suing!”

“That was—”

“Seven times Steve! Seven!!” It wasn’t his fault that he struggled to see teenagers down on their luck. And four of them were two sets of siblings so it technically counted as one time per set, and one came with Nancy so—!

“Fine!” –So, he wouldn’t argue.

Empires weren’t built with throw away people who held no loyalty to you although he did have many of those on staff. Empires like his were built on the foundation of family, and while the one he’d grown up with was a little bit lacklustre, the one he’d built was perfect.

So he wouldn’t argue, he knew she loved them just as much as he did, in her own way, and that any additions would be welcomed with open arms.

—

Steve didn’t take the car. Although he probably should have, he knew at least three of his people would be following him, keeping an eye on him for safety reasons. At a distance of course but they’d be tailing him for the sake of safety.

That neighbourhood wasn’t safe. No matter if he had a weapon on him or not, it wasn’t safe for people like him.

People with visible wealth.

The watch on his wrist alone was probably worth more than some of the buildings in that neighbourhood, and it wasn’t exactly early in the day either. The sun setting made for an excellent ‘rich person in the wrong goddamn neighbourhood’ future police report.

But he made it to his destination unscathed.

The fast food joint from that pay stub. He even double checked the address on it. The chances of this Edward Munson being there were low, but that was fine, he just wanted to check it out. The atmosphere in there, the management styles, he’d hang out in the corner, get a cheap coffee and people watch for a while. See how fun Edward's work life was so he could add it to his decision making tree.

Curiosity really was one depressing little bitch baby.

The manager on staff was loud. Rude. Sexist. And he was pretty sure he’d made one of the staff cry because she’d hurried out very quickly rubbing at her face and sniffling. The temptation to put out a hit on him? High. But no, that was a lot for one asshole… maybe he’d just send Jane out, let the kid take his knees out.

She deserved a little bastard ba—

Someone beat him to it. A commotion later started by someone with a lot of hair, hair that’d been put up in a net and half hidden beneath the uniform’s god awful mustard yellow cap. It’d been two hits, the guy hitting him, and the manager hitting the floor, blood pouring from a very broken nose, spectacular.

The rest of the staff looked on in wide eyed horror, one yelping “Eddie, holy shit!” as the man pulled his cap off to reveal all that hair. “You’re so fired!”

“Didn’t need this shit show anyway! Chris an I quit, peace out assholes!!” Eddie. Eddie. Steve rose to his feet. Godawful coffee forgotten in the face of the mystery Edward, who caught his eye once before continuing on his way, all big brown frankly beautiful Bambi eyes, less haunted but still so big, full, kissable lips, and god, so much hair, going in the same direction as the blonde who’d disappeared to probably go and cry.

Eddie did need that job. He really needed that job. Steve had seen the state of his wallet. He needed that job, or at least he needed the paycheque that came from that job. Couldn’t even afford to buy his own books! He rented them, he rented books.

Jesus.

God, Robin was gonna judge him so bad for the person he was about to become.

Part 2

#PirateWrites #FindersGiversFiclet #Steddie #Mob Boss Steve Harrington #No Upside Down AU #Shady!Steve #CW: Stalker Vibes #nothing nefarious it's all lighthearted non-threatening stuff #Sugar Baby Eddie who never agreed to be a sugar baby but isn’t complaining.

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ladyelainehilfur · 1 year

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webtoon up to their crappy money making BS again 😐 aren't they already making enough money off their tens of millions of monthly readers? Did they set up this whole coin system with the end goal of using their site as an advertising platform?

Webtoon doesn't even feel like it's about web comics anymore. It's about piggybacking off creators' hard work to suck money from its users, credit card or not.

If the comic is ongoing, there's a fast pass system, with coins to advance. If the comic is finished, there's a daily pass system, with coins to advance. If the comic is popular and finished in another language, there's both. A popular webtoon will be complete and you have 60 days max to binge read before it's paywalled despite the fact you might have kept up with it for years at that point.

Now it's not enough for you to scroll through the episodes to get coins, now they want you to do a quiz. There might not even be enough slots for everyone to do the quiz! There was a time when there was no expiration date on coins you earned. Now you only get to keep the coins for 7 days. Go drop dead, right now.

From what I've read, creators don't get paid if someone purchases fast pass with free coins. I never thought webtoon was a benevolent entity creating a safe haven for aspiring comic creators, but their real greed as a company under multibillion-won-earning Naver is finally showing.

