Standard Operating Procedures 1.05 (Eddie Munson x Store Manager!Reader)
Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader
Summary: It's a normal Sunday night. You're just going over to have dinner, smoke, and listen to music. It's not a date. What could possibly go wrong?
Previous Part: Standard Operating Procedures 1.04
Warnings/Themes: AU where the Upside Down doesn't terrorize Hawkins. Reader works at the Claire's at StarCourt. Eddie works at TapeWorld. Mutual pining, alcohol and drug use (wine, beer, and weed), R has a minor panic attack while high, fluff, lighthearted smut (petting/groping/dry humping), minor angst, misunderstandings and miscommunication, driving probably a little under the influence, slight anachronism (slapping the bag)
Note: Big note for this one if you've read the most recent installations of SMVerse that I've posted...this is NOT in chronological order. SM and Eddie are not together in this one, we are rewinding back before Closing Time. This chapter and the next one are both a little longer and have been lingering in my head for quite a long time. Almost a year. So without further ado, please enjoy SOP 1.05.
You can find my masterlist here for more featuring our resident Store Manager and all of my other writing.
Please do not interact if you are not 18+.
Enjoy!
---
Sundays were your favorite days, hands down.
They sort of always had been, even before moving to Hawkins. Now, though, you had an extra special reason why they were your favorite.
Sundays meant that you could be yourself after you clocked out. They meant standing in the mirror and wiping away the layers of glitter eyeshadow and scented nail polish off. They meant shedding the overly sparkly jewelry from work and the trendy clothes from the JCPenney or Madigan's Juniors department that were definitely cut for a teenage body.
No matter how young you still were, you just weren't sixteen anymore.
You could finally breathe a little easier.
No more Dress to Impress, no more preppy popular girl, no more customer service voice.
Sundays meant freedom.
Lately, part of that freedom meant walking out of the store, taking the most freeing breath you could, and walking right up to your crush best friend so you could spend those last few dying hours of the weekend together.
Shooting the breeze, laughing, and getting to know one another. Getting to really see one another.
Tonight, though, there was just this cloud hanging over you as you stood in the store's bathroom after hours and shucked off the plaid vest and fashionably unmatched skirt you'd chosen for the day in favor of a t-shirt and comfy stirrup pants.
Summer was over, school was back in session, and you hadn't gotten to see Eddie as much as you normally did.
Which, in the grander scheme of things, a lot of things changed with the new school year starting: a bunch of your associate's schedules changed, a few of them even left town for college, and business started to slow a little during the week for the first time since the store opened.
Still, you missed him.
It felt weird from practically seeing him every day to only seeing him in passing or on the weekends.
What if he didn't want to be friends anymore?
Well, that was just silly. Some remnant of fear about the fickleness of your friends memories in childhood. Besides, the first shift after school started back up, he immediately came running to your store and talked your ear off about the new kids that he forced to join Hellfire.
"God, they're such losers," he reminisced with a sparkle in his eye and a smile on his lips. "They have so much potential. I can't wait for you to meet them."
Tonight though...
Tonight was like any normal night; you were getting together after the mall closed and picking up pizza.
However, instead of any of your usual haunts or shenanigans in and around Hawkins, Eddie insisted you come over to his place. Totally normal.
"And we can smoke," he added as an afterthought.
"You know I don't smoke Eddie," you reminded him. "My grandpa and his crackly lungs? I've taken him to enough doctor's appointments."
"Doesn't stop you from sucking up the air around me when I'm having a cigarette on break. No. I mean smoke. Reefer. Weed. Jesus, don't act ignorant Miss Goody Two Shoes."
"Excuse me," you choked. "How am I Miss Goody Two Shoes?"
"Because," he began with dramatic emphasis. "For all of your stories about garage beers and parties that your work friends dragged you to, you've never mentioned partaking in any sort of illicit substances. You're being obtuse on purpose or you're afraid."
You were caught like a deer in the headlights.
"I...I'm not."
And you weren't; it wasn't fear. It was just...inexperience.
