lilieswilt

[lilieswilt]

hi i lovelovelove your fics and i’m wondering if you are taking requests… if you could write a fic with steve and shy!reader who calls him a pet name or nickname for the first time ❤️

Thank you for requesting <3

Steve Harrington x shy!reader ♡ 710 words

Dew drops collect on your skin as you walk to Steve’s house. It’s a quiet morning, fog hanging in heavy clumps as birds call to each other through the haze. You hope Steve has coffee. 

You knock quietly. His footsteps banging down the stairs answer far louder. 

The door swings open to reveal your boyfriend with his toothbrush in his mouth, his hair all in disarray, and his clothes clearly only just thrown on. 

“Sorry,” he says in greeting, words garbled through a foam of toothpaste. “I thou I cou get ready in five min-us, bu—” Steve spits in the kitchen sink “—I couldn’t.” He gives you a sheepish smile. “You look really pretty.” 

Warmth kisses your cheeks. “Thanks, so do you,” you say earnestly. “I mean, you look nice. Your shirt’s on backwards, though.” 

Steve looks down at the tag poking up near his throat. “Oh, shit.” 

He rinses his mouth out with water from the tap, spitting again in the sink before setting his toothbrush down on the edge. When he pulls his arms inside to turn his shirt around, the process shows a sliver of abdomen that your eyes catch on before you drop them to the floor, flushing for real now. Steve combs his hair back with his fingers, walking around the counter to you.

“Hi,” he says, hand cupping the side of your neck as he gives you a spearmint-flavored kiss. “Coffee’s in the pot. Sorry I’m holding us up, I hope we don’t miss the sunrise because of me.” 

“That’s okay,” you say, though you hope you can still catch it. It’s all really just an excuse to spend time with Steve anyway. You move past him to the fridge, getting out the cream while he pours coffee into two thermoses to take with you. 

A piece of hair falls into his face as he looks down, and he swipes it back impatiently. It’s still pretty unruly from sleep; he clearly hasn’t had time this morning to give it the attention he likes to, and it warms your heart to think that he’d put that aside so you could get to go see the sunrise. It also makes you want to say to hell with the sunrise and comb your fingers through his hair until he’s happy with it. 

“I’m almost ready to go,” he swears. “I just had the worst sleep last night.” 

“Oh, really?” The areas under his eyes do look a little shadowy. The thought hooks your eyebrows upward. “I’m sorry, baby.” 

The word slips out of you so naturally, your voice bent and softened by sympathy, that for a moment you hope that Steve won’t notice. And for a moment, it seems like maybe he doesn’t. But then he sets the thermos down, dark brows twitching towards each other. He tilts his head to look at you. 

“Baby?” he asks, bordering on incredulous.

“Sorry,” you say automatically. You think your palms are sweating. 

“No, don’t be sorry.” Steve’s smile blooms slowly, better than any sunrise, and you can’t tell if he’s about to make fun of you. You think if he does you might have to cancel this whole thing. “It just surprised me. S’that something you wanna call me?” 

“I don’t know.” You can’t look at him. You use the coffee as an excuse, pulling your thermos toward you to start stirring in cream. When you’re done, you pass it over to Steve without glancing up. 

But he’s not having it. He sets the cream aside, slotting his fingers behind your ear with your cheek in the basin of his palm and tilting you towards him. He looks like he’s making fun of you, definitely.

Your heart hiccups.

“It just slipped out,” you confess. 

“Okay,” Steve laughs. “That’s okay, I liked it. Feel free to let it slip as many times as you want.” He slides his thumb along your skin, no doubt feeling its heat. His voice is sweet when he asks, “You about ready to go, baby?” 

You feel your forehead pinch painfully. “Don’t,” you plead. 

“I don’t know,” Steve says, though he lets you go to tend to his coffee, a small mercy. “I think you’ve really started something here. I could get used to this.”

[lilieswilt]

have a bonfire - send a character + a trope (one bed, fake dating, etc.) and I’ll write a drabble

steve harrington + friends to lovers maybe? definitely feeling lovesick steve rn 😮‍💨

Thanks for requesting lovely mal <3

Steve Harrington x fem!reader ♡ 698 words

The movie theater is dark, and yet Steve catches sight of you the second you step inside. His heart does a dumbass little somersault. 

“Y/n’s here?” he whispers to Robin, who’s sitting next to him and using her licorice as a straw. On his other side, Eddie’s kicked his feet up on the seat in front of him like a total asshole. 

“Oh, yeah.” Robin waves to you, and you spot them, heading over. “I invited her.” 

“You didn’t say she was coming.” 

Robin gives Steve a sideways glance. It’s tinged with a meaning he refuses to decode. “I didn’t realize I needed to check with you.” 

He huffs. You’re climbing the steps, still three rows from reaching them. “Move over by Eddie.” 

Robin turns towards him now, eyebrows raising. “You’re not serious.” 

“Go!” 

“Dingus.” She musses his hair spitefully as she stands, just so he’ll have to fix it, waving over her shoulder at you as you start shimmying down their row. 

You wave back, smiling bemusedly as you take her seat beside Steve. “Hey,” you say. 

“Hey.” He’s grinning like an idiot, and he can’t seem to stop. He wasn’t expecting to see you today. “Long time, no see.” 

You go a bit sheepish, the previews casting a red hue over your features. “Yeah, sorry. Work’s been keeping me busy lately. Three people quit at once, so everyone’s expected to cover until they can hire new ones.” 

Steve grimaces. “Yikes.” He has the urge to tell you to quit and let him pay for everything, as if that’s something he can fiscally manage or even remotely normal. “That sucks,” he says instead. 

“Yeah, hopefully it’s not for long.” You get comfy, slipping off your shoes and putting your socked feet up on the seat. Your knees lean onto your shared armrest, within a pinkie’s reach of Steve’s hand. “I actually just got off, I didn’t grab anything from concessions because I was worried I’d miss the beginning.” 

“Oh, no way.” The movie starts, and he lowers his voice but neither of you turn towards the screen. “Want me to run and grab you something?”

You give him a funny smile. It makes your cupid’s bow flatten out and Steve thinks that if he were to kiss you, he’d start there. “No,” you whisper, “you shouldn’t have to miss anything either.” 

“It’s okay,” he promises you. “I don’t even really care if I see this.” He has been looking forward to it ever since he saw the commercial, honestly, but he’s happy to miss it for you. 

“I’m fine,” you reply, “but thanks, Steve.” 

“At least have some of mine.” Eddie shushes him loudly, and Steve kicks the underside of his knee, making the other boy curse. “I’ve got coke and popcorn, that okay?” 

The movie glows blue over your face as you grin, eyes twinkling in the low light. “Classics. But I’m not gonna take your food.” 

“I’m not gonna eat it all,” Steve argues. “These are both extra-larges. You think I bought that all for myself?” He absolutely did. 

You lean in closer, your knees touching the side of his hand. “You paid for them,” you whisper. 

“So?”

“So, I’d feel bad.” 

“Then make it up to me.” Steve hopes he doesn’t look as nervous as he feels. He’s never been able to lay on the charm with you like he can with other girls, he doesn’t know why. Or maybe he does. “Come with us back to my place tonight. We’re ordering pizza.” 

“So,” you murmur through a smile, “make it up to you by taking more of your food, is what you’re saying.” 

“Uh-huh, exactly.” He takes a sip of his coke and then angles the straw in your direction. “Deal?” 

You drop your eyes for a second, shaking your head like he’s silly, and Steve knows he’s won even before you meet his gaze again. 

“Deal.” You wrap your lips around his straw, sucking in a mouthful before letting go. “You drive a hard bargain, Harrington.” 

Steve grins, laying bay in his seat and totally not thinking about how his pinkie is grazing your thigh. “Yeah, that’s what they tell me.” 

[lilieswilt]

hi mae!!

would you be interested in writing something with steve (or any of the boys you write for) learning asl for their hard of hearing partner?

if not i totally understand!! luv ya 🩷🩷

Hi sweetheart, thanks for requesting!

Steve Harrington x hearing imparied!reader ♡ 558 words

“This is embarrassing,” Robin signs. 

“It is not.” You grin, rolling your eyes at her. “It’s sweet. He’s trying.” 

“SLOWER,” Steve finger spells, every letter emphatic. 

“Sorry,” you say aloud, laughing. “We were just—”

“Just talking about how embarrassing this is for you,” Robin says.

“No,” you look at Steve, but he’s only rolling his eyes, “we weren’t.” 

“I’ll bet she was,” he says into your ear, draping an arm across your shoulders. The three of you are taking up the entire sidewalk, not that anyone’s downtown to mind. One of the perks of Steve working the night shift at Family Video is that now he actually wakes up before noon to do things with you before work, and during summer in Hawkins you won’t find many people out in the mornings. It feels like you’ve got the town to yourselves. “Some of us weren’t in the special classes in high school, though.” 

“Hey, if you thought it was more worth your time to practice your keg stands,” Robin skips ahead of you, turning around and spreading her hands helplessly, “that was your prerogative. I’m just saying that if anyone is Y/N’s soulmate, it’s looking like it’s me.”

You see the look in Steve’s eyes and know what he’s about to do a second before he signs, “Shut up,” with enough gusto to make Robin’s high school ASL teacher proud. You’d taught him that one last week, and it’s been his favorite sign ever since. His most practiced by far. 

Robin only sticks out her tongue. You smile as Steve tugs you closer against his side, his skin and the material of his shirt sun-warmed against your arm. You love how badly he wants to do this for you. Every night for the past couple of weeks, you’ve been teaching him, and though Steve gets frustrated easily, he’s determined. The other day, you’d caught him signing ��cereal” absentmindedly to himself while looking through the pantry. 

You know he’s learning because he’s a sweetheart and wants to make things easier for you, but Robin swears he just feels left out of the club. 

“Okay, I’ve got a question.” Steve retracts his arm and turns to you, walking sideways. His face goes serious as he concentrates. “Do. You. Want. To.” He signs every word, so intentional. Bless him, he’s trying so hard. “Go. Get…” He finishes the last sign, and you and Robin both burst out laughing. 

His face falls. “What?” he asks aloud.

“Steve,” you say around a giggle, “where did you learn that?” 

Steve looks lost for approximately one more second, and then his eyes narrow on Robin. 

“You can’t blame me for taking the easy shot,” she says. There are tears in her eyes. “You’re just too gullible.” 

“What did I say?” he asks, and you lean up to whisper in his ear. “Oh my god.” He rolls his eyes at Robin. “What are you, twelve? I was trying to ask if you wanted pizza, you pervs.” 

“Maybe just take lessons from me from now on.” You take his hand, intertwining your fingers. Steve huffs and tugs you closer. 

“Wait,” he says, “so, does this—” he signs with his free hand “—not mean ice cream?” 

“Oh, honey.” You try to look sorry for your boyfriend, but it’s hard when you’re grinning so big. “No, it doesn’t.”

[lilieswilt]

hi mae !!! i’ve been resding ur stuff for forever & if this request doesnt strike ur fancy i just wanted to at least say that!!! but i would love love love anything you have to say about steve harrington comforting his s/o (maybe shy!reader?? but no pressure on that) after a very tough emotional few weeks? like yknow those weeks that just knock you down & then stomp on you a little & have you saying “it’ll get better if i can just get through the week” but then the next week comes and it’s just as 🕳️🤸 as the last ? idk if this makes sense but ik u wanted more requests w our other boyfriends !!

Hi lovely, thank you for requesting!

Steve Harrington x shy!reader ♡ 791 words

You’ve been trying not to cry for about a month now, and this stupid movie is going to do you in. Steve’s got his arm splayed across the top of the couch, his features lit in the colors of the TV screen and revealing only a vague sympathy for the characters in the movie as opposed to the steady crescendo of emotion that’s building behind your eyes. 

You turn from him so he won’t see your heating complexion and do your best to hold it in. You hold it until you can feel your heart beating in your sinuses. Steve’s fingers start toying with your hair, and it feels so ridiculously casual and tender that it only makes matters worse. 

You must make some sort of sound, because then he’s shifting beside you. His eyes burn into the side of your head. 

“Hey.” His voice is quiet, unsure. “You okay?” 

You breathe in through your nose, swallowing hard. “Yeah.” 

“Are you crying?” 

“No,” you say. But you are now, properly, and your denial is completely undermined by the wobble in its delivery. 

“You are,” Steve accuses, letting his hand drop onto your shoulder just as it gives its first great hitch. He tenses. “Hey, it’s okay. We can change the channel.” 

You let loose a horrid laugh, wet and pitchy. “No,” you tell him, finally breaking and wiping underneath your eyes. “No, it’s fine. I’m sorry.” 

“I don’t want to upset you.” He grabs the remote. His tone has gone serious and a bit panicky. “We’ll find something lighter to watch.” 

“It’s not the movie.” You turn towards him and he pauses, frozen like a rabbit in the forest. “It’s just…it’s a lot of things, you know?” 

Everything about Steve melts. His shoulder sag, the hand with the remote dropping into his lap, his lips part, he slouches towards you a bit, his eyebrows pull up and to the middle. “Yeah,” he says, soft and smooth as butter. “Yeah, I get that.” 

You try to smile, making fun of your own ill-timed meltdown, but another sob breaks free from you again. Steve slumps further. If you keep going like this, you’ll shatter into a million pieces and he’ll liquefy into a stain on the couch and that’s all Robin will find of either of you when she inevitably comes looking. 

“It’s okay.” Steve’s hand makes its way from his lap into yours, taking your hand and squeezing your fingers lightly. “You’re okay, you’re good.” 

And you know you are, but it feels nice to hear him say it. Your shoulders shake, and you tilt your head downwards, salty tears dripping off your nose. 

“Sorry,” you croak out, but he only brings his other hand to your face, angling you up where he can see you. 

“I don’t mind,” he promises. When his thumb sweeps an arc from the side of your nose nearly to your ear, you shudder. 

Steve’s brows twitch together, but he doesn’t alter his grip. 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” 

“No, what is it?” 

“It’s just…” Just that you short-circuit anytime he touches you, and right now your body doesn’t know where to put the excess emotion. You think if he pays you any more attention you’ll have a heart attack. Cause of death: Steve Harrington’s tender ministrations. “Sorry, nothing.” 