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love-and-deepspace-wiki · 13 days

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Currencies & Finances

Warning: we're about to get real nerdy in here lol. Y'all about to see firsthand why earned a math degree, because "Ooooo numbers!!!". So, no yawning in my class 🧐🧐🧐 But also, I promise it's not boring! Pls stay 🙏😭🥹

Linkon City has quite a few types of currencies, so let's go over them all real quick. For this post, I'm only covering traditional currencies. No chocolates or MeowCo tokens today. But there's a bonus outlier I'll cover at the end~

Standard Currencies:

Gold: (pictured left)

Linkon City's standard currency

Diamonds: (pictured center)

Linkon City's rare currency. Used to buy more treasured items

Crystals: (pictured right)

Linkon City's very rare currency. To quote their description, "used to fuel Linkon City shopping sprees"

Currency Symbol:

The only unique currency symbol I've seen is the one used on Lumiere's "Wanted" poster (top). But elsewhere in Linkon City, they use the "$" symbol (bottom). So, I'll be using "$" unless I learn otherwise.

Exchange Rates:

From this point on, I'll use LNK as my stand-in currency code. Based on the Top Up options, we can get a general idea of how LNK correlates with USD:

And thankfully, the game provides this handy conversion for us:

So we know that 1 LNK Diamond = 1 LNK Crystal.

Now, (rubs hands together) let's get needlessly nerdy about it.

Exchange Rate Calculation:

So, the formula to calculate an indirect quote is: (base currency amount) × (exchange rate) = (foreign currency amount)

Our first step is to calculate the exchange rate. So we'll reorganize our formula for that result:

(base currency amount) ÷ (foreign currency amount) = (exchange rate)

Since the Top Up menu uses a bundled system, it means we have to calculate the individual exchange rates for each bundle. Then, we calculate the average of those exchange rates for the overall exchange rate we want. I include the additional LNK Diamonds you receive for your first Top Up for simplicity, written as "X LNK × 2":

$0.99 USD ÷ (60 LNK × 2) = 0.00825

$4.99 USD ÷ (300 LNK × 2) = 0.0083166667

$6.99 USD ÷ (450 LNK x 2) = 0.0077666667

$14.99 USD ÷ (980 LNK × 2) = 0.0076479592

$29.99 USD ÷ (1980 LNK × 2) = 0.0075732323

$49.99 USD ÷ (3280 LNK × 2) = 0.0076204268

$99.99 USD ÷ (6480 LNK × 2) = 0.0077152778

Adding up all of the individual exchange rates gives us 0.0548902295. And, after dividing that total by 7 to find the average, we get the overall exchange rate for USD to LNK: 0.0078414614

Exchange Rate Table:

$1.00 USD = $0.01 LNK

$10.00 USD = $0.08 LNK

$100.00 USD = $0.78 LNK

$1000.00 USD = $7.84 LNK

Bonus Currency - Debit/Credit Card?

The only other payment option I've seen in-game is when the protaganist goes to the Protocore auction with Sylus at Solon Hotel. He gives her his card:

Idk if "The ACME" is a bank or something. But we can glean the following details:

Card number: 6174 71026

Expiration Date: June 2051

Unless he wants my next shopping spree to be on his dime, Sylus needs to protect his details a little better 🤣

#love and deepspace #lads #lads linkon city #linkon city #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #random facts sylus #lads diamonds #lads crystals #lads gold #love and deepspace diamonds #love and deepspace crystals #love and deepspace gold #lads currency #love and deepspace currency

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from-m-izzy · 3 months

Text

gleaming | the boyz lee sangyeon

“Go over the given time and I’ll spoil myself more than you.”

pairing » the boyz lee sangyeon x fem!reader

trope/au » established relationship au!, non-idol au!

genre » 18+ ONLY; MDNI PLEASE! 🔞 explicitly (?) suggestive, there's some fluffy moments here too, reader and sangyeon are very much in love

word count; estimated reading time » 1825; ~7 mins

warnings (lmk if i missed anything!) » dom/sub dynamic, dom!sangyeon, sub!reader, does not include explicit smut but i don't think it's sfw either, very suggestive (as compared to this; forever using it as a main benchmark), sangyeon grabs reader's neck (for a while), sangyeon's hands between reader's thighs (mentions of touching), sangyeon implied to physically taller and bigger than the reader, mentions of nudity (and undressing), panty sniffing; sangyeon of reader's, nicknames (baby girl; sangyeon to reader), kissing, (slight) public touching; sangyeon to reader, suggestive talk (public and private setting); sangyeon to reader, allusions to face sitting, not properly proofread (surprise surprise 😭 i'm sorry)

navi/masterlist!! 🤍

this is written to my dearest (and very old soulmate) ally @winterchimez 😘 happiest birthday to you!!