Back home you were always careful, even when you hung around friends from school or work; with your overprotective father and uptight mother and two brothers who wouldn't hesitate to rat you out if they found out you broke some kind of rule? It would be over.
So you never got too wild at parties. Disheveled clothes could be straightened, and you could pretend that swollen lips were just a side effect of getting a little sick. You never drank more beer than whatever made you feel a little floaty if you weren't sleeping over at a friends. And you never smoked weed.
Ok so it was fear, in a way; residual fear. Just not the way Eddie thought.
"Hey, don't worry," Eddie said in the most understanding way he could. "You just tell me and I'll drop it, if you're afraid."
You wanted to tell him, wanted to explain it, but in a moment of reflection and wanting to assuage his worries, defiance got the better of you and you told him that you weren't afraid and it would all be fine.
You were going to be with him; you never needed to be afraid when you were with him.
Now though, staring at yourself in the mirror as you got ready to go and meet Eddie you realized you might have made a mistake.
Hanging out with your crush friend alone at his place? Fine. Sitting close on the couch as you ate pizza and listened to music? Cool. Drinking and smoking together, knowing that you got a little bit chatty when you loosened up a little bit under the influence? Uhm.
What could possibly go wrong?
---
The spread that you and Eddie had created was impressive.
Pizza and a six pack and red vines and...and...and...
Eddie was usually very thorough when it came to providing snacks or planning outings where you could get a nice little treat together. Tonight it was partially your fault.
You'd originally planned just to drive to his place after work and the pizza would be delivered, but he said that when he'd called to place the order at Lou's--large pepperoni and a box of cannoli--they told him that the delivery driver was out. Takeout only.
But then he also forgot to stop at Bradley's for soda.
So you offered to go to Bradley's while he picked up the pizza, and you might have gone overboard.
Soda and a box of wine and peanut m&m's and...and...and...
"And you say that I'm bad," Eddie scoffed as you walked in, arms laden with shopping bags.
"Excuse me, this is the once in a blue moon you let me pay for anything, I'm gonna take advantage of it."
Wayne was still home getting ready for his shift when you got there and he simply shook his head at your bickering with a fond smile, then pilfered a little of everything for his own dinner before leaving you both to it.
Once he was gone, the festivities began.
You were both overzealous, talking a mile a minute over each other about your days as you set up for the night. Eddie divvied out food--creating a plate that reminded you of the Peanuts' Thanksgiving feast, overflowing with multicolored candies and popcorn and pizza slices--as you took care of the drinks.
You were a little smug that you got to teach Eddie something during these little Sunday night not-dates for once.
"Where did you learn this?" he asked skeptically as you ripped into the cardboard box. "What even is Franzia? Sounds fancy."
"It is the least fancy thing you can get," you grinned maniacally and freed the floppy plastic bag full of pink liquid from its confines. "Honestly I should have thrown it in the fridge but it's fine. You can put it with some coke; it'd probably taste better anyway."
He made a face.
"I'll just have a beer."
"Oh my--Eddie! Live a little." You settled the bag on the coffee table and gestured to it. "You don't have to drink it...chug a beer, I don't care...but you need to slap it."
He huffed and shuffled across the carpet on his knees to settle beside you.
"Is this a Claire's thing?" he asked, he looked up at you through his bangs.
"No it's not a--well...no. It doesn't matter! My old store manager, Jen, made us do it whenever we went to parties and hung out at her place. It's fun."
"Why does this feel like a lie?"
You reached out and smacked your hand against the plastic, listened to the liquid slosh inside. He let out a long suffering sigh but gestured for you to go ahead and he settled on the floor as you squealed with glee.
Eddie popped the little tab on the spout and the cheap wine poured freely into his mouth; he maintained eye contact with you the whole time, even as he choked on the unfamiliar taste of the pink zinfandel.
When you'd hung out with Jen and your coworkers and friends, it was just...a silly thing. Now, though, it was just you and Eddie; you stood over him with the bag gently held in your hands over his mouth and his hand rested on your calf as he drank. It was tense and intimate and as you started feeling a little hot under the collar, you wondered if this was a mistake.