His forehead creases as his thumb brushes once more, feather light, under your eye, and then his expression clears. Because though intuitive Steve is not, he’s perceptive enough to catch your unintentional glance to where his hand rests upon your cheek. 

“Oh, sorry.” He stills, eyes flickering back to yours. “Hey, if you want me to stop, I’ll stop. Just say the word.” 

And you have to think, because it is torment, and it might actually kill you. But at least this way you’ll die happy. 

“That’s okay,” you murmur. “It’s nice.” 

A little smile curves Steve’s lips before he remembers you’re sad and tries to squash it. You feel something similar tugging at your mouth anyway. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

You sniffle. “I don’t think so. I’m just kind of tired of it, you know?” He looks like he does. “Maybe we could just keep watching the movie?” 

“Yeah, sure honey.” The endearment slips out as if it’s something he says every day, and Steve’s demeanor doesn’t reflect anything different. For your part, you feel a buzzing in your chest so intense you wonder if you’ll disintegrate into tiny pieces. He scoots closer to you on the couch, settling an arm around your shoulders and leaning you into his side. “Let me know if it’s too much, okay?” he asks quietly, like it’s a secret. 

You rest your head on his shoulder and say nothing. 

[lilieswilt]

Steve x black cat! reader pls. I feel this paring is always necessary 😌

Thanks for requesting!

Steve Harrington x black cat!reader ♡ 625 words

You glower at your boyfriend through the dark lens of your sunglasses. “Don’t come near me with that.” 

Steve smiles cajolingly, approaching with the sunscreen nonetheless. “C’mon, babe, you didn’t come out here just to sit under this umbrella all day.” 

“You know I did.” You dart your stare pointedly to where the pale rocks are growing little puddles of lake water underneath his feet. “If you come over here and drip on my book—” 

“Put the book away,” he coaxes. And he’s convincing, all shiny skin and even shinier smile and his pretty hair stuck damply to his forehead and the back of his neck. One tiny strand curls inward over the curve of his cheekbone, and you want terribly to slick it back in with the others but any affectionate gesture right now would feel too close to giving in. “Lemme put some sunscreen on you so you can come swim with the rest of us.” 

“I’m fine here.” 

“It’s really nice out there.” Steve sits down next to you like a mirror image, his hands by your feet and his feet next to your butt. “The lake’s not too cold or anything, you might like it.” 

You suck your teeth. “I’m just trying to enjoy my book, Steve.” 

He angles his head. “What, you don’t want to spend time with me?” 

You angle your head right back, deadpan. “Don’t.” 

“You know, Max really loves you,” he says, squirting a dollop of sunscreen into his hand and starting to smooth it up your calf. You wrinkle your nose at the smell. “She thinks you’re the coolest. Beats me why, but it’d probably make her week if you went out there.” You’re quiet, and he goes on, encouraged. He works the sunscreen over your knee, hands chaste and purposeful as they run the length of your thigh. “Plus, you know, you can read your book anytime, but these warm days are only gonna last so long before it’s freezing and snowy outside again.” 

“I like when it’s freezing and snowy,” you say, setting your book down on top of your bag before one of you gets sunscreen on it.

“I know, but you won’t be getting the gun show when I’m all hidden under ten layers, y’know?” 

Steve raises his eyebrows at you, and you look away from him, biting down on your smile. You feel more than see your boyfriend’s answering grin, spreading like a blight over his pretty face. He starts on your other leg. 

“And if you come hang out, I’ve got an ice cream sandwich in the cooler with your name on it.” He brushes his thumb over the side of your knee sweetly. “Been saving it for you.” 

You soften. A bit. “You could bring it to me here,” you point out. 

Steve shakes his head, frowning as if he really doesn’t know who’s making these rules and wishes he could change them for you. “Can’t, sorry. Frozen treats are only for those of us out there braving the sun.” 

You cross your arms. “You make it sound so pleasant.” 

He takes one of your arms in his hands, disentangling your defensive stance to continue slathering you in sunscreen. “It’s really not bad,” he says. “Between the ice cream and the cool water, you can pretend it’s winter if you want.” 

“Steve!” You both look out towards the lake, and Robin is waving him over. “Stop flirting with your girlfriend and come back here. We need more people to play chicken!” 

Steve gives you a pleading look. 

“I’m not getting wet,” you tell him firmly. 

He grins and takes your hand, lotion-slicked palm sliding against your own as he pulls you up. “You won’t on my team, don’t worry.”

[lilieswilt]

+quick idea!

what abt fuckboy!james/fuckboy!steve who’s so used to the idea of girls wanting to stay after they sleep w him, but with you, he wants to stay. you get up to leave and get your clothes on before he’s making up dumb excuses and whining with his little puppy dog gaze all like “well you don’t have to leave :(“

and ur just there smirking and trying not to laugh before u climb back in bed w his little clingy self

Thanks for requesting <3

Steve Harrington x fem!reader ♡ 699 words

Steve looks nice when he’s relaxed like this. There’s no carefully curated uptilt to his lips, and the muscles around his eyes are at ease, finally free of that dumb, smolder-y squint he does. You would've never denied that Steve is handsome, but he actually looks quite pretty when he’s not trying so hard. His face has gone soft against his pillow, limps plump and skin golden in the buttery morning light streaming through his curtains. 

You don’t intend to stick around to see that softness melt away. You’re quiet and efficient in changing into the clothes you’d worn the night before, leaving your shoes off for now so your steps remain soundless on Steve’s bedroom floor. You find some mouthwash under his sink and decide that’ll have to do in lieu of brushing your teeth for now, fixing your hair and double-checking that there’s no makeup leftover under your eyes before exiting the bathroom. 

Steve’s sitting up in bed. 

“Morning,” you greet him. 

“Morning.” He stretches, arching his back until it cracks. He tilts his head as his eyes focus on you. “You’re already dressed?”

“Yup.” You sit down on the edge of the bed to put your shoes on. “Thanks for letting me stay here last night.” 

“No problem.” He’s doing that stupid eye-squint thing again, albeit a more dulled, tired version, as he rakes his gaze showily up your body. It’s work to not roll your eyes. “I hope you had a good time.” 

“I did,” you confirm, finishing the knot on your second shoe. You stand. “Cool if I leave the front door unlocked on my way out, or did you want to follow me and lock it?”

Steve’s eyebrows cinch, and the squint takes on an unfamiliar nature. “You know, I’m not the type of guy to kick girls out first thing in the morning. You can stay for breakfast, if you want.” 

You give him an appeasing smile. “Thanks, but I’ve got food at home.” 

He sits up straighter, covers slipping down to reveal the waistband of his boxers. “Don’t you need a ride or something?”

“I can take the bus.” 

“Well, I could drive you if you’d just give me a second to get up.” 

“Steve.” You don’t bother hiding the bemusement from your expression. “I really don’t mind taking the bus.” 

Steve pauses with one leg out of the bed and one still in, and you let your gaze linger on his naked thigh for just a moment before forcing your eyes back up to his face. It’s as confused as you imagine yours has to be, but you could almost swear the look in his eyes is tinged with hurt. “What’s the rush?” he asks you. “Do you have somewhere to be or something?”

“No,” you answer with a shrug. “There’s just no point in me sticking around here, and I figured I’d get out of your hair.”

“You’re not in my hair.” 

“I’m not?”

“No.” Steve runs a hand through his hair, one side pressed flat from being smushed against his pillow. You sort of want to stick your fingers in there and ruffle it. “It’s not…you’re not bothering me, or anything.” 

You raise your eyebrows at him. “That’s good.” 

“Just—” Steve blows out a breath. He seems puzzled, and he also seems like being puzzled is frustrating for him. This doesn’t feel like the insouciant, self-possessed boy who’d led you into his bed the night before. “You don’t have to rush out. You could stay for a little while.” 

You cock your hip, giving him an appraising look. “And do what?”

“I dunno,” Steve says, and it occurs to you that he really is at a loss. He doesn’t seem used to having to ask for people to stay. “We could have breakfast, if you want. I could make you an omelet.” That squint is back, like this should be enticing to you.

You huff a laugh but set your bag down, heading for the kitchen. “Steve Harrington, I do not believe for one second that you know how to make an omelet. How about you show me where the supplies are, and I’ll cook us something good.”

[lilieswilt]

migraines isn’t something new to steve harrington. after years of finding himself in fights, he could no longer save himself from the head trauma, especially not after being kidnapped by russians and getting his head beat more than he could count.

so when you get home from yet another day at work, you walk into your dark apartment where no lights are on, telling you enough about how your boyfriend’s feeling at the moment.

you kick your shoes off and walk towards the bedroom where he can almost not be seen, curled up under the covers with his eyes closed and one hand on his head as if it’s supposed to help with the constant pressure on it. “hi steve,” you mumble, trying to navigate in the dark room and eventually finding the edge of the bed.

he turns to lay on his back and opens his eyes to try and get a look at you even though it’s difficult when there’s no light. “hi, how was work?” he asks, his voice barely audible. “it was okay, how are you though? want me to get you anything?”

steve wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you down to lay on the bed with him. “let’s just cuddle,” he whispers and you begin rubbing his temple with your thumb, hoping it’ll help just a little. “tell me if it gets worse, i’ll help you get to the emergency room.”

he flashes you a light smile and pulls you closer. “mhm, but let’s just stay like this for now,” he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, trying to hide from everything but you. “i love you.”

“i love you too, steve.”

[lilieswilt]

Hello! I saw your requests were open and that you wrote for Eddie, so I had to 😋😞

I wanted to ask if I could request an Eddie x reader where let’s say reader isn’t the best withemotions and communication kinda sucks cause they grew up without a good example for love, maybe their parents weren’t good for one another/very bad marriage. due to this readers view of love can be like very tainted, or that love is kinda toxic in a way. So, they’re kinda self sabotaging/think Eddie deserves better cause they struggle with communication, and it boils down to a fight one day where Eddie is hurt they won’t let him in, and reader is kinda guilty and cries to him for the first time ever and just lets him know they love him a lot, more than anything, but don’t know how to show or say it.

Like they believe he’ll leave them, but he promises he won’t/loves them for them, and wants to show them love isn’t like how their parents were!

If you take this, thank u so so much but g you don’t it is a-okay!

𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 

pairing eddie munson x female reader [friends → lovers]  summary haunted by the version of love you saw growing up, you return to Hawkins and find yourself entangled in the most honest connection you’ve ever known [fluff, angst, slow burn, wc 4k]. a/n thanks for your patience, anon! really enjoyed writing this one.

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂

Each step you take results in a thick slosh that joins the patter of rainfall and rustle of the trees. The neon red open sign of the Quick Mart glows up ahead like a beacon amid the dreary evening. Of the two vehicles parked at the gas pumps, you can’t help but feel you’ve seen the van before. 

The bells above the doors jingle as you step inside. The air is cool against your wet skin as you wipe your Keds on the tattered black entrance rug. Rather than venturing deeper into the store, you stay near the front window and pray the storm clouds have already planned their exit. There was nothing particularly exciting waiting for you at home, but sometimes even your mother’s company was better than being alone. 

Time was supposed to be the great healer of all, but now that you’re back home from college, you realize not much has changed within Hawkins at all. It was as if the town was forever tethered to this singular state of existence. 

“Oh, no,” a lighthearted voice laments. “Rain got you good, huh?” 

You turn around, and there stands Eddie Munson and his warm smile at the checkout counter. His hair is pulled back out of his face, and a few rain droplets wet his gray t-shirt. He starts your way after the clerk hands him his bag. It’d been his van you recognized outside. He’s one of Steve’s friends.

“Maybe just a little bit,” you joke as he stops a couple feet away.  

Eddie’s gaze strikes a balance between sympathetic and amused. Even if it teetered toward the latter, you doubt you’d be offended. There seemed to be an eternal glimmer of warmth in his eyes. 

“Where ya comin’ from?” 

“The library,” you say. “Should’ve watched the news this morning.” You pull your shirt away from yourself so it doesn’t cling to your frame. 

Eddie’s gaze flits down to your body, more observant than anything. Then he meets your eyes again as if it’d been wrong to look. 

He clears his throat. “You’re Steve’s neighbor.” 

“I am.” 

“I remember seeing you around,” he says. “Guess our paths just never crossed.” 

You never realized how tall he was up close. Or how good he smells. You suddenly feel more aware of yourself.

“I can give you a ride home if you want,” he says. 

You shake your head before any words leave your mouth. “It should be letting up soon. Usually doesn’t last when it pours like this.” 

“You sure?” He watches the way you bite your lower lip in consideration. “C’mon.” 

Eddie starts towards the door, and the air returns to his lungs when you follow. 

•••

The inside of his van smells like pine, smoke, and earth. For a few seconds, you refrain from relaxing too deeply into the seat, but you eventually give in. The discomfort from being wet doesn’t last long. You don’t notice the tool bag at your feet until Eddie hisses apologetically. 

“Lemme get this outta your way,” he says. 

He reaches down, but you beat him to it. A surprised grunt escapes you at the weight, and he chuckles as he takes it from you and slings it to the back like it's light as a feather, bicep flexing. While he’s turned around, he grabs something else you can’t see at first. A green towel is soon placed in your lap. 

You blink down at it in pleasant surprise. 

“It’s clean,” he promises. 

“I wasn’t worried,” you assure, offering a small smile. You start wiping the moisture from your face and arms. “Thanks.” 

As Eddie pulls out the lot, the rubber of the windshield wipers squeak faintly as they move. You find yourself entranced by how they smear the raindrops. Eddie shoots a couple of brief glances your way. There’s an intimacy to the moment that he can’t help but be aware of. 

“Am I takin’ you home or someplace else?” 

The question shouldn’t catch you off guard, but it does. “Home, please.” That word feels heavier than it should. “I’m right across from Steve.” You forget he already knows. 

Hawkins is as slow and sleepy as ever as you two cruise down the empty streets. Eddie drives with one hand on the wheel, and your attention drifts from his arm to the bend of his knuckles. The weight of your gaze makes him peek over at you. You shift just slightly enough to confirm that you’d been staring, and he smiles, a subtle upturn of his lips as he refocuses on the road. 

