#what i wouldnât give for this man to just fucking punch me
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#what i wouldnât give for this man to just fucking punch me

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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DJO Pomona, CA â April 15, 2025
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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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The Sound of Music (1965) dir. Robert Wise
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this is a repost from my old blog. original post was 1,186 notes.
pairing(s): steve harrington x shy!reader
words: 1705
warnings/tags: best friends to lovers, mentions of food, shy!reader.
âstevie?â you ask into the empty air, tearing your eyes away from the view in steveâs passenger seat as you previously pondered silently. âmhm?â is all he mumbles back, to show heâs listening while scooping another spoonful of the chocolate ice cream from his tub.
you werenât sure why you were having ice cream on a cold winterâs night, but steve had suggested it and you never tend to question steveâs random motives as such. your half-eaten raspberry tub rests on your lap, slightly melted from neglect during the reverie you coaxed yourself into. parked atop a hill overlooking the town below the moonlight.
you donât continue at first, looking down to your knee which now bounces anxiously. and with the extra space of silence, steve looks up from his ice cream, eyes peeking beneath the strands of hair that poke his face.
sitting the tub into one cup holder, steve moves back against his seat, one hand beginning to drum the steering wheel aimlessly while he watches your body language. âyou donât like it? thought it was one of your favourites?â steve continues worriedly, and nods towards the dessert in your hands.
you shake your head, ushering it into the cup holder beside his with a very small, âno, no. i do⌠iâll have it in a second.â
âokay.â
the car falls silent again, steve watches as you slump against your seat and lose yourself in the view again. however, steve can tell it isnât the landscape youâre thinking of, but if only he could pinpoint exactly what you were thinking.
penny for your thoughts, steve thinks and hesitates upon saying. in the end leaving you be at first, instead reaching a hand over to your restless knee and it suddenly stops moving. steve squeezes it affectionately, a small message that heâs still listening as he turns down the radio ever so slightly.
âwhat was your first kiss like?â you splutter all of a sudden, voice quiet and a deep nervous inhale following. steve wasnât expecting it, eyes blinking and eyebrows raising as he processes the question. he taps your knee once more before moving his hand back to his lap, and you immediately miss the warmth.
âeighth grade with vanessa johnson. i freaked out so bad i bit her lip and she never spoke to me again.â
with steveâs statement you giggle. of course he did just that. âyou bit her?â you repeat, hand covering your mouth as more laughter falls from your lips, and steve joins you with an amused nod, âsure did.â
your hand falls from your mouth while you lean your head back to face the car roof, laughter slowly falling back down and steve can only watch you with the fondest smile. âdo you bite every girl you kiss?â
âno. funnily enough it was an accident and she hated my guts for it,â steve responds to your teasing with another chuckle emitting his throat. your head tilts to the side, cheek pressed to your shoulder as you look over at him, his gaze intoxicating as he smiles so warmly towards you.
âi got much better, yâknow?â steve smirks, ego boosting himself. âi know,â you reply without thinking and steve pulls a face, confusion and amusement packed into one before nudging your arm gently, âwhat do you mean you know?â
you laugh again, embarrassed and quietly when you reply, âhigh school girls locker room. steve harrington was the topic of conversation most days before gym class for the popular girls.â steve grimaces, unamused and worried about the fact that you had heard those conversations about steveâs kissing techniques.
âgod, high school. donât miss it a bit.â
you donât reply. looking out the passenger door window and to the couple of cars upon that side, distractedly staring as you sigh sadly. and steveâs not an idiot. heâs your best friend and also someone whoâs been infatuated with you for years, he can tell what youâre thinking this time.
âitâll happen, you just need to find the right person.â
your first kiss. still in your twenties without having ever kissed someone, while others around you were now in serious relationships.
you close your eyes and sigh at steveâs words. thatâs the problem; you have always had the right person but youâre too terrified to make the first move. the unbearable fear that steve wouldnât like you back was excruciating while he dated several girls during your friendship that you hoped he would be brave enough to do something instead.
maybe he just wasnât interested in you that way. since he had no problem asking all those other girls out, as far as you can tell.
âi have an idea.â
steveâs quiet and patient to match your timid voice, you can usually get more shy in conversations youâre scared of and heâs willing to hear you out. but when is he never. âyeah?â is all he asks, practically a whisper.
your words get lodged in your throat, how are you supposed to ask your best friend to kiss you? thatâs not easy. what if he hates you after? what if he thinks youâre impatient? or what if it ruins your friendship?
you wave yourself off, cringing on yourself and about to change the subject completely while leaning a hand down for your tub of ice cream but steve grips your hand and bends his head down to meet your gaze.
âhey, hey, hey. you can tell me your idea. i wonât judge you.â
âi donât know, steve, iââ steve turns, his body facing yours while he grips your other free hand and you follow his movements to face him more clearer. the car light was on while you previously ate and it illuminated the tanned skin upon his face, showing off the sweet dark freckles spotted across his cheek and neck.Â
âi know who i want to be my first kiss.â
your forehead falls into you and steveâs held hands, embarrassed while a small âoâ shape forms on steveâs mouth as he thinks. âoh,â is all steve says, a pang of hurt sprawling across his chest rapidly at the realisation of... someone. someone.
before you can lift your head to ramble an apology about how stupid it is, steve beats you to it by holding onto his pride and storing away his sadness. âany guy would be so lucky to have you, yeah? so lucky, baby. and if you know who you want to be your first kiss, i say go for it.â
steveâs ready to continue, busy trying to seem like heâs okay with this idea and not noticing that you lift your head back up to look at him properly. he doesnât notice the way you squeeze his gripping hands or giggle at his rushed voice, he doesnât notice anything until you say, âsteve.â
itâs quiet. your voice barely audible but steve thanks his good hearing because he immediately cuts himself off to listen to you. your faces are close, his pupils rapidly moving when they scan over your features as if heâs figuring out what youâre trying to say.