Regardless, when he'd had his fill, he shut the spout and raised his hand and slapped the bag so hard it soared out of your grasp and across the living room.
You both burst out laughing as it swished and sloshed with a pronounced glorp on impact with the floor, and Eddie collapsed against your legs as the giddiness got the better of him.
"Ok, that's better than a keg stand." He looked up at you and wiped a hand over his mouth. "Blagh...probably gonna need that coke if I have any more though. Your turn, sweetheart."
Then the tables were turned, but unlike Eddie, you stood toe to toe with him as he held the bag for you.
To avoid the tense eye contact, you kept yours closed as you pulled mouthful after mouthful from the bag. You almost felt a little smug; you'd always been good at this, despite how awful the wine burps were gonna get after. You knew Eddie's competitive nature--always seeing who could finish a blizzard from DQ first and giving himself a brain freeze in the process--so you were hoping to last a little longer, hit the bag a little harder, and get him to concede.
You counted down in your head and finally when you couldn't take the heartburn the wine caused any longer, you shut the spout and released it, ready for victory.
Of course, opening your eyes provided nothing of the sort.
Eddie stood there, inches away from you; his pupils were blown and he was breathing a little heavily and for a split second you thought to ask if he was ok.
Until he leaned a little closer.
Close enough where you could smell the laundry detergent and the general amalgamation of mall scents coming off of him.
Then you noticed that his eyes were locked onto…your lips?
Was he gonna kiss you?
You already thought…well…and in the van the other week? When he licked frosting off your hand? You'd thought...
Except that was the thing, you always thought, you never acted. Too stuck in your head weighing and judging the options and if you could just do something about it. If you could just lean forward a little, you could stop worrying and have your answer right?
And if it wasn't meant to be and things were weird? If he didn't actually mean to try and kiss you? You worked retail; you could bullshit with the best of them if worse came to worse.
Then you'd just pretend that your heart didn't ache from rejection for the duration of your friendship. You were already familiar with disappointment; this would be no different.
Alright, that's it, you weren't gonna chance it anymore. All the worrying you did back at the store was enough. You were just gonna kiss him. Just lean forward; just go. Just go. One, two...two and a half...
Eddie's eyelids fluttered a little bit, and your heart clenched in hope, until he leaned away and cleared his throat.
The wine bag was tossed onto the coffee table and Eddie gestured to the plates he'd prepared.
"So, pizza?"
---
Music was the next event of the night.
And the weed.
Funny how all of your anxiety over smoking flew out the window when you were anxious about something else.
Because you just couldn't get your feelings out of your head after Eddie walked away from a kiss like that.
Was it even going to be a kiss? Or was it just the awkwardness of your positions in that situation? Were you overthinking the overthinking?
On and on those thoughts spiraled.
Until Eddie said he was going to get his stereo to start your comprehensive education of metal.
"We really don't have all night Eddie," you said and threw a balled up napkin at him as he fiddled with his tapes.
"Ok, maybe not fully comprehensive," he held his hands up in surrender. "Nothing sounds better than vinyl and I have all of that at Rick's. And my mom's records. You wanna talk about classics? We've gotta spend a whole weekend there."
He put a tape into the slot and hit play and the room was immediately filled with guitar riffs and singing and shouting; he turned the volume down immediately.
"I've gotta give you the whole history sweetheart," he explained. "So you've gotta hear me too. This song's not so important...I'll turn it up when we get to the good part."
Of course, Eddie's music history lesson...started with him.
"Picture this," he said, arms waving as he walked over to his school things that had been haphazardly thrown in a corner of the room: a wilted canvas backpack, a black binder, and a dented metal lunchbox. "11-year old me, fresh after my mom's funeral and everyone she knew was coming up to us but I refused to talk. Wayne kept making excuse after excuse. But Rick, bless him, said 'gotta make him cry.'"