For someone described as kinetic energy personified, Eddie knew how to settle into a silence. How to take what it gave him without trying to refashion it. It almost scares you how there’s such a sense of ease here by his side, traveling in the rain. You’d never given any thought to what it might be like, but you’d never have guessed this. He feels safe. 

“I never realized you had so many tattoos,” you murmur, breaking the stillness. 

He glances down at his arm. “Think you’ve been staring long enough to pick a favorite?” When your brows lift in surprise, he huffs a laugh that’s equally as worried as it is shy. “I’m messin’ with you.” 

A spark of boldness drives you to touch the one just above his elbow. It’s one of the softer tattoos he has, an intricate human-like creature with pretty wings. “Is this a fairy?” 

“When I was younger, my mom had this really nice garden,” he starts. “She always claimed it was filled with ‘em, and I believed her.” 

“Do you still believe in them?” You’re partly teasing.  

“I believe in a lot more than fairies these days.” It grows quiet, and he bites his lower lip. “She passed when I was eleven.” 

That lands harder than you’re prepared for. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Thanks.” 

Back then, it had taken a few years for Eddie to accept people’s sympathy instead of brushing it off. The last thing he’d wanted was pity from people who’d move on by the next day. More often than not, he felt like that same seven-year-old boy watering flowers with her on summer afternoons. As long as he could stay in tune with that version of himself, he’d have his mom forever. 

•••

When Eddie pulls into the driveway of your house, the lights in the foyer turn on. A second later, your mother’s head peaks through the curtains and disappears just as fast. Eddie chuckles, but his smile fades when he realizes the heavy look on your face. You hadn’t found her vigilance endearing. It takes a second for you to register that he’d laughed, and by the time you force a smile, it’s too late for him to believe it. 

“Is everything okay?” he asks, leaning in a bit. 

It’s too soon to tell him that she holds you to a high set of standards—especially now that you’ve graduated and are expected to either land a job or find an affluent husband who can provide. Too soon to admit that you can’t remember all the times she said she was proud. Her expectations overshadowed them all, and things worsened after the divorce, when your father moved out. Some days it was easier to love your parents than others. 

“It’s complicated.” 

Eddie didn’t know you as well as he did Steve, but perhaps, you and Steve were one and the same. Always wanting to be everywhere but the one place that was supposed to be a safe haven. Eddie used to be ashamed of Forest Hills and his uncle Wayne’s cramped trailer. But every day he came home, he knew he could leave the weight of the world at the door and not have to worry about picking up a new set of troubles inside. 

Things were never as they seemed from the outside looking in.  

Eddie clears his throat. “I’m sorry.” 

“Me too,” you sigh. “Thanks for the ride.” 

He means to say you’re welcome, but you hop out of his van and jog to the front door. Your mom is there to welcome you inside to seek solace from the rain. She waves at Eddie as he backs out of the driveway, and he politely waves back. 

All he can think about is that he wishes he’d met you a whole lot sooner. 

•••

Smoke flows into the air as Steve exhales beside you. He stares at a distant point down the street before taking another relaxed drag. Ashes pepper to the ground when he lowers the cigarette from between his lips and flicks it with his index finger. The sky is a beautiful ombre as a result of the setting sun. The two of you had come outside to sit on his curb and watch the day wind to its end.

“So are you two, like…” Steve trails off as he meets your gaze. It’d been three months since Eddie drove you home. 

“Please don’t.” You drop your face into your hands. He elbows you gently, and you return the gesture ten times harder. 

“Ouch!” 

“That did not hurt,” you say. 

“Did too,” he counters, chuckling as he massages his arm. 

A hush falls between you, and you shake your head when Steve offers you the cigarette. In the near distance, the laughter of children and the rhythmic thump of a basketball drifts into the air. Thanks to Steve’s question, all you can hear now is the way Eddie says your name, always a touch lighter than the rest of his words. You can hear his laugh. You can see his wild curls and kind, dark eyes. 

Sighing, you look at the house across the street with its long driveway and crisp, manicured lawn. The epitome of the small-town American dream. After years of living within its walls, you could confidently say it felt like a home on some days, but never all the time. Just like all the smiles and laughter you shared with your parents when they were married, they were real on some days, but never all the time. 

They lived together until you left for college, but even then, it always felt like they were miles apart. They’d met young, married young, had you young. Somewhere along the line, they stopped being brave enough to show up as their full selves. New hopes and desires went unvoiced and became grounds for resentment to grow. In their minds, it was easier to let those weeds sprout until the inevitable day the growth took over entirely. 

Part of you feared it was contagious. 

“I wasn’t trying to pry.” Steve finally says. “It’s just that Eddie said something earlier that…” he realizes he shouldn’t divulge, not when he wasn’t here to clarify or defend himself. 

“That what?” 

Steve ignores your question. “And you’re together all the time.” 

Somehow, those words make you feel caught. You hold Steve’s gaze. He’d grown into his pouty lips and round eyes, but you can still see the freckle-faced kid who would always ring the doorbell and ask you to come out and play until you eventually started joining on your own. Life always seemed to be sweeter outside, and it turns out the way he felt wasn’t far off. 

“We’re together all the time too,” you note. 

“Not like that.”

“Like what?” 

Steve shakes his head as he laughs. “You’re the most impossible person on planet Earth.” You can hear the affection in his voice. 

“Good,” you concede, then nudge him again, this time much softer. “Loser.” 

“Weirdo.” 

“Dork,” you shoot back. 

But more than that, he was right to suspect that something had blossomed between you and Eddie. It was a matter of when, not if, you acknowledged it out loud.  

•••

A metal clang erupts the second you climb out of your car. No sooner does a beautiful gray pitbull trot up to you with a wagging tail. Mike’s Tire & Auto Shop never has felt like a real place, but the lot was filled with cars every day, and you seldom heard any complaints. Perhaps that was by virtue of being one of the only service shops in Hawkins. That never stopped your folks from traveling the extra six miles to get their vehicles serviced at a more sophisticated place just outside town. 

All the garage doors are open, and various cars are hoisted on the lifts. A couple of mechanics tinker around, but none of them have the hair you’re looking for. With a deep breath, you start towards the garage, a Tupperware container in hand. The mystery pitbull happily follows along. Once you’re inside, you’re mindful not to step on any random car parts or get in anybody's way. A few of the workers appear to want to say something, but refrain. 

“Gloria Anne!” A sharp whistle follows the exasperated exclamation, and the dog promptly leaves your side to follow the sound. 

You turn around in time to see her heel with dutiful precision beside an older, bearded man dressed in a button-down. He wipes his face with a rag as he approaches you. 

“I’m so sorry about that. She ain’t usually like this.” Before you have the chance to say it’s okay, he continues, “It’s these goddamn pregnancy hormones. Yesterday marked four goddamn weeks. M’gonna be a grandpappy.” 

Your brows raise in surprise. “Oh…wow. Congratulations,” you say. “I wasn’t sure whether or not to pet her. Didn’t want to get her riled up or anything. 

The man shakes his head. “She’s a sweetheart. Only thing riled up around here is my blood pressure.” 

Then he curses under his breath. “Where are my manners—I’m Mike. Think I might’ve seen you ‘round town before.” He squints at you as if it’ll help jog his memory. “Haven’t been back to work here since I blew my back out this past winter.” 

Eddie comes out of the break room to the sight of you talking to Mike. Alaric, one of the other mechanics, motions to you as if to say what’s this chick doing back here. Eddie waves him off. Over the past few months, he’d gotten used to all the ways you managed to pop up in his life. 

“We usually ask that all customers enter through the reception area for their own safety,” Mike says.

“I was actually looking for someone,” you say. “Eddie Munson?” 

“That knucklehead over there?” He affectionately points to Eddie, and your head whips that way. 

There he is with his coveralls tied around his waist and his hair in a bun, tattoos on display. A boyish smile curls at his lips upon locking eyes with you. 

Eddie joins you on one of the benches in front of the shop. He seems grateful for the excuse to step away, sinking back into the wood and letting his legs fall open so his knee touches yours. 

 “I baked these last night.” You crack the Tupperware open, and he smiles at the chocolate chip cookies inside. “I realized I’ve never visited you at work, so I figured I’d find a reason to stop by. Thought you could maybe share with the guys.” 

“Or eat them all myself,” he jokes, warmth stirring in his chest. “You’re not trying to butter me up for something, are you? You know I’ve got an awful sweet tooth.” He knocks his knee against yours. 

A laugh escapes you, and Eddie bites his lip to keep from grinning wider like an idiot. 

“What would I be buttering you up for?”  

As he shrugs, there’s something about the weighted way he studies you. It’s like he’s trying to figure you out all over again. You’re pretty in the afternoon sunlight. Butterflies flutter in your stomach. 

He gets a soft look about him. “Guess you’re just thoughtful like that, huh?”

You shrug like it’s not a big deal. As if you hadn’t remembered the comment he made about chocolate chip cookies the other week. Or as if you hadn’t chosen to wear one of your favorite denim skirts. 

“My mom’s visiting her sister in Chicago, so they wouldn’t have gotten eaten at my place,” you say, a bit shy and warm from the way he’s looking at you. “And I already gave Steve a couple.” 

“I’m on break for another five minutes,” he says. “I say we take first dibs.” His eyes are hopeful. 

He hums around the first bite he takes, and you somehow feel like the center of the world. He’d go on to make you feel that way every time you were near. 

════ • ════

The first day of Summer ‘89 is marked by rain. A steady fall that continues well into the evening. Eddie can’t see it, but he can hear it all around, against the windows and the roof. It’s your touch he’s focused on as he sits on the floor between your legs, eyes slipped closed. Your fingers are gentle as they comb through the long strands of his hair and detangle where needed. Every so often, you massage his scalp to hear him make that pleased sound in the back of his throat. 

His head eventually falls slack against the inside of your thigh. You don’t stop. Not until light begins to pour into the otherwise dim living room. Eddie opens his eyes at the disappearance of your touch. He suddenly remembers where he is. Across the room, the TV drones a rerun of I Dream of Jeannie. 

“I think the sun’s coming out,” you say softly. 

“Looks like it,” he says, rubbing his eyes. 

“Let’s go see.” 

He groggily pushes to his feet and pads to the front window with you close behind. Sure enough, the sun has broken through the storm clouds above. It looks like heaven has opened. You admire the view through the raindrop-stained window. What you’re not expecting is for him to open the front door. Warm air flows into his trailer along with the scent of wet earth. The sound of the rain filters in much crisper. 

For a moment, the two of you stand in the doorway and soak everything in. You don’t realize you’re leaning into him until he rests a hand on your lower back. As much as you want to stay by his side and enjoy the comfort of his proximity, you retreat back into the trailer with a lump in your throat. What doesn’t register is the tight sigh Eddie releases as he remains in the doorway a few seconds longer.

By the time he returns to the living room, you’re seated stiffly on the couch. Eddie doesn’t join you or move from his place. He stares at the carpet for a few beats, then meets your gaze. That usual sparkle in his eyes has dulled. You wish the couch would consume you whole.

“What are we doing?” Eddie’s voice is so small that you’re almost able to convince yourself you don’t hear the question. 

You swallow in place of an answer. 

“I really like you,” he admits. 

“I like you too.” 

He huffs a humorless laugh as he gives you a helpless look. “You know what I mean.” 

That’s what scared you the most, knowing. The possession of knowledge isn’t passive. It demands one to be in a state of action or consideration. Seldom did knowledge yield a steady, unchanging state of being. To know is to feel and react. And the way you feel about Eddie is more than just in your head. It’s a truth that runs through your bones. 

“I just need to know whether or not I’m wasting my time thinking there’s something else here,” he says. 

Amid all the emotions stirring within you, the easiest and cheapest one is offense. 

“So I’m just a waste of time?” 

The feeling that flares in his chest is wild and unfamiliar, hurt and disbelieving at the same time. 

“No, I actually enjoy spending time with you—if you can believe that.” The sarcasm he tacks on his shaky around the edges. “You laugh at my jokes and make me feel good, but you’re also just a really awesome person.” 

“Eddie…” 

“You can’t keep leaning in only to pull away,” he stresses. “It’s not fair to either of us.”

Summer hadn’t reached its end, but you’d never know that meeting him back on that fateful day last year would’ve led to having some of the best times of your life. From days at the pool, to walks at Lover’s Lake, to spending the night at his place, to Sunday cruises around town. Eddie was everything you never knew you needed.  

Tears sting in your eyes. 

“I want more.” He motions between the two of you. “And every time you laugh at my jokes, or trace my tattoos, or fall asleep in my van, I’m left wondering if you feel the same way.” His words grow quieter on the tail end like he’s scared you’ll deny ever being on the same page. 

You don’t realize you’re crying until the couch cushions dip as he joins you. All you can do is shake your head because you don’t know where to begin. Eddie hesitates for a fraction of a second before he reaches out to take your hand. That’s all the permission you need to sink into him. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, and this time, the last thing on your mind is creating distance. You tuck your face into his neck like it’s the safest place in the world. 

Eddie gives you a squeeze, but he still feels out of his depth at the sight of your tears. One thing he knows for sure is that he wants to make them go away. 

“You deserve better,” you manage. 

With a gentle lift of his shoulder, he attempts to make you sit up and look into his eyes. But you double down because you’re not sure you’ll be able to stop crying if you do. 

“You are the better,” he finally says. 

Those words give you enough courage to look at him. You feel bare, but the only thing that resides in his eyes is a palpable attentiveness. 

“I’m not good at this. You don’t wanna be with me,” you insist. “You’ll look up one day and realize you made a mistake. And you’ll leave because you respect yourself enough not to keep trying.” 

Eddie’s chest grows heavy with your implication. “That day’ll never come.” 

“That’s what everybody thinks in the beginning.” 

“We’re not everybody,” he asserts lightly. “Look at me.” 

You redirect your attention to him. 

“Do you want this?” Eddie asks, bringing a gentle hand to your cheek to wipe your tears. 

You nod because you’re afraid to say it out loud. The words have dried in your throat. 

