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Not the shoulder pat in a date 💀

I wouldn't mind holding your hand. I guess.

13 from creativepromptsforwriting's Grumpy Affectionate Dialogue list.

Cloud Strife x reader Fluff

--

"So, how'd it go?" Tifa asks the second you've walked through the door - it hadn't even closed properly behind you yet. Had she been waiting to pounce? "We don't say hello now?" You raise an eyebrow, shrugging off your jacket. You’d been dreading her interrogation - it had been a sleepless night.

"Hello.” She grins. “How'd it go?" She puts her hands down on the counter and leans forward as you approach.

"Fine." You shrug, going to lift up the latch to join her behind the bar, but Tifa is quick – shifting so she’s now leaning on top of it, blocking your entrance.

“You pay me to work here, remember?”

“And do you see any customers? Anyway, this is important. I don’t think you understand how rare it is to go on a date with Cloud Strife. Spill!”

You sigh, sitting down heavily on the stool. Really, you should’ve known that the brunette would be keen to hear every single detail…

You’d started working at Seventh Heaven nearly four months ago now. Before Meteor, you’d worked in Wall Market as a cocktail waitress, doing bar tricks to earn tips off a bunch of Shira employees. It was just by chance you’d been walking by when Tifa had put up the help wanted sign in the window. The two of you had got on immediately and your skills honed behind the bar meant you could really start straightaway. The first time you’d seen Cloud walk in, you were immediately attracted to him - the blue eyes, blonde hair, the muscular, toned arms on display... Who wouldn’t be? He, however, seemed very indifferent to you, though Tifa disagreed. “He’s shy. He likes you - I promise."

It felt odd at first when she deemed herself a matchmaker – Cloud and her shared an apartment, with two kids – Denzel and Marlene – she assured you they were strictly platonic and she’d love to see him without a scowl on his face. Apparently he was always interested when you were working, especially if you were on a closing shift. Now everyone was based in Edge, all sorts frequented the bar. You’d experienced the same in Wall Market and weren’t afraid to cut people off but it was nice to have some sort of muscle around in case anyone became a little out of line. You thought it was Tifa’s doing, as Cloud would always offer up his services on the nights you were responsible for closing, even walking you home afterwards. When you’d thank him, he’d shrug, saying not to think anything of it.

He was chivalrous, you’d reasoned, trying not to get your hopes up there was something more to it, until two nights ago when he’d lingered at the point he’d usually head off when you’d unlocked your front door.

“Wait.” You span round on your heels at the sound of his voice, surprised that he’d gone off routine. “Erm, would you… Would you like to have dinner tomorrow night? With me.”

“With you?” You’re stunned.

“Forget I said-“

“No, I’d love to.” You interrupted, worried you’d blown it.

“Okay. Great. Er, I’ll text you.” And Cloud had then strode off into the night before you could say another word.

He’d texted - you assumed he’d got your number off Tifa from her string of texts the next morning - saying he’d pick you up from yours at 7, that he’d got a table at a restaurant nearby. You’d walked past it a few times but never been, and it seemed a popular spot for first dates - intimate, yet not overly fancy. He’d arrived promptly, saying you looked "nice" and that’s where things had gone a little downhill. There was nothing that happened to really distinguish this as a date...

“He didn’t get within three feet of me at any time the walk there, or the walk back. I know he’s quiet, but besides asking me if the food was okay, he didn’t say much at all at dinner. And then, after he’d walked me home, I said I’d had a really nice time, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt, thinking he was nervous, you know?" Tifa nods. "But then he stepped forward, thanked me and clapped me on the shoulder, before he strode off.” You lay your head down on your arms. “It was a pity date, Tifa.”

“Okay, Cloud’s more hopeless than I thought,” she pats you gently on the head, “but it wasn’t a pity date. He set it all up because he wanted to take you out, I promise.”

“He could’ve swung that big sword of his all around him and not hit me, the distance he was keeping.” You continue talking into your arms, your voice muffled.

“I’ll talk to him.”

“No, don’t!" Your head shoots up, “That’ll make me look and feel even more pathetic. I don’t know what I was thinking. It’s a wake-up call.”

“You’re not pathetic. He’s just shy. Plus, I bet he’s feeling even worse than you are. He was out before I even woke up this morning.” She pauses, grinning slyly. “I did think that he might’ve stayed the night at yours…”

Your face flushes at that. “What?! No. He couldn’t get away from me fast enough.” The door opens and the two of you look, you praying it's not Cloud. "Delivery!" A man chirps. "Enough about my dismal love life, okay?" You get to your feet and go to take in the stock.