And on he went as he spilled the contents of the dented lunchbox on the coffee table and began the fine work of rolling a joint.
"Took me to the record store, let me pick out whatever I wanted. Of course I chose Sad Wings of Destiny because the art was cool. Little did I know that would change the course of my life forever."
You didn’t know what to focus on and that made you spiral a little bit further. The words, the music, his lips and his fingers as he followed steps that he seemed to know but didn't feel the need to elaborate on were all very appealing targets; the music and his story was what was important here though and you made the attempt.
He told his story in a way that only Eddie Munson knew how to—arms flailing, minute details, expressions and voices and everything you loved admired about him. He took a moment to swap cassettes and crank up the volume before he fell onto the couch beside you in a mess of cushions and limbs and hair.
"I would say ladies first," he began as he presented the joint to you. He then stuck it between his lips and continued talking around it. "But I'm nothing if not a gentleman and I need to teach you how to do this. It's a little different than cigarettes."
It was a comprehensive lesson and you'd gotten the hang of it quickly, but the proximity did nothing to help calm your nerves; Eddie's knee touching yours, his face and hands so close to yours as he held the joint to your lips, then one hand your shoulder as he soothed the cough that escaped you after your first hit, and finally the way he inhaled along with you as you took another.
Want burned in your lungs along with the smoke, but it didn't leave you when you finally exhaled.
You were very much looking forward to the light and mellow feeling that Eddie promised once the weed hit your system.
"Until then," he grinned and took another hit himself before dropping the smoldering stick into a nearby ashtray. "We just dive into the mind of the great Ronnie James Dio."
You rested back against the cushions and turned your head to really watch him; it was strange just...observing him. You had never done it like this before, close and quiet at this distance. Your time together was always spent with conversation and laughter, your observations and mental notes about him done in little snapshots as he moved through life like a blur.
Now you got to experience the simplicity of his presence in private and the addictive frequency that he emitted.
It was nice.
You watched the way his lashes brushed against his skin as he melted into the sofa beside you and closed his eyes. The way his plush lips pursed and then stretched as he hummed along to the music. You closed your own eyes for a second as he matched the sharpness of the lyrics with his voice, hushed and then shrill, and then hushed again.
And when you opened them back up to watch him some more, he was watching you and practically vibrating.
Your heart skipped a beat...
"Sweetheart," he reached out and touched your wrist. "You ok?"
Wait...he wasn't vibrating.
You were.
Then you noticed that your heart skipped many beats, then the beats suddenly tripled, and then it all slowed again, pounding harder and faster in your chest than you believed to be possible.
Did your chest hurt? Or were you imagining it?
It felt like the few times you ran the mile back in high school, but you hadn't run.
Had you?
Your legs felt like jelly. Your arms too.
So you must have run...but when?
No wait, you were forgetting something. Your chest, your heart, your lungs. You had to focus on them first, you needed them to live.
You tried to fix it all by taking a great gulp of air in--if you felt like you'd just run the mile, surely catching your breath would fix it--but you found that it didn't fix anything. In fact, you seemed to lose even more control of your body. You floundered, breathing heavily over and over, quicker and quicker to try and get a hold of yourself.
And the panic set in, unlike anything you'd ever experienced before in your life.
Your consciousness became untethered from your body and you sank deep within yourself. Like Alice falling down the rabbit hole. Only instead of a rabbit hole, the you that existed in your mind fell away from your eyes and deeper into your skull then out the back of it and into the so-soft cushions of the couch.
But this wasn't sinking, this wasn't melting. This was being buried alive.
You remembered Eddie’s taunting before, about being afraid of smoking. Why hadn’t you told him that you didn’t want to do this? Why hadn’t you told him you were afraid? You were a stubborn idiot and now you’d die here, buried amongst pilling fabric and lost change and lint and a few cheerios that were stuck between the cushions.
You would die here on Eddie's couch...
"Eddie!" you practically sobbed and reached out for him, remembering suddenly that he was there with you. Why wasn't he doing anything to keep you from sinking? "Help!"
