#bangaveragefics | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bangaveragewhitewine · 8 months

Text

crazy-mad for you

Eddie Munson x Reader (bouncer x bartender, frenemies to lovers) - Happy Hours series

Chicago, 1991. When you’re not pouring beers and shaking cocktails behind the bar of Jackie’s, you’re fighting flirting balancing banter and bite with the metalhead bouncer on your break.

A busy Friday night changes how you see Eddie Munson. Maybe you were wrong about the bouncer with his silver tongue and Bambi brown eyes...

This is 18+. If you’re not 18 please hit the back button and read something else.

Word count: 16.7 K

Contents/Warnings: Frenemies to lovers. Misogynistic comments; objectification, men being men. Some violence; Eddie gets in a fight. This is an 18+ fic. Smoking, alcohol consumption & drug use. Oral (reader receiving). P in V sex. Excessive use of pet names. Eddie & Reader are mid to late twenties. Reader is written as AFAB and uses female pronouns.

Author’s Note: One minute you’re daydreaming about cherry margaritas and Eddie Munson, and the next you’re writing 36 pages of how you fall in love with him... Just girly things? This is my first attempt at writing Eddie ❤️

I do hope you enjoy it, I had fun writing it! Thank you @specialagentmonkey for beta reading / being my hype woman.

Once again, this is an 18+ fic. Please do not repost my work to other sites.

Dividers by me ✌️

The cold fizz of vodka soda lime prickles your throat with a pleasant burn.

It’s August and it’s warm, too warm to be crammed in this little dive bar with too many bodies and not enough of them wearing antiperspirant. Way too warm to be working, slinging cheap drinks to the thirsty Friday night crowd crushed into Jackie’s. They can be stingy with their ‘pleases’ and ‘thank yous’ but the tips are good at least (thanks to the pulled-low hem of your tank top showing just enough and the hug of denim on your hips).

Jackie’s was a popular little dive you had visited during your first week in Chicago; a drink with your new roommate and some friends ended with you charming the owner Frank and promising to return for a trial shift the following evening. That was almost a year ago and you had settled in well, stepping up to be a supervisor after six months.

Now, bone tired and wishing just a little bit that you worked a nine to five, you long for a cool shower and something fried and crispy and maybe cheesy (not particularly in that order). You’re here until close, two a.m last call followed by another hour of cleaning. Then you’re home free. Until tomorrow night anyway.

You tip back the last of your drink and crunch the ice between your teeth. Those last few minutes of your break are dwindling and soon you will haul yourself back, to fill beers and shake-up cocktails, all tits and teeth and aching feet. The music from the bar is loud as you perch on your stool at the back door, but you hear him over it hum-singing something way more Billboard Hot 100 than his usual taste. It makes your lips curve into a smirk, your head leaning back against the cool brick wall.

“Don't you know, hmmhnn change. Things'll go your way. Hmmm hmm Hold On for -”

“Hey, hotshot.”

The small startle that shakes Eddie’s black-clothed body makes you laugh more than it should, particularly when he attempts to brush it off and play cool.

“Fuckin’ Christ, I should’ve known you’d be here.” His voice is a groan, head tipped back with hammed-up exasperation.

“Careful, Ed. They’ll revoke your metalhead licence if they hear you’re singing Wilson Phillips these days.” Your voice is a conspiratorial stage whisper as you cross your legs, stacking one over the other. His usual leather jacket has been swapped out for the hot summer nights, black denim over his usual tight black t-shirt and Dickies.

He rolls and flicks his lighter to set the cigarette between his lips aflame as he meanders toward you. You can hear the crackle of burning tobacco as he takes a long drag, eyes never leaving you. “Not shaking your tits for tips, sugar?”

“Aw, been thinking about me while you’re asking cute girls what their star sign is?” you snark, missing the shadow of something that passes over Eddie’s face as your eyes roll.

You switch your focus to the night sky above as Eddie comes to loom by you. The smoke swirls around him as he offers the cigarette out to you. Before taking it, you reach back and leave your empty glass on the sill behind you and swap a chilled bottle of Budweiser for the smoking cig.

It’s not an olive branch, just part of your usual ritual; trading acidic barbs, mean words, shared smokes and free drinks whenever you’re scheduled on the same shifts (which is most nights).

Eddie uses his keys to uncap the bottle and takes a long pull, head tipped back to show off his pale throat. A sliver of silver glints around his neck. The beer is almost half gone when he rips a truly boyish burp. Gross.

You take a drag, sighing the smoke into the warm air.

“What’s the sigh about, princess? Did someone not say please when they asked for their Cosmo? Your little apron tied too tight?” Eddie plucks at the wrap of black fabric around your waist. The way it hugs the curve and flair of your hips is certainly not lost on him.

You blow your second drag of smoke directly at him for that one. “Well if you could make sure we’re not packing the place out and breaching health and safety, that would be fuckin’ fantastic.”

“Simmer down, princess. I’ve got it handled. You just pour your little drinks and wink at the boys and we’ll get through tonight just fine, ‘kay? Leave the crowd control to me.” Eddie tilts his head, dripping condescension like the total asshole he is. He’s way closer than you even realised and you can smell the spicy Fahrenheit behind the smoke. There’s heavy silence as you both glare at each other in the back alley.

The heat and hectic night make your banter especially snarky but Eddie’s the first to break, nudging you with a little smile. You barely catch his gaze dropping to your lips as you take another drag from his cigarette.

“No one giving you any trouble tonight?” he asks.

“No more than usual. Just absolutely slammed in there. Just got done changing kegs again - they’re drinking us dry and it’s only Friday.” You roll your neck, sighing again when it cracks.

“Tips good?” He seems almost genuine until his mean little smirk returns, “Your tits are probably doing the real heavy liftin’ but..”

“Listen dickh-”

Just as you’re about to cuss him out, there’s a burst of music and crowd noise as one of the other bartenders comes to find you. Michelle looks between you and Eddie before rolling her eyes. “C’mon, you’re really pushin’ that ten-minute break tonight. Sorry to break up whatever this was,” she flaps her hand between you and Eddie (who’s grinning like a wolf as he finishes his beer), “but we have a bachelorette party in line and it’s already crazy in there.”

“Bachelorettes?” Eddie pushes off the wall and steals the smoke back from your fingers, “Sounds like I should probably get back to work. Ladies.” He winks before sauntering off, leaving you almost simmering with something like anger until Michelle scoffs and drags you back inside.

“The sooner you two just bang and get it out of your system, the better,” Michelle tuts.

“Ew. Pass.” You scoff and pause at the dingy mirror to fix your hair and pat the sweat away with a rip of trusty blue roll, scooping your breasts up in their cups and adjusting your top before scurrying after Michelle again. If you’re going to be busy, you may as well make it worthwhile and rake in the tips.

The bar is louder than loud but you’re energised from your vodka soda and little sparring session with Eddie and easily fall back into step with the other bar staff, working together like a well-oiled machine - despite the annoying rusty hinge manning the door.

Eddie rejoined the staff with his buddy Jeff in tow after they had spent some time on tour with their band. You had barely contained your eye rolls when the loud metalhead had waltzed into one of Frank’s staff meetings (conducted over pizza and pitchers of beers) unannounced and kicked his feet up on a table like he owned the place. Everyone was happy to see him (adding a round of shots to toast his glorious return) but you stayed wary of the flirty metalhead with a silver tongue and big brown Bambi eyes. Yeah, you felt warm all over when he looked you up and down and smiled like a wolf but you knew his type - total flirt, make a girl feel special and then move on to the next one. You didn’t move your entire life to a whole new state to get fucked over again, so you and Eddie settled into trading catty comments while you watch out for each other, allowing the occasional flirtation for balance. Getting under each other’s skin in whatever way seemed most annoying and fun? It worked, made the slow nights bearable, the busy ones more fun. Whatever it was.

An hour later the small of your back is nearly soaked with perspiration. The bachelorettes are in full flight, meaning you have been pouring shots and mixing cocktails non-stop. They’re sweet at least, good with their excited ‘thank you!’s for all the fruity drinks you made them - cherry margaritas, blue lagoons and strawberry daiquiris going down an absolute treat.

You’re shaking another batch of lemon drop shots for a girl's night group when you become hyper-aware of two yuppie finance bros with their gaze firmly fixed on your chest, trading little smirks and comments with each other behind their glasses. You’re overcome with an overwhelming sense of ick.

It’s nothing new, but it doesn’t make it any easier to ignore sometimes - even when you’re up-the-walls busy and the kegs need to be changed. You refocus and fix your gaze on the glowing EXIT sign, thinking about how many more cocktails you will make before close. Your eye is caught instead by Eddie standing by the door, already looking at you while he’s supposed to be making sure none of the patrons are being too dickish.

When your eyes meet he tilts his chin in a nod. Eddie smirks as he shimmies his chest at you, to which you mouth a very easily recognisable ‘FUCK YOU’ with a cheeky wink for good measure.

He shakes his head and you pour the line of shots, earning yourself a nice big tip and a rake of compliments from the drunk girls who make you promise to do a shot with them later. Not a promise you can definitely keep, but their enthusiasm is a balm for your soul.

As they shuffle away to give each other pep talks in the bathroom (gosh, you love them), one of the men who had been eyeing you up steps into their place. You don’t miss the way he drags his eyes over their bodies before his snake-like stare is fixed on you. You have already made plenty on tips so you dial back the smile, giving him a barely polite brow raise in place of a ‘What’ll it be?’

“Two whiskeys, top shelf. Whatever’s expensive in this dump,” he says, speaking to your chest rather than your face. You can smell the sour of his breath across the counter.

You square your jaw and suppress an eye roll that would surely render you sightless for the rest of your days. “If you don’t like it, the doors over there. Ice?”

He grunts affirmative and you pour the drinks from the barely touched bottle, slamming the glasses down just hard enough to startle him before you give him his total.

“There’s an extra fifty in it if you give me a smile,” he says, leaning his elbow on the bar with the crisp note in hand. “You been given’ out a lot more for a lot less all night. One little smile for me?” The man nods to your cleavage, and you refuse to feel self-conscious.

You can’t summon the effort to even fuck with him, come up with a comeback that his Neanderthal brain couldn’t possibly comprehend. You give him his total again along with your best deadpan glare. “You’re holding up the line. Pay up or am I going to need to cut you off, buddy?”

His face turns sour, acidic anger bubbling up. “You’re a hard little bitch, aren’t ya?”

You smirk at that, plucking the fifty from between his thin fingers to cash up before dropping his change back on the counter. “I am, thank you so much for noticing.” Your voice is nearly saccharine, and you play up the airhead facade for a moment before turning to the customer next to him. “Next please!”

His curses blend into the background as Michelle hip-checks you with a grin and wink, which you return while beginning to pour beers for your next order. If you let every slimeball get to you, you would have given up a long time ago.

On such a busy night, it was easy to be distracted and forget all about him, but the sharp brown eyes standing by the door saw everything - and he wasn’t so forgiving.

Almost another hour passes; another keg change, more cocktails to shake, another few visits from your favourite group of girls (who you take a shot of tequila with when they bat their lashes at you - you’re a sucker when it comes to girls who give you compliments and smell like vanilla).

The crowd thins a bit and you take a turn collecting empties, happy to have an excuse to get out from behind the bar and stretch your legs again, even if it is to balance too many glasses on a too-small tray. The ever-changing obstacle course of the floor on a Friday night is one you’re well practised at, dodging stray elbows and dipping in between patrons to take their spent glasses from the sticky tables, maybe chat a little if it’s not too loud or busy.

Paradise City is pouring through the speakers as your arms begin to protest the load they are carrying. You know your limit and pick up two more stacked pint glasses, catching Eddie’s eye as he bids goodnight to some regulars. His boot is already halfway out the door after them when you see his face change into something you can’t fully comprehend. Not because you can’t read him - you absolutely can - but your body is careening forward and down toward the floor before you can catch yourself. Your foot had caught on something that hadn’t been there before you met Eddie’s stare, sending you flying forward.

There’s a thud, crash, smash as you hit the deck alongside every single glass you had expertly balanced. The sound feels huge, ringing in your ears and it’s like the air is sucked out of the room, your body is winded by the unexpected impact. The music cuts and everything hurts - part ego, part ‘that’ll bruise tomorrow’ pain.

You wish for the sticky floor to just swallow you up as patrons form a little circle around you, crunching broken glass under their feet. A familiar pair of boots stops right by your head. Eddie. He crouches to kneel by you with one hand heavy on your shoulder and floods your already overwhelmed senses with his smoke and leather and spice.

He says your name, edged with panic until you open your squeezed-shut eyes. You manage to push yourself up with a small wince, hauling yourself with his help to sit on a quickly-vacated low stool. His hands feel huge as they cup your face, you hadn’t noticed how long his lashes were (unfair) or the freckles dusted across his nose.

“M’okay, Ed. Jus’ need a minute,” your murmur, head ducked to hide your hot cheeks and embarrassment. He stands and puts his arm around you, without thinking you rest your head against his hip but miss his slight intake of breath as your coworkers calm the crowd and start sweeping and gathering the glass, and thankfully turn the music back on.

Eddie bends a little to speak to you, low and quiet, “Just sit there a sec, okay? ‘Chelle is going to bring you to the staff room.”

You nod and take a few breaths before taking his hand to stand and be passed safely into Michelle’s care.

“I’ll be back to you in a sec. Don’t go gettin’ in any more trouble, ‘kay?” Eddie’s softness has an edge now, his eyes zeroing in on the man who had given you shit at the bar earlier. The one Eddie had been glaring at ever since; he had seen him stick his foot out to trip you.

You’re just about to push through to the back hallway when you hear raised voices. Eddie’s voice is louder than the others. You turn and see him squaring up to the slimeball who asked you for a smile earlier, not looking as clever or slick now that Eddie’s up in his face.

“Oh, what the fuck,” Michelle murmurs, pausing behind you to watch.

“I saw you fuckin’ trip her man. Get the fuck out.” Eddie is incensed. “Been givin’ her shit all night.”

Trip her? Oh. He means you.

“I wouldn’t touch’er. That bitch? Fuck off man, get out of my face.”

There’s a scuffle, another broken glass. More shouting before it really kicks off, fists swinging. Through the horrified crowd, you see knuckles connecting with Eddie’s pretty face. It hurts when you yell out his name, adding to the noise as Jeff rushes in to get the men under control.

Eddie lands his own punch, rings slamming into the man's jaw, raising a collective ‘ooof’ from the gathered crowd. Despite the blood on his face and hands, Eddie manages to haul him out into the street with Jeff, some beefy regular marching the second man out by the scruff of his neck.

“What the fuck…” you breathe, realising that you were holding on to Michelle’s arm way too tight. You apologise and she steers you back to the staff room in a daze of pain and confusion (more from the fight than your fall). The room is little more than a box with a wall of beat-up lockers, a sink and counter, a table with cracked Formica and creaky chairs and a squishy old two-seater. It’s cramped but it can be a haven on a busy night.

As you ease yourself into the corner of the squishy sofa, Michelle pours you a big measure of whiskey for the shock. She kneels in front of you, looking you over for any cuts or scrapes from the glass, and checks your pupils for good measure. You’re just shaken up and feeling the impact of the fall.

“You dizzy or anything?” she asks, squeezing your knee. “You’re gonna have a big fuckin’ bruise, babe. Remember when I spilled that pitcher, slipped and fell on my ass back before Christmas? Black and blue well into New Year.” She squeezes your knee and encourages you to take a sip of your drink.

The whiskey burns but you barely feel it.

“Why did Eddie hit that guy? Did.. did he trip me? The floor was clear, I just… I didn’t see... My foot caught something but..” Your voice shakes from the adrenaline, the shock of the last few minutes.

She shrugs with a little smile. “I didn’t see either. You’ll need to ask Ed yourself.” A little frown etches between her brows. “He doesn’t… he doesn’t get pissed like that for no reason. He’s a good guy, babe. He looks out for everyone, staff and the drunks. He wouldn’t do that without a good reason. I know you get up each other’s ass but..-”

As you take another sip, the door swings open.

Eddie. Eddie with a bloody nose, lip swollen. Eddie with his jacket off, draped over his arm as he flexes his bloody knuckles around a bottle of Jack Daniels, a pint glass of ice in the other hand.

“Hey, you okay?”

His brown eyes are wide, but he’s trying to play cool despite the adrenaline coursing through him too. Eddie feels like his entire body is buzzing, not in a good way like when he plays a gig or when he gets you riled up at him, when you roll your eyes and give him that smirk - bad like when he used to get in fights in school, when a teacher would assume he was the troublemaker and send him to detention or the principal’s office.

You look at Eddie and he looks right back at you. You can’t look away from each other. It’s like your fall and his punches caused something to shift; you can’t name it but it weighs on you, both of you.

Michelle squeezes your hand. “I’ll leave you two to patch yourselves up. Be good.” A kiss is dropped to your head and she squeezes Eddie’s arm as she passes him by.

It’s just you now. You and Eddie, both hurting.

“Ed…”

He takes a long pull from the bottle of Jack and drops into the seat next to you.

“Eddie, what the hell was that?” Your voice is quiet and your eyes shine when you look at him. He is a ball of frenetic energy, knee bouncing. You take in the black ink on his arms, see the veins and muscles twitch beneath. His nose and mouth are stained bloody, knuckles and rings too.

He looks over you, sees how you’re holding yourself carefully after your fall. “He tripped you.” Eddie’s voice is quiet, not something you hear often. He’s loud and he’s brash, hear-him-before-you-see-him kinda guy.

“Oh.”

“Oh? He’d been giving you shit all night, you could’ve called me. Or Jeff.” He sips the whiskey again and tops up your glass without another word.

“Yeah, he was a creep. Nothing new there. If I come crying to you and Jeff every time someone gets fresh with me I’d never be behind the bar. People are assholes. I can handle myself, Ed.”

“And how’d that go for you tonight? You could’ve been really fuckin’ hurt.” His eyes blaze, nostrils flare.

Your jaw drops, “You’re blaming me?”

“No. No, fuck,” he growls in frustration. “I know you can handle yourself. That’s why you’re fuckin’ great at your job. If I had just taken him out when he gave you shit at the bar then maybe -”

“Jesus Christ, Eddie I don’t need you to save me or protect me! Shit happens! This was shit. It happened. You didn’t need to do that.”

“I know. But I wanted to... I want to..”

The air between you is charged and heavy.

I want to. What does that mean?

Eddie covers himself quickly.

“It’s my job. I want to make sure you, everyone here, can do their job without some fuckin’ guy with halitosis making it worse for you, waving his cash in your face like that.” Eddie nudges you gently, “I just want to do somethin’ right. I like working with you, even when you’re a pain in my ass.”

You scrunch your nose up, “Sap.” It’s easy to both fit back into your normal routine, ignoring the lingering something more that had just become quite clear to both of you.

“I might like working with you too. Don’t let it get to your head, I’m not sure your ego needs to get any bigger, Munson.”

He smiles, but the throb of his nose makes him wince and swear.

Eddie has made no attempt to put that glass of ice to good use so you ease yourself up to grab two clean bar towels, tipping the ice into one before wrapping it up. You pass it back to him before filling the empty glass with water.

“Thanks, princess.” Eddie flexes his fingers as the ice soothes the burning with cool unpleasantness.

You ease yourself back into your seat, facing Eddie now. “C’mere. Let me clean you up.”

He pauses, looking at you from the side of his big brown eyes before turning to face you. “It’s not broken. Just a little blood. You should see the other guy..” Eddie grins when you roll your eyes.

“My hero,” you deadpan, though you do kind of mean it.

With the damp corner of the rag, you gently begin to wipe the blood from Eddie’s face, sitting closer than you have ever really been to him. It’s silent between you, the quietest you have ever seen him. He’s too busy watching you, your focused face and how seriously you are taking your task.

“Very gentle,” he murmurs.

“Mm, don’t try me, Munson.” You’re quiet again, concentrating on wiping the blood and not looking into his eyes. “Not your first bloody nose after a fight then?”

“M’nope. High school… Mosh pits. Few angry drunks. The usual.” He doesn’t mention his father’s temper, his first bloody nose from a beer-soaked backhand. The whiskey tastes sour in his mouth at the memory.

You lean back a bit, assessing your work before wetting another edge of the towel. Eddie crosses his eyes, looking down his nose. “Am I pretty again?” He gives an extra cheesy grin for emphasis, making you laugh. It makes his heart soar; that sound, how you duck your head. But he sees your pained wince, bringing him right back to earth.

“Shit, sorry.” “It’s fine. I’ll live.”

You bring your hand back to his face and wipe the last of the blood-stained around his mouth, taking one last slow swipe over his too-plump-to-be-decent lower lip. That was more for you than for him, though the spark of fire in his eyes said otherwise; it was the same spark lit low in your belly since you had first laid eyes on him and started your incessant teasing of each other.

“All done.” Your voice is just above a whisper, neither of you making any move backwards.

“Thank you, nurse.” You can feel the warmth of his breath on your face. “Hey, can you... wear one of those little white dresses next time?”

He’s grinning again when you shove at his shoulder to put some space between you, the skin beneath almost burning hot under your hand even through the black cotton of his t-shirt.

“No next time. You hear me? Your groupies will come for me if that pretty face gets all bashed up.” There’s that smirk of yours that sets the embers burning low in his stomach alight.

He rolls his eyes at you, stealing your move. “You heading home?” he asked, watching you again as you drained the last of the whiskey in your glass.