Sangyeon loves you. He loves you to bits and you believe in that confidently. You never feel any insecurities whenever he would be out without you. Your mind and heart are calm, not making any negative ‘what ifs’ from his actions towards the people around him, wherever he may be; and if anything, you’re confident in this seven-year relationship that you both are mature enough to settle any misunderstandings, should any occur, through conversations and patience.

Sangyeon, from the very start, has treated you as his one and only. Picking you up from a place without notice? You can count on him to be in the car within a minute. Bringing you flowers whenever a date is scheduled, even when it’s not at some fancy restaurant and just window shopping in the city? Be prepared to have one hand free for the colourful bouquet. Making sure to pack an extra scarf or thick jacket for you to wear because the weather could be unpredictable? The back of his car has around ten of that each. Making sure that your credit card, your phone or any cash never leaves your wallet and bag? He gave the restaurant his card a few hours before he would take you to any restaurant. When you figured that out though, he started bringing it way earlier; sometimes during opening time, sometimes just a huge load of cash a day before. Spoiling you with all styles and colours of clothing, and supporting your hobbies by purchasing in-game items? He even made a copy of his credit card for you to use.

The princess treatment became even more luxurious when you both could afford a little studio together. As a child, you always wanted a big house, painted in your favourite colour and maybe walls stuck with stickers from the dollar store but all you need now is to wake up and sleep next to the love of your life. Everything else ripples after that. After an exhausting day, the thought of having his hand behind your back is enough to rid of the sleepiness before driving.

Speaking of having a place for you both, Sangyeon has made sure to reserve a place in the corner of the bedroom for you. Whether that be for your gaming set-up or your skincare addiction he has reminded you to check the expiration date on or the albums of your favourite idols. He left his credit card next to your laptop to remind you that he supports you. His support never faltered even now as you're begging him for a date outside the house, hands clasped together in desperation.

“What's the occasion?” An eyebrow lifts in suspicion, his arms crossing in front of his built chest that you laid on last night.

“Nothing!” You shrugged, “There's just a little something that I want to get but shipping is expensive and we get to eat out.” You watch as Sangyeon tilts his head, his eyes narrowing at your wide eyes and the rising corners of your lips.

He knew he couldn't say no to you, no matter what. He was just expecting a lazy day in bed today as your day-offs finally matched after a few weeks. Just thinking of you both cuddling under the bedsheets and feeling your breathing against his bare chest, sharing body warmth through minimal clothing is all it took for that creeping red to make its way to his cheeks. But if his Princess wanted to have an energetic day out instead, then that’s what she’ll get.

You couldn’t help but chuckle confused at how Sangyeon suddenly bent his back, putting his face closer to you, cheeks lining up where your lips would be. When asked, Sangyeon turns his head, purposely flexing his closed smile to show his dimple. Understanding what he wanted, your toes lifted you to kiss one of his best features.

“You could’ve just asked,” rolling your eyes playfully and mimicking his crossed arms whilst walking away.

Your boyfriend stops you from taking another step, cushioning the back of your knee and your back with his sturdy hold. You couldn’t help but exclaim at the sudden levitation, but you knew he would never drop you; at least not to the floor. For extra security, “That wouldn’t be fun though now, would it?”

There’s something about men driving skilfully with one hand on the wheel and the other freestyling to be somewhere else. The very first few stages of the relationship, Sangyeon wanted to make sure that you felt safe in the moving metal vehicle, both hands parallel on the leather circle. Gradually, one hand lowers to rest on the head of the joystick. He knew the way he had his sleeves rolled halfway his arms also drove you crazy, judging from how your thighs would shake and the uneven exhales that are all too audible without much attention. From the corner of his eyes, he sees your thigh muscles contracting, ultimately closing as you look away to face the side mirror instead.

He demands your attention even when he’s driving, reaching the stage of the relationship where the innocent swipes on the outside of your leg when he changes the control of the joystick to shamelessly keeping your thighs apart, hands venturing further up, riding your dress and skirt closer to your waistline. Occasionally his knuckles would press against where you needed him most and with the little game he started, you always made sure that if you were going to wear shorts or pants, the fabric would be thin enough for you to feel his ministrations.