"It's ok hey!" He grabbed your hands now and pulled you back from the void, hooked the tether back onto you and saved you from the depths. "It's ok, breathe. No, not like that. Slowly, deep breaths with me. In and hold it and out. Whoooooo."
You focused on the whooshing sound of the air that escaped his lips and you tried to make the same sound yourself. Over and over, slowly as he guided you.
"That's it," he smiled. "Good girl."
You slowly grounded yourself through Eddie, escaping whatever horrible clutches had just grasped at you. You began to feel better, lighter; more centered within yourself but…nicer?
Had that awful feeling been the high? Or was this?
Maybe everyone got caught by a demon when they smoked and then if they escaped they felt a nice light flutter and instead of a heavy beating heart that threatened to burst out of their chests, they felt...silly. Happy. Bubbly.
Like you did whenever you were around Eddie.
Only now it was better, and it was all getting better as he spoke to you and smiled and wiped at the few tears that had escaped your eyes.
Breathe in, breathe out. Good girl.
You kept breathing and staring at his lips.
Breathe in.
Lips.
Breathe out.
Eddie's lips.
Good girl.
You thought about earlier...minutes or hours you couldn't tell for sure...about the way Eddie leaned close to you and almost kissed you. All the worry you'd had about not being able to make a move because you were thinking so much you couldn't act. Here you were now, thinking again. When his lips were right there and you could do something about it.
With one last shaky breath, bubbly infatuation flooded your body; you smiled and said one final farewell to your nervous thoughts, and you surged forward. Your hands shook his away and grabbed at his face, as your lips slid clumsily against his.
Your noses bumped and teeth clacked painfully but it didn't quite matter because the sparks that emanated from your joined lips shot through your limbs and made you both feel tingly and pleasant. At least, you assumed they did for Eddie because he let out a sound that was somewhere in between a giggle and a moan.
But he didn't push you away; in fact, his hands clapped over yours and smushed them further into his cheeks.
He wanted you to kiss him. He wanted to kiss you. He...liked you.
It was a euphoric moment of joy and realization, but your need to put your lips on him outweighed that. So you tried again. Gentler this time.
Eddie followed your lead for a little while as you pulled him towards you; one of his hands found your waist as the other arm rounded your shoulders, and he became your anchor to prevent you from being buried by the sofa again. As thanks for his chivalry, you gifted him with soft caresses, quick pecks, and sharp little nips.
Your fingers developed a mind of their own, and seemed to love his cheekbones and getting tangled in his hair, although they couldn't quite decide which they loved more so back and forth they went.
The rest of you, though--mind and body--just basked in the kissing.
You were good at kissing; you liked kissing. And you liked kissing Eddie, more than you ever thought you would. Kissing under the light, buzzy influence of a beer or two was nice, and it might have been the weed or it could have just been Eddie himself, but this was nicer. Floaty and tingly and transcendent.
The music itself had stopped, but Eddie himself continued to provide the soundtrack to the night. Instead of guitars and vocals and pounding drums, it was a symphony of soft hums and sweet sighs.
Eddie, who often pilfered bites and nibbles off your plate and cited that he was a "growing boy," seemed to prove that his hunger was greater than yours the way he bit and nibbled at you too, appetite growing the longer you kissed. The pace you set no longer fed him the way he wanted and he started to feast a little more; that was a side-effect of being high, right? Hunger. Insatiable hunger?
His mouth pulled away from yours and started to explore your jaw, the column of your neck, the junction between your neck and shoulder. You let yourself get lost in the feeling of his attention, of his lips and hands as he gave and took, of the floaty feeling that settled comfortably in your limbs now, all the nerves of the day forgotten.
Before you knew it, your own hunger grew as well. You wanted him closer, needed more of him now that you had him.
You let yourself drift back along the pillows until you were laying comfortably and pulled Eddie along with you; one hand still lingered in his hair as the other fisted the collar of his shirt and got him right where you needed him to be.