His eyes continue to search yours, and it feels like he’s seeing more than he ought to see. But for some reason, your fear begins to melt. Because you realize you’re staring into the same warm eyes that’d taken in your soaking figure at Quick Mart. The same eyes you managed to find at every hangout and party. The same eyes that would peer over at you during movie nights, heavy with sleep. 

Eddie’s mouth opens a couple of times before he finally says, “I love you.” 

Your breath is promptly sucked from your lungs because you know you’d heard him right. Yet somehow, it doesn’t feel like the first time. The words strike a part of your chest that recognizes the sentiment. It’s the same one that had come along with all the times he called to check up on you, brought you snacks, stayed up late with you, played his guitar when you didn’t feel like speaking. It’s just that now, you’re actually hearing the three words out loud. 

“I know you didn’t grow up with the perfect example of what that looked like between two people—neither did I,” he continues. “But that doesn’t mean we don’t deserve to take a crack at it ourselves.” He strokes your cheek with his thumb. 

What he’s not expecting is for you to lean forward and press your lips to his. He stills, only to melt into you in the next breath. Warmth engulfs both of you all the way down to your toes. Eddie’s sure you can hear his heart beating within his ribcage. The kiss is tentative and sweet, just enough to get a taste and leave you with the sneaking suspicion you’ll forever be addicted. When you pull away, it’s to whisper against his lips. 

“I love you too.” 

Eddie smiles at that and pecks your lips again because he can’t help himself. 

Outside, the rain has stopped. If you were to part from each other and go look through the window, you’d see that a faint rainbow has stretched itself across the evening sky.    

-

Thank you so much for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I promise I see them all! 

EDDIE MASTERLIST 

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[lilieswilt]

Hiiiii my queenie! Could I please request an Eddie fic with lifeguard!reader? Honestly, the plot is up to you I just need this dynamic right now

Ooooh, guurrrrl I was kicking my feet while I typed this up. You KNOW I'm a slut for some enemies-to-lovers when it comes to Lifeguard!Reader x Eddie Munson, so here's exactly that, only 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧' 𝐬𝐧𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧 there since it's a bitty blurb, featuring hellfire and heather my love.

The sounds of laughter, children shrieking, splashing and chatter filled your ears the moment you stepped out of the showers; body framed in the red hot, one-piece bathing suit you were always required to wear while on duty.

  With lips slightly pursed, a fresh layer of chapstick—spf 30, always—coating them, you surveyed the crowd that would be your responsibility in just a couple of seconds.

  The vultures—ahem, mothers and married women, interested in anyone but who they were due to go home to, were spread out on their towels and chairs. Basking in the sun with futile hopes of obtaining a tan. Mrs.Abernathy was already looking pink, you knew she’d be complaining about the burn for the remainder of the pool day.

  Small children occupied the shallow kiddie pool, floaties bobbed around in the waves their excitement created. In the larger pool, adults tried to relax while ignoring the noise that came with preteens and teenagers gathering. It was loud and obnoxious.

  Just the way you liked it.

  You raised your whistle to your lips and blew as you moved towards the lifeguard’s post, hips swaying with a confidence that befell you the moment you clocked in. Almost like magic.

  “Don’t even think about it, Curtis.” You warned the culprit, stopping him just as he prepared for a running start, no doubt ready to cannonball right next to poor, unsuspecting Mr. Williams.

  You smirked as Curtis deflated and wandered off, muttering under his breath.

  “Oh, thank goodness!” Heather cried out as she climbed down from her post, high ponytail swinging, “You have perfect timing, I need to reapply some sunscreen to my legs, I’m starting to look like a lobster.”

  With a finger on the temple of your sunnies, you lowered them on the bridge of your nose to look her over, pushing them back into place with a brilliant flash of your teeth, “You look good to me.”

  She laughed, swatting your arm, “Stop it—there’s no trouble today, we almost had a drowning this morning though, kid flipped over in his floatie and couldn’t get back up. But other than that, it’s pretty chill.”

  You hummed, pleased as your eyes scanned the crowd again.

  “Oh, and your number one fan is already here.” Heather teased and you groaned right before you locked eyes with him.

  Your lenses were dark. To anyone it should have been difficult to notice your attention was on them. And yet, Eddie Munson stared you dead in the eye from where he and his ragtag group of pale goblins—aside from Ronnie and Jeff, you liked them, Ronnie was spunky and Jeff was funny and nice and also black—huddled over a table and under umbrellas. 

  After Jeff had tagged along with his family once—he gave you some fruit his family had packed, he was so sweet—he and his friends, Eddie included, had made frequent appearances, though they weren’t always happy to be at the pool. Heather mentioned to you once, or anytime she got more than five minutes to talk to you, that Gareth had been the one he sacrificed to approach her. Started a casual conversation that continued to circle around to openly wondering out loud about what your schedule on the lifeguard tower could be. She took great pleasure in pretending to be oblivious before she wanted him to go away. 

  Now, you saw them just about all the time. Why Eddie Munson really wanted to loiter around at the community pool, you had no idea. You had incorrectly, apparently, assumed it would be out of his comfort zone.

  All his friends sat inwards, speaking heatedly about something but not Eddie. He sat with his back against the table top, arms spread out over it and legs manspread over his section of the bench. His chapped lips were pulled up into an almost sinister like smirk.

  You had a sneaking suspicion Eddie wanted to seem annoying, menacing, or even intimidating—and he once was to you. You used to avoid him in hallways, despite the butterflies that fluttered around in your tummy, because the guy was so abrasive. Constantly making fun of people he didn’t like, being ridiculously loud when he realized others didn’t like him, either, and he’d taken to occasionally picking on your group of friends—a couple of science nerds, c’mon dude—so you’d just tried to steer clear.

  Until you got this gig.

  There was something about seeing the local metal head and dealer— usually so imposing with his cool layered clothes, sharp jewelry and ripped jeans—swap out his personality for a pair of black swimming trunks and sandals, exposing his lanky frame, incredibly pale skin and even paler feet. Forgoing his armor, so to speak. Even his tattoos looked kinda funny, randomly placed and spread apart. His normally wild mane was flat, and the ends were wet so you knew he’d been in the water, but if the hair hadn't been a giveaway, his red rimmed eyes would have. You could tell the difference between chlorine and weed eyes from a mile away. 

  Eddie Munson didn’t look remotely intimidating to you. In fact, he reminded you of an anchovy. How long had he been just a guy and not some big, obnoxious overly-opinionated-to-the-point-of-being-mean ogre like you built him up in your head? Sometimes, you wondered what revelations he might be having about you as well. Made you kinda glad your little crush on him was gone.

  You tried not to laugh as you broke eye contact to return your attention to Heather who was also biting back a smile. 

  “I’ll have you know he looked pissed to be here up until the moment you walked out. Good luck!” She sang as she twirled around and hurried away.

  You’d barely managed to get settled in your seat when you realized he and his friends had left their possessions at their table in favor of occupying the area of the pool closest to you.

  “No way! I’m not doing that!” You heard Gareth hiss. It was so funny to see them awkwardly just standing there in the water, like they were waiting for the okay to go home. 

  “Causing trouble, Munson?” You asked, trying not to look at him. Eddie had quickly dunked himself underwater, and emerged wiping his hair out of his face and running his fingers through it. The way he was doing it reminded you of how they did it in Baywatch, albeit a bad attempt because his wet hair kind of melded together and his fingers got caught in it so he had to yank. It was obvious he was trying to show off and flex. Distantly, you wondered if his rib cage showing a little could be considered a six-pack.

  “Just trying to soak up the last couple minutes of fun, since you’re on duty, Killjoy.” He shot right back at you without missing a beat, teeth gleaming in the sun as he grinned, “Don’t you have kids to keep from running by the pool or something, or are you just planning on harassing innocent, little ol’ me all day?”

  “He wanted me to pretend to drown him earlier so that you might actually have to care about him for a couple of seconds while you do mouth-to-mouth.” Gareth confessed with a straight face that went momentarily terrified as Eddie whirled around, face set in a sneer and furious.

  “Dude, why the fuck would you tell her that—” And then he was back on you, “He’s lying to mess with your head, I wouldn’t want to kiss you to save my life.”

  “That’s good, because I wouldn’t kiss you—it’s not a kiss, by the way—to save your life, either. That’s a death I would have had to call.” You remarked, twisting the cap of your water bottle off to take a swig as his friends let out a chorus of Oooh!s. 

  You tried to pretend not to notice how Eddie seemed to stare up at you, the way he stared up at you, corner of his lip twitching into a smile as he accepted defeat without a rebuttal. For a second, you thought he might have been impressed, maybe even a little proud of you, and then he quickly ducked under water, until he was chin level and nervously glancing around. 

"One of these days, you two are just gonna have to get a room." Ronnie laughed, tossing her silky black hair over her shoulder.

  You felt your face get warm and chose to blame it on the heat instead of the fact that (one) Eddie Munson had popped a woody to you and (two) you definitely still had a crush on him.

  What a cruel summer this was gonna be.

𝑙𝑖𝑔𝘩𝑡 𝑑𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠 ℗ 𝑐𝑎𝑓𝑒𝑘𝑖𝑡𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑒 ♡

[lilieswilt]

you and i (back at it again) / steve harrington

summary: steve's left standing alone after starcourt, until you show up for him.

word count: 2.2k

author's note: inspired by this tik tok because i nearly shed a tear also this is my first time posting in awhile be nice pls

He watches his friends reunite with their families, mournful. He stands alone and contemplative by a cop car, the various spots of bruising and swelling on his face beginning to pulse with pain the more his adrenaline began to fade out of his bloodstream. The cops at the station said they'd called his parents house, his house, but no one had picked up. He knew they were home. He kicks a rock near his his foot, shoving his hands in the pockets of the bloody uniform he was still wearing. He wants a shower. He wants to go to bed. He wants to go to bed with the serenity of someone who knew they were loved. He wouldn't be able to do that if he went home. The word home a loose term.

"We can take you home if you need a ride, son," one of the cops says to him. Steve kicks at another rock. Home.

"That's alright," Steve says dismissively, ignoring the tight twist in his chest. "Someone will have gotten in touch with my parents by now. I'm sure they're on their way." The cop looks doubtful. Steve hates that he looks doubtful. Steve hates that he's also doubtful. "Couple more minutes," he swears. He knows he might as well walk his ass home, though.

He leans against the hood of the car, rubbing at his jaw. His hand comes away bloody. He's about to accept the cop's offer for a ride, maybe, he figures, he'll just go to Robin's and sit there for as long as her parents will have him, when a car comes careening into the lot like there's not fifty officers of the law standing around, the tires screeching loudly across the gravel. It's barely at a stop, practically still moving, when you throw the door open and throw your body out of it.

"Steve Harrington, what the fuck?" You leave your car door open, leave it in the middle of the road, still running, to get to him in time. He gazes at you, and it's a stupid look in all honesty, mouth agape, his brown eyes big and tragic looking, his face torn up and swollen. He wasn't expecting you. Why would he have been? You'd been broken up for a few months now and he was still nursing his wounds from it, knowing it was supposed to be for the best; you felt like he was hiding things from you and he knew that he was, hiding all the stuff about the Upside Down, not wanting you involved, wanting you safe. And in a way he was glad for it. He'd gotten through this with you unscathed, and who knows what would have happened if you guys had still been together. When he looks at you, though, when he allows himself to be pulled in closer, your hand coming up to graze his cheek, examining every scrape on his face with softness and worry, he allows himself to want. To miss you.

You tilt his face back, scrutinizing his features. He keeps his eyes on you. You showed up for him. No one else but you. You were here. "The fire is all over the fucking news and I didn't know if you were working tonight so I was sitting by the phone waiting to hear from someone and then your friend Robin called and said you were waiting here for someone to come get you so I just came in case and- and what happened to your face? And where are your parents?"

He shakes himself out of his stupor. "They didn't answer the phone." But you did. You answered and you were here. A wave of pure love rushes through him. He knew a thing or two about being alone, had felt that way for as long as he could remember, no matter how many people he surrounded himself with or how many parties he threw, but you were here, and he wasn't alone. Steve wraps his arms around you in one sudden movement, an outpouring of affection he hadn't realized he'd been reserving for you. Always you.

You stand there for a moment, processing, before you respond, leaning into his touch. The sirens wail around you. Neither of you move. He's safe. You breathe relief into the embrace, holding him tighter to you. He's hardly talking, and usually he's the one talking the absolute most, but he's stunned, both with what's just happened, what he's borne witness to, and with the way you care about him despite everything, more than anyone he's ever met, and the way he cares about you and how could he ever, ever let himself let you go? How could that ever happen? It's all he thinks about as he holds you, feeling safer than he's felt in awhile, the smell of your hair and your skin filling his brain with serotonin.

"Am I taking you home?" You pull away, staring up at him, his ruined face that is still so painfully gorgeous, still so hard to look at. Your hand is remains poised on his cheek. It's warm and welcome.

"No, no, your house, please," he brings his hand up to meet yours.

"I got you, c'mon, honey." He turns and thanks the officers who'd been waiting with him before letting you lead him to your car. He keeps his hand on yours. It tethers him to reality. He's here and he's okay. Or he will be, soon. He's here and he's safe, at the very least. He's not trapped and being tortured. No one's going to hurt him. He's got your soft hand in his and he's okay for right now.

The drive to your house is silent, but it's not awkward. You try to keep your eyes on the road as much as you can but you can't help that they keep finding themselves back on Steve. You've never seen him so reserved. You're sure it was more than a fire that happened back there, and you're sure he won't tell you a thing about it. You drive one-handed the whole way home. You let him need you.

At your house, you get your bathroom set up for him to shower, placing fresh towels on the rack for him, laying out your products on the counter. He would've been able to find them regardless, but you busy yourself with it anyway. When you go into your bedroom to tell him the bathroom is ready, his shoes are off and put into the corner he used to always put them in, and he looks exhausted. "I didn't bring clothes to change," is the first thing he says.

"That's what you're most concerned about?" You give him a funny look. You open your closet and rummage around on the ground for a second before tossing him a pair of his old sweatpants and a t-shirt. He stares at them in his hands. "I didn't know if I should give them back. So I just... didn't." He smiles a little. The first you've seen all night.

"Thanks," he waves them in the air before retreating down the hall. The door shuts and the shower squeaks on.