âwhat, baby?â
âsteve.â you say again, tone knowing and desperate and almost a hint of feeling shameful and steveâs eyes widen when yours fleet to his lips for the shortest second. this canât be real, steve thinks. thereâs no way.
you huff when he still sits still, hands keep holding yours tightly, âdonât make me say it,â you whine and steve chuckles. he tilts his head down, forehead pressed against yours as he replies, âoh, but i want you to say it. please say it.â
you can feel the warmth spread to your face as another shy whine threatens to break your throat, but just as you move your head in an attempt to tuck it into his neck, steveâs hands are shuffling from yours so heâs cupping your face.
âitâs okay, baby. itâs okay. i can do it, iâll gladly do it. if you want me to?â his thumbs swipe your skin so delicately and his eyes are gazing with such a genuine stare that you feel you might crumble. with a nod, thereâs a strangled sentence you let out, ây-yes. i do, stevie.â
he chuckles once more, a mixture of how cute he thinks you are but also in disbelief that heâs about to kiss you.
steveâs so slow, head tilting as he leans forward so his nose runs across your skin and you can feel the ghost of his lips closer and closer. in a warm daze, you whisper into the cold car when steveâs lips touch the corner of yours, âdonât bite me.â
you feel the curve of his smile while his nose drags down your face so heâs tucked under your jaw, both of your chests heaving with laughter. your hands reach up so they are holding onto his wrists, and he looks back up at your cupped face, âno promises, youâll probably taste of raspberry ice cream.â
this time steveâs patience isnât as strong, leaning forward to crash his lips against yours in what you believe will be most breath-taking kiss you could ever receive. corners of both your lips threaten to smile as you feel the sparks within your chest and squeeze the skin of his wrists.
he tastes of chocolate from his ice cream and the coffee he had earlier on and you go light-headed at the thought, never wanting to pull away. heâs so sweet and slow, lips guiding yours against his so tenderly that you pray to god it wonât be the last steve harrington kiss you receive.
you both reluctantly pull away, lungs begging to be filled with air but steve only pulls away for a moment before pecking your lips again. your mind feels foggy from the gesture that you almost donât notice the nip to your bottom lip as steve pulls away.
you gasp mockingly, opening your eyes with steveâs smug smirk, turning his palms from your face so he can hold yours again, resting them against your lap. âi was right,â steve says, leaning forward when you dip your head to contain your happiness.
âyou taste like raspberries,â steve murmurs just as happily against your lips.
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amorchai Š â all rights reserved. no reposting/translating/copying will be tolerated.
I am not taking a risk
Not risking it pals
U know what I want potato of luck
Damn right Iâm reblogging. See previous post re wrath of whatever from high atop the thing.
somethingâs gotta give
gif by @kwistowee
eddie munson x fem!reader
word count: 5,988
warnings: swearing, crude jokes, sexual innuendos, general hatred for either party, one small mention of a judgmental christian lady, depictions of an accident involving a box cutter, talk of blood and the ensuing wound, banter, both reader and eddie trying to get under each others skin, enemies to lovers trope
synopsis: eddie munson is a prick. a prick who also happens to be your coworker. you hate his guts. he hates yours. and who would think thereâd be reason for anything else?
a/n: well, hello!! iâve been working on this idea for a little bit, and it was definitely a challenge because iâve never taken on something with this dynamic before. it was so tricky to come up with all these snarky remarks, to build up a world where it made sense. speaking of, this is without a doubt a 90s!au. i am proud of myself for trying something new and i think it turned out pretty good. shoutout to @clovermunson for listening to me vent about my struggles and helping me mold eddie into the smartass he is. also thank you to @steph-speaks for making me a cutie rb banner!! peep it at the end of the fic. happy reading!!! <333
ââââ
âHereâs your change andâŚthereâs your receipt.âÂ
You bump the cash register drawer with your hip, slamming the thick metal shut. You give a big, warm smile to the woman in front of you. She has a face full of freckles and the most beautiful silver hair that makes her blue eyes look insanely vibrant.Â
She grins back at you, setting her palm on the countertop, her nails painted a pale, shimmery shade of pink. âThank you, sweet pea. And thank you for helping me find some goodies!â She shakes her paper bag.Â
You hand her a complimentary bookmark with the store name on it. âYouâre so welcome. Youâll have to stop by and let me know what you think about that one!â
âOf course! You have a good day, now.â
âYou too!â You give her a small wave as she walks out the door, and move to put away the storeâs copy of her receipt. Your smile drops immediately when you feel a looming presence behind you. The paper in your hand gets crushed when you shove it under the counter.Â
âDamn, you flick the bean this morning?â Eddieâs voice drips with malice. You know heâs wearing that sinister ass smirk before you even turn to face him.Â
âWhy? Need some advice on how to find it, Munson?â You grab a stack of books off the counter and slide out of the way so he can clock in.Â
The sound of his boots on the carpeted floors tell you heâs following you. He always is.Â
âI think itâs a valid question, princess. Youâre in such a good mood it makes a guy wonderâŚâÂ
You stop in the mystery section, looking for authors with the last name beginning with âF,â and begin to restock. âWell, Eddie, if I got off and thatâs why Iâm so bubbly today, itâs pretty clear to me that somebody gave you blue balls last night.â