Of course, you couldn't just take without giving as well, and as he settled onto you, your hips bucked up into him. You both moaned--savoring the proximity and delicious friction that his jeans and your leggings provided--and then giggled together as he collapsed on top of you, unprepared for the sudden surge of delight.
His breath fanned across your neck and jaw as he laughed breathlessly, and your hands caressed his head and shoulders fondly as you mirrored him.
He strained his neck a little to look you in the eye; his grin accentuated all the lines in his face, and for a second he struggled to form words. His mouth opened and closed silently and then he licked his lips to compose himself. The next thing you knew, his hand was coming up and squeezing one of your breasts with an exaggerated "honk" as he fell back against the other one and pressed his mouth to the swell over your shirt.
Back into the throes of unadulterated giggles you both went as he continued to honk and kiss and suck at exposed skin.
One of the highlights of the whole night was when he blew a raspberry against your neck; the feeling of goosebumps that erupted along your body and the spittle that sprayed across your skin would be a sensation you would remember and cherish forever.
"No fair," you whined and shifted against him again, both to protest the fact that you currently couldn't return the favor of all the attention he was giving you. Nevertheless, you treated him to the attention that you could, and you bucked your hips up again, only to be met with the feeling of him grinding down onto you.
Giggles began to mingle with desperate pants as he began to shift against you and settled into the cradle of your thighs; he grew harder and ground and rutted against the covered softness of you, faster and sharper, and your body eagerly responded, wanting to be as close to him as you could. As close as either of you could honestly fathom at this point, feeling too good like this to consider that there was more pleasure to be had if time went on and clothes came off.
Sunday nights together were truly gleeful and hedonistic, and tonight was no different. However, instead of snacks and arguments accentuated by the sounds of light-hearted talk and laughter, it was your writhing bodies and mingled breaths that took center stage; the two of you never stopped, only paused for your lips to smack wetly against one another, for your nails to rake through his hair and scratch against his scalp, and for him to grasp at your hips to pull you closer and closer as he drove you higher and higher.
"Eddie, I'm--" you broke away from him and keened, and he responded with a husky "uh-huh" and pressed his forehead against yours. Both of your eyes closed as you felt the pleasure building between the two of you, as he moaned and your toes curled...
As keys jingled in the lock of the front door of the trailer.
...and suddenly it was like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over the both of you and you froze, all thought of completion forgotten.
Your eyes shot open and you stared into Eddie's panic-filled, pleasure-blown pupils. He shifted sharply and then paused, almost like a glitch, and then he was off you, across to the other side of the couch in the blink of an eye. You watched, dumbstruck, as he panted heavily to control his breathing, and he held his head in shaking hands.
"No, no," he muttered. "Shit. Shit."
You reacted quickly as the door started to squeak open--throwing your legs over the edge of the sofa to sit upright as your hands clumsily fixed your disheveled clothes--and Wayne walked in. You took the extra second as he grumbled at the threshold and fiddled with his keys to look at Eddie, hoping for some kind of...secret conspiratorial smile or...or heated gaze...just something but he refused to look at you.
Suddenly, all of the good feelings that had flooded you since the moment that Eddie had chased your panic away...they vanished. The sweet giggles and shared pleasure were gone; even the love bites you were sure Eddie had left behind stung instead of blissfully buzzed.
And in their place, an acute clarity of what the two of you had just done.
"You wouldn't believe the mess I walked into tonight," Wayne chuckled with disbelief as he finally shut the door.
No kidding Wayne, you thought bitterly.
"Some of the machines were down when I got there and it took a few hours to figure out the problem. Some rusted old part..." On and on he chattered as you spiraled, stuck in your thoughts once again.
You and Eddie, Eddie and you. You and your secret crush...had just...on his couch. You and your best friend, your only friend in town...got high and kissed and canoodled and now he refused to even look at you.
You didn't know if it was the weed again or if it was just you, but you could see stars in the corners of your eyes and you felt lightheaded as the panic settled back in. And it only got worse the longer you sat there and tried to get some kind of sign from Eddie, only to be left with nothing. Such a stark contrast from just moments ago where you were giving and taking and responding to one another so freely.