The way you loved Steve was unconditional, as much as you wish it wasn't sometimes. Even when he was pushing you away, even when he kept things from you, you'd always be there for him. He didn't have anyone in his corner like that. And you wanted to be. It wasn't something you felt obligated to do. You cared about him, and so you went to him. He'd do the same if the roles were reversed. It was unconditional because even when being there for him hurt, you still stayed. You still loved.

When he comes back into your room, his hair dripping but clean, God, he feels clean, his face devoid of dried blood but bruised and wounded, you're waiting for him with a first aid kit and a fresh ice pack. You must've heard the water shut off and gotten everything ready for him. The old sweatpants and t-shirt smell more like you now than they do like him but he's not complaining in the slightest. Something about you keeping them instead of throwing them away or lighting them on fire makes him think maybe there's hope. Not that you had a bad break up to begin with, it was more sad than angry, nothing that warranted a clothes burning, but still. Still, still, still.

He sits down where you indicate, rubbing his towel across his head to soak up the sopping water. His face is flushed from the hot water. You sidle up next to him with the medicine and bandages and try not to get too caught up in him. He places the ice pack on his puffy, blackened eye. He doesn't get it, this gentleness. He doesn't think he deserves it, really. After everything, does he deserve it? Does he get this peace?

"You're fidgeting," you mutter, narrowly missing the spot you were aiming for.

"Oh, sorry," he lifts his chin up a bit more and tries to sit still. You're so patient and kind and it makes him ache a little. You take care of him and it's not for any reason other than you caring about him. He's not used to anyone caring about him. "Are you sure this is alright? You don't wanna... be alone?"

"No, I wanna make sure you're okay," you answer easily, as easy as breathing, swiping medicine across his wounds with the lightest touch you can manage. He hisses in pain, and you wince, feeling it, too.

"Are you sure? You don't have to."

"I want to, Steve, I promise." You pat his cheek, another gentle, affectionate maneuver from you. If he's okay, you're okay. He takes this in. He thinks he really feels his heart expanding.

As you start dabbing at his other wounds, you speak, finally. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course you can," he replies, blinking up at you with his good eye.

"Was this..." you hesitate. He probably won't answer. "I don't doubt there was a fire but this..." you gesture to his face. "This looks a hell of a lot worse than just escaping a fire, Steve, you look seriously fucked up."

"What, you don't think I look pretty anymore?" He smiles again and you roll your eyes at him, but you smile back all the same.

"You're very pretty, Steve, but you have a black eye and there was blood all over your face and you're all cut up." He swoons just a little when you call him pretty. He's got an ego, what can he say? He continues smiling at you, a little high off painkillers, a little high off being here with you. If he's gotta be tortured he may as well get you back out of it.

"You look pretty, too, y'know," he says softly, his free hand twisting a strand of your hair around.

"Dodging the question I see," you raise your eyebrows at him but say nothing else. It was to be expected.

He takes a deep breath, looking up toward the ceiling, thinking maybe all this time he's just been stupid and silly for not telling you sooner, maybe he could've been with you all this time if he'd just told you, maybe it wouldn't have been the end of the world to have you involved. Maybe it would all be fine. "I wanted to keep you safe from all of it. See what happened to me? It could've been you, if you had been there."

"I would've wanted to be there with you," you insist. "You know I would."

"I do," he nods. "And that's why I don't involve you, babe, if something happens to me it doesn't matter to anyone but if something happens to you-"

"Why would you say that to me? You think I wouldn't care if you died?" You take his face in your hands, and he drops his ice pack. "Steve, are you an idiot? It would matter to those kids you spend all your time with if you died. It would matter to Robin, and to your family even if they take you for granted, and it would matter to me. I love you so much you moron, you can't say it wouldn't matter. I wouldn't be here if it didn't matter. I go out of my mind worrying about you, don't tell me you don't matter."

His head spins, in the best possible way. The pain from his wounds doesn't register. Your hands on his face registers. You words register. Everything else is background noise. "You still love me?"

Oh. Your face warms. It's not like it had been that long since you'd called it off, it should've have been a surprise to him, but hearing you say those words makes him light up. You see him light up. "Yeah, of course I do, it doesn't go away just 'cause you won't tell me anything about your life," you grumble, taking your hands off him.

"Hey," he whispers, grabbing for you before you can tear yourself away from him. He brushes the hair back from your face. He has that look in his eyes that make people fall to their knees. Heavy-lidded and tender. Soft. Loving. "I love you, okay? I do. That's why I try to protect you. I'll tell you anything you want." He knows it now, for real, that he can't lose you again. Not this time. "C'mere, come back." You let him pull you in. "I'll tell you anything, please don't leave me, okay?" You shake your head at him. Never, never. He's pleading, desperate. When he moves to kiss you, the desperation is laced in it, he's lurching forward and he's hungry and yearning and your lips meet soft and fast because he wants to savor it after so long.

The disconnect of your lips sends him reeling, he wants to dive back in for more, for more of everything, but you stop him. "It's me and you, okay, always. But you gotta let me all the way in this time." You tap his heart lightly. "All the way, Steve. Everything."

He leans back. He is hesitant and bruised and bloody, a little bit broken, but mostly he's in love. Mostly he wants to give you the world. So he takes your hands in his. He tethers himself to reality. And he talks.

[lilieswilt]

Will you kiss me (a hot summer day with boyfriend!steve harrington) 

The heat bothered Steve. It nipped at his neck and brought all the insects out to bite his ankles, and yet he was still outside. She said she would meet him in the garden, out by the pool, and he was eagerly waiting on one of the chairs.

He heard the gate shut and then her voice followed before he even had the chance to look up. “Aw Stevie you look all hot.” He felt pinpricks on his arms and down his back. She had to choose better words in the future. You, look, and hot were unfair.

 “It is warm today huh.”

The sun was right on her, well it was on everything but still, it made her a thousand times prettier than she already was. It made her little white dress slightly see through, it made her eyes all sparkly and it made him very glad she was his girlfriend. Otherwise he would have had to steal her from someone else. 

She came and stood between his legs, like this was just a little part of their summer routine, which it kind of was now. Her hands tangled in his hair, pushing it back for him, it was slightly sweaty but she didn’t seem to care. And Steve was glad because it felt good to feel her fingers pulling his loose curls apart, it made him feel like a dog getting pet. 

One of his hands found her hips, the other slipped around the back of her thigh. “What do you wanna do today pretty girl?” He dug his fingers into her skin just a little. He couldn’t help himself. 

It made her chest tighten. It had her feeling like she was his. And even though she was, it was nice to remember it. It was nice to feel his hands on her, grabbing her just enough to make her head spin. He had to throw in ‘pretty girl’ too, just for good measure.

Her hands settled on his shoulders. 

“I don’t know.” In truth she did, she had a whole day planned for them but then she had seen him, sitting here looking all perfect and she just kind of forgot what she had wanted to do. Now she just wanted to spend the entire day like this, glued to his side all alone. “It’s too hot to do much.”

He hummed in agreement. She could see that her boyfriend was thinking. It was evident from that look in his eyes that she knew so well. 

“We could stay home. Go for a swim. Lay around in the living room, the fan’s pretty good in there.” He kissed her stomach over her dress. “Or-” He kissed a little higher, right between her ribs. “We could go to my room.”

“But you don’t have a fan in there. In fact I think your bedroom is one of the hottest rooms in the house, it gets the sun all day, doesn’t it? Your bathroom’s nice and cool though. I bet a shower would feel great right now.” She tilted her head to the side innocently, pretending she had no idea what she was asking.

Steve smiled at her, wicked thoughts hidden behind it. “Let's go take a shower then.”

“Will you kiss me first?” She quickly said as he stood. She hadn’t seen him since yesterday, which meant she hadn’t been kissed by him since yesterday and that was just too long. “You haven’t kissed me in hours.” She smiled, not caring if she sounded needy, not with Steve, he loved her like this. 

He loved that she wanted to hold his hand and kiss him all the time. He wanted to do the exact same.

“What do you think I was planning to do in the shower?”

[lilieswilt]

the one where steve is a hometown lover from the past that you’ll never outgrow (also mechanic!steve, also the same steve as in asleep)….

moodboard

“hey.”

he’s on the front steps of your trailer with a cigarette between his lips. the afternoon sun has gathered and festered under the weight of thin cotton down your back. it’s glowing bright orange on his bronzed cheeks. he spent a lot of time outside this summer. he spent a lot of time away.

but here he is, at 5:00. just off work. just like you, holding your keys in one hand and an empty lunchbox in the other. holding pulsing aches in your feet, suffocating in a pair of high heels.

“hey.”

one eye shutters closed when he tips his head back to see you. to inspect you the way only he ever does. his lips curl sideways to release a furl of smoke.

“uh…what are you doing here?”

steve pats the rickety wood beside him. his knuckles are scabbed, fingertips dirtied with soil and grease. 5:00. just off work. the navy blue collared shirt hand-stitched with his name.

your lunchbox swings when you step forward, whirl around, and sink down. it clunks with a hollow tupperware container when you set it on the concrete.

steve pulls the cigarette away from his mouth and rests his elbows on his knees. a fleck of ash flings toward the patchy grass near his feet. he reeks of chemical car exhaust. when the wind whispers through the park, it wafts the cheyennes toward your just-washed-hair.

just like old times.

"wanted to see you," he says.

you kick your legs out and cross one over the other. steve's eyes wander their way, hazel mutating into amber in direct sunlight. you haven't seen them this close in ages. haven't felt the solid heat of him in months. longer, if you thought about it.

you aren't sure what to say to him, and the quiet sound of lips latching to paper fill the space. he sighs the next cloud of smoke out. the sheen of sweat on his skin makes it glitter.

"how’s, uh…how’s your mom?”

you glance at him, lip between your teeth. “better. been clean a couple months now.”

he hums, mouthing at the cigarette butt. it’s getting smaller and smaller by the second. the crackle in his lungs feels better than the silence.

“how’s your brother?” you offer.

another bout of ash springing toward the concrete. it lands on the toe of his boot. they must be sweltering cages in this heat.

“back home.” you know that means not good.

using the pointed toe of one, you kick off your heels and wiggle your swollen toes. the cheap, glossy shoes scrape the sidewalk where they fall.

a few rows over, the hiss of charred meat erupts into a stream of smoke. the grill lid slams. a dog yips until someone snaps at it.

“we should’ve gotten outta here.”

it’s steve that says it and he’s shaking his head. head tipped back to the sky like it might be different elsewhere. but it’s always been the same shade of blue above the trailer park.

you watch his bicep spill over his knee. a bead of sweat drip to his elbow. you can’t help but lean forward and drop your head to his shoulder. above you, his head snaps aside with the swiftness of lightning.

the cigarette is gone now. steve stubs it on the porch and flings it toward the grass. you watch it nestle between overgrown blades, just behind a dandelion.

he folds his arms together over his tucked-up knees.

“it wouldn’t have been different,” you tell him.

steve turns away. tufts of hair cling to the back of his neck with sweat. patches grow dark where it’s damp. the chain of a dog tag peeks above the navy collar.

it’s his brother’s. the one who didn’t make it home.

a gust of wind rushes through the park. it flutters through your hair, flaps through the bottom of your skirt. steve tips his head back to feel it. you watch the sun gather and sit glowingly on his nose. he has a new freckle under his jaw.

“i think it would’ve,” he murmurs. it seems like a remark mostly for himself.

you felt your hand sneaking through the warmth under his arm before you knew it. worming through the gap, looping over his forearm until it comes back to you. once intertwined, you feel a relief waiting to be released. balled up for months in your chest, soothed only by steve.

steve drops his head down on yours. the weight of it like a paperclip, holding you together. you let your eyes close and imagine what he always said leaving his mouth right now. i love ya, kid.

you hum against his arm, cheek pressed into soft, slick flesh. in your mind, it mimics the same sounds of your usual response. i love you too.

"wanna stay a bit?" you say instead.

steve shuts his eyes. "okay," he says back.

when the pair of you finally move a few minutes later, you hook your fingers in your heels and steve takes your lunchbox. he kicks his shoes off near the door on the outside, sets the lunchbox on the coffee table.

he takes the hand that reaches for him, angled behind you at the base of your spine. your feet journey toward the bedroom without question.

he forgets the dog tags around your bed post when he leaves.

a familiar excuse to return again.

[lilieswilt]

⋆⁺₊❅ meet the parents

single dad Eddie Munson x single mom Reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Summary: For my fourth and final fic of @littlexdeaths The Twelve Days of Promptmas, I bring you a romcom-worthy meet cute! A one-night stand in a small town is always a dangerous game.

Content: Eddie and Reader are both single parents. Modern AU. P in V and oral sex. Too many feelings for a one-night stand. Reader’s shitty ex mention. Small town dynamics. Light on Christmas, heavy on Eddie being a sexy menace. If you see any typos/messy sentences lmk!!

Just an extra little note to say the biggest THANK YOU to @littlexdeaths for putting together these wonderful Promptmas ideas, and for just being completely lovely and amazing too. I have had such a fun few weeks working on writing again, it’s been a crazy few months for me personally so this has been the best way to get back into writing and feeling creative again!! I’ve loved every minute ❤️

✨bang average festive fics✨ Eddie Munson fics ✨Dividers by @strangergraphics✨

It has been quite a few years since you woke up in a stranger’s bed. 

More used to the morning time routine of trying to get a sleepy six-year-old up and ready for the day, or the heartwarming feeling of said six-year-old making her way into your bed to cuddle on sleepy Sundays, you feel a little out of your depth this morning.

And some degree of hungover. 

But it could be worse, you supposed. The stranger’s bed was comfy and he had plenty of pillows for you to sleep on. His sheets were clean and he had not totally smothered you like a limpet all night, nor had he expected you to get up and leave while you were still catching your breath. He was a fairer bedmate than your daughter, and it was pleasant to wake up with the warm weight of his inked arm around you rather than a kid’s-size-twelve foot digging into your ribs, or her hair in your mouth. 

You sink into the comfort of it all, relishing that long-forgotten post-great-sex ache all over and the feeling of waking after a deep and dreamless sleep. You had not been this well-rested in almost seven years.