He laughs, snatching a book out of your hand to put it on the top shelf when he sees you rise up on your tippy toes. It pisses you off. âHarsh, princess.â
You turn around at the sound of the doorbell, but he stops you with an arm outstretched to rest on the wall.Â
You grab his hand and shove it out of your way. âI guess you shouldâve put that hand to good use then and given yourself a quick, and probably little, job before you came to your real one.â
When you escape his vicinity, you look around for the customer you heard come in. Thereâs a young boy wandering through the back section where you sell records, tapes, CDâs, whatever the fuck. Itâs Eddieâs section, and therefore not your problem.Â
You hold eye contact with the man in question, giving him your bitchiest look possible. âYou have a customer, Munson. AndâŚâ you glance at your watch, âIâm going on lunch.â
Eddie watches as you cross your arms and march off to the break room. His gaze falls to your ass. Youâre wearing this long skirt, one that falls just above your ankles so your boots poke out. The fabric is loose and flowy, but manages to cling to your skin and he can see every curve when you walk. Every bounce of soft fleshâ
âHey, excuse me?â The voice of a boy, no more than fourteen, snaps Eddie out of his dick-controlled reverie.Â
He spins around to face the kid, putting on his customer service face. âWhat can I do for you, little dude?â
In the break room, you stand in front of the microwave, shifting back and forth on your feet while you wait for your leftover pasta to warm up. Itâs rare now for your shifts to line up with Robinâs. She is a good coworker, and youâd built up this system, this rhythm, that Eddie has never even tried to build with you.Â
God, you miss her. And you fucking hate Eddie Munson.Â
You pull out a chair and sink down into it, too pissed to care that youâre essentially manspreading and certainly eating like a slob.Â
What angers you the most is that you tried to be friendly with Eddie when he was hired. You have seniority over him, and you were happy to help him figure out how things worked. But he didnât give a fuck. To you, it seemed like he was too good for your help.Â
But the first time you saw him ask Robin for help, you realized that he justâŚdidnât like you. And you donât know why. You have always been nice to your coworkers. You have no reason not to be. Except when you get to a point that youâre forced to match their energy.Â
You down the rest of your drink. You need to go out and get some fresh air, despite the fact that itâs fucking scorching outside.Â
Up front, Eddie gives the young boy his receipt and a little bag full of cassette tapes, buttons, and a patch that he helped him pick out. Another child saved from the masses of pop music, he thinks.Â
He taps his ringed fingers against the counter, lowering himself so that his elbows rest against the cool vinyl. Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie catches a sticky note stuck to the edge of the computer monitor.Â
The storeâs goal total for today is written there, penciled messily in your handwriting. Eddie rolls his eyes. Why do you always have to be on top of everything like that? Youâre so fucking uptight all the time Eddieâs surprised you donât waddle because of the stick you permanently have up your ass.Â
Ever since the day he got hired a few months ago, Eddie has despised you. He remembers taking a small tour of the shop and being introduced to you where you were organizing a new shipment of magazines.Â
You stood, shyly fidgeting with the pin on your fitted denim vest. You were bubbly, with these sweet little doe eyes and an expression on your face like you were hoping to make a new friend. He remembers your palm feeling unsettlingly cold when he shook your hand, and now it all makes sense to him.Â
What with the way you can change moods with the drop of a pin, how you manage to bring a storm cloud with you every time you walk in his direction but have everyone else wrapped around your finger.Â
A cold-blooded bitch like you must surely feed on the souls of little children every morning.Â
He hates how organized you are, how prepared. How you behave all patiently when youâre with a customer whoâs been a prick, even though he knows itâs all an act because youâll give him a death glare at any given chance.Â
But most of all? He hates how fucking gorgeous you are. Youâd think all that hatred would make you look like an old hag, but no. Instead you walk around in your skirts that show off that perfect ass and every once in a while you wear a shirt that shows the tiniest sliver of your stomach, or in some cases, your back, if you bend over. He hates when you wear those platform boots with the heels that allow you to level with him.Â
And the fact that youâre walking toward him right now.Â
Eddie watches as you strip off the cropped button-up youâd been wearing, exposing your bare arms.Â
Thereâs a tattoo running up the length of your bicep that heâs never seen before. His gaze lingers on it for long enough that you catch it and raise a brow.Â
âYou cry when you got that, princess?â He points to the dark ink on your skin.Â
You slide behind him and sit on the stool in front of the computer.Â
âNo, Eddie. I fell asleep. If you want to bond about how you wailed during each of your tattoo sessions, youâll have to talk to Brian.â
He scoffs. âGuess you can handle a little prick then, huh?â
âI work with you everyday, donât I?â You smile, but keep your eyes on the computer screen. Thereâs supposed to be a new shipment of books coming today, and your boss already asked you to set up the display when it gets here. That reminds you, and you speak before Eddie can give you a smartass remark. âEddie, thereâs a box of new vinyls in the back youâre supposed to sort and put out.â
âYeah? Iâll get right on that, mom.â
You pinch your thumb and forefinger together so that you donât snap. Itâs such a shame that such a pretty man is such a fucking asshole.
The mouse starts to feel slick from your clammy hands as you click around, trying your best to track the package. Slam!