“Mm, soon. I’ll check if I can help close and clean, then I’ll go.” You lean your head against the back of the battered sofa and close your eyes briefly. You think you might just sleep here until your stomach growls like something from the seventh circle of hell.

Eddie’s big brown eyes shine with mirth, astounded at the inhuman noise that just came from your curled-up body.

“Shut up. I’ll make cereal or something when I get home.”

“Nuh-uh. You like fries?”

“Who doesn’t like fries?” you peek one eye open to look at him.

“Let’s get some and I’ll make sure you get home safe.” Eddie checks his knuckles and swipes some of the blood from his rings, acting far more nonchalant than he felt.

“You don’t need to.” Fries and a shake did sound amazing. Walking home while I felt like a human embodiment bruise? Not so much.

“I know. But I’m going anyway, and you need to eat. So let me.”

He pokes your arm as he speaks; you think fleetingly that you might let Eddie Munson do anything if he asked you nicely, spoke to you with that hushed husky voice. You think that you definitely must have hit your head when you start thinking about his eyes…

But he can’t know that, so you settle for an eye roll. “Ugh, fine.”

With far too much energy, Eddie pushes himself up and empties the ice into the sink along with the red-tinged water. He potters around the little staff room, chucking rags into the bag for the laundry and rinsing glasses. You watch him, curious and a little confused until you realise you are staring and don’t want to be caught.

You sit up and unlock your tiny locker, taking off and balling up your apron to throw in your bag, spraying deodorant under your arms before shutting and locking it again. Eddie’s got his jacket back on and you carry your own too-big denim jacket over your arm. You give him a nod, ready to go, and head out to the bar to check with Michelle that it’s okay for you to call it a night

The crowd had thinned to a few stragglers who were almost ready to call it a night. Jeff has the door under control and the bar staff are already cleaning tables and glasses. You promise Michelle you will call her tomorrow, that you will stay in bed if you hurt too much, and accept her gentle hug after she passes you your tips for the night.

“Get home safe. No more getting into trouble,” she says, eyeing you and Eddie together with interest (and some smugness).

“No promises. See ya tomorrow ‘Chelle,” Eddie says with a wink before you both head out toward the black ‘86 Dodge Daytona parked a little down the street. It’s still humid and warm outside and you walk in silence until you see him unlock the nice car, opening the door for you. Your stomach flip-flops when he gives you a slight bow. He’s only being nice because you made an ass of yourself at work, you tell yourself.

“Jesus, being a rockstar really pays off,” you tease and throw your bag into the passenger footwell before easing yourself in. “Or did you steal this?”

You knew he had worked in a garage before moving to the city, and you force the thought of Eddie in a grease-marked tank top out of your head.

“Nah, my days of grand theft auto are long behind me.” Eddie winks and closes the door before rounding the shiny bonnet to sit in the driver’s seat. His keys jangle before he turns the ignition.

The radio blares Iron Maiden’s The Number of the Beast so loud that you just about hear Eddie’s swearing over it until he gets the volume down. “Oops.”

“Dude, mind your fuckin’ ears. You’ll be deaf by thirty.” Your own ears are ringing after the onslaught of noise.

“Huh?” He holds his hand up to his ear and smirks stupidly before revving the engine.

You sink back into the low seat and shake your head; your own smile reflects at you in the window as he peels away from the curb. “You better not murder me, Munson. I’ll haunt the fuck out of you if you do.”

“Once again babe, kidnap and human sacrifice are also long behind me.”

He drives a little fast, but you don’t hate how you feel sitting in the passenger side of his car. He has a faded Black Ice Little Tree hanging from the rearview mirror alongside a skull keychain that cackles and glows red when you push a button on the back. The cramped back seat camouflages balled-up band shirts, a pair of beat-up Chucks, amp leads and guitar strings - a random accumulation that gives you a glimpse of who Eddie is outside of work. It’s easy for your mind to wander; Eddie, a back seat, what kind of girls he usually brings for a ride in his baby. Instead, you wonder about all you don’t know about the guy you spend a good part of your week with, the man currently driving you to get diner food at 2 a.m. after he punched a guy who was mean to you.

“Feelin’ okay?” he checks, flexing his knuckles on the steering wheel as he takes a left.

“Yeah.” You roll your head to look over at him. “Tell me something.”

Eddie glances across at you, brow raised under his bangs. “What?”

“Something, anything. A secret, a story. You always have something to say, so tell me something.”

“Mmm. You gonna laugh at me?”

“Probably.”

“Shit okay. Um... Okay. I almost got kicked out of my high school graduation. My friends were disruptively loud, like obnoxious motherfuckers - love them to death. And I flipped the Principal off instead of shaking his sweaty little hand.”

It does make you laugh, just a little - more of a really amused smile. “That’s fuckin’ cool, Munson. Were they your little Dungeons and Dorks friends?”

“Rude.” He pauses. “Dragons. Dungeons and Dragons.”

“Nerd. You’re from where, like Ballsack, Indiana?”

“Close. Hawkins - just north of Ballsack actually.”

“Can’t say I know it. Home of the Metalheads or..?”

“No. Definitely not. S’why I left.”

Your lower lip juts out just a little at the loaded confession.

“Your turn. One secret, please. Dirtier the better.”

“Perv.”

“Witch.”

You smirk, leaning your head back. “Been called worse tonight.”

You don’t see Eddie’s knuckles twitch while you think of a secret. Hearing that guy call you a bitch reminded him of all the times he had heard his poor mother called the same by the deadbeat he called Dad.

“Okay, you’re going to piss your pants at me. I used to work at this kinda fancy cocktail place before I moved here,” you say. “Totally lied about my experience before starting. Think… wannabe jazz lounge for yuppies. The menu was like this leather folder thing. Anyway, my first week and this like.. rich lookin’ guy comes in and asks for a Roman Coke.”

You see Eddie glance at you as he indicates and swerves the car smoothly to park opposite a little diner not far from where you live.

“I’m a few days in, super eager to get it all right. I’m like, ‘Yes, of course, coming right up’ and can I remember what the hell is in a Roman Coke? Fuck no. It’s not on the menu so I think ‘Hey this guy must know better than dumb little me’. I’m flipping through the recipe cards, everyone else is busy and kinda mean anyway so I stare at the liquors for like two minutes before I go back and ask him ‘What’s in that again?’.”

Eddie’s biting his lip. He knows where this is going. He sees how you light up when you tell your story, begs the butterflies to calm their swooping and swirling behind his ribs as you deliver the punchline.

“Rum. And Coke.”

His head falls forward, rests on the top of the steering wheel. His shoulders shake with silent laughter.

“Eddie. He was the owner.”

He cackles. That throaty yell of a laugh you hear ringing through the bar or from the staff room when he’s goofing around instead of working.

“Oh no..” He’s wiping tears from his eyes as you cringe in his passenger seat. “Oh princess, that’s fuckin’ terrible.”

You sit together in his parked car until you settle, faces hurting from smiling until your stomach growls again.

“Jesus, the woman needs fries - stat.”

“And a Coke?”

“And a Coke.”

Eddie is out of the car and opening your door before you even have your seatbelt off. He offers you his hand to help you out of the car, careful of your sore body after the fall.

“Feeling okay?” he asks, still holding your hand.

“A bit achy. I’ll have a hot shower and take something before bed.” You lift his hand to check his knuckles. “Sore?”

“I’ve had worse.”

He squeezes your hand gently before you let go and cross the street to the hole-in-the-wall place glowing with neon Coca-Cola signs.

“You get in a lot of fights then?” you ask as he holds the door.

“Not anymore.” Eddie shrugs and leads you to a little table, nodding politely to the waitress filling coffees at the counter. She says hi to him by name and you think about Eddie coming in here alone, or not, after his shifts.

The backs of your thighs catch on the red vinyl and you know you will need to peel yourself up later.

Eddie sits opposite you, looking immediately at home as he relaxes back in the booth. In the bright diner lights you can see where his lip is still swollen and sore, the lingering specs of blood in his nostril despite your careful clean-up.

The waitress, an older woman with thinly drawn brows, comes over and pinches Eddie’s cheek with motherly affection. “Hi hon, you two know what you’re havin’?”

Eddie scrunches his nose like a bunny. “Hi, Marie. Usual for me, and a big basket of fries and a Coke?” He looks at you for confirmation, and you nod. “Please and thank you.”

She eyes you up with a little smile as she writes the order. “I was wonderin’ when Eddie was going to bring a nice girl for me to meet. Make yourself at home, sweetheart.”

By the time you both open your mouths to set Marie straight, she’s already gone. Eddie’s cheeks tinge pink, but he shrugs it off. “Hate to have to break her heart and tell her you’re not a nice girl.”

You gasp in mock offence and put your hand to your heart. “I am so nice.” You can’t even keep a straight face as you say it. “Slandering my good name, Munson. I thought you were all about protecting my honour.”

Your close-to-the-bone teasing keeps the rosy tint on his cheeks.

“I never told you, your face when you fell? Fuckin’ hilarious. Should’ve taken a picture to put behind the bar.”

The jab puts you even again, not that either of you keeps score but it’s all about balance. Can’t be too nice, don’t want to be too mean.

You rest your head against the back of the booth and close your eyes for a moment, feeling the exhaustion from a busy and unpredictable night wash over you.

Eddie takes the opportunity to just look at you for a moment; even under the too-bright lights of the diner, he thinks you might just be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Tell me something else,” you say before opening your eyes. When you do, you catch a fleeting dreamy look on Eddie’s face and lean forward to rest your chin on your hand as Marie drops over your drinks and food; fries for you, a burger with oozing American cheese and crisp bacon for Eddie.

“So nosy,” he teases, shoving a straw into his fizzing Coca-Cola.

You shrug, feeling a burn in your stomach; maybe you were overstepping. “You don’t have to. You can sit and stare at me if you prefer,” You take a long sip through your own gently placed straw and raise your brows at him.

He can’t and won’t argue with that one and stirs the ice as he thinks, takes a sip.

“One of the first gigs I played out of our hometown, we had like thirty people instead of the usual five drunks in the Hideout. I tried to crowd surf, thinkin’ I was hot shit. Broke my wrist.”

Your eyes blow wide as you eat the best fry of your life - it’s perfectly crisp and fluffy, salted just right - but the punchline of Eddie’s latest confession had you wanting to know more.

“You want half?” Eddie asks, nodding to his burger.

“No, I'm good, thanks. Hold on, reverse to the breaking your wrist after thinking you were Iggy fucking Pop.”

He’s already a bite in but holds his wrist up before he flips you off. “See? Good as new,” he says, pausing his chew.

The fries are too good to waste so you push down the urge to throw one at him.

“I was eighteen. Stupid kid. S’the reason I didn’t graduate that year.” He sips his Coke again and watches your reaction from beneath his lashes.

“That’s shitty.” You feel the frown deepen between your brows, angry on his behalf about something he was long over. “No wonder you flipped the principal off.”

You share your fries with Eddie and eat until your stomach feels warm and full. You share another secret too, tell him about the time you got so scared in a haunted house that you punched some guy dressed as a zombie and got kicked out. He almost choked on a fry at that and laughed so loud that Marie looked over and shook her head fondly at her favourite customer.

It’s easy to drop the charade that you and Eddie don’t get along. A diner at fuck o’clock in the morning exists a world away from the little bar that pays your rent and bills. When you see him get excited telling you a story, letting you see Eddie beyond the bar, you know you got him wrong - he’s funny as fuck, sweet too.

Midway through a story about how his friend Robin had dragged him to do (very) drunk karaoke last week, Eddie catches you staring and scrunches his face a little. “Am I rambling? Fuck, sorry.”

“No. Well, a little, but I like it.” You sip the dregs of your refilled Coke and smile a little.

He smiles back, ducking his head just a little and he catches the time on his watch. His Bambi brown eyes blow wide when he realises. “Jesus, I oughta get you home. The sun will be up soon.”

You didn’t realise either, but you also don’t care. You’re still tired, still aching, but you feel lighter than you have in months, like a long-dead spark might just be coming back. The warm glow is dampened just a bit when Eddie gulps down the last of his drink.

He pulls his jacket back on and insists that he helps you put yours on when you wince. He settles the bill, kisses the back of Marie’s hand and promises to come see her soon. Neither of you let her down when she says she hopes to see you again sometime.

It’s cooler outside now, but the warmth in Eddie’s car and his gentle singing along to the radio rocks you into a light doze as he drives the few blocks to the address you gave him. It kills him to wake you once he’s parked outside.

The small frown lines on your forehead tell him you’re still in some pain after the tumble you took. The ache in his knuckles felt like nothing in comparison to the twisting anger in his gut when he saw that prick’s foot shove out into your path and you watched as you fell in slow motion.

He gives it a minute, tries not to stare like a creep, before reaching over to shake your knee gently.

“Hey.” He says your name so softly, so gently, and taps his fingers against your knee.

You startle slightly and realise where you are. “Sorry, Thanks for the ride, Eddie,” you say quietly. “And the fries. And everything.”

He smiles again, a gentle curve upward of his lips as his fingers rest on your knee. “Any time. We’re like two or three blocks from each other.”

Neither of you wants to burst the already waning bubble you have been in since you left the bar. For a moment, you just look at each other until the air becomes too thick, too heady to breathe easy. You’re not entirely convinced that you didn’t hit your head, that this whole night hasn’t been just some dream of yours. The heat of his hand on your leg tells you it’s real. This is something real.

And still, you make the first move. Pop the bubble. Too much. Too scary.

Your seatbelt clicks open and you grab your bag as Eddie does the same, coming to open your door and offering you a hand to get out.

Neither of you let go of the other’s hand, eking out the last of whatever this was before you have to go your separate ways and think about what it could turn into if you only had the bravery. You’re both standing so close and you watch the shadow of his stupid-long lashes under the street light.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Today. Whatever. At work.” You want to slap yourself for stuttering.

“Only if you feel up to it. Don’t be a hero, princess.”

“That’s your job, Ed. I’ll see you at work. Thank you, again..”

You squeeze his hand, he squeezes back.

You walk to your door and Eddie rounds the car again to the driver's side. He raises a hand to salute you as you turn to give him one little wave before closing the door.

“Fuck,” you sigh with your back pressed to the wood of the door. “Fuck.” Eddie growls as his head drops against the roof of the car.

You both take a minute. Need a minute before you can move on.

You drag yourself up the stairs and let yourself in, quiet enough to not wake your flatmate. Eddie waits to see your light come on before starting the car and driving the two blocks to his place.

After popping some painkillers you crawl into bed. Even your racing mind and pounding heart can’t keep you from falling into the deepest sleep you have had in months. Your dreams echo with Eddie’s happy throaty laugh, the gasp from the bar when he threw the first punch, the sound you made when you saw a fist crash into his pretty face.

You sleep late through the Saturday morning city sounds as they turn to afternoon and float through your cracked open window. You sleep until your flatmate knocks to check you made it home and are still breathing, then doze off again while she makes brunch for you both.

Over eggs and bacon, toast and fresh fruit, coffee and Advil, you tell her everything from last night and show her your bruises. She runs to CVS to get arnica cream and more painkillers while you strip your bed, shower and do laundry, keep busy to keep the recurring thoughts of Eddie from your head.

While you are folding clean clothes from earlier in the week back into your drawers, you come across a guitar pick Eddie had left on the bar one time before your shift started; once lost from his pocket, found again amongst the collection of shirts and shorts and jeans you wore to work. You had meant to give it back, then he had called you a brat for something stupid. Maybe he had burped too loud in your direction, and so you didn’t bother. As you run your thumb over the smooth curve of it, you think maybe he’s been at the back of your mind for a longer time than you even realised.

You’re sore all over but you call Michelle and let her know you will be in for your shift. You don’t tell her that you stayed out extra late with Eddie talking about stupid shit and laughing until your face hurt - you're not sure you could handle her sweet smugness over the phone.

After a long bath to soak your muscles and a huge plate of pasta for dinner, you get ready for work. Denim shorts, a tight black t-shirt tucked in, and your trusty Dr Martens (despite the heat). You add some jewellery, spritz your perfume, and fix your hair up off the back of your neck to keep cool. You swipe some Raisin Rage on your lips before wiping it off in favour of a slick of cherry flavour Chapstick. At the last minute, the lipstick makes its way into your bag - just in case.

It’s just after six when you step back into Jackie’s to help cut wedges of lime and lemon for drinks, make sure the barrels and kegs are hooked up properly, the mixers ready to go. It’s almost time to open up and you haven’t seen (or heard) Eddie yet. You chase your disappointment with a quick smoke break with one of the summer hires before Frank pulls you aside, making sure you’re okay after last night (and that you’re not thinking of suing the bar or anything).

“My wages wouldn’t cover a lawyer, Frank. Even with the tips,” you smirk before stepping from his office out into the hall, running straight into black denim and spicy cologne.

“Woah, easy there.” Eddie’s hands steady you, two wide palms on your arms that squeeze gently when you look up into his smiling face. “You’re a fuckin’ liability, honey.”

Your cheeks feel hot but you shove his chest gently. “I was wondering when you’d arrive. It was so peaceful and quiet, what a shame.”

Back to normal. Except Eddie’s hands are still on your arms, his thumb circling on the round of your shoulder. “Feelin’ okay?” he checks, speaking quietly just for you.

You nod and lift your hand, taking his chin between your finger and thumb, feeling brave alongside the little intake of breath Eddie just about hides. “No bruises. Good.”

There’s a beat where you and Eddie aren’t quite sure what you mean, what to say next. You’re glad that Frank calls for Eddie from his office, wanting to have the same chat with him as he had with you. It gives you both a good excuse to let go of each other, figure out what the fuck that was before your shift starts.

He squeezes your shoulders and gives you a little smile before letting you go. “Be good. Don’t get in trouble.”

“I’ll try, hot shot,” you say quietly, giving him a wink before going to join Michelle and the other bartenders for a quick pre-open meeting - but not before you dip into your locker to pat a layer of lipstick on.

The crowd begins to trickle in, slow and steady until it’s packed full and the music blares just loud enough. They’re a fun crowd tonight, and everyone is in good spirits now that it’s not quite so oppressively hot outside. You don’t have time to think about much else in between chatting to customers and mixing drinks; shaking cocktails is a bit more laborious when your body aches but you don’t complain.

It’s almost eleven before you take your break. You take another Advil before slipping past the Staff Only door. The air is tinged with smoke as Eddie leans against the brick, waiting.

His face lights up when he sees you and the two glasses you’re carrying. “Double fisting?” he asks, taking another drag.

“One for you, one for me. Mines the water.” You extend out the dark fizzing highball glass to him, which he eyes suspiciously. He passes you the nearly burnt-out smoke as a trade-off.

“What’s this?” he asks, “The witch's potion? I knew you’d take me out by poisoning me.”

You prop yourself on your stool and sip your ice water, smirking into your glass. “It’s a Roman Coke.”

Eddie’s laugh rings through the alley and he holds up the glass. “You fuckin’... Wow. What an honour.” His free hand covers his heart, silver rings glinting in the light. It would be easy to think he’s being condescending or playing around, it’s what you do. But Eddie is genuinely a little bit touched and a whole lot smitten. He can feel his heart beating faster under his palm.

You pass him a paper-wrapped straw before watching as he takes a curious sip of your special mix. You take a drag of his cigarette and watch his eyes blow wide as he computes the flavours.

“D’you hate it?” you ask carefully.

“What is in this? It’s insane! I really like it,” Eddie says, grinning.

His smile makes your tummy flutter.

“It’s rum - but like, a coffee-infused rum - and Coca-Cola, with Sambuca,” you list off the ingredients that had been turning over in your head all evening.

Eddie nods as he takes another sip, letting the flavours wash over his tongue. “Mm, I like it. You’re a real little alchemist, huh? Get it on the menu.”

You laugh and pass him back his smoke. “Nah. That’s an Eddie special. Just to say thanks..”

Eddie looks at you, watching your teeth sink into your stained-dark lip as you wait for him to respond. He’s a shade softer than the usual tough-but-fun guy who works the door, softer than when you’re usually tearing strips off of each other for fun on your breaks.

“Careful,” he says, voice quiet. He looks almost bashful.

You frown a little. Your gut twists uncomfortably. Had you read it all wrong?

“I don’t know what to do with myself when pretty girls are sweet to me,” he says, sipping his drink pointedly.

The knot in your stomach swoops. He thinks you’re pretty. Eddie thinks you’re pretty. Eddie who flirts with dolled-up girls all night while he’s checking IDs.

You look back at him, see how the light and shadows play on the slope of his nose and those long lashes. “You have plenty of practice, Ed,” you say, so quiet. “You always know what to say.”

He smiles just a little and shakes his head. “Not with you. S’why I say stupid shit. Anyway, no one’s as pretty or sweet as you,” he says. “Even when you’re mean. Especially when you’re mean - so fuckin’ pretty then.”

Your laugh is almost involuntary, cheeks feeling warm. “That was smooth, Eddie,” you say, teasing him again; that was comfortable, less scary.

“It was? Oh good. I’m fighting for my life here.” He laughs and leans against the wall beside you.

He’s taller than you as you sit on your stool, tuning your body sideways to look up at him. “Putting the moves on me, Munson?”

“Is it working?” Eddie raises his brows, pushing them up under his choppy fringe. There’s a playful twinkle in his eyes, hopeful and yet apprehensive.

“Yeah, I think it might be,” you whisper, biting your lip again. He wants to bite it for you, soothe the pinch of his sharp teeth with his silver tongue.

You reach a hand out, sliding your fingertips up over the back of his hand and wrist until they slip under the cuff of his sleeve. You bring his hand down onto your thigh, warm and bare in the summer evening heat.