--

You got home that evening just after 6pm, preparing yourself for a quiet evening and an early night after the sleepless one before. It was surprising when there was a knock at the door an hour or so later – you weren’t expecting anyone. You looked through the eyehole and were nervous to see the tell-tale spikes of blonde hair, a nervous expression across Cloud’s face. Had Tifa spoken to him? Oh, Shiva…

You unlock the door, pulling it open cautiously.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” He smiles, a little awkwardly, but it’s sweet too. “Sorry, are you busy? I should’ve texted…”

“No, not at all.” You curse inwardly, you could’ve phrased that differently, sound more aloof. “What brings you here?”

“Uh, yeah…” It’s then you notice he has a hand behind his back. It’s quickly whipped out in front of you, holding a small, handpicked bouquet of pink, white and yellow flowers. “I wanted to give you these.”

“Cloud…” Your eyes widen, taking in the display. They’re the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen. “Thank you.” You accept them delicately, worried they might wilt instantly if you’re too rough with them.

“Would you like to go for a walk?”

“Sure. Let me just put these in water. Erm, do you want to come in?” You step back in anticipation.

“No, I’ll wait here.” He folds his arms.

“Oh, okay,” you nod. “I won’t be long.” You let the door swing close behind you, still holding the flowers so delicately. He delivers you hand-picked flowers but doesn’t want to come in? Is he breaking up with you? Can you break up even if you weren’t together in the first place? You grab a glass, filling it with water from the tap and placing the small bouquet in gently, before setting it down in the windowsill. You wonder if you’ll look at them in the same light when you return.

--

Edge, like its predecessor, had never been a pretty city in the desert. In the early evening though, fairy lights donned by the surrounding buildings cast a nice glow about the place and it was quiet as the two of you strolled through. Cloud hadn’t been the most talkative, as usual. Sometimes it looked like he wanted to say something, a comment on the tip of his tongue, but then his mouth would close and he’d nod to whatever nonsense you were spouting to fill the silence. It was at one of those moments when you hadn’t particularly been paying attention to where you were walking, catching your foot on an uneven part of the ground. You brace yourself for the impact and the embarrassment, but a hand grabs your own, yanking you back and upright, another hand on the small of your back – Cloud.

“You okay?” His brow is furrowed in concern. Your heart is thudding at the shock of tripping, or maybe the closeness of you two? It’s hard to tell.

“Y-yeah. Sorry, clumsy,” you know your face is red. “Thanks.” The hand from your back falls away, deeming your balance stable enough but your other hand isn’t released straightaway. You look down at the appendage in question, Cloud’s hand firmly clasped around yours. His eyes follow what you’re looking at and he seems to realise as his cheeks grow flush in the dim light of dusk, letting go abruptly.

“Do you even like me?” The question slips out of your mouth before you can even think what you’re saying. He looks almost startled by the directness of it.

“I thought the date and flowers made that obvious.”

“The flowers, okay, but the date and just now… Like, I know not everyone’s keen on public displays of affection, but you don’t even want to be within arm’s length of me…”

“I wouldn’t mind holding your hand. I guess.” It’s mumbled, his blue eyes directing at the ground.

“What?” You wonder if you misheard.

“I’d quite like to, to be honest. I’m just…” He meets your eyes at this point. “I haven’t really done this before.”

“That’s okay, neither have I.”

He looks sceptical. “That can’t be true.”

“I wasn’t exactly surrounded by gentlemen wanting to sweep me off my feet in Wall Market,” you smile. “Besides, it means we can try and work this stuff out together, if you want.” You hold your hand out, hoping he won’t notice the slight tremor.

To your relief, he takes it, deftly lacing his fingers through your own.

“I’d like that.”

- Masterlist . Requests welcome . Ko-fi

Make this bitch go ooga booga

Shitty Headcannon for SDJ, this dude would be the fuckin best person to do Halloween with. Just throw a sheet on him (assuming he is similar in physical properties to a ghost/it being implied he can control his forms somewhat).