Eddie drops the box of records on the far end of the front desk, making you jump. He grabs a box cutter and pulls open the mess of cardboard and packing tape as aggressively as possible.Â
Your head snaps in his direction. âCanât you do that anywhere else, Munson?â
âNah, babe. My only entertainment for the day is pissinâ you off, and I just clocked in.â
You facepalm. âJesus fucking Christ, I miss Robin.â
Eddie cups his hand around the shell of his ear. âWhatâs that, princess? You need Buckley, huh? Bet she puts up with your shit.â
You stand up. âMore like she puts up with me talking about the shit you put me through, because you masquerade as a sweet little angel when you work with her.â Youâve moved toward the other end of the counter before you can even realize, leveling with Eddie and getting in his face.
He places both of his hands on the table, grinning like the cat that got the cream. âMaybe itâs because Robin isnât a fucking priss, and actually has a personality.â
That hits a nerve, and Eddie catches the way your brows twitch. But your poker face doesnât slip, not for a second. Your eyes flick to the front door.Â
âYou have a customer, Munson. Iâll go take care of the records. Oh, and theyâre a chick. Maybe you can go see if she has a personality thatâs up to your standards and get your dick wet so that thereâs a slight chance you become less of a raging asshole.â
Eddie looks over his shoulder at the young woman whoâs just walked through the door. She has long, dark hair and more piercings than he can count. Sheâs his type, and he hates that you clocked that. When he turns back to you, youâre already taking the box off the counter.Â
âOh, and Eddie? Fuck you.â
You get the vinyls sorted and put away in record time.Â
ââââ
If itâs possible, the next day is hotter than the last. Youâre sweating the second you walk out of your front door, your hairline quickly dampening and your thighs sticking together on the drive to work.Â
You put on the one short dress you own today, grateful for the fact that your place of occupation doesnât have a strict dress code. Itâs too hot to wear anything, but the thin, mesh-like fabric and little spaghetti straps will do just fine.Â
Luckily for you, Eddieâs shift doesnât start until one, so youâll be able to have a chill morning where you wonât feel like blowing your own brains out. Knock on wood, but you even feel a little giddy because Robin opened, which means sheâll be there to welcome you and greet you with a bit of peace.Â
You pull open the front door, and pick up speed, knowing the cool air is just within your reach. The sounds of heavy metal reach your ears before you see him.Â
âOh, for fuckâs sake.âÂ
You consider yourself lucky that the floor is empty, because you did not consult your conscience for one second before expressing your pure annoyance that Eddie is here before he was meant to be.Â
You push up your sunglasses so theyâre level with your eyebrows, and take a look at the figure standing behind the counter. There is no Robin anywhere in sight. âWhere is Robin? Why the fuck are you here?â You catch Eddieâs gaze drag up and down your bare legs and that good mood flies right outside the front door.Â
âWhy are you dressed like that?â
You let out a bitter laugh. âWhatâs the matter, Eddie baby? You not see a lot of shoulders in that fuck ass club of yours?â
You pull your sunglasses back down over your eyes and grin, because youâve just seen Eddie Munson blush. That one really hit the mark, and you are immensely pleased with yourself.Â
Even more so when you realize heâs following you. You start switching your hips, knowing where his gaze is. Youâre not as stupid as he thinks.Â
His wallet chain is jingling, his hair flying behind him as he jogs to meet you in the middle of the store. If a customer were to walk in right now, theyâd see the both of you standing nose to nose, a murderous look in your eyes, and probably feel like theyâd just walked in on a taping for a soap opera.Â
âWhat do you know about my fuck assââ He coughs, practically chokes. âW-what do you know about Hellfire?â Eddie asks. You can almost see his blood boiling.Â
You put your hand on his chest. âIâm a rogue, bitch.â
The sound of your laugh reaches Eddieâs ears before heâs even registered your hand on him, your breath on his neck, and that youâve turned around and disappeared. Thereâs no way youâre not a witch. Are you a witch? What does a hex feel like?Â
Eddie starts walking to the stacks, suddenly encouraged to see if you carry any witchcraft-related texts. The doorbell chimes and heâs forced to spin around.Â
The group of people that have just pushed through the doors is huge. At least six teenagers of varying heights, followed by four or five college-aged kids. And they all look like theyâre on a mission. Two of them head straight for the records, one for the magazines, and he loses sight of the rest down the romance aisle.Â
In the back, you lock up your bag and shake out your shoulders.Â
Your fingers fly over the radio, quickly changing the station Eddie had chosen to one you know plays much better music. You turn the dial down a little too, having already started to feel blood leaking out of your ears.Â
At the counter, Eddie watches in horror as the teenagers grab armfuls of records and CDs. Whatâs worse is that a family of four walk in next. An older woman walks straight up to him. âExcuse me, sir?â Sir? What is he, a fucking mummy? âWhere are your bibles and Christian novels?â He catches her eyeing the ink littering his pale arms.Â
âI can show you to them, maâam. If you wanna come with me, weâve got a whole section just for that!â Your bubbly voice meets Eddieâs ears. And so do the sounds of âThere She Goesâ by The Laâs.Â
The woman turns on you, her smile brightening, and sheâs quick to follow your purposeful step. Over your shoulder, you wink at Eddie.Â
He knows itâs evil. He knows he fucking hates your guts. He hates that youâve just charmed that red flag of a woman. But heâll be damned if he fails to admit that his zipper didnât feel just a little tighter at that faux flirtation in your expression.