Next to you, he is asleep on his stomach with his arm across your middle. The room is dusky dark, but you can still make out the tattoos along his pale bare body and the glint of his nose ring, the spill of long dark hair piled up on his head. He is much softer now than when you met in the bar last night, no coy smirk or wolfish grin, no deep dimples on his cheeks. His whiskey eyes are still shut, and you feel warm all over when you remember how he had looked at you like you were the only woman in the bar, in the world, last night. How he had taken you home and taken you apart right here in his navy sheets. 

Carefully, trying not to wake the man next to you, you ease yourself up to check your phone.  It’s far too early to worry about picking Hazel up yet.

Not for the first time, you say a silent thanks to the universe for your neighbour for agreeing to babysit Hazel so that you could have a well-deserved Christmas night out with the friends you had made at work. You will bring her a nice hand-tied bouquet from the shop next week, just because. Without Claudia and her kindness to lean on, you know that going it alone in this small new town would so be much harder. It had been serendipitous really, moving in next door to an older and wiser woman who had been in the very same position as you when her son was not much older than Hazel. You begin piecing together the perfect bouquet for her, eucalyptus and rose and red ribbon, distracting yourself briefly from the dull ache in your head and the dry feeling on your tongue.

He brought you a glass of water before you fell asleep together. It’s cool in your throat, though it barely touches the sides of the discomfort pressing behind your brows. When the glass is mostly empty, you settle back next to him and let yourself doze for a little longer.

Eddie instinctively pulls you closer in his sleep, his warm morning breath tickling your shoulder and neck. You know it is just temporary, he is still a stranger, but let yourself enjoy the fleeting comfort while it lasts.

“Morning.”

His voice is rough and smoky, and there’s a tired smile waiting for you when you open your eyes a while later. You are struck by how pretty he is, handsome and hot but pretty with it; long dark lashes and doe-eyes, cheekbones to die for.

“Hi,” you whisper back. You feel yourself smiling back at him, feeling dreamy and oh-so-comfortable. You stretch your body out, relishing the rush of blood and oxygen to your muscles and your eyes drop closed again at that so-good feeling.

“Sleeping Beauty.” 

When Eddie kisses your hair, you miss how he closes his eyes and savours the moment; you are too busy basking in the unexpected tenderness of this one-night stand, the easiness of waking up slow with a man you met less than twelve hours ago. Even if it is just for this morning, you soak it up. 

“Mhmm. You have a comfy bed,” you whisper, looking up at him again. 

You brush your fingertips along his silver chain before tracing up to his jaw, past the tendrils of hair escaping his scrunchie. You know the feeling of that dark grown-out and nicely-maintained stubble, how it brushed and burned so good on the inside of your thighs, how it feels against your lips. 

Tentatively, bravely, you press your mouth against his and feel his smile. It’s sweet, slow. Intimate and lovely.

“Yeah? M’glad you think so,” he murmurs and steals one more kiss before pulling you against his body. 

Last night as you basked in the afterglow, Eddie asked so quietly if he could hold you and you almost teared up about it. It had been a long time since anyone had held you like that, like he is holding you again this morning.  It has been a long time since anyone has been sweet to you, shared closeness and intimacy like this. Not since the man you loved upped and left, leaving you and one-year-old Hazel with only each other to love. 

You feel the strength of his arms and the softness of his belly. There’s a stirring, hardening interest against your thigh and yet he’s not being too forward or pushy. He’s just holding you, just ‘coz. 

“I don’t… S’a while since I had a sleepover,” he admits, running his blunt nails over the small of your back. “You didn’t hog the covers, and you didn’t sneak off without saying bye…”

Eddie pulls back a little, wearing that small flirty smile that made you swoon last night. His voice is so playful, even though it is deep with morning huskiness. 

“Still here,” you whisper back, “I… It’s been a while for me too. I don’t usually… Yeah.” You shrug, you know he gets it. 

There is a glint of something in his eyes before he looks up at the ceiling. “I’m glad we did. I had fun.” 

The dimple in his cheek is beautiful and bashful, and when he looks at you again his eyes go right to your lips.

“Me too.” You touch his chain again and tug gently to bring your lips together again, putting you both out of your misery.

No one has ever kissed you like Eddie did last night, with all-consuming lust that made you feel electric. He is a blend of rough and smooth, a firm guiding hand followed by a gentle caress. You have never felt so wanted, so craved.

The way he kisses you this morning pushes aside the thoughts of all you need to do today. All you know is want, the cloying feeling of wanting to touch and be touched, craving pleasure. With his hands to guide, you straddle his lap and lean into the feeling of his fingertips wandering past the hem of the t-shirt he loaned you last night. 

Eddie looks up at you like you’re some sort of deity, his eyes and lips shining as you peel off the t-shirt and throw it behind you, leaving yourself bare in his lap. He was not put off by the stretch marks, or the Mom Body you felt so self-conscious about sometimes. Nor was he put off by the fact that you are a Mom. Eddie had simply smiled when you briefly mentioned your daughter, told you he had his own little girl without giving too much away. With that fresh layer of yourselves on show, you could understand each other just a little bit more without going full gushing-parent mode, sharing pictures of your little angels or ranting about who loved Bluey and loathed Peppa more. 

His fingers run over the stretch marks on your hips, starting up a slow grind as he kisses your neck (remembering your ‘no marks’ rule). There is a slight chill in the air to remind you that beyond this liminal bliss, it is a frosty December morning, but Eddie warms you up and distracts you without second thought. 

In the gauzy light, you see touches of fatherhood around his room, easily missed in the passion of last night - a framed drawing on his bedside table, a kiddie hair clip in his ring dish. You smile to yourself and shiver when his warm breath skates over the damp trail of kisses.

“Pretty smile,” he murmurs, needing to taste and feel it again. 

Hands wander and squeeze and you get drunk on each other all over again in the cocoon of Eddie’s bed. You blindly follow his dark treasure trail before taking him in hand, hot and diamond-hard, and savour the taste and sound of his moan. Your aching need for him is tempered and satiated by his fingers and you flush hot all over when he encourages you to scoot up and let him taste you, almost begging for it. Dazed with want, you find yourself clinging to the headboard with white knuckles and his name spilling from your lips. 

Eddie could die a happy man with your thighs bracketing his head. The taste of you makes him feel drunk as you take your pleasure from him; the needy roll of your hips is encouraged by his greedy hands in contrast to how cautious and careful you had been not to trap and tug his hair beneath your knees. 

When you are sufficiently dumb with pleasure, he lays you back against the pillows and lays out his desire for you in between messy kisses, losing his train of thought when you get your hand back on him and whisper back your need for him to fuck you now. Eddie reaches blindly for the (blessedly still-in-date) box of foil-wrapped packets in his drawer, not wanting to look away from you for even a moment.

He holds your hand as he makes love to you and you have to remind yourself not to get too caught up in how sweet Eddie is, even when he his making you feel like you have never been so full; sweetness and filthy words wound together so sweetly. It’s overwhelming and he catches you fighting tears when you feel too good. 

“Hey,” he whispers, wearing too much worry between his brows. “Do you want to stop, sweetheart? Am I hurting you?”

A guy being decent should not make your heart swell like this, and yet it does. You shake your head, tears spill over and he brushes them away with care.

“No, no. You’re not hurting me,” you promise. “I feel really good. S’just a lot.” 

Your voice wobbles and he smiles fondly against your mouth, relieved and happy to be wanted in return. 

Eddie has this magnetism, warm and cloying and a little mysterious; it makes you feel comfortable even when he’s teasing you and making you flush hot all over. 

“Yeah, baby? That’s what I’m here for,” he whispers, and kisses you slowly, sweetly. “Let me make you feel good.” You feel like your heart could beat out of your chest. He can feel it hammering against him as he starts up a slow roll of his hips that fills you completely. 

Your fingers clutch at the sheets as Eddie fucks you into his mattress. Nothing else matters in those moments, only pleasure. You fight the urge to sink your teeth into the meat and muscle of his arm, lick the drip of sweat from his neck. Instead, you taste the way he moans your name and cling to him when you come just moments apart - you first, then him.

He shares his water with you afterwards when he sees your empty glass; you are both damp with sweat and lying side by side with your heartbeats pounding in your ears, the lingering taste of each other on your tongues.

When he kisses you again, his lips are water-cooled and tender.

“Can I make you some coffee? I have to pick up my little terror in a bit…” he says, already cringing at himself. “She’s great, I swear. I promised her diner pancakes for brunch.”

Reality trickles back in, a not-unpleasant cooling off of your morning together.

“Yeah, I should probably not show up in last night’s clothes to pick my kid up. Coffee sounds good.” 

There was always an expiry date on this; the boundaries of a one-night stand were set and familiar, despite how long it has been and despite how easy and intimate this morning has been. You’re both adults, both okay with it. 

“Cool.” He smiles and hauls himself out of bed, stepping into his lost and found again boxers before he doubles back to kiss your cheek. 

When your legs are steady enough he shows you how the shower works, leaving you to it with a new toothbrush, fresh towels and a familiar squeeze to your bare hip. There’s a little part of you that wants him to join you, waste hot water and let him press you against the cold tiles. Eddie wants that too, to delay your inevitable parting of ways and return to reality.

When you look in the mirror, you see a well-fucked woman; kiss-bitten lips and that long-lost post-sex glow. 

“What the fuck,” you murmur to yourself, giggling a little when you think over the last twelve hours. 

You had not gone out looking for a hookup last night, but you made the most of the festive excuse to go for drinks with the few friends you had made since moving to Hawkins six months ago. Catching Eddie’s eye at the bar had been a happy accident. A happy accident that lead to letting him buy you a drink, and then buying him one back. Your friends had wholeheartedly encouraged it, knew him to see around town and vouched for him as a mechanic. Good with his hands, they had teased. Oh, how right they had been.

The water is hot and Eddie’s shower gel is the typical ‘for men’ scented sort of thing. You feel fresh and clean when you step back into the bedroom, finding sweats and an Iron Maiden hoodie on the bed for you, alongside your clothes from last night (which Eddie has attempted to fold neatly, instead of leaving you to pick them up from the floor).

It should not make you smile so much, but your cheeks ache pleasantly as you dress yourself, opting for last night’s jeans with Eddie’s sweater. It’s washed-soft and smells like the detergent you have at home with a hint of his cologne.

You follow the scent of coffee and the sound of music downstairs, finding more traces of parenthood on your way - a purple fairy door on the baseboard,  a washing basket full of clean kids' clothes outside a closed bedroom door, light-up Skechers and silver glitter rain boots in the hall. There is something familiar about them, but brush it aside as something Hazel probably asked for in Target.

Eddie’s unbuttoned jeans hang low on his hips as he makes coffee in mismatched mugs, his hair is down tickling against his bare shoulders and back. There are drawings on the fridge and a Christmas tree peeking out from the living room. It feels like a happy home.

His eyes light up when he sees you, looking as hungry and enamoured by you in his hoodie as he had been when you were wearing nothing at all. 

“Do you take sugar, or are you sweet enough?” he asks, wearing a softer version of that panty-dropper smile from last night. He smells clean, minty and masculine, after a quick whore’s bath in the other bathroom.

“Just one,” you say, resting your hip against the kitchen island while you watch him fix up your coffee. “You’re smooth, huh?”

“You tell me.” He slides the mug across to you before blowing on his coffee, taking a still-too-hot sip that he tries and fails to cover. For a moment, you think he might be doing a bit, alas he is simply endearingly clumsy.

You feel bad laughing, but Eddie only pouts a little bit before grinning at you. There’s a faint blush on his cheeks and he ducks his head to hide behind his hair. 

“Real smooth.” 

Exercising patience, you decide to let your coffee cool a little.

“I’ll give you a ride home if you like?” he says, hoping it’s not too forward. 

He wants to be more forward, ask for your number and ask you out. He likes how his clothes fit your body, and how you looked blissed-out in his bed. While Eddie’s trying not to come off too strong, you appreciate his sweetness and fight your own internal battle of trying not to fall for your one-night stand.

“Yeah, that would be great. Thanks, Eddie. I’m over on Cornwallis, is that out of your way?”

He smiles a little, “I don’t mind a little detour, sweetheart.”

You pointedly blow on your coffee, learning from his mistake, and savour the made-just-right coffee in a Snoopy & Woodstock mug.

Over his shoulder, you spot a photo of a familiar man on the fridge, bookended by two heads of dark curly hair. There’s a handpainted fridge magnet with ‘Fae’ written in childishly charming pink writing, and you feel your cheeks flame.

He watches your face change, looks over his shoulder to see what you’re looking at. 

“Ah. That’s my Uncle Wayne, and Fae. My daughter. she’s six.” He unpins the picture and thumbs over it gently before turning it around to you.

You know exactly who they are, but take it anyway.

When you moved your life to Hawkins, Indiana six months ago, you would never have believed that you would make friends with a grandfather in his sixties outside of Curtain Call Dance Studio while you waited for Hazel. Making friends as a single Mom in a new town was not easy, you had little time outside of work and parenting for yourself, let alone socialising (and god forbid, dating). And then you parked next to Wayne one Thursday. He was a little quiet but had warmed up more each week; now he smiled when he saw you, asked how your job at the florists was and how Hazel was doing in school.

Even though they were in different First Grade class groups at Hawkins Elementary, Hazel and Fae had become almost inseparable in their dance classes and on the playground. 

You knew Fae’s dad worked late some evenings, so Wayne helped him out. Hazel had told you that she had seen Fae’s dad once when he picked her up early to go to the dentist, and that he had hair just like her friend.

“She looks just like me, it’s crazy - poor kid. I can’t believe she’s six. She’s supposed to be three, max. Y’know what I mean?” He says, showing you more of his proud Dad side before realising that your confusion is not because you’re looking at a picture of two clones. “You okay?”

“You’re Fae’s Dad? Fae Munson?” you ask, watching his shoulders tense a little as he nods. “Eddie. Our kids know each other. I’ve met Wayne.” 

He scowls slightly beneath his bangs, confused and a little worried that he hooked up with the mother of one of the kids who was mean to Fae in school, who told the teacher when she was ‘too chatty’ or when she stood up for herself.