Giving and taking...was that really what it was? Or did you just...do this to him? Do this to the both of you? Effectively tank your friendship the way you'd worried about since the first time you'd hung out and Eddie had specifically said it wasn't a date?
You abruptly got to your feet and Wayne stopped his chatter and looked at you questioningly.
"I..." you felt your throat closing up with emotion. "I just forgot I have a really important call first thing tomorrow. I...need to go!"
Eddie finally looked at you with wide, shocked eyes.
Were those tears? Oh god...
"I...it was nice to see you Wayne, sorry..." you scrambled to grab your bag from where you'd tossed it by the door and then looked back at both Munsons. Back and forth at Wayne's curious expression...and Eddie's devastated one. "I'm...sorry."
And you bolted out the door, into your car, and back across town to the lonely confines of your apartment, where you would wish for a second chance at Sunday all over again.
Because until tonight, Sundays had always been your favorite days.
Next Part: Leave of Absence
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𝐋𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞 + 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫/𝐒𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝗼𝐧𝐬: 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐄𝐯𝐢𝐥 (PT. 1)
Characters Included: Ada Wong, Alcina Dimitrescu, Albert Wesker, Ashley Graham, Carlos Oliveira, Chris Redfield, Claire Redfield, Ethan Winters, and Finn Macauley.
><—><—><——><—><—><——><—><—><—><
𝑨𝒅𝒂 𝑾𝒐𝒏𝒈;
—> Ciswoman (She/Her), Bisexual w/ no preference
✞ Gift Giving: God, this woman loves to spoil her significant other. Anything she sees and think they'll like? Boom, it's bought within a second and being taken home to them as soon as possible. Did you mention something? Boom, next thing her partner knows is that the same thing is on their bed with a little note. What's the point in having someone to love if you can't shower them in things they want?
✞ Physical Touch: It may not be full blown cuddling most of the time, but small subtle touches. The kind that leave a person wanting more in seconds. Ada loves having that charm on her partner, but of course she's a sucker for some hugs from behind and kisses. It really just depends with her, but she loves it regardless.
𝑨𝒍𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒂 𝑫𝒊𝒎𝒊𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒖;
—> Ciswoman (She/Her), Lesbian/Sapphic
✞ Gift Giving: Considering she is filthy rich and quite literally a lady of an entire castle, she'd like to spend some time pampering her significant other with all the things she can give them. Anything they mention wanting around her she'll find a way to acquire, even if it means a limb from one of her many maids. She'd do anything to get her partner's eyes to light up (within reason) and happily watch them as they get excited over the gifts. What can she say, she likes to spoil her baby.
✞ Quality Time: Alcina LOVES to spend time with her significant other. It doesn't matter if it's a small dinner with them, them sitting with her whilst she plays piano, etc. She loves the idea of being in the same room as her partner and having her full attention on them (and vice versa). She may be able to live a long time, but depending on the circumstances, her significant other may not be able to and she wants to have every moment with them. Don't get her started on if anything bad happens either, she just wants good memories with her special someone.
𝑨𝒍𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒕 𝑾𝒆𝒔𝒌𝒆𝒓;
—> Demiboy (He/They), Pansexual
✞ Gift Giving: Another gift giver, Wesker is not good with words, and he definitely does not like being touched. He's a powerful being, and why not show that he can do whatever by getting his significant other whatever they want?
✞ Quality Time: He's a very busy man, and if he likes his partner enough to actually be with them, then might as well spend time with them. His idea of quality time is quietly sitting in a room while both people are doing their own things. What's more ideal then spending time with your significant other and getting work done?
𝑨𝒔𝒉𝒍𝒆𝒚 𝑮𝒓𝒂𝒉𝒂𝒎;
—> Demigirl (She/They), Straight
✞ Gift Giving: Ashley is the presidents daughter, so she's bound to come from a wealthy family, why not spend some of that wealth on her partner? Gifts can range from expensive jewelry to expensive dates even. Though, I feel like she'd also like making little trinkets for her special someone.