Bro even better yet, just give him a cat to carry. Mf can just be a floating cat for Halloween!

messy stuff

tbh this might be controversial but as someone VERY pro palestine so many fellow anti zionists are out of touch as fuck.

first: stop treating bisan like she's beyonce she just wants to be a normal person safe at home. of course give her a platform and a voice but stop acting like she's the next taylor swift that very clearly makes her uncomfortable.

second: a shit ton of yall are out of touch about the boycotts. of course, please boycott as much as you can but if youre harassing a starbucks or mcdonalds worker who doesn't even want to work there and is on the brink of homelessness, who inst privileged enough to just quit, you are not the good person you think you are. just because you are financially okay doesn't mean other people can just cut their only source of income especially with how bad the economy is. that's helping no one.

2.5: PLEASE stop telling people under the age of 18 who depend on their parents (who don't respect boycotts) that they should starve instead of eating if their parents get mcdonalds or dominos? like of course boycotting is one of if not the most important resource, but those kids arent CHOOSING to break boycotts thats not their choice some parents just don't listen. kids need to fucking eat and no sane activist or palestinean would want ANOTHER child to go without food.

instead of bullying poor people please actually do things that benefit palestine

i want him to fuck me until HE can't walk

GHOOOST i saw your valentine blurb event and thought i’d drop in something! 🥹

24 hours eddie has been living in my mind rent free and i can’t help but feel like he’s the type to act tough and all that, but instantly melts into a gooey simpy lovesick puddle the second you call him “baby” ❤️ like yeah he likes to be called nicknames like ed or eds, but petnames??? he’s done for. just turns into a blushing blubbering mess. especially with the way he has repressed all his emotions for so long, it’s fun to kind of tease him and call him “handsome” “pretty boy” “baby boy” just to see him break his facade and just unapologetically be the golden retriever that he really is ❤️❤️❤️

i think my favorite thing about this vision is the way he would try to fight it so bad. hiding his face in your neck and blushing all terrible and gaaaaaaaahh. i hope this does it justice <3

warnings: fem!reader. reader is described to be wearing a dress, makeup, earrings, and heels. not edited. set in twenty four hours universe, after the story!

“Eddie!” 

No answer.

“Eds!” 

No answer.

“Edward Munson!” 

Your patience is wearing thin as you finally pop on the back of the earring you had been struggling with. The studs weren’t even anything fancy, hardly worth all the time you’d just spent fighting with it, but you were determined to look nice. 

Valentine’s Day. A day meant to be filled with blissful serenity and endless heart eyes, that was really only becoming the bane of your existence. 

“I swear to God,” you mumble to yourself, huffing a bit as you try to clean up the mess you’ve made of the bathroom sink. Makeup everywhere, various pieces of jewelry scattered, your curling iron still warm on the edge of porcelain. You decide rather quickly it’s a mess to be dealt with later tonight. Or tomorrow. Or next week. “If he’s still fucking with that bike.” 

The sharp clicks of your heels transform as you walk from tile to laminate-wood flooring, becoming a bit more dull and less obnoxious as you take the hallway by storm. 

Next year, you’re telling Steve to go fuck himself if he tries to lure you and Eddie into another double date. 

“Eddie, we only have thirty minutes until we nee-” you stress as you reach the end of the hall, cutting off entirely as you catch sight of the living room. 

Of the living room, and your boyfriend. 

“What is that?” 

You think you might actually kill him. 

“What?” Eddie doesn’t even look up at you, and you make a mental strike against him, “I told you, I’m working on the bi-”

“Yes,” you cut him off, taking a few harsh steps into the very crowded living room, “You were supposed to bring up a part of the bike. Why is the entire bike in our living room, Munson?” 

You mean it – you’re going to kick his ass by the end of today. 

His bike is propped up there, right in front of the TV, entirely blocking the pathway to the balcony. The bike that should be outside. The bike that certainly has God knows what all over the tires, and is sitting right on your rug you just bought for the living room. 

Eddie stops his tinkering with whatever piece he’d removed from the bike to work on on the coffee table, abiding by your rule of having a towel down below it to avoid getting grease everywhere, “What do you mean?” 

He’s playing dumb. And he probably thinks he looks cute as he does it, but no amount of fluttering lashes or boyish grins can soothe your irritation. 

“You’re an idiot, but you’re not stupid,” you hiss as you cross the room and stand right in front of him, only seeing the crown of his head as he keeps his eyes dipped low in shame, “When did you… How did you…. When the fuck did you bring the bike up?” 

You can hardly manage a fluent sentence as you look between Eddie and the bike, mind blown in the truest sense. 

His voice is a mere murmur as he fiddles with one of his wrenches, flipping it over a few times before he answers, “While you were in the shower.” 

“How?” 