The words spill from you untempered, unrestrained to clear it all up. “They’re at dance class together. They’re in the same grade. Hazel and Fae are friends, Eddie…”

He visibly softens, drops his shoulders, and even though he still looks confused he melts even more when an involuntary nervous laugh bubbles from your chest. 

“Seriously? No… You’re Hazel’s mom?” His eyes blow wide. “Fuck.” 

Eddie puts his head on the counter with a thunk, and you’re left with the photo of three smiling Munsons. Fae has her Dad’s eyes and hair, his impish mischief that had endeared you to the little girl. They really are alike.

“Wayne was right,” he says, muffled beneath his hair before peeking at you, “You are cute.” 

It makes you laugh more, though your cheeks feel like the surface of the sun.

“Wayne thinks I’m cute? Huh…”

“No. Nope,” he yelps, head flying up like a wild thing. “Oh my goddd.”

You feel a little spacey as the pieces fall into place. Wayne’s nephew Ed worked at Thatcher Tyre as a mechanic, and Fae had told Hazel her Dad looked like a rockstar. She wasn’t wrong…

“He was totally going to try and set us up or somethin’.”

“He did say I’d finally get to meet you at the Winter Performance…” you say, feeling fizzy-all-over as you come to terms with the shock of it all. “Guess we bet him to it.”

“Told me you were real sweet too.” Eddie smiles, his cheeks are pinker than ever.

Part of your brain berates you for hooking up with a stranger in a small town - a small town where everyone knows everyone else. But when Eddie reaches his hand out across the island and says, “Good to finally meet you, Hazel’s Mom,” with that flirty smile and his whiskey eyes, it melts away and you’re not really that sorry at all.

You take his hand, mug-warmed and adorned with silver rings. 

“Nice to meet you at last, Fae’s Dad.”

Neither of you is too embarrassed by the revelation, though you both circle back to how fucking crazy it is at least twice. Even though you still feel gooey-warm under his attention, you don’t want anything to get in the way of your daughter’s friendship, of your new start in Hawkins, and feel selfish for wanting more than the taste you have already had of Eddie Munson. You both know your time together is drawing to an end, the bubble is about to burst, and a little part of you wishes that the illusion of being strangers could have lasted a little longer. 

With your coffee consumed and your coats and boots on, Eddie takes your hand and pulls you against his body before you step outside of the door together. 

“Hey, gorgeous. One more kiss?” he asks, head tilted to the side. 

You don’t need to think about it, and take his stubbled jaw with both hands as he holds your hips. Kissing him makes all the tension roll away once more, and you hope it is enough to help him remember you as more than just some other Mom in the First Grade Parents Group Chat (which you both have muted). You have to savour it, remember his taste and touch.

Eddie is not shy about kissing you, he slides his tongue against yours and moans ever so quietly when you push your chest against his. He is also the one to slow it down, makes it sweet and tender and you would dare say romantic, even with his hands on your ass. 

“Can I ask for one more thing?” he whispers, nudging his nose against yours. 

Right now, you would consider giving him a kidney or a blow job if he asked nicely. 

“Mhm,” you whisper, giving nothing away just yet. 

“Can I get your number? I wanna take you out properly,” he says, his thumbs play with the belt loop at the back of your jeans. “Like a date.”

Feeling hot all over, you try to play it cool and not nod so eagerly lest you headbutt him and leave him bloody-nosed. 

“Yeah. That would be nice, Eddie.” 

He watches how your teeth sink into your lip and has to kiss you once more, just because. You take his phone and add your number and name, adding a little sparkle emoji before deleting it. Then you add it again and hand it back before you can change your mind.

“Cool. And, um maybe the girls could have a play date sometime? I was gonna ask for your number anyway, so y’know. Two birds, one stone and all that. Silver linings?” Eddie does a jazz-hand-flourish thing before he shakes his head at himself and tucks his phone away. “I had a good time with you. A great time. And I know what you might be thinking, I don’t want this to get between the girls either. But I’d love to see you again.”

You are even more endeared by these glimpses of how sensible he is as well as his goofy awkwardness beneath the leather jacket and bad boy stare.

He is as gentlemanly as he had been last night, opening doors for you, though he is less handsy in the bright morning light (he does give your knee a squeeze at the stoplight). You feel safe with him as he navigates the frosty roads of Hawkins, talking about music, what concerts you had been to before becoming parents, and where to get the sparkly tutus for the Winter Performance. 

All too soon he pulls up outside your house, spotting the red door with the handmade wreath that you had described.

“Next to Henderson’s?” he asks, brow raised.

“Yep. Do you know Claudia, or is this town just too small?”

He laughs, tilts his head against the headrest. “It’s way too small. Her son, Dustin? One of my best friends.” 

You tip your head forward, smiling even as your head shakes. “I’ve heard so much about Dustin. We’re having Christmas dinner with them.”

Eddie's dimpled cheeks crease even more. “Damn. Well, I can’t wait to hear why you picked Hawkins of all places to move to. You can tell me on our date.”

Proud of how that flusters you, he presses a kiss to your hand and winks, “I’ll text you later, sweetheart.”

You want to kiss him again, but you manage to restrain yourself, remembering the nosy neighbours on Cornwallis. Instead, you let the flickering fire inside you flirt back, hoping to fluster him too.

You place your hand high on his thigh and squeeze. “You better, Eddie. Drive safe.”

You can feel him checking you out all over again, the weight and warmth of his gaze, as you make your way up the path to your door. Once your key is in the lock, you part ways with a wave and a wink, lingering just a moment more to watch his car peel away from the curb. 

Left with a fluttering feeling in your tummy and warm cheeks that ache from smiling, you take a moment for yourself in your hallway. 

It is time to go back to being Hazel’s mom. You can’t wait to hear about her sleepover with Ms. Claudia and the cats, bask in her brilliance and take every hug and smooch she will offer you (or let you take for yourself). Inspired by Eddie and Fae’s breakfast date, you think of taking your girl to the diner for dinner later on, maybe watching a Christmas movie before bed. 

In the mirror above your sideboard, hanging above the key dish and the thrifted lamp and a photo of you and Hazel in matching sunglasses, you catch sight of your smiling reflection once more, enveloped in a dreamy daze and borrowed hoodie. Your phone buzzes in your pocket and your smile becomes bigger, brighter, brimming with hope. 

What did you think? Do we want more of these two? 👀 Thank you so very very much for reading! Your comments, reblogs and likes are incredibly appreciated and adored!

Whether you're celebrating or not, I am wishing you the cosiest and most wonderful holiday season filled with peace and love and every good thing you deserve ✨

[lilieswilt]

i’d love to see what you’d do for a holiday spent with rockstar!eddie 🙂‍↔️ maybe a quiet night in decorating or just smitten with each other’s company after time spent apart?? a suggestive ending maybe 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

ty for requesting :D — you and rockstar!eddie spend the holidays together after coming back from tour (rockstar!eddie universe, established relationship, allusions to smut 18+ | 1.2k)

You wake that morning to a heavy and familiar weight on top of you. 

Eddie Munson — rockstar, heartthrob, and world-famous dweeb — is sprawled along your back like your own personal blanket. You swear you can feel his heart beating softly against your shoulder blade while his mouth rests on your cheek, pink and softly parted to exhale little snores in your ear.

You let him for a while, until you think you feel drool on your jaw.

“Wha—?” Eddie slurs when you shift slightly to shove at him. He makes no move to get off of you, though.

“You know we aren’t in a bunk anymore, right?” you mumble into the pillow. “So you don’t have to sleep directly on top of me now.”

“Well, jokes on you, ‘cause I love being on top of you,” he quips, voice heavy with sleep.

You raise a feeble hand to swat at him. “You’re such a perv,” you grumble.

Eddie laughs quietly in your ear, then brushes his lips along your cheek in a chaste kiss. “Want breakfast?” he mumbles against your skin, soft and warm with a lingering slumber.

You nod lazily against the cushion. “Yeah. But I also wanna sleep for, like, five more hours…”

“How 'bout I do a bagel run, and after we fall asleep on the couch? Like old times?”

The mention of old times makes your chest feel all sparkly. Back when you swore you’d hate each other to the grave, but Eddie still had your breakfast order memorized, and you’d still have his favorite T.V. show on by the time he got back.

You’d doze off together, on opposite sides of the couch, but under the same blanket — like some kind of old married couple. Until Steve inevitably found you both there, and you’d go back to hating each other all over again.

“Deal,” you mumble, already half-asleep.

Eddie pats your ass twice and slides off of you.

You grieve his warmth the moment he’s gone.

An hour or more later, the two of you are sufficiently full with breakfast, passed out on opposite sides of the couch, with Scooby Doo re-runs playing quietly across the room.

That’s precisely how Steve finds you — his roommates turned world-famous rockstars — snoring with their mouths wide open, at one in the afternoon, after months of being away. 

With his arms full of groceries, he slams the door shut with his foot. The resounding thud startles both of you accordingly. You and Eddie lift your heavy heads like waking zombies, wincing as you stretch your aching backs.

“This is really humbling to see, by the way,” Steve quips as he hangs his keys by the door.

Eddie scowls. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” Steve shrugs. “It’s just— while you guys were halfway across the country, people wouldn’t stop gushing about the two of you... But it’s a really nice reminder to know that you guys are still a bunch of slobs.”

“Asshole…” Eddie grumbles.

You wipe the sleep from your eye and sit further up. “What are those?” you ask, nodding to the paper bags he holds in both arms.

Steve’s lips jut softly out as he peers over the tops of his groceries. “Ornaments, garlands, tinsel… And some condoms, ‘cause we were running low.”

“Who’s we?” Eddie scoffs.

“Me and your mom—”

“I love you, Stevie,” you say. “But there’s no way in hell I’m decorating this place today.”

“Yeah, Harrington,” the wild-haired boy beside you squints. “We just got home. You’ll have to peel me off this couch if you want me to help.”

“Oh, please,” Steve scoffs.

“What?”

You flash him a knowing grin. “We all know you’re gonna watch Steve do it until he inevitably puts something in the wrong spot and pisses you off until you just to do it yourself. You do it every year, Eds.”

Eddie rolls his chocolate eyes. “I’m not that predictable, doll.”

—————

The apartment is fully decorated by nightfall, by Eddie’s own stubborn volition.

Steve helps you bake a batch of cookies, then promptly leaves after taking a phone call you weren’t allowed to spy in on. He shoves on his coat and mumbles something about an old bootycall that was back in town for the holidays.

You break into his good liquor accordingly, and spike your mugs of hot chocolate with his expensive whiskey.

“C’mere,” Eddie waves from his spot by the glowing Christmas tree.

You let out an immediate whine from the couch, made sluggish from the long day and the spiked cocoa. “What?” you call back in a dramatic mewl.

“You gotta put the star on, doll— You do it every year,” he mocks with a lopsided smile, slick with alcohol.

“But I’m comfortable!”

“Stop complainin’ and get your sweet ass up here.”

You comply, though not without a series of inaudible grumbles as your feet shuffle along the carpeted floor in subdued protest. Eddie guides you up the small step ladder with his palms splayed on your ass.

“What? I’m helping you!” he defends when you flash him a knowing look.

His hands jerk instinctively to your hips when you rise to the tips of your toes, leaning slightly over to hang the shining star upon the highest bough, as it were. You don’t seem to notice how the old wood wobbles slightly beneath you. Eddie does, though, and his chest stings with a fleeting panic as you smile widely down at him.

“It’s so pretty, Eds,” you marvel, only partially tipsy. “You did such a good job.”

“I know,” Eddie hums, all proud of himself, as his palms smooth back over the plush of your ass. “So pretty…” he echoes in a distracted murmur.

“Stop being a perv. I’m trying to compliment you.” You roll your eyes and descend the creaking ladder.

The tree looks best from far away, you think — a chaotic mess of lights and tinsel; of shiny new ornaments and old ones the three of you have collected since childhood. It’s nostalgic, homey, warm. All the feelings you’d nearly forgotten about after spending months on the road.

“Thank you for doing all the work, by the way,” you lilt sheepishly, resting your head on Eddie’s shoulder when he stands at your side. You inhale the sweet scent of his cologne until your chest glows with it.

“How’re you gonna make up for it, huh?” he quips, obviously playful, as he presses a chaste kiss to your hair.

“By cleaning up the mess you made.”

Eddie only then seems to notice the piles of boxes and ripped-open plastic littered along the floor. “Okay, well, what about after that?” he presses.

“Um… Getting in the shower, probably,” you continue with a feigned obliviousness. “‘Cause I smell like sweat and booze.”

A pleased sound rumbles in Eddie’s throat as he smiles down at you. “Mm… Can I join?”

You meet his grin with your brows raised in question. “Only if you’re gonna shave my legs for me,” you answer.

He’s grown strangely fond of doing it for you, which you noticed after months of sharing showers to save water on the road. Not only does it save you the grueling work, but it’s always sure to end with his mouth between your thighs. 

So it's a win-win, really. 

Eddie knows it, too, and he smiles wider than he realizes.

“Deal.”

[lilieswilt]

a holiday meet-cute

robin buckley x fem!reader

another fic for @littlexdeaths 12 days of promptmas 😌 prompt: you need a last minute gift, but man that salesclerk sure is cute…

The mall is packed.

You can’t really be surprised, what with Christmas being in two short days. Turns out you aren’t the only person in town who waited until the last second to buy a gift.

You’d thought you had all of your gifts in order, until one of your friends decided to mention they got you an unexpected gift, and now you felt obligated to return the favor.

You loosen the scarf around your neck, unbuttoning your coat now that you’re safe from the elements. You glance around the mall somewhat aimlessly, letting your feet carry you. Your gaze snags on the bookstore, eyes lighting up at the sight.

Bingo.

Trailing inside, you’re met with shelf after shelf of books. You don’t really know where to begin looking, you just hope that you’ll know when you find the right one. You brush past other shoppers, eyes roaming over the spines and covers of various novels.

“Did you need help finding anything?” a voice asks, breaking you from your shopping trance.

You turn, fingers still gently grazing the spine of one of the books on the shelf before you, and when you meet the face of the salesperson, your heart skips a beat.