You’re feeling brave. Eddie is too.

He leaves his drink on the sill next to your water and steps closer, his hand huge on your legs as he feels the smoothness of your skin and the frayed hem of your denim shorts. Eddie crowds closer, smelling the sweetness of your perfume as his leg slots between your knees. His eyes flick from looking at your lips to searching your gaze for any hesitation or hint that you’re just fucking with him. He finds none and feels braver than ever.

He dips down, brushing his nose against your cheek and hears your intake of breath, that little gasp he wants to swallow and consume. His lips press a kiss to the corner of your mouth, begging sweetly without a word.

You turn your head just a fraction to close the minute gap, bringing your lips together. With your hand on his neck, you feel his pulse race in time with your own beneath the stroke of your thumb, sliding down the strong tendon to where it meets his shoulder.

Eddie’s lips press and slot with yours, plush and gentle and tasting sweet like Coca-Cola. He kisses you slowly, savouring the feeling of your lips on his. You pull him as close as you can, your warm breaths mingling as he sneaks a look to make sure you’re real.

He is gentle behind the bawdy jokes and leather and silver rings. He’s softer than anyone can see. But you can feel that sweet softness in the way he cups your face before kissing you again. Eddie strokes his tongue against your lower lip to ask for permission he doesn’t need. It makes you shiver as that smooth-talking tongue slides with yours, making you gasp.

Before it can build pressure and turn any steamier, he slows it back down and kisses you in slow pecks again before leaning his forehead against yours. He can’t stop himself from smiling and doesn’t even try to pretend he’s not elated when he feels your shy smile too.

Behind that smile, you’re aching for more. You want to run your fingers up through his curls and tug, be kissed breathless by him. You want a hundred more soft kisses, feel his smile on your mouth. You want to feel him everywhere.

“You okay?” he whispers, and can’t resist pushing another kiss against your cheek before moving back to look at you again.

“More than okay.” You bring your thumb to swipe the lipstick transferred over from your lips to his. You want to see every shade you own smeared around his mouth.

Eddie kisses your thumb, before pretending to nip it to make you laugh. “Are you going to be able to go back to the bar?”

You shake your head, smiling before sighing over-dramatically and fixing a pout on your face. It drives him mad in the best way. “Mm, maybe give me one more for luck?” you whisper.

He puts you out of your misery with one more long lingering kiss. “I’m not done kissing you. At all.” Another peck, because he cannot simply stop himself. “I’ll wait for you after work.”

Your smile is too big to hide, rendered speechless by his confession. So you nod, giving his lower lip one last swipe to remove the evidence before patting his cheek.

Eddie reluctantly backs off for his own good. He had thought about pressing you against the bricks and kissing you stupid too many times to be decent. He still will - it’s at the top of his bucket list - but just not now.

He grabs his drink, downs it, and gives you a wink. “Don’t go sharing that recipe, okay? That’s for me only, sugar.”

“Cross my heart,” you tease, sitting on your hands so you don’t drag him back against you. You think he might just be okay with it if you did.

“Later…” As if he can read your mind, he backs away with absolute mischief in his eyes.

“Later.” You wiggle your fingers at him and laugh when he almost walks ass-first into the stacked crates of empty bottles. He swears at them and flips them off before throwing one last wink your way.

Once you’re sure Eddie has turned the corner of the building you cover your face with your hands and smile into them, murmuring ‘What the fuck, what the fuck’ as your cheeks heat up your palms.

When you have just about gathered yourself, you head back inside and fix your smudged lipstick. You tap Michelle’s hip when you get back, signalling for her to go take her break.

She looks you over, suspicious of where exactly that coy little smile came from. As she throws one last look over her shoulder, she sees Eddie at the open door, looking just as dreamy and pleased with himself.

The rest of your shift passes without incident, which is a miracle because all you have been thinking of is Eddie Eddie Eddie. Eddie’s lips, Eddie’s hands. Eddie’s strong inked arms and his sturdy thighs. His lips (again).

You caught each other’s eye a few times during the night, and it made you feel hot all over. Especially when he was being a total gentleman to some pretty girls, telling them to get home safe. You had felt his dark–chocolate stare on you as you laughed with customers, and shook up cocktails while he watched the strength of your arms and the subtle bounce of your breasts. Knowing Eddie was watching, thinking about how he might kiss you again later, made you slick with desire and excitement.

You ring the bell for last call at 2 a.m. as your feet burn, and arms ache. There’s a flurry of orders while Jeff and Eddie close the doors and stand inside shooting the shit together, bidding customers good night as they leave in pairs and groups. By three it’s kicking out time and the few reluctant stragglers take recommendations for pizza joints and all-night diners to soak up the alcohol. While the bouncers do one last sweep of the place, you work through your checklist with a singular motivator; kissing Eddie Munson.

With anticipation buzzing in your chest, you wipe spills behind the bar, refrigerate the mixers and hand-wash the muddlers and stirrers from the cocktails. The younger guys fill the dishwasher with glasses and barware. You thank your stars that it’s not your night on bathroom duty, refilling the straws instead and making a note for Frank of what’s running low before he does his full inventory and stocktake. It’s a well-oiled machine and your duties are finished in record time...

Eddie made himself useful, staying out of your way (but watching closely, in absolute awe of you) in favour of picking up a broom and keeping the music going to keep morale up. He leans on the clean bar, chin on his hand as he looks at you standing with your hands on your hips. “Wanna get out of here?” he asks, tilting his head toward the back door.

You nod, “Gimme two.” You restrain yourself from running to your locker (a quick walk is sufficient and unsuspicious). You fix your hair, blot your shiny face and spray deodorant and perfume again before opting for cherry flavour Chapstick. Extra lipstick this late? Far too eager.

After a quick round of goodbyes, you notice Eddie and Michelle have both already gone and you rush around to meet him by the door. One taste and you are hooked, needing another kiss like your next breath. When you can’t see him, it’s like your lungs shrink. There’s no lingering scent of his cologne or swirling smoke, no glowing cherry or loud laugh in the back alley…

Breathe. In, out. Calm the anxious flutters. Is he already at his car?

Just as you’re about to round the building, the back door opens and an almost frantic-eyed Eddie nearly catches you with the door... “Hi,” he breathes. Relief. A sigh you both share before the smile, the relief.

“Shit, did I get you?” He puts his hands on your shoulders and squeezes when you shake your head. His hands skate down your arms to squeeze your hands. “Sorry, got distracted inside. Can I... Can I drive you home?”

Your nod is far too eager and you squeeze back, your rings tapping against Eddie’s. You drop each other’s hands but stay close to each other. This is new and unnamed and you don’t want the work crowd throwing questions at you before you have even figured it out yourself.

Your hands and arms bump as you round the building together and for once neither of you know what to say. When you look up, Eddie is already sneaking a glance at you; he smiles when you catch him and you both dissolve into laughter.

“What the fuck, you’re literally never this quiet,” you tease, elbowing him gently. “Say something.”

Eddie takes your hand again, swinging his arm with yours. “You looked hot tonight. Like, hotter than usual.” Eddie licks his lower lip and it makes your stomach flip.

“You think so? It must be the drink I made you. Pretty strong…”

“Maybe. Maybe it’s ‘cause I couldn’t stop thinking about you, how you kiss.” He’s so smooth and it makes you feel warm all over.

Close to his car now, you slow your stroll and lean against the passenger side. “Yeah? Maybe you should kiss me some more then, seeing as you can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Oh, I’m gonna.” He grins and crowds you against the shiny black metal, bracing one hand on the roof as the other loops around your middle to press your body close.

It’s like stars bursting behind your eyes when you feel Eddie’s lips on yours again. This kiss is eager and almost needy after hours of trying and failing to not eye-fuck each other. The hand lying low on your back slips lower and Eddie uses the leverage to step his thigh between yours with a delicious press of pressure. When you gasp he takes the opportunity to dominate the kiss a little more, licks his tongue against yours in a dirty slide.

You haven’t been kissed like this in a long time, all tongue and pulling soft gasps from each other. It has been even longer since you have been heckled while you’re kissing someone; Michelle breaks that streak as she wolf-whistles at you from across the street as she walks to her own car.

“Get a room!” You don’t see her grin and salute as you laugh into Eddie’s chest, hugging your arms around him beneath his jacket. He kisses your forehead and holds you after flipping Michelle off with a rosy-cheeked smirk.

“She made me late, by the way. Gave me the talk in the office.”

You rest your chin on his chest, pulling your eyebrows together. “The birds and the bees? Where do babies come from?” You laugh when he pokes your ribs and holds your squirming body closer still.

“Ha ha, jokes on you. That’s next week.”

You muffle your laugh against his black t-shirt.

“No, just that I better treat you good and not fuck around. Don’t want work to be awkward, blah blah.” Eddie squeezes your hips. “She also said ‘It’s about damn time’.”

You nod slowly, remembering her quips over the last few months about how you two should just shut up and get over yourselves, bang it out or something. It seemed like it was obvious to everyone but you and Eddie just what was going on behind your little frenemy routine.

“Well then…” you say quietly.

“Well then indeed…” Eddie echoes.

There’s a lot for you to figure out. You can’t just kiss your co-worker and expect everything to stay the same, but inside you think that maybe you don’t want that and Eddie doesn’t either. That’s something you both need to figure out, but right now you just might die if you don’t kiss him again soon.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I come to your place?” you ask quietly.

Eddie nods, eyes sparkling. “Yeah. Yeah, fuck. I’d like that a lot. Are you sure you want to? We don’t have to...”

You rock up on your toes to kiss him again. “I want to. Let’s just... See where it goes?”

A little breathless, Eddie nods and roots for his car keys to unlock the door. He pecks your lips again before you both get into the car. This time he keeps his hand on your knee while he drives through the dark streets, only moving it to change gears. You keep it there, smoothing over the rings he wears with your fingers.

You recognise Eddie’s street - there’s the bagel place you go to, the camera store where you get film developed. You can’t believe he’s been this near all along.

He swings the car into a little parking garage under the building and takes the spot reserved for apartment 8. You twist in your seat to face him and see he looks a little lost in thought. “I can go home if you prefer?” you say.

“No no. Please, don’t. I’m just.. thinkin’ about how messy my room might be.” He twists one of his rings and you cover his hand again to stop the anxious little movement you recognised from your own fidgeting.

“I don’t mind. Being nocturnal can be pretty shitty for keeping your place clean,” you say.

Eddie nods, shoulders deflating now that he’s less worried you’re going to think he’s a total animal.

You pull his hand back over to your lap, fingers intertwined. “Anyway, I’m not here to snoop at your stuff, Eddie.” You shrug a little, hiding your smile as he thumps his head against the seat.

“You’re going to be the death of me, I know it.”

“You should be so lucky.”

Your lips meet again halfway across the centre console, smiling mouths and ringed fingers grasping at each other, wherever you can reach. A rogue elbow hits the horn, making both of you jump - Eddie yelps - then dissolve into a fit of giggles which Eddie gladly smothers with one more kiss.

“Lemme get your door, princess,” he says, lips brushing your chin and cheek one more time before freeing you from his hold to hop out and round the bonnet. You could get used to this…

There are more kisses in the small shaky elevator, crowded to the mirrored wall as Eddie’s lips get acquainted with your jaw and neck, finding that spot below your ear that makes you moan his name quietly, tug him closer by his belt loops.

You drive him crazy in the best way, he makes you feel wanted - perhaps craved is more apt - as his hands run over the flare of your hips and dip to your behind.

The elevator stops, dings, and you drag Eddie’s mouth to your own again to taste his tongue before he takes your hand and does his best not to drag you to the door marked with a brassy 8.

“Shit,” he mutters, fighting with his keys to find the right one as you slip a hand up the side of his t-shirt, feeling the trail of hair below his navel to scratch through.

“You’re a demon. An actual devil woman,” he hisses, resting his forehead against the door as he lets you distract him for a second. Before you can tease him anymore, Eddie turns and takes your face gently in one hand. “You actually want to come in or am I going to need to put you over my shoulder and bring you back to the car?”

His eyes are burning with want, lips pink and puffy from your kisses. He watches your pupils blow wide and sees the gulp in your throat.

“You gonna behave?”

All you can do is nod, brain static with want, accept a kiss on the pout he’s placed on your lips, and try not to swoon or combust on the spot while he wins his battle with lock and key.

Eddie flicks the light on inside and throws his keys in a saucer sitting on a little table inside the door. There’s a short hallway with a fairly full junk closet before you step into the apartment proper. You told him you weren’t here to snoop, but the urge to look around and soak in all you can about Eddie Munson is too good to pass.

A typical boy's apartment really - an open plan kitchen/living room with a second-hand sofa and mismatched chair, a coffee table cluttered with an empty mug and a full ashtray, a fresh pack of cigarettes and a forgotten Coke can. There are some amps stacked in a corner, framed posters yet to be hung as they prop against the wall. It’s kind of exactly what you expected.

Eddie twists a piece of hair around his finger, watching you look around. “Can I get you a water…?” he suggests, “Hungry?”

“Mind if I use your phone? I want to leave a message on my voicemail so my flatmate doesn’t think I died or got in another bar fight.” Sense prevails over your desire to get your fingers back under his shirt, find out what other ink he has hidden beneath.

“Sure, good idea.” Eddie points to the phone on the wall by the little breakfast bar. You notice a Garfield mug which makes you smile a little. “Back in a sec.”

While you’re leaving a message on your answer phone, Eddie stuffs dirty and clean laundry into some approximation of where they should be. He fixes the blanket and duvet on his bed - thankfully freshly changed - and strums his Sweetheart before hearing you hang up the phone. He takes a peek in the mirror after removing his jacket, shakes out his curls and gives his arms a quick flex before telling himself he’s an idiot - being friends with Steve Harrington has definitely altered his brain chemistry in some sort of way.

Meanwhile, you have already given your own armpit a sniff and fixed your hair in the reflection of Eddie’s microwave before you hear his boots on the wood floor again.

“Did you get prettier while I was..?” he looks between you and his left-ajar door glowing with the bedside lamp he had left on.

You roll your eyes at him before following him to sit on the sofa, leaving your bag and jacket on the well-worn cushion of the armchair next to it. He flicks some music on low and relaxes back into the cushions, watching you decide where to put yourself.

“Any time you want to go, just say. I’ll drive you home,” he says quietly. You can feel the warmth of his arm where it stretches across the back of the sofa.

Scooting closer, you turn your body to face him a little more. “Thank you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be, Ed. Promise.”

He nods and welcomes you back under his arm, pressing his lips to your head while one big hand squeezes the top of your arm. “You smoke?” he asks, nodding to a little box like the lockbox you have for petty cash at work. When he flicks it open, you see some pre-rolled joints, papers and a bag of green.

“Oh shit, you’ve been holding out on me, Munson,” you tease, poking his ribs before he sits back next to you with a joint and his Bic lighter.

Eddie flashes his brows upward as he sticks it between his lips to light up. “Something something… Not mixing business and pleasure?” he says, muffled by the joint. He takes a hit before offering it to you, fingers brushing as you raise your brows in turn.

“Oh yeah? I think we’re doing plenty of that tonight.” You take a drag with a smiling mouth as Eddie’s eyes darken and flash mischief again.

“Yeah, think so. Been thinking about it a lot longer than I’ll ever admit though,” he says, watching how your breath catches and you cough a little. He tuts playfully, “Am I going to need to show you how, or are you pretending so I’ll shotgun you?”

You fan your hand in front of your face to give yourself some air before flipping him off. “Be nice, s’been a while.” You tap your fingers against his knee. “Wait, go back. How long have you been pining over me?” You’re more careful when you take your next hit, raising your brows expectantly at Eddie.

Eddie rolls his eyes as he takes the joint back; after another hit, he taps the ash off the end. “Not your business.”

“Absolutely my business. Go on. Was it when I wore that little dress to the Christmas party? Oh no, I bet it was when I spilt that pitcher of beer on my stupid white shirt… Fuck, I forgot that.”

Eddie remembers both vividly (especially the little dress) but no, it was way before either of those incidents. “You going to keep annoying me ‘til I tell you?”

“Yep.” You grin and watch him take a long slow hit. His lips wrap around the end and his cheeks hollow, showing off those sharp cheekbones. “Tell me,” you sing.

He holds the smoke in before sighing it out with his head back against the sofa to look at the ceiling. His head turns to look at you instead. “Maybe like… the first shift we worked together? Maybe the second, either way, you were shaking up spicy margaritas or somethin’, had this little smirk on your face. Then later you asked me for a cigarette and the rest is history…”

Your cheeks heat at his confession and Eddie’s do the same. He’s embarrassed and you feel like an idiot for letting your hang-ups get in the way of really seeing Eddie and giving him a chance.

“Jesus, Ed.” You squeeze his arm, just below the flurry of bats tattooed there.

His arm sizzles where you touch him - well, that’s how it feels to Eddie anyway. “We got a good thing going though, I mean I really do enjoy it. Making you huff at me and roll your eyes. Fuck.” His smile is cheeky, a little dirty as he licks his lower lip.

You laugh together and let him bring the joint to your mouth. Your eyes slip closed as you inhale before opening again to see Eddie watching you. It reignites the spark low in your gut as you begin to feel nice and fuzzy around the edges.

Eddie takes one last hit before saving the rest, stubbing the joint in the ashtray on the arm of the sofa. His eyes don’t stray from yours as you crawl into his lap.

You twist one of his curls around your fingers; his hair is soft and the curls springy. “Guess it was like…perverse flirting or really long foreplay?”

“Mm, hot.” He squeezes your thigh. “I’m good with both of those. That is if you let me take you out. A real date.”

You pretend to consider it, though you are already in his lap, in his home, ready to give him anything he asks for. “Yeah, I’d like that. Last night was real nice, just talking with you. Just… get me some flowers instead of punching a guy next time?”

He copies your faux-consideration and nods, “Deal.”

Said deal is sealed with a kiss; this one is sweet and warm, soft even. You both know you are skipping ahead of your date, but as you smile against each other’s mouths, Eddie thinks he might just keep you in his lap forever if you let him.

Your lips press and slide, tongues tangle and tease as the intensity simmers to a boil again. His hands roam up your thighs and around to grasp two handfuls of you, pulling you close as you press yourself against him. You can feel the hot breaths through his nose against your cheek, and Eddie wants to groan at the feeling of your breasts pushed up against him. Your bravery builds in tandem with how much you want and need him and you start up a slow roll of your hips.

Eddie swears against your mouth, “Shit, you feel good.” He squeezes his hands and pushes his own hips up, letting you feel how thick and hard he is for you.

Your whimper makes him crazy-mad with lust, Eddie’s lips feeling the vibration as he kisses your throat and finds that spot on your neck again. He wants to mark it, hear what noise that would pull from your pretty, kiss-bitten mouth. From the corner of his eye, he sees the flutter of your lashes, the way your mouth drops open. He thinks you are so pretty and it makes the ache in his chest pulse like a bruise.

You direct him back to your lips with a gentle tug, opening your eyes before you press a kiss to his lower lip before leaning back enough to untuck and pull off your t-shirt. Eddie’s jaw twitches as he feasts his eyes on the black lace cups you fill out so perfectly, the glint of your necklace beneath the hollow of your throat.

He moves both hands back to your waist where the denim cuts in, fingertips skating the bare skin above. “Can I?” he asks, looking up to your eyes.

Instead of answering, you cover both hands with your much smaller ones, guiding them upward until you feel the warmth of his hands cover and cup the weight.

“You’re gorgeous,” Eddie whispers, looking at your face again as his thumbs seek and stroke the pebbled nipples beneath.

Eddie had never been subtle when he checked you out at work; he made playful and bawdy comments his cover story to get away with letting his eyes linger a little too long on your chest. You let him away with it every time, knowing you would get him riled up another way later that shift or on the next one.

When you look down, the sight and feel of his guitar-scarred hands on your chest make you bite your lip hard. Your palms skate over the gooseflesh of Eddie’s arms, over the bulk of his biceps and shoulders as he learns how to make you keen for him with just his hands on your breasts. You pull him in for another filthy kiss and blindly glide your fingers down his chest to the top of his trousers. You have already felt how hard he is under the roll and grind of your hips, but it’s not enough. Eddie deserves to be touched and tasted after all this time, pining over you. Not because you pity him, you want to make up for lost time.

His hips press upward, seeking out your touch; you adjust yourself to straddle one of his thighs and flip the hem of his t-shirt up to get at the button and zip. Your eyes are fixed on the hard line of him pushing up against the fabric; your fingers brush over it before undoing the fastenings, making his breath catch in his throat.

“I want you so bad,” he murmurs, tilting his head up to kiss your jaw again. That makes you pulse right between your legs; you relish the firmness of his thigh pressing against you there as he kisses his way back to your lips. You pull away only to push the black work pants and tartan cotton boxers down enough to get at him, to see him.

Eddie watches your eyes flash when you see the thick length of him, brushing your fingertips up and down to watch it kick with arousal. You nuzzle against his cheek as you take him in your hand, telling him how big and pretty his dick is before beginning to stroke him. In your mind, you’re thinking about how he will feel inside you and in your mouth, but you try to focus on kissing his neck and learning how he likes to be touched. He’s rock hard and weeping at the tip, it makes your mouth water.

“You think about me when you do this for yourself?” you ask, pausing to lick your hand before grasping him again. The tinge of salt on your tongue makes you want more.

Eddie nods, eyebrows pinching together. “Fuck, I do. Tried not to, but I can’t help it.”