“Come on,” you released a breath you didn’t know you were holding, relaxing the muscles of your throat. You let out the slightest huff, half disappointed at how Sangyeon didn’t seem to go further. “Let’s go, Princess,” clicking the seatbelt open for you.

You didn’t bother masking your thoughts, unconsciously throwing a glare that is stronger than you expected. The look woke up Sangyeon’s dominant side and he locked the four doors through the main lock on his side. The realisation of your actions only hit you when Sangyeon easily wrapped a hand around your neck, pulling you into a searing kiss. The hands slide to the side gradually, pulling you by the back of your neck into a messy tongue fight. His collar rumpled against your hold for stability and Sangyeon found it amusing when you lightly moaned into him, a slight smirk adoring your gentle features.

“Here?” You asked at the small frame between your heated session.

“Don’t test me,” kissing you innocently by the tip of your nose, “Let’s go inside now.” Not before he slips a finger on your waistband and snaps it back against your skin did he exit the car, making his way to the other side to open the door for you. Before heading in, he sets a timer on his phone and you smirk at his impatience when he pulls your hips to his growing tent. “Go over the given time and I’ll spoil myself more than you.”

The rest of the shopping trip is tamely innocent. Sangyeon had to take deep inhales to calm his hardening member under his already tight dress pants. Thankfully, you decided to make the best of the time he gave you, dragging him along your shopping journey with a wholesome smile and it calmed the blood pumping throughout his body. Within the first few minutes, Sangyeon is already holding two shopping bags as he recognises some dresses that has been in your shopping cart for some time. The attention to detail is rewarded with a long (but still tame) kiss on his lips. That is until you decide to comment about something that makes his heart excited, dopamine rushing to all the things that he wants to do to you tonight.

“You don’t understand,” putting the bottle of moisturiser that you had a stock of at home, “I need all of these to make sure that my skin stays glowing like right now,” sulking at how your boyfriend does minimal skincare and his skin feels like a newborn baby’s soft, healthy and plump ones, “It’s not fair.”

“Your skin is beautiful, baby girl,” kissing your cheek to prove his point.

“But you can’t ignore the fact that yours is gleaming and immaculate.”

Sangyeon nods, lightly shrugging his shoulder, “I actually have a secret to this gorgeous, glowing skin.” It perks your ears, never hearing that Sangyeon is into such things, “Let’s get out of here and I’ll show you?” You could tell that he was up to something that wasn’t related to skincare but there was no way you didn’t want to find out what he was hiding behind that seemingly cute and pure eye smile of his, not when he didn’t mind cupping your ass, gripping on your flesh in public for everyone to see. Your nod is what makes Sangyeon drag you out of the shopping mall.

He didn’t bother checking if the car was parked prettily in the designated apartment parking and you can sense his neediness with how he left the shopping bags in the back seat, picking you up bridal style from the underground parking, not letting you use your feet. When asked why, in the midst of the tight square volume of the ascending lift, he whispers to the shell of your ears, “It’ll be doing all the workouts from now, don’t worry.”

You wanted to question him, but with just one look into his orbs, the darkness mixed with the lust made your stomach do little flips and the stomach there did an involuntary jolt as you felt your panties dampening with every second passed looking at his black eyes. As soon as you arrive at the room, Sangyeon wastes no time to drop you to sit on the bed. You were about to lie down, as that’s what you would usually do, but this time he tells you to stay still. You watch the strip show in front of you, Sangyeon unbuttoning his shirt but keeping it on. He rids the metal clasps of his belt, kicking his pants behind him and lays on the bed, arms propped behind him, flexing his biceps.

“Take only your panties off, baby girl,” a chill runs down your spine as he asks you and you’re suddenly hypnotised to do so. “Give it to me,” referring to the garment between your fingertips.

What your boyfriend did next intensified the pulsing between your thighs, “S-Sangyeon,” the lewd scene of him kissing and inhaling the scent of your used underwear where your wet pussy was made your legs shiver.

“Sorry,” he chuckles, putting the garment below his pillow, “Now come sit on my face,”

Your eyes widen at the request, “W-We’ve never done that–”

“Do it, baby girl,” he demands softly, voice cutting through silence dominantly, “Let me do my skincare routine lying down.”

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 tags (send a dm/ask if you would like to be here!): @deoboyznet 📢❤️ @k-labels 💙🤍 @k-films 🤎🎞️ @kflixnet 📺🍿

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