“The frat boys downstairs,” he rushes out in one breath, eyes still locked on the ground rather than you. “I, uh, paid a few of them to help me lug it up.”

You sigh heavily, throwing your head back before you move to the couch and dramatically throw yourself down with defeat, “You’re a real pain in my ass, you know that, Munson?” 

“You say that like it’s new news,” he says as he twists to finally look at you, eyebrow quirked and the shadow of his dimple making an appearance while he fights a smug smile, “I think you’d be more worried if I wasn’t being a pain in your ass.” 

He’s right. It doesn’t slow the roll of your eyes, though. 

“You know I love you, right?” you say, suddenly using a sickeningly sweet tone as you lean in closer to where he sits on the ground. His face falls a bit, confusion lacing his brows together, “But, baby, if you keep this up… I’m going to kick your ass.” 

He should look a whole lot more scared than he currently does as you deliver the threat, but he entirely throws you off when he grins. 

An ear splitting grin, spreading cheek from cheek, radiating with anything but trepidation. He lights up, posture perking up as he looks at you with soft eyes. It looks as though you might have told him you loved him for the first time all over again, as though you’ve just reminded him of how you wanted to spend your life with him rather than said you were going to kick his ass. 

The fight and issue at hand is momentarily forgotten as he whispers, “What did you just call me?” 

“What did I just call you?” you question incredulously, leaning back fully, wholly concerned now. Maybe you should call Steve and cancel the date, “I- I just threatened to kick your ass, and you’re making heart eyes at me, asking me what I just called you?”

You rewind a bit in your brain, going over the moment again, trying to figure out if you’d let something unusual slip. Deciphering any moment that might have pulled this reaction from him. 

You come up empty. Nothing. 

“Did you just…” he trails off, cheeks surely aching as they shine with a bit of natural blush, “Did you just call me baby?” 

Oh. That. 

You look about the room for a second, taking in this predicament you’d gotten yourself into, “Do you not want me to call you that? I just-”

“No!” he rushes to stop you before you can take it back, “I mean, it’s fine. That’s not the issue, I just-” 

He cuts off, and you realize just how flustered he is. 

Now you’re smiling, right along with him, “You like it?” 

“Sort of,” he shrugs, going a bit shy on you now, “It… I mean, if you want to start calling me stuff like that, I don’t mind. It’s fine. It’s cool.” 

“Baby,” you say in place of his name, so naturally, like honey. You’re leaning forward once more, entering his orbit as you softly tease, “You’re blushing.” 

The words turn him even more scarlet, “Fuck off.”

“What?” it’s your turn to act innocent, rearranging yourself on the couch to be more comfortable, “I thought you said you liked it when I called you stuff like that-”

Eddie movies quickly from the floor, gathering himself up in record time that would have had him groaning in protest on any other occasion. You’ve hardly leaned an elbow back on the couch’s arm when he gets on top of you.

Even if he’s trying to stop you from all your taunting with his words, his kiss says otherwise.

It’s hot, heavy, desperate – like alarm bells might be ringing in his head and telling him to run to the nearest safety of your lips. You welcome him in, of course. Take his lips right between yours with an eagerness to match, forgetting all about the lipstick you’d just applied moments before. Thighs spreading to bring him home to you, arms quickly searching out solace of all the skin below his Deftones t-shirt. Straining biceps as he holds himself over you, squared shoulders as he balances to stay right where he belongs. His chest even heaves ever so slightly with little gasps between kisses, both your lungs needing air despite the magnetic protest between you two. 

“God,” you gasp out during one of those short breaks, making him divert a kiss to the corner of your mouth instead, “If you’re gonna kiss me like this every time I call you baby, I should do it more often,” he grunts, and tries to reignite a kiss, probably just to shut you up. You don’t let him, turning a cheek and forcing his searching mouth to plant a peck there instead, laughing a little, “Maybe I should be sure to use the nickname during dinner with Steve, hm?” 

“Don’t you dare,” he groans as his lips seek out your jaw and neck next, peppering kisses between words. For each syllable, there’s a smack of his lips against your skin. 

You ponder back to the time before you saw this side of Eddie; before someone so soft, so caring, so affectionate existed for you. It’s hard to even recall all those times now with the puddle of a man hovering over you. 

“No?” you hum, head thrown back, letting him have his way as your fingers toy with the band around his bun, “What about pretty boy instead?” 

Another groan, vibrating against your skin. 

“Or handsome?” 