âLet me know if you need help finding anything, alright? And if we donât have anything in stock, we can always order it for you!âÂ
Your smile doesnât reach your eyes and youâre practically stomping on your way back to the counter. You use the walk to actually take in Eddie for the first time since you came in.Â
Heâs wearing a t-shirt that he obviously cut the sleeves off of at home, purely based on the way theyâre fraying. His arms areâŚbeefy, to say the least. His skin looks unnaturally soft, and his biceps are just so big and they look like theyâre begging to be squeezed or bitten, even.Â
Your eyes wander lower when heâs called over to help a child cart probably ten CDs to the counter. His jeans arenât tight, not exactly. But they fit. Heâs got more ass than most people would know what to do with. You canât help but wonder what it looks like outside of that ratty denim. Or what else he might use that bandana for.Â
You park yourself in front of the register, getting the system set up before the rush you can feel coming on. The cracks in the leather seat below you pinch your thighs, but you canât be bothered to care. You deserve it for thinking of such a dickhead that way. Why are the gorgeous ones always assholes?Â
A quick glance over your shoulder tells you that Eddieâs not helping kids anymore, but shamelessly flirting with a girl who canât be more than twenty-one. She looks slightly intimidated by him, until he flashes his ring-covered fingers in front of her. You recognize that look, the one that tells you she might just eat him alive.Â
You fear sheâll be immensely disappointed when she truly gets to meet his personality.Â
In the time heâs been trying to woo this young lady, a line has formed, and now youâre stuck cashing people out. The Christian lady is first.Â
âYou find everything you needed today?â
She drops some change into the tip jar and takes a mint from the tray you just restocked. âYes, I did, sweetheart, thank you for asking. You see that? Yes, that oneâisnât it gorgeous?â
She forces you to look at the fancy bible sheâs picked out, and you do so despite the voice inside your head screaming for her to fucking pay already and get out because sheâs been here long enough and the line is only getting longer.Â
âIt sure is!â You do your best to smile kindly. You hand her the receipt and a small card that not only thanks her for her purchase, but promises a ten percent discount if she comes back within the next month.Â
The next customer is easy, a ten year old with a storybook that has colorable pages and a bookmark with rainbow tassels. You hand him a sticker and tell him you like his Gizmo shirt, and he beams his way out the door.Â
When you are confronted with a set of parents who clearly have more kids than they seem to want, you feel a warm breath on the back of your neck. âYou have a happy pill on you I can have?â
Eddie takes the stack of books out of your hands and places each one in a paper bag. The customers arenât even looking at you, what with the husband fussing about inflation and How much for a paperback? and the toddler trying to eat the rug.
âNo, sweetie,â you start, sliding the bag across the counter, hoping maybe the woman will notice and take her gaze off the street just outside the window. She takes it without looking at you, without a word, and the husband walks away mulling over the receipt, not bothering to do a headcount of kids. âI canât keep up with your stash of boner pills.â
Eddie laughs. He tosses his head back, bearing his thick neck to you. Itâs a slow sound. You canât help but feel like itâs not something you should hear. It feels like the kind of laugh someone saves for a lover in privacy. And itâs so gravelly and deep.Â
The line has slowed, and all thatâs left for you to do is keep an eye out for the customers slowly making their way up front.Â
You tilt your head a little in Eddieâs direction, signaling that youâre speaking to him. âYou probably do need them though, based on the way you were eye-fucking that girl earlier. God knows youâre gonna need a littleâŚhappy to keep up with her.âÂ
Eddie bends a little at the knees, getting his head completely level with yours, his brown eyes twinkling with malice. âYou think about my dick a lot, princess?â
You place your hand on the counter, less than an inch between yours and Eddieâs fingers. One move and theyâd be touching. Hell, one step forward and your front would be pressed to his. âMore like I worry about it,â you say.Â
He quirks a brow, his lips ticking up at the corners. âYeah? Whyâs that?â
âSince I see you try and pick up a girl in the store at least three times a week and you know what? They never stick. So either itâs that you canât get it up, or itâs that if you treated any woman as well as you treat that guitar of yours, maybe theyâd be satisfied.â
Eddie takes a step forward. Youâve never been this close to him. âYou know, Princess, they might not last, but based on your fucking attitude, it seems like youâre jealous.â
âJealous?â
He pushes a strand of hair out of your face. Your blood pressure spikes. It feels like your veins are turning colors with how angry you are. Eddie has the nerve to laugh.Â
âYeah. I think all this bitchiness comes from the fact that no one will put their dick anywhere near you. Theyâre probably afraid youâll make it shrivel up and die.â You donât say anything, and he just keeps going. âHell, Iâm nice enough that Iâd fuck you if that meant youâd get off my back.â
Your entire body goes rigid. And in that moment, you know thatâs exactly what he wanted from you. But you refuse to give him the satisfaction.Â
âThanks for the offer, Munson. But Iâd rather gouge my own fucking eyes out than let you touch me. If you wanna see me as a priss, thatâs fine. But at least Iâm not an insufferable prick who canât give a damn about anyone whoâs not shoved so far up my own ass and ready to fall at my feet at any given moment. Some people have to grow the fuck up.â You practically spit out the last few words, your voice laced with venom.Â
Eddie blinks. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes glazed over. For the first time since he met you, he doesnât have shit to say.