That makes you feel hot all over and you rock yourself against his thigh to relieve the pulsing between your legs. “M’here now, don’t need to pretend anymore, Eddie.” Your lips brush his jaw and the way he moans, the way he pulses with arousal in your hand, it makes you giggle.

“You’re literally gonna kill me,” he groans and rests his forehead against yours, eyes squeezed shut.

“I’m not. Promise. Just want you to feel good,” you say, and kiss him again when your hand picks up the pace.

Eddie’s hips rock upward into your fist. His hand stills your arm and he has to take a few breaths before looking at you - his chocolate-button eyes are consumed by dilated pupils. “This’ll be over real fast if you keep that up, baby. You’ll never let me live that down.”

His head dips to kiss across the tops of your breasts before running his nose up along your throat. His head tilts toward his room. “Can we? Been thinking about you in my bed.”

You nod, keep cool even though the butterflies in your stomach are back with a flurry of vengeance. Eddie grins, which sets you off too, and you tuck him back into his boxers before moving to let him stand.

He offers you a hand and twirls you once. “Hold on. Let me just..”

Eddie pauses, looks you up and down and you know he’s up to no good. Before you can figure him out he has you over his shoulder with a surprising show of strength. You squeal-laugh, slapping your hand on the back of his thigh. “EDDIE!”

His laugh is throaty and rough - like an honest-to-god gremlin - and he just about manages to keep his pants up as he carries you to his room. “You seemed to like the idea of that earlier, what you complainin’ about, baby?”

You can only laugh in response until you’re deposited onto his bed with more care and gentleness than anticipated. You lay back to catch your breath, cheeks warm and aching as you grin up at Eddie. You’re certainly not unimpressed by his ability to fireman-lift and carry you. He kneels to untie your boot-laces, then his own. You sit up and pop the button on your shorts before Eddie takes over, removing them along with your shoes to leave you in your only slightly mismatched underwear and bra - they’re both black, and Eddie doesn’t notice or care. All he sees is you, in his bed.

His t-shirt and pants are left in a heap with your clothes and in a moment he is with you, laying you back to kiss you everywhere. His hands and lips map your body, kissing freckles and stretchmarks, nuzzling the red mark your bra left around your middle when it’s removed and lost to the floor. He notes the ticklish spots on your ribs, saves them for later, and lavishes kisses on your bare breasts.

As Eddie lays his body between your spread legs, you wish you had longer to see the new ink revealed to you but take the chance to stroke his hair like you have been wanting to. He practically purrs and chases the relaxing motion, leaning against your hand when he breaks his trail of kisses to the band of your underwear. The light is too dim to see how soaked they are, a darker shade of black between your legs caused by him, but Eddie knows it’s there and teases his fingers over the damp heat. He smiles when your hips jump up at the friction.

His chin rests on your hip bone while he looks up. “This okay?” he checks, dipping his fingertips up past the elastic around the top of your thigh. He goes no further until you nod, breathe out ‘yes, please’.

You get the feeling that if Eddie was still wearing pants, your undies would go right in his back pocket. The thought of that alone makes you throb as Eddie looks at the feast in front of his eyes.

“Oh she’s pretty,” he murmurs, biting his lip. “And so wet f’me…”

You gasp when he finally touches you, stroking his finger down the seam of you. He swears and shifts his hips against the bed when he feels your wetness and watches his finger come away shiny.

He pushes one kiss below your belly button before getting comfy, manoeuvring one leg over his shoulder with his arm around for good measure. His curls tickle against your leg but all you can focus on is how his tongue strokes and licks, how his lips suck and press.

His name bounces off the poster-clad walls, your voice gaspy and ragged when his tongue circles your clit before pushing its way inside you to seek out your soak.

“So sweet, I knew you would be.” His voice is a murmur against your cunt, there and gone again as he seals his lips around your clit.

“Fuhhh- Eddie.”

One hand balled in the duvet, the other a crown atop his dark curls as you shift your hips and help him find the angle that is just right. He is rewarded with a scalp-burning tug and a guttural moan you can’t even begin to be embarrassed by as he feasts on you like a starved man.

His fingers squish your doughy thigh before he slows to a pause - it’s brief and yet you whine in complaint. You feel his breathy laugh against your folds, his murmured ‘easy, baby’. Eddie stopped only to remove the rings on his right hand so that he could push one, then two, deep inside seeking out your g-spot before you can comprehend that his rings are on your fingers for safekeeping.

His eyes are fixed on you; your heaving chest and breasts, the blissed-out expression on your face. He knows when he has found it, feeling you gush in time with a wet, wobbly moan of his name and the pained-by-pleasure look that graces your pretty face.

“That’s it, huh? Good girl,” he murmurs. He earns another loud moan as you arch your back to chase absolute bliss.

Eddie’s hips roll against the mattress - if you had the brain capacity to notice you would surely die on the spot. Your heart already feels like it is about to leap from your chest, blood pounding in your ears as he keeps up the pace and pressure. He can hear and feel how close you are as your voice gets higher, begging brokenly ‘yes, yes! Eddieeee!’ when you free fall over the edge.

Your body goes tense and then boneless as he works you through it, not letting up until you nudge his head with your thigh. “Too mm-much,” you slur, hips twitching. Eddie presses gentle kisses and murmurs words of praise against your sensitive sex; he leans into how you stroke his head while you come back to the land of the living.

“Y’okay?” he asks, smiling up at you with shiny lips. He eases his fingers out, marvels at just how soaked they are in the golden glow of the bedside light before kneeling up and licking them clean. “Knew you’d be sweet, sugar.” He winks and you curl in on yourself as you shake with laughter.

“You’re a menace, Munson. Remind me how you've been single all this time when you can do that?”

You take his hand, pulling him down so he is lying on top of you. He’s hard against your hip, but isn’t pushy with getting you to do something about it as he lies with you, holding you as you bask in the afterglow.

“Guess I had this really big weird crush on a pretty girl, got me in a dry spell,” he teased. He smacks a smooch to your cheek and makes a pleased little noise when you pull him in for a proper kiss, taking your cheek in his ring-less hand.

You let yourself feel a little smug as you drag your fingertips up his back, swirling and stroking until they brush the band of his boxers. “Do you have condoms?” you whisper against his lips, hoping that the dry spell won't ruin your plans.

Eddie nods and peels himself away to kneel up and reach over to his messy bedside table, digging an almost full box from the top drawer. He squints at the date and takes one from the packet with a pleased grin, “We’re in luck.”

You reach out to palm him through the straining cotton, feeling the growing damp spot and smiling up at him as his tongue darts out to lick his lower lip. You sit up, pushing his boxers down with both hands. They join the rest of the forgotten clothes on the floor while you get your hands back on Eddie’s body. You see more ink usually hidden beneath his clothes; you want to look at each tattoo, study it and ask him what it means, listen to him tell you more stories and secrets. But there’s plenty of time for that.

Eddie smiles against your mouth when you wrap your fingers around him again, chancing a glance to watch your hand - your hand heavy with his rings - stroking him. His hips jerk almost of their own volition; his brain has most certainly gone static. “Jesus, fuck,” he murmurs.

You catch on a moment later and giggle against his shoulder. “That got you going, huh? Me wearing your rings…”

“You get me going. That’s just extra hot.” His voice catches when you squeeze him again, and he calls you a devil woman one more time. You’re getting used to it, kinda like it.

The foil packet crinkles under Eddie’s knee. You push his chest gently, sending him to sit up against the headboard so you can make his lap your throne again. Without hesitation, you tear the foil and roll the latex down over the diamond-hard length that’s weeping for you to sit on it. He steadies your hips as you hold the base of him, sinking down through the stretch and pinch eased only by how soaked you still are.

It’s intense, the burn and the closeness. Eddie’s forehead against yours as you watch him watching you take him inside. The lingering tendrils of the weed you smoked together make it all so deliciously fuzzy and warm. Neither of you makes a move, settling into the tight heat and fullness of Eddie inside you.

His fingers stroke your hips while yours twirl the ends of his hair, touch his silver chain and brush up his neck so that you can cup his jaw and kiss him again. You hold on to each other tighter as you begin to raise and roll your hips, savouring the stretch until your body tells you to move faster, harder.

“Look how pretty you are,” Eddie murmurs, taking in the bounce of your breasts and the way your jaw hangs open as you move in his lap. “Yeah, that’s my girl. Are you my girl, baby?”

You whimper, holding him tighter and closer as you nod. “I’m yours, Eddie. All yours.” Your voice wobbles but not because you’re unsure, you’re just feeling so good, so full.

Eddie groans deep in his throat, squeezing your hips and ass tighter as he helps you to bounce. You pause, focusing on rolling rather than rising to ease the burn in your wobbly thighs; it makes you whimper against his neck. It’s so much but not enough; so good, it’s frustrating.

“Shhh, I got you. You’re just feelin’ too good, huh?” he murmurs, nodding with you when you give a small ‘uh huh’. “Yeah, good girl.”

Your brows crease as you keep rutting your hips. “You feel so big. Fuck, Ed…”

“You gonna let me do the hard work, hmm? You just lay back and look pretty for me, princess.” His voice is like hot honey, making you drip in his lap. He feels you pulsing, making his hold on your hip tight enough to leave a bruise as he gathers his composure. He’s wanted this so bad for so long, refuses to let himself (and you) down by busting early like a teenager.

You nod, blissed out as he runs his hands over your warm body. Eddie is careful, so gentle, as he helps you to move up and off of him. He guides you to lay back, comfy on the pillows that smell just like him. You can’t resist nuzzling into them as he makes his way back between your legs.

“Comfy?” he asks, palming your thigh as you hook your legs over his hips. He watches your eyes, sees that you are a little more with it now, with him. He can’t wait to see you dreamy-eyed and blissed out beneath him.

You nod and squeeze his hips. “Very comfy.” He sees how your lips pout, asking for a kiss without words.

As if he could say no, refuse you the very thing he himself is craving.

Eddie leans forward, arms braced on either side of your head and presses his lips to your cheeks, nose and forehead. He laughs quietly when you scowl all mean before you soften at the brushed blessing of his lips against yours.

He reaches down and takes himself in hand, stroking a few times before rubbing the tip against your cunt. He imagines how this would feel without the condom, feels the hot winding pull in his abdomen at the thought before your voice brings him back. He smiles and nudges his nose against yours, mirroring the rub down below.

“Please,” you whisper, lips catching Eddie’s. “Fuck me.”

The eye contact is almost too much, a burning intensity, but you feel hypnotised to keep your eyes on him as he pushes inside.

You squeeze your lips together, feeling that stretch again, and watch how Eddie’s brows pinch.

“You feel unreal, baby.”

He rolls his hips and pushes the rest of the way in. Lashes flutter and your jaw drops open. He feels so deep, it’s like he’s all the way in your chest.

After a moment he begins to thrust slowly, dragging himself halfway out before pushing all the way in again and again and again. Eddie drinks in the little whines and moans that spill from your lips.

“Don’t go shy on me now,” he whispers, brushing your hair back. When his hips rock again you feel him press against that spot that makes you see stars and there is no way you can keep quiet.

“There we go, is that it?” Eddie asks, repeating the motion. Your back arches and he hikes your leg higher, almost folding you in half as his thrusts get harder, faster.

You can feel tears pricking your eyes, feeling almost overwhelmed with pleasure. Through the sting, you see Eddie’s clenched jaw, the meaty cord in his neck straining and the rosy glow on his cheeks.

“Eddie, m’so close,” you whimper, almost tearful as you squeeze his forearm.

“I know, sweetheart. I can feel it. Fuck.” He huffs through his nose when you flutter around him and he leans over you more, spreading you wider still as he begins to pound his hips into you. He is barely holding on, feeling hot all over as he fucks you, wishes it could last longer but you’re both so tightly wound.

There’s a perfect press and drag against your clit that winds that cord of pleasure inside you tighter and tighter. Your mouths press together; barely a kiss, more a shared moan. One particularly hard thrust brings you to your climax with a broken moan against Eddie’s chin. Your nails press into his rear and pull him in to rut against that spot, fucking you through the most intense orgasm of your life as he meets his own peak with a husky throaty groan.

You feel like you're floating, fallen over the edge in each other's arms.

The weight of Eddie on you brings you slowly back to earth, breath huffing against your neck as you stroke up his back and up into his curls. You take a deep breath in; when you exhale it's shaky and wobbly almost like a quiet sob.

Eddie summons the strength to press up and look at you, seeing your dazed smile and warm wet cheeks. “Hey,” he wipes the tears gently, “Oh shit. Did I hurt you?” he asks, panic spiking the glowy daze.

You shake your head, almost giggling when you speak. “No, no. Fuckin’... amazing.” You pull Eddie back down and wrap yourself around him, holding each other as you come back to earth. A few more tears escape and Eddie wipes them away with such reverence. You stay quiet until you can string a sentence together. “That was incredible.”

He smiles, cupping your face, and kisses you before carefully rolling you onto your sides to face each other to run your fingers over each other's warm bodies and share more kisses. Once he is sure you’re actually okay, he excuses himself to throw the condom away and returns with water and a damp flannel. He spends a moment cleaning you up as you gulp the water down, then finishes the rest and fills it again before closing his bedroom door.

“You want a t-shirt?” he asks, pulling on a pair of clean boxers before throwing his hair into a low bun.

Despite the blanket, you feel a little shivery and accept the offer.

He helps you into a well-loved Dio t-shirt before pulling the duvet over you both. Your legs are tangled together as you lie together, as close as you can. Outside, past the closed curtains, the sun is already starting to peek on the horizon.

You hum tiredly against Eddie’s shoulder when you remember the weighty silver on your hand and tap his hip gently. “Hey, Romeo. Your rings.” Your hand comes up in front of his face, wiggling your fingers.

Eddie smiles, a lazy curl of his lips, and kisses the tips of your fingers before taking them off for you. He reaches back to drop them on his bedside table.

You want to stay awake, stay in the bubble of bliss, but the pull of exhaustion is too strong.

“Sleepy?” Eddie brushes a kiss on your forehead and flicks the lamp off when you nod.

“Eddie? Tonight was amazing,” you whisper against his chest.

He smiles in the dark, squeezes your hip. “Yeah, it was. I’ll make tomorrow amazing too if you’ll let me, but you gotta sleep first. Bet you’re really grumpy when you’re tired.”

“Shut up,” you laugh, hiding your face in the pillow. In the dark, you can just see the outlines of each other, shapes and shadows. “Lemme sleep and you can take me for breakfast. Like a date or somethin’.”

He hides his grin poorly, you can see his teeth flash even with your eyes almost closed. “Nah, breakfast is part of the package. Lemme plan something for our date.” He gives you one last kiss, “Sleep now, sugar.”

You feel warm, so happy and safe in his arms as you fall asleep. If Eddie asked, you would never leave his arms, leave his bed. And Eddie? Eddie lingers on the precipice of sleep, ready to drift once he knows you’re sleeping soundly. He kisses your forehead one last time before closing his eyes, both holding each other in an utterly blissful sleep.

Thank you for reading! Likes, reblogs and comments are absolutely adored and cherished ❤️

1K notes · View notes

bangaveragewhitewine · 2 months

Text

the boy is mine (amy's edition)

Written as part of @carolmunson ‘s the boy is mine writing exercise which is such a fun and gorgeous idea!

wc: 1,800

contents: love-sick best friends turned lovers, set in 1985 (there's an angstier version of this in my drafts...), allusions to sex (nothing explicit), Eddie's boner mention, kissing until your lips hurt

notes: Well, I’d love to lie and say that this was a breeze, but writing has been incredibly difficult for me lately. Fighting with myself comes easier than writing these days, but this is a really fabulous idea. Feeling ✨part of something✨ is really special (and a little daunting). Thank you, Carol 🩷

the scene: a romantic night-in at the trailer.

the guidelines: prompt, props and dialogue are all here

April 1985

You watch silver smoke curl and melt into the air as the cigarette burns between Eddie’s lips. The scent of it cuts through the lingering fug of weed and sex and sweat. His hands are busy with pen and paper, jotting lyric ideas into his little notebook.

It feels a little bit romantic that he is so inspired after fucking you.

Your chilly feet rub together beneath the covers. It’s hard to resist the urge to stick them between his shins but you don’t want to ruin his artistic flow by shocking him with your arctic toes.

Fade to Black plays from the boombox on his messy dresser. Eddie had wound the tape back to restart the almost seven-minute track after the first listen-through and grinned unapologetically when you rolled your eyes at him. His head bobs to the beat as he scribbles and you shift your attention to a particularly perfect curl lying across his shoulder, the dark black ink pressed into his skin.

If your camera were closer, you would snap a picture of him. But for now, you store the image of him away in your mind. In twenty, thirty, forty years, you will remember tonight and smile. There’s a whole life ahead of you to plan with him, and you’re pretty sure Eddie wants in on it too.

“Your Mama never told you it’s rude to stare, princess?” he asks, rereading what he had just spilled onto the page. He clicks the pen three times before folding the notebook closed. His wave of inspiration has peaked and you are, once again, his sole focus.

“Maybe. Probably.” You shrug one shoulder before taking the cigarette from between his lips.

The way your lips hug the filter makes Eddie’s body thrum to life all over again. When you lean across him to tap off the ash, he takes his chance to pull you against his chest and lock you into his lap, closer than close. The cigarette is left to burn out as you trade smokey, wet kisses back and forth between smiling lips until you are both laughing at nothing, at everything. At that little whiney noise lodged in the back of Eddie’s throat, and the way he taps the opening bars of Trapped Under Ice against your bare body.

That throaty, dirty laugh makes you feel warm all over. His cheeks are rosy-warm and cherubic when he smiles at you. You want to nibble them but settle on gentle kisses instead. His eyelids and forehead are next, then his nose, before you work your way back to his lips. It’s a tender moment after those almost unstoppable giggles, rib-aching and eye-watering laughter that comes easy when you’re with Eddie - more free-flowing when you’re still a little bit faded.

“Want the rest of that pizza?” Eddie asks after a few moments. His mouth has been busy kissing your neck and shoulder, and the way his breath catches on damp patches makes you shiver.

A few more smiling kisses are traded before you vacate the cocoon of body-warm blankets together to don discarded sweaters and underwear. Eddie glues himself to your back in a penguin shuffle to the kitchenette to raid the forgotten pizza box and the stash of munchie-friendly snacks stowed away in the cupboard.

The formica feels cool against the back of your thighs as you chew thoughtfully on the cooled-off slice. There are empty cans of High Life on the table between the melted candles; Eddie’s romantic ideas of tea lights and the champagne of beers had set the butterflies in your stomach swirling when you stepped into the trailer that evening. The VHS cases and TV remote are lost between the couch cushions and throw pillows, cast aside before you could even decide what to watch in favour of making out hot and heavy.

Eddie holds up two soup-recipe mugs. “I ran out of like, nice cups, this okay?" he asks.

The unwashed everyday mugs are abandoned in the sink and Eddie’s own Garfield mug is a quarter full of flat soda on his dresser. You know better than to suggest one of the collectables perched high on the shelves and hooks in the living room, and Eddie does too. Wayne is still irked about the cracked commemorative Moon Landing mug. It’s been glued together and sits safely on a higher-up shelf since thirteen-year-old Eddie had wanted to impress you, his new friend, with hot cocoa.

You look back at the bowl-cups, and wonder if anyone ever used the recipe on the front. “They are nice. I’ve always wanted to drink not-soup out of these. Feels illegal.”

Everyone always said he would be a bad influence on you, drag you down. They never saw that soft side to Eddie Munson, but you did. Using soup bowls as cups is far from ritual sacrifice and grand theft auto.

When he looks at you, perched on the counter in his hoodie and no pants, eating cold pizza, he feels like he might be looking at an angel. Your post-sex hair is your messy halo.

He comes to stand between your thighs and you feed him a bite before pushing his bangs back to kiss his forehead simply because you want you. Because you can now. Now that the pretence of being just friends has finally (finally) been dropped. Everything about your night together - now that you are together - is pretty similar to how it’s always been. Pizza and laughing until your ribs hurt, smoking enough to make you loose-limbed and ravenous. You spend less time looking at his lips and fingers and wondering what they feel like; you know now, and get to sample any time.

He steals one more bite before popping the lid on a can of Betty Crocker vanilla frosting from the cupboard. It has been a solid fixture of your garbage-food fixes since you and Eddie were fourteen and fifteen and home alone with a stack of horror movies to watch; Betty and two spoons, maybe some peanut butter or salty chips for balance. Now there is always a can in the cupboard, in your house and in the trailer, for when the cravings hit. When you move to Indy together after graduation, it’s top of your grocery list.

Eddie feeds you the first spoon, hovering it in front of your lips so you will come and take it. He feels a little like a pervert when he watches you eat it, lips around the cold metal and your eyes closed. You know exactly what you’re doing, doling out a little payback for Eddie getting distracted with his lyrics and set-lists while you were cuddling.

“Did anyone ever tell you it’s rude to stare?” you ask, tongue thick and coated with sweet vanilla.

“Just appreciating the art, sweet thing,” he fires back, winking at you before taking a bite of frosting. His brows pull in like he’s pondering something. “Mm. Wonder if there’s a Mr Crocker…”

You shove his head as he cackles that goblin-laugh of his and you try not to smirk at the same joke he’s been telling for years.

“You want an older model, Munson? Karen Wheeler’s been looking pretty dolled up lately…” You take the spoon, tapping it against your lip as Eddie pulls a face.