This time, he nips the sensitive spot below your ear with his teeth in response.

You gasp, half from the bite and half with faux enthusiasm, “Oh! I know! I’ll take one out of your books and call you sweetheart.” 

He finally moans in annoyance, and you know it’s all an act as he faceplants into your chest. You can feel his smile, radiant as ever, muffled by your skin and dress. 

“You’re such a pain in my ass,” his echo of your earlier words come out around the cotton neckline, “You know that?” 

You ruffle the kinks of his curls at his scalp a little, giving a scratch for good measure, “Yeah. Tell me something I don’t know, handsome.” 

The full weight of him falls along your body finally, and he has a boyish glint when he raises his head. Seeking hands find promise along your hips, bunching the fabric of your black dress up into his fists before he’s kissing you again. 

A little less hot, a little less heavy, a little less desperate. Just as rewarding as before, though. 

Somewhere between simply nice and deathly devoted, you two let your mouths explore at a leisure pace. His lips, the apples of his cheeks, the line of his jaw down to his chin – no space is left unkissed, and you finally notice the smear of red lipstick. 

“Oh, shit,” you laugh out, not sounding the least bit sorry as you look at the fading marks left behind, “I got my lipstick all over you.” 

When he lifts from the crook of your neck, you catch the stain feathering out around his own lips, a bit smeared along his chin, “And you. I dunno if we can go to dinner lookin’ like this, doll.” 

You get it. His reaction to your slip of a pet name. 

You have the same reaction as he does it to you, gut fluttering and chest buzzing with tenderness at the sentiments. It’s a simple thing, probably a bit cheesy and cringey to outsiders, but it works between the two of you. You like hearing him grant you the pleasure of a nickname, whether it be sweetheart or doll. You love the hidden devotion beneath the delivery, whether it be idiot or fool. 

There’s always an unspoken my in the mix. A certain sense of belonging to him that you can’t really explain to others without being looked at as if you’ve grown a second head. 

Why would you want to belong to another person, in any sense of the word? 

The answer feels simple enough when you look up at your boy, covered and pretty in Maybelline’s “Ruby for Me”.

“You’re not getting out of this double date,” you whisper back, still toying with his hair, still looking up at him with all the love you’re capable of growing within this chest of yours. It’s a bit more than yesterday, that much you’re sure. Each day, he finds a way to push the limits just a bit more, make a little bit more room behind your ribs for all the affection you hold for him, “If I’m stuck in this impending disaster, so are you.” 

He sighs, head slipping into the crook of your neck, “Yeah… Yeah, that sounds about right.” 

“Don’t sound so disappointed.” 

“Me? Disappointed with you?” he gasps, breath hot on your skin still as he snuggles in a little closer, grips the soft fabric of your dress a little tighter, “Oh, never.”

“Oh, so you decide to sound sarcastic instead?” you’re fighting a grin, trying to find a reason to be mad at him again. Hell, you even glance at the motorcycle in your damn living room to reignite the smallest of sparks – nothing, “You wound me, pretty boy.” 

“You’re all about stealing my lines tonight, I see,” he teases as he finally begins to peel himself away from you. He’s all soft – soft eyes, soft smile, soft cheeks, soft flush. Soft, soft, soft. “I guess if there’s no way to convince you to stay home instead of going to this stupid double date, we both gotta get cleaned up now.” 

You adore him. If you could bottle up all that softness you’re witnessing with your own two eyes just for a rainy day, you would. 

He starts to stand on his knees, moving to leave you entirely and take all that mellow delight away from you too soon, when you lock your heels against his lower back. 

Wrapping your legs a little too tightly around his waist, you raise a brow, “You may not be able to convince me to stay home entirely, but… no one ever said you couldn’t convince me to be about, let’s say, ten minutes late.” 

He tilts his head at you, eyes wide, “Only ten minutes?” 

“Okay, you’ve twisted my arm. Let’s make it fifteen.” 

He crashes back into you in an instant, both of you giggling in the process. 

With the weight of your pretty boy between your hips, and the caress of his lips against your chest, you accidentally make it nearly thirty minutes late. You don’t really care – not when it comes to Eddie.

rkgk

Doodles and Dates (Eddie Munson x Reader)

Masterlist

Eddie Munson x Artist! Reader (She/Her)

Warnings: None

Tag list: @mikinyi DM me if you wanna be on the Eddie tag list!:)

Synopsis: Eddie has fallen for the quiet girl he sits next to in class who’s always drawing.

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