ââââ
You and Eddie are the only ones on schedule today.Â
You havenât spoken in days, just moving around one another and doing your jobs in silence. You canât lie about the pride you feel in your chest from having finally gotten to him. Even if the dead quiet is unsettling, you feel a sick sense of satisfaction.Â
You think Eddie mightâve even mastered the art of a fake, but amiable personality.Â
Youâre currently hiding away in the back room, unpacking new shipments of books, vinyls, display materials, along with all the shit you actually need like paper for the register and cleaning supplies.Â
Not that it matters where you are because youâve had a total of one customer today. But thatâs how Wednesdayâs go.Â
Itâs sort of mindless, this activity. You slide the box cutter over the packing tape, rip open each box, take everything out, stomp the box flat, repeat. Itâs not very stimulating, but you donât hate it.Â
The last box though is covered in enough clear tape to catch every fly in the world, and itâs taking some serious sawing to get through. You set your hand on the worn and slightly damp cardboard, bracing yourself to get one end of it loose.Â
Youâre just getting there when the blade finds a raindrop on the silky tape and slips free. Youâre not expecting that, of course, and the blade slices the skin of your forearm quickly and thoroughly.Â
You yelp, dropping the box cutter. Youâre never one to wail or scream, but you let out a whimper at the shock of pain. Your non-dominant hand starts to shake as you take in the wound.
Youâre too panicked to realize that your frightened exclamation could be heard up front, considering thereâs no music playing and you left the receiving roomâs door open.Â
It doesnât look deep enough to need stitches, but itâs bleeding. Quite a bit, actually.Â
âFuck. Fuck fuck fuck.â
There are thudding footsteps, and then Eddie appears in the doorway. âFuck fuck fuck, what? Beinâ so damn loud.â He pauses, taking in the sight before him.Â
Your eyes are glazed over, your hands shaking, and youâre cupping your forearm so as to not let blood drip all over the floors.Â
âOh fuck off, I do not need this right now!â you exclaim, knowing heâs going to berate you or say something demeaning and you are not going to cry in front of him.Â
Eddie says your name.Â
He never says your name. It makes you look up at him, and you almost feel nauseous at the sincere look on his face.Â
âDo you need me to drive you somewhere?â
You roll your eyes. âNo, Eddie. Iâm not fucking helpless! And Iâm not bleeding out either!â
He steps towards you, his hands outstretched like heâs a ringmaster, like heâs trying to tame an apex predator. âBut you are bleeding.â
âNo fuckinâ shit, Sherlockââ
âLet me help youââ
You decide to shove past him, whimpering your way towards the bathroom. Eddie is on your heels. You try to shut the door in his face, but he plants his boot firmly on the floor and prevents you from it. His glare is unwavering.Â
He repeats your name once more. It sends a shiver down your spine. âJustâjust fucking stop for a minute, okay? Let me help you. Let me do this one thing without any of this shit, you hear me?âÂ
You blink. Eddie kicks the door stopper down so it stays open. His eyes flick to the toilet seat. âSit.â
Youâre too winded to say no. So you sit down, cradling your arm, while Eddie rummages around for gauze and wipes and whatever the fuck he can find because heâs not a nurse but he has had to clean himself up on more than one occasion.Â
You canât process that Eddie is treating you this way. Like a human. That heâs insisting on helping you when he doesnât get anything out of it.Â
When he returns, he settles on his knees in front of you, looking into your eyes to make sure itâs okay for him to touch you. You hate the way your stomach flips. But the little shift in your arm tells him itâs alright.Â
Eddieâs fingers are cold on yours as he turns your forearm outward so he can look at the wound. You canât help but watch as he works on you. Takes care of you.Â
He sets a paper towel underneath your arm, using another to press down on your skin and make sure the bleeding has stopped. The pressure hurts, but you donât say a word.Â
Eddie hooks his foot around the corner of the trash can, pulling it closer. He throws out the bloody towel and wets another, being as gentle as he can in an effort to clean all of the dried red splotches from your skin.Â
The cut isnât deep, but it definitely nicked a few capillaries along the way. It is a little longer though, and Eddie has to use two big pieces of gauze to cover it. This is after heâd swiped your arm with alcohol wipes, grinning to himself because of how hard you were trying not to show him any weakness.Â
Eddieâs thumb lingers on your skin long after heâs taped you up. Youâre both silent, sitting in your shitty workplace bathroom. You can feel that he wants to say something, but you donât know what. Itâs why you havenât gotten up yet.Â
You notice his eyes on your face before you meet his gaze. âWill you look at me?â he says. Your heart jolts in your chest.Â
âWhat for?â
âSo that I can tell you why Iâve been a giant dick since I met you and youâll see Iâm being real with you.â
Your head shoots up, mainly because you canât really believe heâs just said those words. âHold on,â you laugh, âYouâre going to explain yourself now? After I spent all that time trying to be your friend and youââ
âTreated you like shit, yeah I know.â Eddie drags his hands down his face. Youâre not sure why, but you feel compelled to listen to him. âI showed up and you were there in your cute fucking skirts and you were so nice to everyone and just soâŚgood? I couldnât stand it.â
You blink.Â
âIâm not like that. Iâm not good with people and empathetic like you are and it takes me a long fucking time to do anything right. And I chose to take that out on you, to hate you, because you were so perfect, and that was easier than falling for you.â
Your mouth drops open. He what? Eddie waves his hands in your direction.Â
âClose your mouth, youâre gonna catch flies. I hated that I couldâve dropped to my knees for you the second I met you. You looked at me like I was precious, like you were happy to meet someone new, and Iâm such a fuck up, such a nuisance to so many people, that there was no way I was going to let a pretty girl like you befriend me and have me ruin it all. Because the truth is, Iâd kill to be as fucking good as you are.â