“Oh yeah, MILFs of Hawkins, come get me.” Eddie rolls his eyes before sliding his fingers up your bare legs to find the soft curve of your waist. “Only girl for me is riiight here, baby. You’re all the woman I need.”

He’s pressed up close with his chin resting against your chest, gazing at you like you hung the moon.

“Better tell O’Donnell that. I think she has a crush, s’why she keeps giving you detention.”

“You’re a fuckin’ sicko.” Eddie’s reverence shifts into a scowl as he rests against your chest, but softens again when your fingers slide into his hair, coaxing him to relax and melt against you.

“And you like that?” you ask.

“I do.”

Eddie can feel the sped-up thud of your heart beneath his ear, matching the beat of his own. A peaceful moment settles over the kitchen.

Until a tendril of mischief unfurls inside you. Imitating that nasally, cringe-inducing voice of O’Donnell blended with something a little breathy, you whisper in his ear, “Edward Munson. I want to see you after class. You’ve been a very bad boy…”

He steps back from you, hands over his ears so he can’t hear any more of your teasing. It’s cold without him all wrapped up and pressed against you.

“Divorce. Divorcing you. Get out.”

Your cheeks ache, like when you’ve had a lollipop lodged there for a little too long. It’s sweet and cloying like the joy you take from riling him up like this. “Aw, don’t be like that!”

“Too late. I’m taking the house and the kids.”

“That’s not even…” you cut yourself off, laughing too hard, and Eddie can’t even hide his own smile; he can’t buy into his own dramatics when you sit glowing on his kitchen counter, damp-eyed from laughing so hard (even if it is at his expense).

“M’sorry, sorry. Don’t divorce me.” You pout and open your arms out, grabby hands poking from the too-long sleeves until he slopes back between your legs and folds against you. Your mind wanders briefly to a future where you’re Mrs Munson; it sounds nice.

As stubborn as he can be, Eddie thaws after a few sweet kisses cut with quiet little murmurs of ‘forgive meee’. You feed him another spoon of icing as a sign of peace, sweetening him up just a little more before licking what’s left off of the tip and edge.

You feel his hands squeezing tighter on your hips, bringing your attention back to Eddie and away from the frosting.

“Hm?”

“If you don't stop, we're gonna have a problem.” He sees your confused expression and taps the spoon. “I’m gettin’ jealous. Of a spoon.”

You can feel the problem, warm and thick against your leg. It does not feel like much of a problem, and you both can think of a few tried and tested solutions to make it all better - a few more to be explored are jotted on a page of another small notebook tucked away in Eddie’s drawer.

“Is it a problem? Really?” you ask, head tilted with the metal tap-tapping against your lips before you go in for another indulgent scoop.

“Okay, I’m cutting you off.”

The spoon is snatched and thrown, and it clangs against the mugs in the sink as Eddie takes your hands and hauls you down from the counter. You taste vanilla on his tongue, sharing the sweetness with you as you stumble blindly back to his room.

thank you for reading🩷reblogs, likes and comments are welcome and cherished!

Don't forget to check out the rest of the fics from the challenge!!

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x yn #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #bangaveragefics

572 notes · View notes

bangaveragewhitewine · 5 months

Text

all is calm, all is bright

dad!Eddie Munson x mom!Reader

Your baby’s first Christmas, a silent moment in the festive glow.

Word count: 1.2k

Content/Warnings: Pure fluff. Short and sweet. Eddie and Reader are parents. Childbirth mention. Reader referred to as 'Mama'. No physical description of Reader - insert yourself, my loves!

Author’s note: Something small and seasonal as I try to get back into some sort of creative flow again. Much grá to you all, my lovelies ❤️

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Cherry Lane glowed in the dusky winter light that fell over Hawkins. The entire town dazzled with a warm holiday glow from Christmas lights and the bright excitement of the littlest townsfolk all riled up for a visit from the Big Man later that night.

Your little home was no different - in fact, it might have been the cosiest home in the whole county. Coloured lights twinkled around the window frames, a handmade wreath hung on the door, and plastic candy canes diligently lined the snow-dusted path to guide Santa’s sleigh. It was a picture-perfect holiday card, inside and out.

Maeve Munson was too young to comprehend the very concept of Christmas, or Santa Claus for that matter. Too shiny and new to recognise the stocking with her name on it hanging above the small fireplace, or the presents wrapped in glossy printed paper beneath the tree.

Just a few weeks old, she arrived as an early gift for you and Eddie. The best one you had ever received. In true Munson fashion, her entrance to the world had been a little dramatic, but Eddie had held your hand and let you squeeze as hard as you needed until Maeve made her debut with a head of dark hair and a loud set of lungs.

From your cosy nesting place on the sofa, you watch her big brown eyes gazing at the twinkling coloured lights and baubles on the tree. With her cheek resting against her father’s shoulder, Maeve blinks, slow and sleepy, as she listens to his voice.

“I know you’re really into the boob right now, kid, but you’re going to love Christmas dinner once you’re big enough.” Eddie’s voice is a low murmur as he rocks slowly from side to side, chest to chest with his daughter.

His hand looks huge on her back, patting a slow and gentle rhythm that just exists for the two of them.

You can’t take your eyes off of them, despite how tired you feel. It would be so easy to just close them, a quick few minutes rest, but you would miss them too much.

You wish that your camera was closer so you could snap and savour this moment as one you can hold in your hands.

It is peaceful bliss bathed in colourful light; you soak it in, savour it.

There have been no tears for an hour, though you feel like you are right on the precipice of breaking that streak with how much love and joy you feel, swelling like pride in your chest.

The house is warm, the old window frames are fixed with double-glazed glass that keeps the chilly winter air out. It’s rough around the edges, but there is food in the fridge and the cupboards are full. There’s a tree and lights, a few presents beneath it.

It’s not much but it’s enough. All you need is right in front of you.

Eddie catches you watching them, smiles as he nuzzles against chestnut brown hair that will curl and coil like his own in time.

He pauses his murmured monologue, his waxing lyrical about everything he will pile on his plate tomorrow. Everyone’s bringing something to family Christmas at Harrington’s - you managed to make two desserts while Eddie introduced Maeve to A Charlie Brown Christmas, one eye on you the whole time to make sure you weren’t doing too much. Bringing the Littlest Party Member is the real treat for your friends and family, who will take turns holding her and squabble when one of them hogs the baby for too long.

“Hi Mama,” he says, his voice so soft as he crosses the room slowly on socked feet.

“Hi,” you whisper back, the thick feeling in your throat stalling you from speaking any louder. Part of it is fear, fear that you will undo Eddie’s magic touch at lulling Maeve to sleep. Her eyes are almost closed, almost.

Slowly, so slowly, he lowers down to sit by you. His gentle sway keeps up, like a lazy metronome, as he takes a load off. His sigh is carried from the tips of his toes, feeling like an almost burnt-out bulb.

“You’re really good at that,” you murmur, smiling through the tiredness.

“Hmm? Don’t count on it, she’s going to be wide awake again in a sec when she realises we’re not standing up.”

“Mm, maybe. This whole Dad thing suits you, Munson.”

When he smiles, you can still see the shadows beneath his eyes - you have a set to match, his and hers. There’s spit-up on his sleeve and his hair needs a wash. But he is beautiful.

Being parents wasn’t easy, you didn’t think it would be but some days you didn’t think it would be so hard either. You think that maybe if Eddie let his eyes slip closed, he would fall asleep too from his own gentle rocking rhythm.

“I can take a turn,” you say, bringing your hand to rub his back in wide smooth circles, mirroring him and Maeve.

You know his scowl is coming, and still, it makes you smile.

“Mm-mm, my turn,” he said, brows pulled in as his mouth pouts prettily. Much like your friends, it was easy to fall into a parental squabble of taking turns for the shitty nappies and the baby cuddles.

“Baby hogger,” you whisper without malice, pushing yourself closer to kiss his stubbly cheek.

“Yep, my baby now. You get to cuddle her all day when m’workin’.”

Eddie turns his head, lets his nose bump yours. His chin juts forward just a little to beg a kiss. You don’t even need to think about it, loving him is as easy as breathing.

There’s a pause, like bracing for impact, when Maeve makes a noise against his shoulder. The pause in his swaying did not go unnoticed.

“Can’t get anything past her, huh?” you murmur, leaving one last smiley kiss to his full lower lip.

“Nah, m’done for with you two.” His face cracks into a smile, he wouldn’t want it any other way.

You watch as he sits back a little, resting his head against the back of the second-hand sofa. You peel yourself up just enough to drag the coffee table close enough so he can put his feet up.

“Only ‘coz it’s Christmas,” you murmur, seeing his grin.

“You spoil me, baby.”

You spoil him more by dragging your blanket over his lap, sharing its fleecy warmth as Maeve slowly, so slowly, drifts off.

There are still gifts to wrap for Wayne and for your friends, laundry to be tossed in the dryer, but for now, you sit together as your baby sleeps, basking in the glow of Christmas.

Maeve’s breath is deep and steady; she makes these tiny noises that have brought tears to your eyes and Eddie’s on more than one occasion. Partly because she is finally asleep, but mostly because they are the sweetest thing you have ever heard.

Scooting closer, you press another kiss to Eddie’s cheek and close your eyes for just a moment, breathing in his warm spice, a hint of tobacco from his one cigarette - he wants to be around for Maeve, for you.

“Merry Christmas, Eddie.”

Your voice is just above a whisper, just loud enough for Eddie to hear. Your words warm him, settle deep in his bones and set his heart aglow.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

His lips press yours in a single kiss, sweeter than any hot cocoa, any candy cane.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs, likes and comments are absolutely adored and cherished ❤️

#dad!eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #dad!eddie munson x mom!reader #eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #bangaveragefics

413 notes · View notes

bangaveragewhitewine · 7 months

Text

soft slow, morning glow

Steve Harrington x Reader

A prosaic peek at Steve Harrington’s inability to sleep in and stay in bed and his reasons for changing his ways.

October 1997; a cosy easy morning, where kisses are shared and ABBA songs are sung as a lullaby.

Word count: 4.3K

Content/Warnings: TW for talk of bleeding during pregnancy, borderline neglectful parents.

Mention of sex (18+), not explicit. This contains dad!Steve & mom! reader toward the end; pregnant reader. Kinda rambling. Very soft. Low angst (but not none).

Note: Thank you to my ST rewatch for making me fall for Steve all over again.

Proofread by @specialagentmonkey | Divider by @silkholland

Steve Harrington was always an early riser.

As a honey-haired little boy, he spent Saturday mornings on the sofa watching cartoons with the volume dialled low as his parents slept. He knew not to make a mess with the cereal, or the milk, rewarded with a stack of pancakes or a new toy for keeping himself amused as Richard and Katherine Harrington slept off the previous evening’s dinner party hangover.

Always the first awake at sleepovers, he would wait with bated breath for Tommy to stir or feign a sneeze to wake him.

He never had to be dragged from bed to go to school during the week, always up and at ‘em to go see his friends, play tag and swap baseball cards on the playground.

As a sporty and popular teenager, he started running when he didn’t have early swim practice or basketball. Steve rose with the sun and waved to his neighbours politely as his shiny sneakers slapped the pavements of Loch Nora.

He was never sure what he was running from, or towards, but the burn of chilly morning air in his lungs made him feel alive.

When he started going to house parties and hangouts on Saturday nights, his Sundays still started early, dragged to show face at his parent’s church. It was less about faith and god and all about appearances. He snuck out of bedroom windows, hopped white picket fences as the sun rose, fought hangovers as the priest’s voice droned and caught the eyes of pretty girls from the convent school a town over - they always blushed when he smiled at them or dropped them a sly little wink as the collection plate was passed around.

When his parents started travelling more, after the shortlived re-commitment to the church, Steve’s Sunday morning hangovers were kept at bay with cold swims in the pool or hot coffee and loud music in the kitchen as he tried and failed to focus on homework.

Steve started working right out of school as punishment for unsubmitted college applications and lower-than-predicted grades. He volunteered for the opening shifts in Scoops Ahoy and Family Video - he liked the responsibility and having a purpose, having an excuse to be out of the house before his parents could tutt and fuss and lecture him. It was easier when they weren’t there; when the office in Indy needed Richard’s attention more than his wife and son did, when Katherine spotted smears of lipstick on his collars again and insisted she spend some time with him in the city apartment.

In their absence, the Harrington house was a mausoleum of failure that Steve couldn’t bear to be in. So he raised his hand for early delivery shifts and stock takes and drove his friends to school when he didn’t have to, already awake after another night of nightmares, memories of flying fists.

Steve Harrington rose early and burned bright; burned out quickly when he realised he didn’t know what to do with himself or what his purpose was.

He filled his time with making himself useful to other people, chasing and seeking a purpose or a person to fill the gaps and spaces in his chest; the hollows once reserved for the people who didn’t return the outpouring of love he offered so freely, so innocently. He found and made a rag-bag bunch of friends, a found family, who returned the love he deserved in the ways they knew how. Woven and knotted friendship bracelets, squished candy bars, mixtapes, weed sold and rolled at buddy rates or for nothing at all.

Steve Harrington moved to the city with his best friends; a Beemer and a battered van filled with boxes and suitcases. The early morning drive made Steve Harrington glow golden in the rising sun, his excited eyes hidden behind dark-tinted sunglasses as Robin Buckley snored in the passenger seat and Eddie Munson listened to metal at an ear-bleeding volume in his van and flipped Steve off with that big grin in the rearview mirror. They stopped for strong coffee and sweet pancakes and started a new chapter in the city.

When you fell in love with Steve in 1990, he found a reason to stay in bed a little longer. A reason to slow down, soak up the sunshine glow you shone on him.

You spent Saturday nights with friends, a patchwork group cheering on Corroded Coffin and selling T-shirts and tapes at a merch table when they scored a bigger venue and a bigger crowd. Movie nights and takeout Chinese food and a stack of new and old movies from Blockbuster. Date nights at swanky bars and restaurants, with flickering candles and pizza on the way home because you didn’t want the night to end yet. You spent hours in bed together, night and morning, talking about everything under the rising sun and dwindling moon, learning about each other’s life and mapping each other’s body with kisses and gentle touches.

In the morning he gazed at your sleepy softness and took his own pulse to make sure he wasn’t dying. No heart attack, just falling in love.

He brought you cups of coffee and sweet pastries from the bakery a block away when his limbs felt restless. He always got back into bed with you to cuddle and while away the morning without a moment wasted. With Steve, those mornings were syrupy slow; he worshipped you between your thighs and held your hands as the headboard bashed against the wall.

You became Mrs. Steve Harrington in the spring of ‘94.

A small wedding. A big party for your friends. A honeymoon week where every morning felt like a perfect lazy Saturday.

When Steve found his reason to stay in bed, together you created a reason that kept you from it.

Bethany Rose Harrington. Born June 21st 1995.

Beth had her Daddy’s eyes and her Mama’s nose, and the sweetest little dimples in her smiley pink cheeks. She was her Daddy’s little doughnut, her Mama’s little bee. She inherited Steve’s charm and wrapped her extensive collection of doting uncles and aunts right around her tiny finger. She took after you in the way that Steve was completely and utterly in love with her.

Just like her Dad, Beth liked to start the day early. After a few weeks of seeking out and settling into a routine, Steve spent the earliest part of the day feeding his little Bethie her bottle of milk in the cosy armchair nestled in the corner of her pale yellow nursery. As he watched her big brown eyes gaze and blink, felt her tiny fist wrap around his finger, Steve decided that these were the happiest mornings of his life.

On those soft and slow mornings, you could hear Steve’s low murmur to your little girl through the baby monitor when his excitement to see her gummy smile or stop her sad fat tears bypassed the off-switch. You fell back asleep to the sound of Steve telling Beth about how the Cubs and the Bulls (their teams now) were doing this season, or about the walk in the park you were going to go on once ‘beautiful mama’ was awake. He sang to her; never typical lullabies, Queen and ABBA and Dusty Springfield.

Steve basked in the joy of her little smiles, soaked in the soft cooing noises as Beth found her voice to talk back to her Daddy. When she fell asleep again, milk-drunk with her cheek against his heartbeat, Steve watched the morning sky shift and brighten and listened out for the sound of your waking time. The soft thud and shuffle from bed to bathroom, running water, your yawn and stretch, the gentle steps to seek and find him and your little treasure. You filled reams of camera film, documenting Steve as a Dad, your little girl's first weeks and months. Lit by morning light, by afternoon sun and the shade of the tree in your yard, and dusky nighttime lit by nightlights.

When your laundry list of chores allowed it, you took one of your three options on those mornings of parenthood - take turns to bask in the warmth of lavender and milk-scented baby cuddles while the other showered; bring the sleeping beauty back to your bed to gaze at the ten fingers and ten toes you had created together; or leave the sleepy and full-tummied grub to sleep in her crib again to spend the slow dawn hours holding each other and trading kisses, and knotting yourselves up in the sheets together once the doctor gave you the all-clear and a prescription for birth control.

You did plenty of all three.

Summer turned to Autumn, then Winter, and Steve balanced being a father and husband with keeping a roof over your heads and the final year of his programme to get his qualification to become a guidance counsellor. His mornings with Beth were part of his routine, leaving her smiling and drooly for you when he kissed his girls goodbye. Missing him during full days of supervised sessions and hours in the college library when he wasn’t in classes bonded you and Beth, thick as thieves and lovestruck for the golden Harrington boy-turned-man. You made sure that he never missed a moment with how many pictures you took, and Beth saved all of her firsts for when he was home. You coached her to say ‘dada’ in Steve’s absence and he sobbed happy tears when she parroted it back. (He had been coaching her to say ‘mama’ during their early mornings together).

Your late nights of talking turned to early-to-bed nights, sleeping when the baby slept and when your little home was some semblance of clean and tidy. Steve fell asleep to the sound of Bethie’s breath on the monitor, your heart under his cheek and the soft stroke of your fingers in his hair, along the length of his arm.

Both of you were exhausted. Neither of you had ever been happier.

When he graduated in the Summer, you and Beth cheered and clapped for your golden boy along with his best friends - the loudest bunch in the college auditorium. A picture of the Harrington trio - Steve in his shirt and tie and graduation gown balancing a smiley baby and his degree as you kiss his cheek and tickle Beth’s tummy for the camera - was placed with pride on his desk when he started a counsellor job that landed in his lap in the late summer of ‘96. He coached basketball two afternoons a week on the side; it was perfect for him.

You go back to work part-time and you balance taking care of Beth and each other with the utmost care. With help from your family and Steve’s trust fund from the Harrington’s, you make it work. You are what he holds dear, pride of place in the centre of his chest, once vacant and hollow. The gaping space he yearned to fill with the wrong friends, the wrong girls, watery beer and too many cigarettes.

By the Fall of ‘97, Steve had learned to sleep again. Sleep when the baby sleeps. Enjoy your days off. Enjoy every moment. He is. He’s so tired but never happier.

This morning, you wake first.

Your little house in the Chicago suburbs is bathed in autumn darkness on a lazy Saturday. Six a.m. and Steve snores peacefully.

Beth is silent, dreaming of her two favourite things: fairies and pancakes. That top five list favourites is rounded out by her Daddy and Mama and Mrs. Murphy’s orange cat that visits the backyard.

The littlest Harrington is an early bird too, twirling in your tummy beneath Steve’s protective hand. Until Steve can take the morning shift, you are the early riser.

Beth is your sleepy little dreamer, she loves her bed like her Mama. She sneaks in between you and Steve (and the bump now too) when she wakes too early; you spend those mornings gazing and counting fingers and toes again like when she was a tiny thing.

This baby however seems to take after her father’s love of sport, the way she practices the aim and strength of her kicks on your bladder. You don’t officially know yet (they were less than cooperative at the last ultrasound), but you know it’s a girl. Steve swayed to boy for a day or two before realising you were right. Maybe next time…

The flush and sigh-groan from your aching back pulls Steve from sleep. When you pad back in from the little bathroom, he’s just about upright and wild-haired.

“Y’okay?” Eyes swollen with sleep, he reaches blindly for you to help you back into the cosy nest of blankets.

“Mm, needed to pee.”

You try to keep your cold feet away but Steve sandwiches them between his own size fourteen and always warm feet. His lips brush your shoulder and the back of your neck when you settle into a comfortable position; Bump dictates what will suffice as ‘comfortable’ and settles under her father’s comforting hand. Harrington’s magic touch is famed in your home; settling gassy babies and working out knotted shoulders, fixing leaky faucets and carrying all of the groceries inside in two heavy handfuls, making shadow-puppet shows on the bedroom wall and holding back your hair when you’re not well.

Slowly, small-spooned by Steve’s bigger body, you drift again. Sleep comes and goes like an inconsistent tide, and you are anchored safely in his arms. Baby names ebb and flow into your tired head and you wish Steve was awake to tell you what he thought of ‘Heather’ or ‘Ava’. Whether your (very slow) re-read of Little Women was influencing you too much to ‘Josie’. You wonder about how much candy you should get for the trick-or-treaters, and whether Beth will be too scared to help you answer the door to them this year.

You wish he was awake - because you always wish your every waking moment was spent with Steve Harrington - but you’re so glad he is sleeping soundly, snoring sweetly behind you. You wish you could take more responsibility, take the pressure he puts on his own shoulders from him, but this pregnancy is less easy than the first and you hate that you can’t do it all anymore. You take solace in the fact that Steve is asleep, not awake worrying or nesting.

Turning in his sleepy hold, you place his hand back on the bump to keep the littlest Harrington settled and content, and watch your handsome husband look like the teenager you wish you had known. You map the laughter lines instead of the ones etched by worry, counting the happy memories (which are insurmountable) as you fall back to sleep with him at last.