She’s gorgeous. Stunning, bright blue eyes and freckles sprinkled over her face. Dirty blonde hair with bangs that suit her well. She looks at you expectantly, but there’s an almost nervous edge to her demeanor. Your eyes catch her name tag. Robin is written in blue marker, squiggles and dots and other designs littering the blank space around her name.

“Oh, um, no,” you stammer awkwardly. “I’m just looking for a last minute gift for a friend,” you tell her, feeling your cheeks grow warm under her stare.

“That one is actually one of my favorites”, she says, motioning with a nod of her head to the book where your fingers rest.

You follow her gaze, looking back at the book to pull it off of the shelf, though you find you don’t really want to stop looking at her.

“I-I’ve recommended it to all of my friends,” the salesclerk continues. “My friend Steve — he literally never reads — finally read that a couple months ago and he loved it. Talked my ear off about it afterwards. I almost regretted recommending it in the first place,” she laughs kind of nervously, chewing at her lip as if to keep herself from saying more.

You find the personal anecdote adorable, taking her recommendation seriously.

“Hm,” you ponder, staring at the cover of the book now in your hands. “I think you’ve just convinced me,” you tell her, watching as her eyes visibly brighten.

“Really?” she asks, her voice suddenly so quiet.

“Mhm,” you nod. “My friend, the one I’m buying for, hasn’t read in a while and they’ve been looking for something to get them back in the groove.”

The girl lights up, smiling so big. It takes all you’ve got not to reach out and trace the little laugh lines on her face. Instead you smile back at her, and maybe you hold each other’s gaze for a minute too long, but maybe it doesn’t matter.

“I’m so glad I could help,” she says finally, cheeks turning pink as her eyes dart away. “Do you want me to check you out?” she asks, before her eyes go wide. “I mean, like, ring you out. Not check you out like, check you out. Oh, god,” she trails off, but her embarrassment only makes you more smitten with her.

“That would be great,” you tell her, giggling softly to yourself as she nods and turns, skittering away like a mouse.

You follow, weaving through the shelves and up to the checkout counter. She takes your book, scanning it for you, and you find yourself tracing the freckles on her cheeks as she works.

“So, are you excited for the holiday?” she asks you. The small talk is welcome — anything to keep you here longer.

“I’m more excited now that my shopping is all done,” you reply. “Do you have any plans?” you ask, handing her the money for your purchase.

“Ah,” she says, expression turning kind of sad. “Not this year. I usually go back home for the holidays, but I couldn’t swing it this year between work and school.”

“Oh,” you frown, giving her a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry. I know how that feels.”

There’s a pause, her pretty hands placing your book in a small paper bag, your eyes already on her when she looks up to meet them.

“You know, my friends and I are having a little get together. On— on Christmas Day,” you start. “Everyone always has a date and, well, I don’t have one.”

Her head tilts ever so slightly to the side, her bottom lip pulling between her teeth.

“I know we just met and you don’t even know my name or literally anything, but… if you wanted to come with me—” you stop yourself, suddenly self-conscious.

But the look in her eyes is so hopeful, it encourages you to go on.

“We’d love to have you. I’d— I’d love to help make your holiday less lonely. Since you helped me so much today, with the gift.”

“Am I attending this party as your date?” she asks, emphasizing the last word cutely, her voice gone so soft you have to lean forward to hear her.

Your face warms, fingers fidgeting on the countertop.

“If that’s okay with you, Robin,” you say, and the smile that crosses her face at the use of her name makes you certain you’ve made the right move.

The line of customers behind you grows, people in a hurry to get out and on their way. You both recognize this at the same time, and you shoot her an apologetic glance.

“I’d love to come,” Robin says, flipping your receipt over and scribbling something down. “That’s my number,” she says, handing you the slip of paper. “I’m off at 7 today, if you want to call. Or anything.”

“Okay,” you smile. “Yeah, okay. I will.”

With the receipt clutched in your hand and the book tucked under your arm, you give her a small wave before leaving the bookstore.

Your heart flutters in your chest as you look down at her writing, the glittery gel pen’s ink making each number sparkle.

Christmas can’t come fast enough.

[lilieswilt]

could I request tasm Peter Parker x reader where they go christmas tree shopping?

happy holidays Mae, lysm!! <333

Hello sorry this is after Christmas I wrote it before but just got to it in the editing cycle! Thanks for requesting :)

cw: some mild tree disparagement (we love them all truly)

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 738 words

You’ve taken off your glove to hold Peter’s hand properly, because you’re a lovesick sap. In turn, he’s taken both of your joined hands and stowed them in his large jacket pocket, making you look like you’re trailing along beside him through rows of trees on some sort of leash. 

“I’ve never had a tree with flocking before.” You tilt your head at a behemoth spruce that is, miraculously, purple. “It’s sort of fun. Like bringing winter inside.” 

“Haven’t you had enough of winter inside?” Peter teases. The heat in your apartment was broken from the first chill in late October until the very beginning of December, your landlord allegedly unable to fix it until you threatened to withhold rent. You and Peter had lived in layers and had coffee or hot cocoa with every meal. 

You shrug. “I didn’t mind it.” 

“That’s because I let you put your icicle feet between my legs at night, ingrate.” 

You squeeze his fingers, smiling up at him sweetly. “Love you.” 

“I think I’ve proven I love you more.” Peter kisses you before you can argue, grinning when you glare playfully. “Anyway, I don’t know how much flocking would make it up to our place. With all the corners and doorways…” He bats at one branch. Half the faux powder falls to the ground, and another quarter sticks to Peter’s glove. He wipes it on his jeans, streaking purple across the denim. “We’d lose a lot of it on the stairs.” 

You hum. “I see your point. What kind do you want?” 

Peter shrugs, surveying the selection around you. “I’m not picky. Something that smells like Christmas, you know?”

“Mm, yeah.” You close your eyes and breathe in, relishing the fresh aroma of the trees in the market. “That’s important.” 

When you open your eyes, Peter is watching you with a funny smile. 

“What?”

“Nothing.” He bites the inside of his lip. 

You scoff even as your face heats, elbowing him lightly. “Sap.” 

“I know you are, but what am I?” 

“Ugh, you suck.” You make a face at him. But Peter’s still grinning at you like you’re the best thing since sliced bread, and you need a distraction. “What about that one?” 

Peter follows your gaze, and a soft, pitying sound comes from his throat. “Awe, baby. I know you love an underdog, but…” 

“I do love an underdog.” You nod enthusiastically. “And it’s kind of cute, right? It’ll be like our own little Charlie Brown tree.” 

“Do you…do you think it even has enough branches for our ornaments?” Peter stoops to look at your tree. He pulls your hands from his pocket, fingering one of its sparse nettles. 

“It’ll be enough,” you assure him. “If we don’t get it, who will? It’ll have to watch all its friends go to loving homes, and all the other trees will laugh and laugh, until it just dies here by itself. Peter.” You give him an imploring look. “Are you really going to let that happen?” 

He raises his eyebrows at you. “You make it sound like the last puppy at the shelter.” 

“Oh.” Your heart fractures a little at the thought. “That would be even worse!” 

“Okay, easy.” Peter drops your hand to wind an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. He kisses your head placatingly. “There are no puppies here. I’ve got to hand it to you, sweetheart. I think you’ve picked the one tree that will actually fit in our living room.” 

You grin. “So we’re getting it?” 

“Well, duh. We can’t just leave it here to be ridiculed by all the other trees. Those assholes.” You laugh, and he gives you a playful squeeze before reaching for the tag. “Shit, though. Eighty bucks…” 

Your smile drops. “No way.” 

“It’s okay.” He looks around, spotting the vendor. “It’s fine, I know Marty. I’ll get him to give it to us for less.” 

“Ooh, you get to do your favorite thing,” you say. “Haggling.” 

“Don’t be coy.” Peter takes your chin in hand, planting one on your lips. “You know you’re my favorite thing.” 

But he does look awfully chipper as he strides over to Marty, hands in his pockets and posture affecting a casual indifference. 

“Hey, Mart, what’s up? You really charging eighty for that Charlie Brown tree over there? C’mon, man, we both know that thing’s gonna drop its leaves in two days. How about…” 

[lilieswilt]

is it too late to request a Father’s Day request for kbd steve?🥹

KBD —Steve starts his Father’s Day. mom!reader, 1k

“What does that mean?” 

Steve leans back, baby toothbrush in hand, baby toothpaste dripping down Dove’s chin. “What does what mean?” 

“Father’s Day.” She licks her lip. 

“Dove, don’t eat it.” He rinses her toothbrush and beckons her carefully on her stepping stool to the sink. “Come spit, honey.” 

Dove spits her toothpaste. Steve grins, leaning over her, turning on the faucet and grabbing a handful of warm water to wipe her face. She spits again into his hand, but he’s unphased, wiping her down and turning off the water. 

She turns expectedly for a towel. Steve brings it to her face and dabs her dry gently. “Father’s Day just means a day for dad’s.” 

“Day to do what?” 

“It’s sort of like a birthday. Like, a day for children to show they love their daddy’s.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “So if you really love me, Dove, today’s the day to show it.” 

Her lashes kiss her eyebrows as her eyes widen. “Today?” 

“It’s today, yeah.” 

Steve looks down on her, his little baby with her mom’s surprised face and his everything else, give or take. She’s getting so smart, but she’s still so small, Steve can pick her up like a couple of cans of tinned pears. She’s never heavy, just whiny. She looks up at him and he can see a few cogs still turning. 

“Babe,” he says, holding her face softly, “it’s not a big deal. Every day we spend together is a good day, so you don’t have to worry. I love my girl, I love all my girls, and I’m just excited for mom’s big breakfast.” 

“I love you, too,” she says seriously. 

He smooths the temporary wrinkle from between her eyebrows. “I love you more. Are we all done in the bathroom? Do you need to pee before we go have breakfast?” 

She doesn’t need a pee. Dove offers her hand and he takes it, helping her down from the stool, and guiding her out of the bathroom back to the master bedroom. You’re sitting on the made bed with Wren laying down beside you, freshly changed and dressed for what feels like the millionth time. 

“Hey. Did you brush?” you ask him. 

“We both brushed, duh.” Steve leans down behind Dove to frame her shoulders proudly. “Show mom your pearly whites, baby.” 

Dove beams. You pick Wren up and prop her, smiling and quiet, on your knee to see Dove’s teeth. “Woah, look at that, Wren. Look at Dove’s clean teeth, aren’t they perfect?” 

Wren gurgles with a distinct sense of sisterly love. Wren and Dove get along well, all the girls do, but Steve believes there’s been a faction forming between Beth and Avery, so he’s glad for Dove’s fondness as she steps away from him to try and give the baby a hug. Wren doesn’t know enough to hug back yet, but you do. 

“Come on, let’s go have breakfast,” Steve says, sparing a glance behind you for the spoils of Father’s Day. There are some clothes, some candies, and a favourite tray of crafts made through teamwork for Steve to display at his discretion. He couldn’t be any luckier. 

You’re smiling too as you follow him out of the bedroom. You usually are, to be fair to you, you’ve always smiled around Steve because you’re both remarkable idiots in love with one another after everything, because of everything. Steve can’t believe he gets to be in one of those marriages that get stronger each year, and occasionally you return the sentiment aloud, whispering something kind in his ear when you’re both almost sleeping. They don’t have a word for how much I love you, H. 

He catches you for a quick kiss pressed to your cheek as you reach the bottom of the stairs. 

“Oh, thanks,” you mumble, rubbing your cheek against your shoulder in a mock demureness that actually makes his heart skip a beat. If he does it enough times, your faking it will become real. 

He kisses you again. “Beautiful,” he says. 

“Thanks,” you say again, your tone tipping into shyness, just a touch. 

“I’m beautiful,” Dove says. 

She paws at Steve’s leg. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, ushering her forward to make room for everyone to keep walking. “Dove, I think you’re the most beautiful three nearly four year old in the whole wide world.” 

“Am I the most beautiful…” Bethie pauses, standing on a chair at the table, her nightie creased but her hair done and out of her face. “How old am I?” she asks. 

“Six!” Steve says. “You don’t remember how old you are?” 

“I forgot.” She frowns, and then she shakes it off. “Daddy, we’re setting the table.” 

“And you’re doing such a good job!” He turns his head one way and the other, searching their tired kitchen for his eldest girl. “Avery, where’d you go?” he asks. 

She pops up in front of him with a roar. “Got you!” she declares, wrapping her arms around his legs. 

“You think so?” He grabs her under the arms and lifts her. She’s much heavier than the rest of her sisters, but she’s his big girl, so of course she is. Steve isn’t too old as to carry her yet, letting her torso fall forward, her back to his chest as he hangs her upside down. 

She bursts into terrified laughter. “Dad, put me down! You’re dropping me!” 

“How many times do we have to go over this, Ave? I have never dropped you. I will never drop you.” He chuckles nonchalantly. “Looks like I’m the one that got you.” 

“You’re not funny, dad!” 

“I’m very funny.” He manages to get her the right way round again, and puckers his lips for a kiss. She doesn’t kiss him. “Avery, it’s Father’s Day. You can’t be mad at me ‘cos that’s illegal.” 

“You’re illegal.” 

“Just one little kiss?” he asks softly. 

“You have to!” Dove says, attempting to climb onto the chair with Beth, your hand behind her back. “Avery, it’s Father’s Day.” 

“I know, Dove, he just said that!” 

Still, Steve gets his kisses and a good hug, too. He lets his voice go all melty and corny as he rubs his nose into her cheek, “Thanks, my little nugget. You give the best kiss in the world.” 

“I am not a nugget.” 

“Are you sure? How do we check?” 

You put the baby in her padded high chair, convince Dove and Beth that they’ll be happier sitting in their own chairs on their booster pillows, and then slide behind Steve and Avery to push at them. “Come on, I’m making breakfast.” 

“What are we having?” Steve asks, smiling over Avery’s shoulder as she nuzzles her face against his neck. She used to fit in one arm, but he doesn’t mind wrapping both of them around her as he sits down, his long girl tight to his chest. 

“Everything,” you promise. “The whole works for my guy.” 

“Whole works,” he says, kissing the top of Avery’s ear. “Can you believe that?”