You start shaking your head. You feel your eyes glaze over, so you look down at your freshly bandaged arm.Â
âAnd I realize that the only reason youâre a dick to me is because I started that shit.â
You let out the barest hint of a laugh. âItâs called matching your energy. There wasnât any point in trying to befriend you when youâŚhated me.â
Eddie says your name again. âI donât hate you. I do hate myself though, and that I was soââ
âJealous?â you interrupt, finishing for him.Â
He tugs on the hair at the base of his neck. God, this is the most ridiculous fucking thing.Â
âYeah. Jealous that I donât have as much good in me as you do. Iâd see you working, see you happy to help anyone, see you pull more weight than anyone else here. I hated that youâre everything Iâm not.â
When you finally look back up at him, youâve gone all teary, and something inside Eddie breaks. It snaps.Â
âWeâre not supposed to be the same. If we were, nothing would ever work. You act like youâre justâjust this helpless piece of shit, Eddie. You arenât. But I canât make you realize that. All I can do is tell you that if you want to be more charismaticâor whatever the fuckâyou gotta work at it.â
Heâs looking at you with his stupid ass doe eyes, and you think you finally understand him.Â
âIt doesnât matter if youâre everything I am, Munson. No one else is livinâ your life for you.â You start to trail off, but not quite yet. âI wish you hadnât been so fucking sincere so I could yell at you.â
Eddie tosses his head back, bearing his neck to you, and laughs. He raises his hands, beckoning you. âCâmon. Let me have it. You deserve it for how many times Iâve called you a priss.â
You shake out your shoulders, and if you werenât still drained from the box cutter incident youâd jump up and hop back and forth like youâre readying to get in the ring.Â
âI get it, you know? But I also donât think itâs fair, because, and Iâm gonna be honest here, the day you got hired I thought you were so gorgeous. Trust me, I was fully weak in the knees. You were also dressed like, well, you, and I wanted to at least make friends with you because you seemed, to use your words, good.â
âI heard you crack a few jokes, saw you picking up on how things worked, and then with me it was like you had this alter ego. I just donât think it was fair that I got the short end of the stick here, even if I did enjoy being a smartass to you. So I guess what Iâm really saying is, why me? Why werenât you a dick to Robin, or Brian or fuckinâ Keith? Why not take out your jealousy on someone else?â
Eddie stands up, shoves his hands in his back pockets. âYou can hit me if you feel like it, because I know this is going to sound fucked.â He pauses, and then all the words spill out at once, leaving you completely breathless when heâs finished.Â
âNot only was I jealous of how perfect your soul is, but you being so sweet made me want you. I wanted you all to myself. I wanted that personality, those kind remarks, that look you get in your eye when youâre listening so well, I wanted it all around me, all the time. It felt like you were this fucking angel, I wanted to lose myself in you.â
âBut it didnât feel like Iâd be worthy of you either. I figured youâd get sick of me, real quick, when you realized I wasnât as good of a person as you. When you figured out all the shit I need to work through. It seemed easier to hate you than to have you see me the way everyone else does. Nobody wants a work in progress.â
You laugh. You take in your surroundings, still in the work bathroom, and you laugh. Eddieâs brows shoot up, and his heart drops out of his ass and onto the tile floors below him.Â
âEddie, everyone is a work in progress. And I am an extremely patient person.â
He recovers himself fast enough to make one more smartass remark. âYouâre sure you donât wanna kick me in the balls or somethinâ?âÂ
You take a step towards him, breathing deeply. Breathing him in.Â
âNot right now, Eddie. Whatâs frustrating though, is how much I want to kiss your dumb ass. Your annoying, over-complicating, completely ridiculous, stupid hot fucking ass.â
Eddie blinks. You might as well have kicked him in the balls because he canât even think a single coherent thought now. Not with the way youâre pushing up onto your toes and pulling him down towards you, shaking your head so he doesnât make up something stupid about not deserving it.Â
And then your mouth is on his. Your lips are so warm, and everything else disappears. All Eddie can feel is you. Your perfume engulfs him, the heat of your chest pressed against him, the soft fat of your hip under his hand. When you pull on his hair he almost whimpers.Â
You kiss hard, harder than heâd have thought, but itâs so gentle at the same time. Youâre kissing him stupid. Thereâs no other way to put it. The only thing that pops in his head is that his suspicions about you being a witch were totally fucking spot on.Â
When you finally pull away, your lips have gone all puffy, and thereâs this dazed but incredibly satisfied look in your eye. Heâd take you home right now and get on his knees for you if youâd let him.Â
Your lips tick up at the corners, and he has to shake his head so he can really hear what youâre about to say.Â
âArenât we on the clock, Eddie?â
ââââ
note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever donât credit someone properly!
WORTH IT
ex!husband eddie munson x reader
based on the hc! by me that eddie kidnaps your kids, charging kisses for ransom wc: 1.2K
âYou know you canât keep doing this.â
Eddie can hardly hold back a pout. He knows youâll criticize him if he lets it slip, reminding him that âheâs a grown man for goodnessâ sakeâ even though his puppy eyes never fail to succeed against you. Except once. Only once, when you filed for divorce circa 12 years ago.
Filed into the back of the van, your children are pressing their faces up against the glass windows. Their eyes are wide, noses are upturned, fogging up the glass with each breathâ looking like the myth of pig-men came to life and are giddy to draw smiley faces and âhi momâs into the steamed up glass. Unlike you, they enjoy when their dad kidnaps them, waving their teachers off with forged letters so they can hobble into his car and fiddle with the stereo as he stops at the florist, and biting their lips to stop their excitement when they see your old camaro pull up.