Sleeping Beauty herself slumbers on until almost 8 a.m., meaning that both you and Steve sleep until almost 8 a.m. too - later on you will toast coffee (decaf for you) over that parent win. For the next few months, the weekends mean Steve will be hitting snooze on his body clock when the chances arise.

This morning Beth’s little voice sings his name down the hall. Steve wakes with a smile and kisses your sleepy face as you stretch and peel your eyes open.

“You’re up, Coach.” Your voice is a tired yawn, mumbled into the fluffy duvet Steve untangles himself from.

“Bring her in for cuddles please.” You pout for a tired kiss and hum happily when he grants your wish.

Steve’s ankles crack as he walks from your room to Beth’s. She’s wide awake and wild-haired, matching her Dad, and she sits up in her bed with her bunny-teddy clutched in her fist.

“Hi bumblebee,” he gasps, his tiredness swept away by his genuine joy to see her. Steve lays down on her too-small-for-him baby bed and pretends to get comfy to sleep again. “Sleepover?” he asks, opening his arm for her.

“Nooooo, yo’bed!” Her sweet voice crackles with sleepiness and the remnants of a cold she picked up as the seasons changed.

In the warmth of your bed, you can hear the mini-eye-roll she’s giving her Dad as he plays up to her dramatics. Uncle Dustin has a lot to answer for.

“Bethie,” you call from your nest, “I miss you.”

Steve watches with barely restrained amusement as her face beams bright like sunshine before leaving him in the lurch to seek out Mama. “Hey! What about me?!”

You can hear his grumbling as he hauls himself up from the tiny toddler bed but your focus is the bundle of sunshine that bounds her way to your room in her sky-blue jammies. Pushing messy hair from her face, she squeaks happily as you lift her before Steve can beat you to it. You didn’t want another moment apart from your girl and she burrows against your chest under the toasty-warm duvet.

“Morning Betty Boop.” You press kisses to her smiling face and hear Steve stomp and flop back into the room and into the bed.

“Is Daddy not invited to this love-in? Just for Mama and Beth?” he asks, scowling at your smushed-together faces.

You cuddle Beth and stroke her back as the girl shifts her impish gaze to Steve. “What do you think, Betty? Kisses for Dada?”

She can never ever resist him and reach-grabs out to be gathered in his big strong arms for kisses and cuddles.

Steve lights up, features relaxing from his feigned annoyance, as he gives and receives morning kisses. You are gathered up alongside the titch of a girl and with her help, you smother kisses all over Steve’s happy face.

“Never ever not invited to the love-in, my love.” You kiss his shadowed jaw once and tuck yourself under his arm.

“Kiss d’baby?” Beth’s messy head pops up and looks at you hopefully.

“You wanna say good morning to Baby?” Steve asks, and she nods. “Mama?”

“I think she’s asleep, but I bet she’ll wake up when she hears Big Sis and Dada.” Beneath the pitched tent of the duvet, you lift Steve’s t-shirt and present the rounded bump for inclusion in the morning love-in.

Beth has been immensely eager to meet her baby since she took notice of your bump and realised the new baby was actually in there.

The little girl’s pillow-soft cheek rests against the curve as she hugs around your middle. “Moh’nin, baby.” Her little voice is still a little stuffed up, nasal.

Your heart and tears swell as you watch her with Steve, who kisses the bump and murmurs hello. You’re at that point of pregnancy where you could cry when the wind changes and you cover your eyes so Beth won’t go out in sympathy-tears with you.

Steve’s big hand squeezes your hand as he distracts Beth, who babbles in toddler talk to her sibling. His eyes are wide and worried as he looks up and sees the hitch of your chest. He’s had that worried look since you bled at ten weeks and the doctor put you on bed rest, just three weeks into actually knowing you were pregnant. Everything has settled bar your hormones and emotions; two perfect heartbeats, an active healthy baby, a happy but tired Mom. Steve is more scared now than he was with Beth but pretends to be brave for you.

You swipe at your hot tears, dry your hand in your t-shirt before reaching down to stroke through Steve’s thick hair.

“M’okay.” You give him a watery smile. “She’s just… so sweet, Stevie.”

Moving up to lie along your side, Steve wipes your cheek and presses a kiss to the trail of the tears left behind. “Sweetest. Sweet Bee. Feelin’ okay?”

His hand stays on top of your bump and then passes over Bethany’s bedhead when she looks up curiously.

Seeing that she is missing out, Beth decides she has had enough and wants to cuddle with you instead of the baby who won’t kick back hello. She wiggles up to lie on Steve’s chest, little fingers poking into the freckles and moles as he pulls the duvet back around you all like a cosy cocoon.

“Feeling good. You okay?”

Steve has tucked away his worry again, but you still see the pinch in his brow - though the curious little fingers might be the reason for that.

“Peachy.” He chases the poking fingers with a growling kiss, pulling a shrieking giggle from Beth. “Hello, can I help you? Why are we poking Daddy this morning, huh?”

You giggle with Beth and kiss where her fingers had pressed, modelling the gentle sweetness you know she possesses in multitudes. “Poor Daddy. See, Betty? Gentle kissies.” A kiss is snuck onto his mouth for good measure.

“Daddy,” Beth sing-songs, patting his cheek lovingly.

“Bethie,” Steve sings back to her, echoing her melody. He accepts a wet baby-kiss as you curl close to them both.

You twirl a finger in the messy wave of her hair. “What will we do today? Do you want to get some library books? Or we could… go to the park?”

Steve pats her back gently. “Oh wow. All the possibilities, huh?” His lips press to Beth’s forehead as she cuddles up to him, her fingers distracted by the gold chain he wears around his neck. “Gentle, please.” He kisses her head again and looks at you. “We can do both… Go get a t-r-e-a-t?”

You smile and nod, covering Steve’s hand on Beth’s small back. “I like t-r-e-a-ts. What do you want to do, big guy?”

Steve’s fingers slot with yours. His lips brush your head as you share his pillow - the firm one to help with his neck pain. “Just be with you two. Could stay right here all day and I’d be the happiest guy.”

You press your nose against his cheek and close your eyes; you’re both surrounded by your favourite people, it is utter bliss.

“I love you.” Your voice is soft and tired against his stubbly jaw.

“Love you. So much, babe.”

Steve tilts his head so you can share a morning-breath-be-damned kiss. He wishes he had woke up sooner, before the wide-eyed toddler, so that he could have showered you with kisses, made out like teenagers (despite the baby bump between you).

“No! Me!” The frustrated little whine makes you smile apologetically to each other, chancing one more peck before you both look to scowling Beth.

“Sorry, Bee. Mama’s too delicious for me to resist.”

“Steve!” you tuck your face in his neck as you laugh, an affectionate headbutt.

“What? The kid’s gotta know.”

The two-year-old smushes her face to her Dad’s chest, still too little to comprehend her Dad’s silly banter when she just wants to be the centre of both of your attention. You have a few months left to figure that out before the baby arrives, but it scares you that she might feel like she’s not the best thing that ever happened you (bar her Dad, of course).

Your pout matches hers and you push back the stinging Mom Guilt Tears. She is only coaxed away with sweet little cheek-kisses from you as you hum-sing Take a Chance on Me (accompanied by Steve’s tapping fingers on her back ‘take a chance, take a chance, take a, take a chance-chance.)

The girl's smile splits her frustrated face, a quiet giggle as she is serenaded by her current favourite song (you have just got I Was Made For Lovin’ You out of your head after Steve had introduced her to KISS in the car). Her little arm hooks around your head as you whisper how much you love her, soft voice tickling her ear and cheek.

Beth’s laughter coaxes a fluttering kick against your belly, which Steve feels against his side as you spoon against him. He wears the same wide-eyed joy on his face every time he has felt your babies kick.

“Oo, she’s awake again. Finally joining the party.” You rest your hand against the side of your rounded belly and telepathically tell the tiny one how much you love them too, how you can’t wait to meet them but please stay in there until they’re fully cooked and ready.

Steve’s free hand - the one not keeping Beth upright as she sits up on his torso - joins yours and echoes your telepathic communication to the littlest Harrington - I love you, I can’t wait to hold you, please stay safe in there and be nice to your Mom.

His wide palm on your bump settles the fluttering before she aims her kick right against it Hi Dad! Okay, Dad!

You share a secret little smile with him and kiss his cheek as his eyes shimmer before rolling onto your achy back, feeling the satisfaction of the pop and crack as your spine relaxes against the mattress. Steve’s hand stays on your belly, and you hug his arm to your chest, as Beth sings her toddler-babble version of an ABBA mashup for you both from her throne.

Steve’s face hurts from smiling as he listens to her, hears some semblance of the lyrics in Beth-speak. He doesn’t remember mornings like this with his parents, few and far between were the times he was even allowed to cuddle with them in bed on a weekend morning.

You glance at his face, watching shifting emotions come and go as he remembers, tries to forget and focuses on the memories being made right now in your cosy nest of a bed. You squeeze his arm and hold his hand on your belly - matching gold wedding rings clicking against each other as your fingers intertwine.

Steve squeezes your hand, three pulses. There is simply nowhere he would rather be.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington character study #dad!steve harrington #dad!steve harrington x mom!reader #stranger things #steve harrington fluff #steve stranger things #stranger things fic #steve harrington x f!reader #prosaic fic #bangaveragefics

852 notes · View notes

bangaveragewhitewine · 7 months

Text

Hearts are wild creatures

Dad!Steve Harrington x Mom!Reader

Halloween, 1999

A simple worn-before couple’s costume and drinks with friends. Kissing like teenagers and hushed voices. You and Steve, a night to make up for lost time before Halloween-morning with your two little girls.

Takes place two years after soft slow, morning glow

Word count: 6.4k

Contents: Parent!Steve & Reader. Explicit (18+) - oral (f!receiving), p-in-v sex (reader is on birth control, but wrap it up, friends!). Breeding kink. Parental domesticity - Steve & Reader have two kids, mention of a difficult pregnancy, sickeningly sweet domestic fluff.

Author’s note: This started as soft Halloween-flavoured domesticity and then I imagined Steve dressed as Johnny Castle… we couldn’t not go there.

Thank you @specialagentmonkey for proofreading and being wonderful. And for watching ST from the start with me! And thank YOU, dear reader, for being here. I hope you enjoy it!

Tucked away in the Chicago suburbs, your little house matches its companions in the cosy cul de sac; the residents of Elm Crescent had transformed their homes and gardens into a Halloween Wonderland as exciting for the adults as it was for the kids. You knew you had made the right choice buying your first home here.

The garden has been prepared for a night of costumed trick-or-treaters, the path flanked by two homemade sheet-ghosts and leaves raked in vain leaving the green lawn clear for those that fell since yesterday afternoon. Four carved pumpkins guard the house from their spot on the front steps, arranged from largest to littlest - one for each of you.

Inside, tissue-paper ghosties with wobbly marker-drawn smiles made by tiny hands float on lengths of thread, seasonal art projects take pride of place in the kitchen, and paper bats guard the stairs from their hanging place on the spindles. Nothing too scary to frighten a four and nearly-two-year-old, all brightly childish orange and purple and green, smiling instead of scaring.

Halloween fell perfectly in ‘99 - a Sunday night for tricks and treats meant that you and Steve could make grown-up plans on Saturday. A simple worn-before couple’s costume, a competent and willing babysitter, and drinks with friends in a too-loud bar that you all left early to get pizza and a cab home. It was later than you had stayed up or out in months, maybe years, and you both felt almost giddy with excitement. Far from the late and boozy Halloween nights of your early years as a couple, it was exactly the night you and Steve had wanted.

Back home, your Johnny and Baby costumes were barely folded before you crawled into bed together and kissed like off-the-leash teenagers, keeping your voices and giggles low while your babies slumbered peacefully down the hall.

After paying the babysitter from across the street, making sure she got home safe, neither you nor Steve could resist a peek at the two sleeping girls when you got home, both sentimental (and a little broody again) as you held each other gazing at their little dreaming faces. Beth with her bunny-teddy pillowing her cheek (reminding you to wash it soon with lavender detergent and steaming hot water) and Ava, sweet little Ava, starfishing in her crib. Your tiny girl takes up so much space in your hearts, pulls attention in every room she enters with her big brown eyes and honey-blonde hair; she is your little cherub.

You had missed them on your night out, tried not to count the minutes since you had left or until you got home to them. Steve had felt the same, but you knew they were safe and (hopefully) sleeping. So, you tried and succeeded in letting yourselves be distracted by your brilliant little group of friends, strong drinks and each other - all of which came easily, with warm cheeks and loud laughter, stolen kisses while your friends pretended to take offence that you loved each other more than them.

Now, at home in your cosy little bedroom, Steve’s hand skates upward, feeling the dips and curves of your body as your lips lock in a needy kiss. Smiling against your mouth, he greedily swallows the soft noise pulled from your throat. His hand finds its home, cupping your breast through soft shell-pink satin, as the other holds your hand pinned to the sunshine-coloured cotton sheet.

Two kids later and he is still utterly obsessed with you, in love with all of you - especially the bumps and marks of motherhood that came with each perfect girl. You had spent most of the night tucked to his side, pretty pink contrasting his tight black shirt and jeans. Robin had tried to sit between you at one point and you had been hauled onto the warm sturdy throne of Steve’s lap, his chin on your shoulder as he argued with his best friend over whether they should do karaoke or shots next. Except for quests to the bar for more drinks and a few trips to the bathroom, you hadn’t been without his warm touch since you left the house. He would have held your hand while you peed if he could, would have accompanied you to the bar except your friends forced you to be apart ‘for five fuckin’ minutes, dude.’

His lips skate lower, abandoning your kiss-swollen lips to nibble your jaw and seek out that spot on your neck while his thumb presses firmly against your nipple. Your brow creases in pleasure when he finds it; the quiet gasp ‘Steve’ is whispered into his hair, edging toward a whimper.

“Mmhm? M’here, baby.” Tipsy from a lower alcohol tolerance and drunk on you, Steve’s voice is hot against your neck.

Your fingers wrap over his own as he presses you into the mattress, his black Calvin Klein’s straining with need, with want. Your own underwear have been damp since his hand settled on your thigh in the cab at the start of the night.

Your fingers slide into Steve’s hair, directing him back to your lips as his thigh slots snugly into the apex of your spread legs.

“Yeah? There?” he murmurs, smiling cockily.

It had been far too long since you had time alone like this; too tired after work or parenting, one or both of you needed to dry tears and check for monsters after a bad dream just as hands began to wander beneath the covers.

Your hips roll, electrified, grinding on the firm bulk of his thigh. “Please, Stevie…”

You both know you could get off like this and if he thought that was what you really wanted - what you needed - Steve would let you. He would gladly watch you come undone, guide your hips and be whatever you need him to be. But neither had forgotten your hot whisper against his ear as Eddie carried a tray of drinks and shots back to your table earlier; the way your lips grazed Steve’s neck as you so quietly asked him to fuck you into the mattress when you got home.

You had watched his eyes blow wide and pressed a rose-pink kiss to his cheek (warm and blushing) while your friends placed bets on when Baby Harrington the Third would be coming.

Steve peels himself back, kneeling on the bed as he palms himself at the sight of you. You feel saliva pool under your tongue as you rake your eyes from his thighs, over that substantial bulge, and up his furry chest. He is nothing short of breathtaking, and Steve thinks just the same of you.

Your fingers slip over the nude lace of your underwear, biting your lip when you brush over the damp spot visible even in the low light from the bedside lamp. You don’t play long, already too worked up, and push your panties down toward your thighs with a lift of your hips.

Steve takes over, like a baton-pass, and eases your legs up against his chest with your feet against his shoulder. Your underwear is slipped off and thrown carelessly behind him, somewhere on the floor. He presses kisses to your calf, a curving path up over your ankle and the top of your foot before each leg is laid down gently on either side of his spread knees.

You prop yourself up on your elbows before pushing yourself up to sit and meet Steve for another kiss; it is smiling and sweet and a little dirty. Your fingers hook into his waistband before taking a greedy handful of his unfairly pert behind, making him laugh against your mouth.

“You going to give me what I want?” you murmur, kissing his chin. Your other hand slips down the front side, fingers wrapping around to squeeze his hard length as you look up through your lashes.

“Anything. Everything.” Steve’s eyes flutter closed and he cups your cheek in one huge hand, blindly bringing you back in for another kiss.

Your voices are just loud enough for each other to hear in the golden glow of your bedroom. You miss the days when you could be loud, but wouldn’t change it - take a day trip to the past perhaps, when you didn’t have to restrain your desire to a quick fuck after dark, or during nap time while the washer and dryer run in the background like white noise,

Maybe in a few weeks, before the craziness of the holidays, you can stow away to a hotel for a night or two and cash in on the babysitting offer from Aunties Robin and Nancy.

But tonight is perfect nonetheless. It’s perfect when you shove Steve’s briefs down his thighs and when his fingers skate over your back to undo your bra (before it joins your underwear and his on the floor). You lay back, taking Steve with you, and hook your leg over his hip and bring him as close as you can all over again.

All there is right now is you and Steve. You’re well-practised enough to be quiet.

Covetous hands palm over hips, fingers thread into hair, pulling each other close and closer still. Steve finds his home between your thighs and leans over, dipping to kiss you as his fingers press and tease, push inside you with care. His fingers stretch just right and curl up to seek out the place that makes you drool.

“Lemme have a little taste?” he asks against your mouth, smiling when a whine catches in your throat. “Yeah? Can I?”

“So greedy.” Your cheeks are warm and crease when his smile sets you off.

“I am. I can’t get enough of you.” His straight white teeth nip your lower lip, a bite he soothes with his tongue. “I think you love it…”

You gasp as his fingers curl again before he withdraws them, and watch as he licks your wetness from them.

Steve winks as his lips trail lips lower, over your chest and the softness of your tummy, your hips and the places on your thighs that jiggle a little bit. Steve presses a feathery kiss to your swollen bud before licking out his tongue to part your lips

Steve’s prone to getting sidetracked down there - not that you would ever complain about your husband who loves to go down on you - but you have been thinking of being railed by him since last Wednesday.

The begged-for ‘little taste’ quickly becomes so much more.

There’s nothing ‘little’ about Steve - not his hands or his thighs, his biceps or his manhood, or his heart. His appetite for you certainly is not little or lacking either. With his hand on your thigh, the other on the cheek of your ass, he makes your thighs tremble with a few skilful licks and the soft suck of his mouth. His nose rests and nudges against the pudge of your mound, darkened eyes fixed on you as he flicks his tongue.

He watches how your jaw drops, the crease in between your brows. You feel dizzy, anchored only by the weight of his hand spreading your thigh higher, wider for him.

The burning want in your belly flames hot and bright as Steve buries his face between your thighs. His tongue presses firm and flat, encouraged when your fingers slide into his hair to keep him ‘right there, oh!’

Silenced by your own hand, you feel that white-hot tight-winding feeling as his fingers slide home again. The sound of his wet mouth on you sounds so loud, the same volume as the throb of your heart, the blood rushing in your ears. A whimper of Steve’s name is stifled, a high choked-up noise in your throat as his scalp burns from tugging fingers.

Your orgasm takes you by surprise, amped up and tightly wound after a night of teasing and wanting, and the long groping make-out and grind in the kitchen after the babysitter left.

Steve’s solid weight keeps your hips low to the bed, even when your back arches sharply. An expert at your pleasure now, seeking it out and making you see stars every time, he keeps up the pace and pressure, with his fingers and tongue. He knows what you need, how you like it - never stale, never disappointing.

Your body attempts to curl up on itself, feeling too good. Slowly, carefully, Steve drags his mouth to kiss your shaky thigh before making his way back to lie alongside you. His damp fingers, wrap around his diamond-hard length to give some sort of relief.

Glowing and giggly, you gaze up at him and drag Steve in for a kiss. “Knew you were a greedy boy.” Your voice is quietly breathy, shaking with that post-orgasm wobble as he laughs against your mouth.

“Got carried away. Sue me.” His voice is a low murmur.

Cupping his cheek, you skate your thumb along the bone. He’s so gorgeous, gold-toned in the nighttime light. Your fingertips brush the moles on his cheek as Steve kisses you again; beneath the musk of you on his tongue, you can still taste the lingering whiskey notes from your night out.

Pulled right up against him, you feel the hard and soft of Steve’s body, the fur of his chest and thighs. He found two grey hairs on his chest earlier in the year which almost caused an existential crisis - only solved with your tweezers and a tonne of kisses and promises that you would still adore him when every hair on his body was shiny silver.

“You wanna be on your back or front?” he asks, squeezing your side.

The question makes that inferno in your tummy begin to burn hotter again. You think of how good it feels when he’s behind you, thighs slapping against the back of your own, the way he stretches you and hits that place deep inside. And yet, you need to see him tonight - you are so dreamily in love with him that not having his lips on yours might just make you expire.

“Back. Pass me that cushion?”

As you get comfy, Steve takes himself in hand again and settles himself between your legs. His non-busy hand runs through his hair - still a glorious mane into his thirties, despite a few shorter cuts over the years - and you are reminded of the pretty-boy you fell for almost a decade ago.

Steve catches you smiling and palms your leg as you settle on either side of his hips. He matches the little grin and dips forward to kiss you, nuzzling your noses together.

“What’s got you smilin’ like that, huh?” he asks, running the head of his cock through your wetness before tapping it at the top.

He watches your lashes flutter, the way you bite your lip.