✞ Physical Touch: Ashley would be a very touchy person, always holding her partner's hand, giving them small pecks on the cheek, etc. She loves to show affection to the ones she loves, and is shameless about it. She does know there's a time and a place though, and if they want space she'll gladly give it to them (with a bit of a pout).
𝑪𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒐𝒔 𝑶𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒊𝒓𝒂;
—> Cisman (He/Him), Pansexual
✞ Physical Touch: You cannot tell me this man wouldn't be touchy, he would be all over his significant other. He would have an arm draped around their shoulders, and arm around their waist, etc. If him and them were at home he'd be laying on them in their arms. He just loves the feeling of contact, it assures him that they're real and there, which puts a smile on his face just thinking about it.
✞ Acts of Service: Carlos would do anything to make his significant other's life easier, even if it was just by a little bit. The thought of lifting a weight off of his partner's shoulders when they're exhausted or have no motivation to do something makes him happy. It makes him feel useful, he thinks of it as a way to pay them back for putting up with his smart ass all the time.
𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝑹𝒆𝒅𝒇𝒊𝒆𝒍𝒅;
—> Cisman (He/Him), Bisexual/Demiromantic/Demisexual
✞ Quality Time: Chris has been through a lot, and has lost a lot of people. He can't get the thoughts out of his head that something bad is going to happen to his significant other, so he wants to make every second count. It doesn't matter how, him and his someone could be in the same room, quietly doing their own things even. He just wants to have enough time with his significant other before anything can get in the way and cut that short.
✞ Words of Affirmation: Sometimes he just needs to hear from his special someone that they aren't going to leave. As I said before, he's lost a lot of people, most of them being very meaningful to him. He can't bear the thought of another person leaving, so hearing the words come out of his significant other's mouth in sincerity helps soothe his nerves, even if it's just a little bit.
𝑪𝒍𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒆 𝑹𝒆𝒅𝒇𝒊𝒆𝒍𝒅;
—> Demigirl (She/They), Omnisexual w/ a preference for women
✞ Quality Time: Claire thinks making memories with her special someone is extremely important, and what better way to do that other than spending time together? Whether it be a little date night or just laying in each others arms and conversing, she cherishes every moment of it. She likes seeing her partner happy, it makes her happy to know she's doing something right.
✞ Words of Affirmation: Claire loves praising her significant other, whether it be something as simple as a "I'm proud of you" or an "I love you". She wants them to know she loves them, and words are definitely a good way to do that. Expect her to shower her special someone with compliments and praise as much as she can.
𝑬𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝑾𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔;
—> Cisman (He/Him), Bisexual w/ a preference for women
✞ Acts of Service: Ethan would quite literally go through hell and back to make his significant other happy, so why not do simple things to make their life easier? He likes doing things for people, and he loves his partner so they're a prime target off that. He takes no protests, especially if it's something so simple he could do it in like five minutes.
✞ Physical Touch: I feel like Ethan would be the kinda guy to walk up behind his significant other while they're cooking, and give them a long hug from behind. He'd come home from work after a long day and just wanna lay down with his partner and embrace them.
𝑭𝒊𝒏𝒏 𝑴𝒂𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒍𝒆𝒚;
—> Transman (He/Him), Omnisexual w/ a preference for men
✞ Acts of Service: Finny here would do anything for his significant other. Similarly to Carlos, it helps him feel useful when he makes your life easier. Since he did a lot of the C4 work for his BSAA team, he just kinda got used to doing things for people too. It's a win/win for him, he gets to keep his brain active and some of your needs get met.
✞ Gift Giving: I feel like Finn would love to give his significant other little trinkets he sees or finds, or little things that reminds him of them. He likes to see the smile on their face when he comes home with a little gift for them. It warms his heart and he can't help but smile too. He also loves to give them things with a lot of sentimental value, whether it be something related to an inside joke, or something they mentioned a while back.
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𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭: None Currently
A/N: Comments and reblogs are appreciated! <3
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