Forget-Me-Nots lay half-forgotten at Eddieâs side as he ruffles his already messy curls, mesmerized as you step out the car, mom jeans and rock shirt hanging loose. You look as beautiful as the day he met you. Some days, he feels like it is the first time he met you, his heart paralyzed by a certain type of warmth at the sight of your face. Itâs like everything around you disappears and he recognizes his purpose. You. You make him feel like a teenager in love.
âEventually Iâm just gonna call the cops on your ass.â
Angry is not how you would describe yourself in the moment. The first time it happened, hell, you were pissed. Smoke practically blew out your ears when he first called, interrupting himself with giggles while he announced âThe prince and princess of, phh, Munsonville have been exiled along with the King. Haha, oh umâ If you wish to see them ever again, you must pay the price!â After the second, third, fourth, and tenth time, itâs only become a nuance.
âHi, Mom!â your daughter calls out, voice muffled. Her hands are sprawled against the window, the hair that was once well-kept into two braids is now fuzzy and tangled. Her brown doe eyes peering at you, standing on her tippy toes to see. Looking like the splitting image of her father. Behind her, your son is playing with Eddieâs electric-blue guitar, strumming the string so harshly that you cringe, but Eddie doesnât seem to mind. In fact, heâs still staring at you.
Dumbly, Eddie just sticks the bouquet in your face, his fist inches from your face. âMâlady.â Through the thin stems of your favorite flower, you can see his lopsided smile.
Rather delicately, you take the flowers from his grasp, looking at them for a second too long to keep up your uneffected act. These mustâve been on sale, you assure yourself. He doesnât remember the flowers you walked up the isle with, he couldnât have. When you can finally drag your eyes away, your brows are furrowed. Something fluttering in your stomach as Eddie tilts his head, usual shit-eating grin strangely sweet. Small indigo petals flutter to the ground as theyâre knocked off their branches from impact of hitting Eddie square in chest.
âOw!â He lifts his arms up in defense. The purple-blue veins that flex on his bicep matching the shade of the dwindling flowers. âY/N!â
Finally, easing your attack, your chest rises and falls as you point a finger at his chest. âGive my kids, Munson!â
âMrs. Munson!â Again, you raise the flowers to wack him over the head, but Eddieâs hand grips your wrist, holding it in place and smiling innocently at you. âYou know the drill by now.â
Groaning, you hide your face in whatâs left of your flowers, a red hue rising on your cheeks. Itâs embarrassingâ giving in this easy to your ex husbandâs demands, but thereâs a special spot in your heart for Eddie that just. wonât. go. away. No matter how many dates you went on, no one could replace him.
Eddieâs hands are gentle as they pry your hands, and flowers, away from your face. Heâs close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath. Harshly sighing through your nose, and trying to convincingly eye roll, you choke out, âWhat do I owe this time?â
âWell, seeing as it took you ten extra minutes to get here from the estimated timeâŚâ
You shake your head. âI was busy explaining why the teachers didnât need to issue an amber alert, dipshiâ.â
âTen kisses.â Heâs too happy with himself, rocking back and forth on his heels as he watched the disbelief transform your pretty face.
âTen?â
He raises his brows, playfully puckering. âLay âem on me, honey.â
Itâs never not awkward, begrudgingly (not really) approaching your ex husband with slow, torturous movements. Fingers finding his tattooed skinâ which you used to color before you became adults and life went to shit, tracing up the expense of his arms until your hands connect around the back of his neck. Heâs nibbling his lip as you inch forward, impatient. When your lips are close enough to touch, your breaths sync and your eyes meet. Heart racing, your eyes flutter shut. Lightly, the plush of your lips meet hisâ always surprisingâ soft lips. One.
Again. Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
Eight.
Eddie canât help himself. His hands fly to your waist, squeezing the flesh he can reach and pulling your closer, shoving his tongue in your mouth when your hands tug on his hair. He tastes just as you remember, like tobacco and cheerios. As his tongue explores your mouth, you moan into his. Betrayed by your own body, dammit. His lips twitch against yours. When his teeth start to clash against yours, thatâs when you pull away, a thick string of saliva connecting you. Nine.
Your eyes are hazy, a dumbstruck, lightheaded feeling coming over your body as you lean forward again. Foreheads connecting. Your noses nudging. Panting into each otherâs mouth. Far too sensual for a divorced couple. Eddie finishes the last kiss for you, pecking your lips. Your breath hitches when he drags his teeth against the bottom. Ten.
âPleasure doing business with you,â he chuckles, panting. His large palm finds the bottom of your ass.
âGo to hell,â you whisper against his lips. âKids!â
âAlready in the car, Mom!â Tucked in the back of the car, seat belts buckled, your children look unimpressed. Your cheeks go bright red as you adjust yourself, trying hard not to stomp to the car as you avoid contact with Eddie, who walks slowly, cockily, behind you.
âIâll call you later, sweetheart!â
You shove your hand out your unrolled window, middle finger up. Eddieâs laugh makes your chest tighten, but you wonât let it show, flipping on your sunglasses and pulling the fuck away from him. Eddie smiles as his kids wave through the window, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans with a knowing look on his face.
Heâll win you back eventually.
â
p.s. đ
âMommy, are you and daddy getting back together?â
With your grip tightening on the steering wheel, knuckles turning your white, you meet your five year old sonâs clueless eyes in the review mirrorâ the product of the last time you got back together with his father. âNot a chance.â
not edited or read over đ
SCREAMING!! iâd fold immediately

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