“Just thinkin’ about you, handsome,” you murmur, “You always make me smile.”

He grins and kisses you again, both feeling like young loves again despite the aches and pains and the mortgage and the two kids sleeping down the hall. “I fuckin’ love you,” Steve whispers.

“I love you,” you murmur back, running your fingers into your love’s hair as the other hand grabs his wrist. “Please? Been waiting all night, Stevie…”

His lips melt the put-on pout and together you guide him inside. The stretch of him has got easier over the years, well practised at love-making and fucking like rabbits alike. He’s gentle when he needs to be, rougher when you both want it like that.

“I’ve got you, baby. Sorry for making my girl wait,” he murmurs as he slides all the way in.

Eyes fluttering closed at the stretch-and-fill, Steve starts off with a slow grind that makes your jaw drop. He murmurs quiet swears at how warm-wet you feel around him, squeezing him tight as his hips draw halfway back before going all the way in again.

“Fuck,” he whispers, and braces one hand by your head with the other splayed wide on your side. Your hips lift with him, legs propped high to open you up wider for him.

For a scant second, you want to ask if his back hurts - he pulled something at basketball drills last week and you had massaged on Tiger Balm morning and night for a few days until the twinging stopped. The hard flick of his hips makes the question vanish from your mind, his cock dragging and hitting just right.

“Oh god,” you whisper-gasp, jaw hanging open.

“I know, baby. M’sorry it’s been so long. M’a bad husband, huh? Leaving my poor wife needy and un-fucked.” His voice is hot and rough against your cheek, breath tickling your ear as he finds his rhythm. “Gonna make it up to you, yeah?”

You squeeze the back of his neck, giggling. “Make it up to me all you want.” He palms over your hip, hiking it higher before leaning over you again. “Fuck, Steve. Feels so good.”

Your eyes dip to the gold chain hanging around his neck, watching how it sways in rhythm to how he’s fucking you. You bring your hand to where it rests against his neck, guiding Steve’s mouth to yours again. His breath huffs hot against your lips, tongues sliding in a dirty kiss.

The wet click of parting lips sounds loud in Steve’s ears when you break away, moaning his name against his chin when his thrusts hit deeper, harder.

“Shhh, I know you wanna be loud, sweetheart. I know you feel good.” His voice is like lava dripping as he kisses your neck.

You pinch your lips together, the moan caught in your throat comes out as a high hum.

Steve is so hard. His pants felt too tight all night; half hard since he saw you in your little pink dress. It only got worse, harder not to ask you to meet him in the bathroom, when you sat on his lap and toyed with the back of his hair, whispered in his ear before slipping into conversation with Nancy about something totally different.

The slick-tight-hot feeling, the way you pulse around his cock, makes that tense coil of pleasure low in his gut wind tighter. His chest feels like

You can’t help but fall a little more in love with him, hypnotised by the swinging gold chain, the circles he rubs against your hip and the way his styled hair falls over his forehead.

Squeezing your thighs around him, you bring your legs up and tilt your hips higher. Steve adjusts the stance of his knees and slows his thrusts to a deep grind, the tip of him brushing your cervix. You can feel all of him pressed right up against you, inside and out.

“Oh fuck.. fuck, Steve.” Your voice is thin and strained, like a thread about to snap.

“Yeah, baby. I’ve got you,” he whispers, biting down on his own lower lip. “God, you’re so pretty. So sexy.”

The air in your bedroom feels humid and heavy, like a thunderstorm, waiting for lightning to crack and split the sky, waiting for a downpour.

Steve moves his hand from your hip, gliding over your pelvis to feel how he makes you bulge just a bit before his fingers begin circling your sticky-damp clit. Just quick enough, firm enough, mean enough.

Your back arches, quiet voice babbling with incoherence at how intense it feels. “I’mgonnacomeohgodstevestevefuck…”

“Come on baby, come for me. Let me feel it,” he pants, hitting deep and hard. He’s so close, barely holding on to himself.

You hold him tight to you as you come, fingers tugging in his hair as the other hand claws and digs into the meat at the top of his ass.

Overwhelmed, a sweet shock of release hits you like lightning and opens the floodgates.

Steve holds you just as close, anchored to each other. Whispering hot words of praise against your mouth, he gazes into your watery eyes sparkling with tears - he makes you feel that good.

“Oh baby, I’ve got you. You okay?” he asks, so tender. He leans over you, wrapping his arm beneath your lower back as the other braces his weight along his forearm. One huge hand cups your face and wipes your tears. There’s mascara smudged beneath your eyes, and you look beautiful.

There’s that smile he loves; wobbly and lovely. A giggle-sob bubbles from those sweet kiss-bitten lips. “Fuck, Steve..”

“I know, sweetheart. I know. Want me to pull out, is it too much?”

You shake your head against the duvet, your hair a mess. “No, no. Don’t... Wanna feel you.” Your voice is slurred, love drunk.

That makes him throb. He kisses you again and runs his nose along yours. “M’close,” he whispers, beginning a slow-dragging thrust inside your soaked and still-fluttering body.

You can see it, how close he is, and feel it in how his rhythm has faltered. His brows pinch, smearing wet kisses to your shoulder as he tucks his face into your neck.

“I’ve got you, Stevie. You’re so good,” you whisper, stroking the back of his neck. “Let go, baby. I’ve got you.”

A grunting groan is smothered against your shoulder as Steve stills and shudders on top of you. His hips pump slow and hard as he comes inside with your name on his lips, making you shiver too.

His weight settles, sinking you into the mattress in the best way. This is exactly what you had missed so much. As much as you fervently adore actually having sex with Steve Harrington, there is something so special about lying with him in the afterglow.

Sweat-sticky and breathless, you stroke through his hair and press your lips into his hair. The hairspray scent lingers, clinging to the scent of shampoo beneath the smoke from cigarettes bummed from his bad-influence-best-friend Eddie. There was something about the smoke-tinged kisses that made you feel extra feral for him on the way home.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” you whisper, laughing softly when his sigh tickles your neck.

“But you’re so comfortable.”

Lifting his head, Steve smiles all pink-cheeked and dozy. “So beautiful too,” he murmurs, inching forward to kiss you.

The wet noise from below makes you both laugh like teenagers and you take your turn to hide your face.

“You take your birth control today?” he asked, easing himself up and out of you slowly, carefully. His eyes can’t look away from where he drips from you.

“Mhm. Sorry, big boy.” You grab a tissue from the bedside table, wiping yourself gently before you mess up the duvet cover. You had both agreed, after having Ava, to wait a few years before adding to your nest again - it had been Steve’s idea after your less-than-easy second pregnancy. For a man with a bit of a breeding kink and a dream of a family the size of a field hockey team, he was wonderfully considerate.

He kisses you again before standing to find his pyjama pants; he leaves out one of his sweaters and a pair of shorts for you too - sleeping naked was a dangerous game with two small kids.

Clean-faced and exhausted and happy, you curl up together in bed after a few sleepy kisses and a playful argument about who would get up with Ava in the morning. As if Steve would ever miss a chance to let you sleep and steal the morning smiles from your youngest all for himself.

“You won’t even hear me sneak. M’a ninja,” he murmurs tiredly against the back of your neck and you can feel his smile.

“If you say so, ninja boy,” you mumble back, dragging your joined hands up for one more kiss before slipping into a deep, peaceful slumber.

Sunday. Halloween. The best day of the year for your little girls - since the last best day (their Daddy’s birthday in late July).

Ever a fan of Halloween, and autumn in general, you always wanted to bring your girls up to be excited for Halloween as soon as September began. Still so little, with Play-Dough minds, they had begun to catch on to your excitement and followed soaked it up. Beth especially, four with an expansive imagination, was excited about dressing up and eating candy and watching “Hogus Pogus” with you after dinner.

Your parental body clocks ring at seven despite the late night.

You wake to Steve creeping out, blindly bumping into the dresser with a quiet ‘shit’ as Ava calls out for him. This morning his presence was required to brush fat tears from the little one’s pink cheeks and kiss the damp paths they left behind until she was smiling again.

You hear the youngest babbling as Steve carries her quietly downstairs, hoping she won’t wake you or Beth. The throb of a minor hangover and post-sex ache drags you back under the covers and into a light doze.

You have another thirty minutes and some change until Beth wakes and realises she misses you, deciding to sneak in before even letting her Dad know she was awake - she wanted to see you hear about your Halloween party with her uncle and aunties and remind you that the best day had finally arrived.

The creaky hinge on the door alerts you - a reminder to ask Steve to show you how to oil it properly this time - you peek an eye open to watch the four-year-old sneak over to stand by the bed on her Dad’s side. She would be content enough with just seeing you, comforted in the knowledge that you were home to spend the day together; her face lights up when she spies you peeking over Steve’s pillow, your hand raised in a little wave.

“Hi Mommy,” she whispers, dimples showing her delight.

“Hi Bethie,” you whisper back, beckoning her into Steve’s vacant spot next to you.

You open the covers to let your big girl in. She folds herself into you for a hug, her head against your chest.

“I missed you. I missed you sooooo much,” she says, face turned up to look at you like she is a sunflower and you’re the sun.

“I missed you too, baby.” Her little face cupped in one hand, you press kisses to her forehead and cheeks, her little nose.

You make a tent big enough for two beneath the covers, lying on your sides facing each other until your giggling makes it too warm and your tummies rumble for the special Halloween breakfast you promise. (You curse yourself a little for that last glass of wine, trying to remember what exactly you had promised until Beth reminds you about the pumpkin-shaped pancakes).

Wrapped in your soft dressing gown, you follow Beth down the stairs, hearing Ava’s happy-baby babble in the kitchen as she eats her half-banana breakfast appetizer. The decorations look a little silly and rough around the edges in the morning light, but still, your little home feels like a perfect pocket of happiness.

Beth jumps into the kitchen with an excited-but-not-very-spooky ‘BOO!’ for Steve.

When she sees him, nursing coffee and Advil with a messy bedhead and tired smile, he quickly becomes Beth’s golden light source as her beaming face turns to him.

“Woah! You scared me!” he says, clutching his heart before dipping to scoop her up.

You try not to laugh at his Dad-groan and the cracking crunch of his knees as he stands, instead shuffling in your slippers to Ava in her highchair.

Her hands bash on the tray, smushing banana with fierce excitement as you peck kisses all over her pretty cherubic face.

Beth leans her head against Steve, playing with the string of his hastily thrown-on hoodie as she tells him about the dream she had and how he has to take lots of pictures of her costume later to send to your extended family.

Spotting his bare feet on the kitchen tiles, you slip into the laundry room to find a pair of socks for him to wear. Resistant to ‘old man slippers’, you tuck them into his front pocket as you peck his lips and move him and Beth away from the counter so you can start on breakfast. You steal a sip of his coffee, wrinkling your nose at the lack of sweetness before shooing him and Beth to sit with Ava at the table.

“What was Uncle Teddy dressed as?” Beth asks, head against Steve’s chest so she looks at him upside down.

“He was a vampire. But he just wore his normal clothes and some silly teeth.” Steve rolled his eyes dramatically - he had seen vampire Eddie all the way back in high school when he was dealing instead of drinking, and again when you all used to drink and party the night away in your early twenties. Yeah you had dressed as Baby and Johnny before, but you had all boo’ed at Eddie when he showed up in the ultimate low-effort costume.

“Oh. Okay. Vampires is sca’wry though, Daddy!” Beth reminds him. “You and Mommy didn’t go as scar'wies. What about Bobin?”

You laugh quietly at the nickname Robin has had since Beth started speaking, and her simple way of humbling Steve about his own costume (and yours).

“Robin dressed up as Elton John. You know the song you like, Benny & the Jets? She dressed up as the guy who sings that song. And Can You Feel The Love Tonight. He sings that too.” Steve is a wee bit distracted, nibbling the chunk of crushed banana offered from Ava’s fist.

“Bobin was Simba?” Beth’s eyes are wide, excited. She doesn’t seem bothered about her lack of scary costume, only yours.

“No babe. Elton John, he’s a singer. She had big glasses on and a sparkly jacket. You know he sings... Um. ‘Rocketmaaan, burning up his fuel out there alone..’ you like that one. I’ll find the tape later.”

Ava squeals in delight when he sings, so Steve indulges her a little more.

As you mix up pancake batter (adding a little food colouring to make them orange like pumpkins), and take two Advil for the dull throb in your head, the soundtrack of Beth and Steve’s conversation makes you smile, interspersed with Ava’s chirpy shouts for attention, her little contributions to the conversation.

You glance back at the little tableau of Beth on Steve’s lap, his hood pulled over his messy hair (a pair of sunglasses and he would look just the same as your hungover mornings in your first apartment together). His spare hand strokes Ava’s hair, twirling the crushed baby-curls at the back of her head and tickling her chin and neck to make her giggle.

Beth joins you after a little while, standing on a chair to help mix the batter and supervise your pancake-making with little bits of commentary.

“That one looks a w’ittle bit squished, Mommy. Daddy can have that one.”

“Thanks, Beth.” Steve’s voice is muffled behind his second cup of coffee.

“Welcome Daddy! Mommy, can I has that nice stuff on?”

“On what, sweets?”

“My pancakes.” You can hear her eye roll, the implied ‘duh, mom’ (thanks Auntie Max).

“The nice stuff? Syrup?”

“Yeah! Sir-yup.”

“Yeah okay. A little bit.” You flip another pancake, turning the chocolate chip face down onto the heated pan. “Do you want bacon on the same plate or on the side?”

“Um. Can I dip it?”

“In the syrup?”

“Yeah, in that nice stuff.”

“Yeah, you can try dipping it. Who taught you that?”

“Teddy.”

You smirk, “Steve, did you hear that? Betty’s taking after her Uncle’s eating habits.”

“Which one?”

“Ed. She’s gonna dip her bacon in syrup.”

“That’s my girl.”

Beth giggles and turns carefully on the chair to look at him. “No Daddy, you does it all over! You got to dip-dip.”

“Can you show me how?” Steve asks, he smiles over at her, looking so handsome with the baby standing in his lap now.

“Magic word?”

You snort-laugh, tucking your chin to your chest as your shoulders shake; you just about slide the pancake onto a plate without incident. Beth has one hand on her hip, a mini-Steve for sure, giving as good as she gets.

“Are you practising your magic for later?”

“Nooo Daddy. You has to say p’weeeeeeze-uhhh.”

“Okay-uhhhh. Please, pretty princess Bethany, can you show me how to dip my bacon in syrup?”

Bethany considers it and looks at you with a cheeky smile. “Yep! I show you, Daddy!”

You wink at her before helping her pour more batter onto the hot buttered pan, praising her careful steady hand.

“Beth, can you grab a bib for Ava please?” You’re almost done and know you’ll get it served up quicker if your helper has a special task.

“Yes! What colour?” her hot cocoa eyes shine with delight to help as you help her down.

“Surprise me. We have a Halloweeny one for later, so any one you like for breakfast time okay? Dealer’s choice.” You dot a kiss to her head before watching her scurry to check what colour her sister's sleep-suit is.

“There’s a laundry basket in the living room, babe. The bibs are on top. Do you need help?” Steve asks her, lifting Ava back into her chair before going to get forks and plates and glasses of juice for the table.

“No tank you.”

You lean back against Steve’s warm chest and tilt your head for a kiss. “Hi. I missed you.”

“Missed you more,” he murmurs, squeezing the tender spots on your hips as he kisses you slowly and sweetly. A proper kiss for the morning, tasting of coffee and shared banana and sneaked chocolate chips.

Your fingers brush his jaw, feeling stubble beneath soft fingertips. He won’t shave today, you hope he’ll string it out a couple of days into the work week.

After another hip-squeeze, he picks out cutlery and you notice how he squints into the drawer.

“Glasses.”

“Getting them next, chef.”

“No, your glasses Stevie. You’ll get a headache.”

“I have a headache. I’m blaming Rob for it.”

“It’ll get worse if you don’t put your glasses on, babe.”

You watch him mimicking your correctness with a scrunched nose as he picks out forks and knives. He knows you’re right but he doesn’t have to like it.

Steve gathers everything for breakfast, including Beth’s syrup.

“I’ll get them in a sec,” he murmurs behind you, waiting for Beth to return with a bib first.

You smile to yourself and start plating up.

“Beth, how are we doing on the bib?”

When he looks into the living room, Steve sees Beth with every clean bib around her as she decides.

“I can’t find one to match!” Beth’s face is a scowl.

“Babe, it doesn’t need to match. Just pick. Please.” Steve tries to be patient. Ava is getting impatient without food or distractions in the kitchen and he hears you chatter to her to try and help. He’s usually good at the diffuse and distract technique, a pro after quasi-parenting more than half a dozen teenagers.

“Can we do a-a spooky one?”

“Um. Sure. This one is kinda autumny?” He holds up the orange and yellow floral one, tiny flowers and green leaves.

“But Ava’s jammies is pink Daddy! It doesn’t go! It has to be spooky and match!” Beth’s voice turns whiney, a pout on her face.

Steve pops his head back into the kitchen where Ava is entirely unimpressed with being ignored as you bring over the plates. “Beth would really like it if Ava could have a Halloween bib now, and if it matched her pjs too…”

You watch him suppressing an eye-roll, knowing it would just hurt his head. He looks exactly like Beth.

“Um, check the laundry room? I left a couple out.” You peek around Steve and see Beth with all of the bibs around her. “Sorry, I should’ve just told her to check in there.”

“No, it’s fine. Beth, pick those up please and come wash your hands.”

Steve smooches Ava’s cheek as he passes and palms your side with a squeeze. He picks up a purple bib with bats and a white one with ghosts - he is hopeful that one will suit Beth’s specifications and taste. He has this Dad thing down to a fine art.

The bigger girl has clean and almost dry hands, pyjama sleeves rolled up her arms by your gentle mom-touch. Her face splits into a grin when Steve presents the choices.

“Yes! The pur-pellll!” she squeaks, bouncing on her feet.

He dips to pick her up, barely suppressing the dad-groan - but it’s quieter than last time. “My little fashionista, huh? Everything’s gotta match?” He pecks her nose, making it scrunch like a bunny’s.

When Ava’s got her bib on, distracted by cut-up pumpkin-shaped pancakes and berries (with one slice of bacon), Beth sits in her seat at the table in awe of the jack-o-lantern faces you have created.

“Spooky enough, babe?” You sip maple-sweetened coffee and smile at her little happy face.

Her hair is spilling over from her messy bedtime ponytail, which comes more loose as she nods furiously. “So cool! Tank you Mommy!”

“Super cool,” Steve agrees, winking at you across the table. “Thanks, baby.”

You’re just as sexy to him now, as you were last night with your messy hair and the well-loved teddy-print dressing gown. He notices his glasses case by his coffee and you wink back at him over the top of your mug.

With his world more in focus, Steve watches you smile at Ava as she shows you her chunk of pancake. You kiss her cheek, nuzzle into her milk-and-honey scented neck telling her you love her.

You feel like the littlest one hasn’t had your full attention this morning and you have missed her, feeling mom-guilt to the hilt. Steve will take on dish-duty once the plates are empty and bellies are full, giving you time with your girls.

There are a few last-minute decorations and chores you want to make time for in between kid-friendly movies, dressing the girls in their costumes - Beth as a tiny cute witch and Ava as a cosy pumpkin. The girls are your number one priority today, making core memories for them and taking one hundred and one photos for the albums. Ava is still too little to really soak it in but she takes enough notice to nourish her little mind.

You and Steve will fill out the candy for trick-or-treaters, and hold little hands when the girls go door to door in your own cul de sac. When they’re tucked up in bed, you will pick through the candy leftovers and curl up to watch one scary film followed by a non-scary one as a balm before you sleep.

For now, you sit back and share a loving smile with Steve, your socked feet brushing beneath the breakfast table.

What a treat.

Thank you for reading! Likes, reblogs and comments are absolutely adored and cherished ❤️

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x female reader #dad!steve harrington #dad!steve harrington x mom!reader #stranger things #stranger things fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x fem #platonic stobin #platonic steddie #steve harrington fluff #bangaveragefics

554 notes · View notes

bangaveragewhitewine · 8 months

Text

I'm yours, all yours

Eddie Munson x Reader (bouncer x bartender, established relationship)

October 1991

It’s been over two months since you kissed Eddie Munson in the back alley of the dive bar you both work in. You had barely stopped kissing him ever since.

An autumn afternoon together shows you a little bit more of the man you’re falling in love with.

Word Count: 6.2K

Content / Warnings: Contains the main food groups - fluff, smut & hurt+comfort. Reader has some self doubt / anxious thoughts. This is 18+ - if you are not 18+ hit the back button and read something else. Oral (m receiving, minor f receiving), p-in-v sex. Feeeeelings. Eddie & Reader are mid twenties. Reader written as AFAB using fem pronouns.

This is best enjoyed after reading their origin story crazy-mad for you (part of the Happy Hours series)

Author’s note: I’m planning to follow CMFY with some one-shots from throughout Eddie & Bartender’s relationship. I have some loose ideas but this one came from a deleted scene I couldn’t squeeze into the main fic so reworked it! Beta’ed by @specialagentmonkey (theee best) Thank you for the love on CMFY! Reading your replies and reblogs and tags made my shitty wee brighter. Hope you enjoy this cosy peek and have a gorgeous day 🖤

It’s been over two months since you kissed Eddie Munson in the back alley of the dive bar you both work in. You had barely stopped kissing him ever since. Every moment your lips aren’t on each other is like a thousand paper-cuts to Eddie’s heart (so soft inside the facade of Mean Metalhead he has curated for himself). He makes you want to write his name next to yours in pink gel pen, framed with sparkly little hearts.

Two months and counting with Eddie and you learn something new about him every day; he loves tattoos but needles make his stomach twist, he meets his friend Steve once a month for a dude-date breakfast (but sees as much as he can of him and his other friends when their schedules line up), he sings with his band but needs at least five drinks before karaoke.

When you ask questions, when you're curious, he tells his long and meandering stories with wandering tangents which tell you so much about the man you’re falling in love with. He opens up to you, tells you things very few people know - about his mom, how he ended up with his Uncle Wayne. It hasn’t been long, but you already can’t wait to meet him.

Two whole months (closer to three really) and you’re sure you don’t want to ever have a single day without Eddie in your life, and your bed. And yet you still haven’t asked the question that has been on your mind since before you two ever got together.

It’s October now; Autumn is here and the city has turned chilly. Sweltering summer nights are no longer and you and Eddie have been spending afternoons and late nights when you’re not working watching your favourite horror films. When he had told you how much he loved Halloween - just as much as you, if not a wee bit more - you knew Eddie Munson was the one.

It’s Friday, late afternoon and you had reluctantly spent the night in your own apartment. The shame radiating from the mountain of laundry in the corner of your room had become too powerful to ignore and so you had forgone a night of being held and loved-on to tackle it and the other life-admin you had been ignoring. Eddie had suggested staying at your place, but you knew he would distract you too much with his kisses and touches (which he doled out generously whenever you were near).

You had missed your boyfriend terribly, almost like a missing limb or a gorgeous big parasite (affectionate) that you had grown more than fond of. Eddie had the night off work but still drove you to and from the bar, even stayed for a drink until Frank shooed him away for trying to distract you. You had missed him so much that you had kept him on the phone to talk a little longer when he got home before saying goodnight and promising you would see him before your shift together tomorrow. You had spent nights apart before, days and nights when you or Eddie had clashing schedules but you felt his absence more than ever today.

Your laundry and errands had never been completed with such efficiency as when you had the motivation of seeing Eddie as soon as they were ticked off your to-do list.

You arrived at his door and buzzed the intercom for his apartment, laden down with an overnight bag (over-weekend really) and Tupperware containers full of homemade soup and lasagna for before your shift at Jackie’s. Your cheeks are warm and you can feel heat prickling under your arms alongside the swelling of anticipation in your chest. Eddie buzzes you in and comes to meet you, a big grin on his face for his girl.

His hair is up in a messy bun, held in place by a black velvet scrunchie you insisted was his now. He looks cosy in sweats, a tank top and his red and black flannel which you know to be softer than soft. Eddie hadn’t even bothered with shoes, braving the stairs in his socks so that he could see you sooner. You match his smile when you catch sight of him; cosy Eddie is far from the leather-jacketed bouncer you had got to know.

When he sees how many bags you’re carrying, he rushes to lighten your load (doesn’t even skid on the tiles).

“You walked here with all that?! I could’a picked you up!” he said, shouldering your overnight bag before blessing you with a kiss.

“It’s like two blocks, not a marathon.” You roll your eyes at him but pout for another kiss anyway as he rings for the elevator.

Eddie will never refuse you a kiss. He pecks little smooches to your smile as it grows wider. “I missed you last night.”

“I missed you too.” You nudge his cheek with your nose, pecking at it like a little bird as the lift arrives; you step in ahead of him, pressing the button for the third floor with your now free hand.

He asks if you slept okay (not as well without him, but you don’t say that) and tells you about the bag of free bagels he scored as a thank you from the man who ran the deli a few doors down. The guy’s hand-truck had lost a wheel while he was taking in a delivery that morning and Eddie helped him out, fixed the wheel too. He knew how much you loved the bagels from there and it felt fateful that his reward was a bag of your favourite everything bagels.

“Neighbourhood hero,” you sing, following him into his one-bedroom flat. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Trigonometry. French. Um… skateboarding!” he lists, as he drops your bag inside his bedroom door. “I fucking suck at skateboarding.”

The thought of Eddie on a skateboard makes you smile - definitely a little meanly, what a dork - but you store that one for later.

The bag of Tupperware barely makes it to the kitchen counter before Eddie’s arms are around you, pulling you back against his chest. His nose presses into the base of your neck, huffing hot breaths against your sweet-smelling skin before kissing up his well-worn path.

“I really missed you,” he murmurs, hips nudging forward against your jean-clad behind for emphasis.

“Missed me or missed getting your dick sucked?” you ask, turning your head to look at him.

“Both. Mainly you.” His grin is impish as you turn to loop your arms around his neck, backed right up to the wiped-clean Formica. You let him lift you onto the counter so that he can stand between your spread knees.

“I missed you and your dick, so we’re even. And we have the whole weekend together to get reacquainted, huh?” You twist a loose curl around your finger, tugging to watch it spring and coil.

Eddie feels like a swooning maiden when he’s the centre of your attention like this, being flirted with. He loves it and he knows he’s in love with you. He had fallen first, long before you had even realised your banter at work was more than just that.

His fingers creep up your thighs, the silver glinting at you as you place your focus on making up for a night apart as you make out in his little kitchen.

Eddie smells shower-fresh, clean with a hint of spice, and the curls at the base of his neck are still a little damp. He shivers, giggling against your mouth when you run your finger down his spine. “Your nails are tickly,” he says with a pretend scowl.

You know he loves your nails on his back; when they’re digging in like claws to leave him littered with red scratches, and when they’re tickling up and down in soothing strokes as he’s falling asleep.

He takes your hand and brings it around to see the fresh coat of deep red on your nails. “You painted them!” he says, his nose scrunches cutely when you poke it.

“I did. The black was getting chipped and gross.” You brought the black polish anyway in case he wanted to try it out again, thrown somewhere in your make-up bag.

Eddie rests his chin on your chest; your breasts have become his favourite place to lay his head, closely followed by the squishy pillow of your thigh (there’s a third-place tie between your tummy and your butt). You dot kisses to his forehead beneath the shaggy bangs, trailing up into his hair when he presses his face against your soft sweater.

“Eddie?” “Hmm.” His voice is muffled. “You hungry?”

His head turns so you can hear him more clearly, “Hungry for you.”

Hopeful mischief twinkles in his hot-chocolate eyes when he peers up at you.

“Horndog.” “Yes?” “Gross boy.” “Unh, yes. Say more dirty things to me, baby.”

He has a look of hammed-up ecstasy on his face, scrunched brow and bitten lip. Even though you know he’s pretending, it makes the horny cavewoman part of your brain think about his face when he is actually deep inside you or desperate for your touch - it makes your tummy feel like lava. One night apart makes you realise just how bad you’ve got it for him. You shove at his head and Eddie leans back with a throaty giggle before squeezing your hips again.

To balance out your playful push and satiate the need building in your gut, you pull him in for a kiss - open-mouthed with the dirty slide of tongue that sounds loud in your ears. Your legs wrap around him, arms tighten.

“Carry me?” “Bed?” “Sofa, bed. Wherever.” “Potato, tomato.” “Eddie.”

He sweeps you off the counter - you’re still surprised and impressed at his strength until you remember him lifting the barrels and kegs at work. You reward him with distracting kisses as he carries you to the soft brown couch and smile up at him when he lays you down gently. He forgets about gentle as he removes his shirt and pounces on you, resuming your dirty kisses from the kitchen.

Merlot-red nails push the hem of Eddie’s tank top up his pale back, slipping beneath to pull him tighter to you between your thighs. You can already feel him growing hard; you nip at his lower lip and kiss away the sting.

“Sit up for a sec.” You tap his side but Eddie needs to kiss you just a little bit more before he can pull himself away.

“Where you goin’?” he asks, a little breathless. Blown-black pupils eat up the brown warmth with his voracious want; he watches as you sit up on your knees and pull your cosy sweater off, then the white vest beneath, leaving you in your creamy silk bra and blue jeans.

“Pretty,” Eddie whispers, his fingers brushing the little bow between your breasts. He was in awe of your little collection of bras, the matching underwear too. He even loved you in the cotton comfy pants that hugged just right when your cramps ached.

“Sit back against that end. And take your pants off, handsome.” You smile when he stares at you, “Do you need help?”

Eddie barely shakes his head as he wriggles out of his sweatpants and sits where you told him to. You balance each other out, taking turns to take the lead. You’re still learning, and despite Eddie’s non-academic tendencies, he’s studious and dedicated to learning what you like, where and how to touch you. You’re his favourite subject and he’s yours too.

You smile and knee-walk across the chasm between you, situating yourself between his legs to take his face in your hands and kiss him. He makes a small joyful noise when you begin to kiss down to his jaw and nuzzle at the dusting of stubble.

“Smell good,” you murmur, teasing delicate skin with your teeth before bestowing him sucking a wet kiss, enough to leave just a hint of a bruise there. It makes Eddie groan quietly, a desperate little noise at the back of his throat. He’s louder when you slip your fingers down his chest and into the waistband of his black boxers - they have little skulls on them.

“Cute,” you run your thumb over the elastic at the top as your knuckles brush his cock. Almost an echo of Eddie’s assessment of your bra moments ago.

Hips push up, almost like an electric shock. There’s a tiny noise that you just about hear, deep back in his throat, a quiet grunt as Eddie covers your hand and shows you what he needs. His pretty lashes flutter as you look at each other, sparking fire in your gut again. You smile and move your hand away, halting his protest by pulling the black cotton down his thighs to drop them on the floor.

You can feel saliva pooling under your tongue when you see him - you really did miss him, all of him, while you were apart. He’s thick and a few centimetres over average length; a nice dick (rare and wonderful) and he knows what to do with it to leave you brainless and whimpering. Eddie gets one more kiss before you make yourself comfy, lying on your tummy between his legs. Little kisses are peppered on his hairy thighs, over the black and shadow of ink, before you take him in your hand, then your mouth.

Eddie is in awe of how pretty you look like this, how your lashes kiss your cheekbones and the stretch of your lips (he goes a little crazy if you’re wearing lipstick too, really gets him going). His breath comes hard through his nose as you tongue the head of him, press against the thick vein before taking as much as you can into your mouth.

“Shit,” he growls, feeling your nails on his thigh as you begin to bob your head steadily. His hips and thighs tense and spread a little wider, needy, as he keeps himself in check. Your other hand holds the base of him, what you haven’t yet tried to fit into that pretty mouth.

“Look at my girl, so gorgeous,” he murmurs, smiling when your lashes flutter. His girl. “So pretty.”

You hum affirmative, taking more in when his head tips back to show off his pale throat and the little mark you left behind. His jaw tenses, twitches and you begin the slow bob of your head again. You look up past your lashes, watching his brow crease when you take him all the way.

“Shit shit shit,” his voice is a breathy growl that bleeds into a louder moan when he sees you looking up at him - his devil woman. “You’re going to kill me someday with that mouth, huh?” he says. The shake in his voice betrays him as he tries to act a little smooth, a little more together as you’re taking him apart.

You bob your head, imitating a nod, and bring your hand down to squeeze and roll his neglected balls for good measure. That makes him howl and he covers his face with his arm while you let that playful hand take over so you can catch your breath.

“Y’okay?” you ask, resting your cheek against his thigh as you move your hand a little faster.

“Mhmm, peachy,” he replies, eyes a little wild. You love the pink blush on his usually pale cheeks, love knowing that he’s like this because of you.

Eddie strokes your cheek as you take the head of him back between your lips, a tender little caress of his thumb that makes you close your eyes and lean in. You feel hot and slick between your legs, push your hips to the sofa cushion just a little to temper the ache.

He catches the little motion and his jaw drops a little - it clears his head just a little, zeroing in on you through his haze of arousal. “Oh my girl feelin’ needy too?” he asks, thumb pushing gently against your cheek.

You move your mouth off of him and nod, turning your head to kiss his palm. “Told’ju I missed you.”

Eddie’s grin can’t be contained. “C’mere then.” His hands run over your back, coaxing you into his lap.

Once you have rid yourself of your jeans and underwear you take up your throne on Eddie’s thighs. Your appetite for each other meant that he had started storing condoms in practically every room - there's a fresh box on the coffee table, bought that morning after he saw how low the reserves were.

Your arms wind around his neck, pressing yourself against Eddie as he kisses you again. Fingers drift between your legs, feeling just how slick you are for him - a combination of missing him and seeing the effect of your mouth on his face. You feel his smile against your mouth as you seek a deeper dirtier kiss, sucking that plump lower lip between your own.

One guitar-string scarred finger is joined by a second, rubbing slow firm circles that make you moan into his mouth. They press inside and his thumb takes up that slow wet rub, pulling more little needy noises from your lips as you take him back into your hand.

Hands and wrists cramp easily at this angle and you take a moment to pull back, biting your kiss-bruised lip before turning around on your hands and knees to present yourself to Eddie. Peeking over your shoulder with a cheeky smile, you see how his eyes blaze before grabbing for the box of Durex. You hide your grin against your arm when you hear him swearing at the plastic wrapping, calling the box ‘a fuckin’ shitbag’ when his nails struggled for purchase against it. There’s a tiny ‘yes!’ when he finally breaks in and you laugh quietly at you listen to the familiar tear-open of foil.

On his knees, he bends to kiss the rounds of your ass, then dips lower to taste you just once. “Fuckin’ so sweet,” he murmurs, wishing he had the willpower to not follow his dick that afternoon and dive into you instead - but there’s always later.

You gasp-giggle at the feeling of his tongue and rock back when you see him line himself up. “Please?” Your lips push into a playful pout, “Show me how much you missed me?” You love winding him up like this.

One side of his mouth curves up as he holds your hip, rubs the head against you to play you at your own game before pushing all the way in. Your jaw drops open, feeling full as Eddie rocks his hips minutely. You can feel him pushed right up against you inside and out, his thighs against the back of yours before he begins a deep dragging thrust.

“Shit, you feel good,” he murmurs, stroking your hip lovingly. “That’s it, baby. Let me take care of you.”

You nod, hating that you can’t see him despite how good this angle is for you both. “Eddie,” you whimper, feeling yourself flutter around him.

“Yeah, that’s who’s making you feel good, sweet thing. I’ve got you.” He squeezes your hip, the silver of his rings biting into the doughy softness as he watches his length disappear inside you over and over as he begins to get quicker and harder with his thrusts.

Your eyes nearly roll back as he pounds into you, fingers gripping the arm of the couch - it’s about the only thing keeping you up as Eddie fucks you and runs his mouth. It feels so good you can barely speak.

“That’s my girl. Going all cock-dumb on me?” he asks, squeezing the meat of your ass a little harder, watching it jiggle and bounce with his thrusts. “I’ll make you feel good like this every day if you let me. S’what you deserve, getting fucked like you need, huh?”

Your answering moan is spurred on not only by his words but the graze of his length on your g-spot. “Eddie, god! Yes, right there,” your voice is a babble, the words running into each other ‘yesrigh’there’ as it becomes the only thing you can say.

The pulsing gush around him, hot wet heat, makes Eddie moan with you. “I know, baby. I know.” His back teeth press together as he holds on, the cord of pleasure pulled tight in his pelvis. The slapping pounding sound fills the room but he can only hear you, almost crying with pleasure.

“Close,” you murmur, slumped forward a little more. The angle arches your back, pulls Eddie deeper. Your groan is shaky, broken with want.

“Me too, baby. Got me so wound up,” he murmurs. “Can you touch yourself for me?” He watches your hand move back between your legs, feels the graze of your fingers as you bring yourself closer, small tight circles that sync up with his punishingly good pace.

“Fuck! Eddie,” you whimper, feeling the inferno in your belly burn bright and hot as you see stars, tears springing as you come hard.

“Shit shit, that’s my girl. Oh yeah, fuck,” he grinds out, continuing his thrusts as your body shakes with pleasure. Eddie folds over you, wrapping his arms around you to bring you back into his lap like a rag doll. He can’t bear to not be as close to you as humanly possible as he nears his own orgasm, mouth pressed to your neck to kiss and pant against it as he hammers into you.

His fingers trail down, finding a quick rhythm that brings you to a shock of a second climax, shorter but no less intense than the first. You feel boneless, yet manage to pull his hand away when it becomes too much, holding his arm around your middle as the other curls up and loops around his neck. Your lips find their way to Eddie’s jaw, pressing wet kisses there. Your eyes are heavy, and yet you see the moment he falls apart.

His eyes close, face creasing in beautiful blissful agony as he comes holding you in his lap, your name on his tongue.

Your chest feels heavy, breath synced up as your fingers stroke up against his scalp, past the flyaways. He kisses you messily, so slow and without the same hurry he had mere moments ago.

Your noses brush against each other’s warm cheeks, lazy smiles pressing kisses as hands smooth and caress wherever is in reach. You feel fuzzy around the edges, warm all over with Eddie plastered to your back. You would both gladly overheat to stay like this a bit longer. Eddie’s lean arms are the only thing holding you together right now, grounded syrupy-sweet kisses that bond the broken bits back into place.

“Wanna see my girl,” he murmurs after a few moments mouthing at your shoulder, “Easy, babe.” Eddie’s hands on your waist help you to move from his lap, unsheathing him from your body. He wraps the condom in a tissue before lying back, inviting you into his arms with grabby hands.

You bring the blanket from the back of the sofa with you when you lie against his chest, sharing love-drunk kisses as you bask in the glow of each other.

It’s bright-cold outside the steamed-up windows; the afternoon sun lights the room. His neighbours will surely hate you, but when Eddie strokes his tongue against yours you forget to care.

You brush his sweaty bangs away and press a kiss to the centre of his forehead before resting your head against his chest, tucked under his chin as his hand finds yours. He kisses your knuckles and smiles down at you.

“Y’okay?” he checks, rosy-cheeked bright-eyed and deliriously happy. Sometimes he feels the need to pinch himself when he realises the woman he had been pining for is now his girlfriend. One time you had been lying together smoking and watching a rerun of Twin Peaks and he had actually asked you to pinch him - his nipple had ached for the rest of the night but at least he knew it was all real. And you had kissed it better.

Now you smile lazily up at him, real and cosy in his arms. “Never better,” you promise. Your nose scrunches when he kisses it and calls you his little bunny to make you laugh.

Eddie lights a cigarette and holds it to your lips when you’re too comfy to move. It brings you both back to the real world, back from the plain of absolute bliss. It’s quiet, neither feeling the need to fill the comfortable silence until your curiosity gets the better of you.

“Where’d you get them?” you ask, lifting your joined hands to finally speak the question you have been meaning to ask. Your fingers slot between Eddie’s, palm to palm, as you admire the silver.

“Been kinda building a little collection since school. Thrift shops mainly.” Eddie shrugs one shoulder; he’s careful not to jostle you too much as you lie against his chest. He pauses to catch a fallen eyelash on your cheek, holding it out to you to blow away. You smile a little and lift your head to wish for a thousand more afternoons like this.

“I have two nice ones; my friends pooled together for a graduation present for me, and the other one, this one,” Eddie shows you his right middle finger, a harmless flip-off to show you the black enamel heart with wings that he always wears. It’s smaller, less outrightly demonic than the others. The rest of his rings are swapped out, usually a lucky dip into a little dish on his bedside table, but this one stays on. “Bought this one for myself when the band went on tour. Something to remember, y’know?”

You had heard about Corroded Coffin’s big opportunity last year, playing a few dates as an opening act for a bigger metal band. Your thumb runs over the warm metal as he begins to speak again.

“It was the last day of tour and I was so fuckin’ tired. We were kinda convinced that we were going to be discovered or something, and the crowds really liked us but… it didn’t happen how we had planned.”

You expect to hear sadness in his voice but there is none. Maybe a hint of resignation that their dream hadn’t become reality.

“Me and Gareth had a fight on the last morning, both of us were hungover as fuck and antsy because it was all going to be over in a few hours. So I stormed off to get breakfast and clear my head, or get more fucked up.” Eddie’s little smile doesn’t meet his eyes; they look a little bit more glossy than usual. “It was my Mom’s birthday and I felt like shit. I would say I found this little jeweller-silversmith place but I think it found me.”

You squeeze Eddie tighter, feeling like he’s letting you see a whole new part of him. A beautiful little sentimental part that houses and holds dear the other woman he loved and the little boy he was when he lost her.

“It was way more money than I should have spent on something so small, but it felt right I couldn’t leave it behind y’know? I went in and it was right there.” His eyes sparkle as he remembers that feeling of all-over calm he felt that day in the little shop. “Went back and apologised to Gare and we played the last show, definitely our best one.”

You lean up and press a soft kiss to his mouth, “That’s a sweet story, Ed. Thank you for telling me.” Your voice is a whisper against his pillowy lips; you kiss those lips again and feel the silver against your cheek as Eddie kisses you back. Your chest feels like it could burst and there’s an annoying pressure at the back of your eyes.

“You’re gonna laugh at me but..” Eddie rolls his eyes and leans his head back against the arm of the sofa. He figures out his words before speaking again. “It’s like, everything happened for a reason - we didn’t get a big break but we’re all happy. Gareth got into art school, Jeff moved out of his Mom’s place and… I met you.”

Silence.

His honesty winds you, it hits you so hard in the chest that you can barely fathom the flurry of feelings like wings battering your chest from the inside. Your lower lip wobbles. Eddie is dead serious too; you know he’s not saying it to be playful. He has so much love in his battered heart and it oozes from him.

Eddie was expecting you to scoff or roll your eyes, call him ‘soft boy’ or something. Maybe a very small part of him thought you might brush him off (he didn’t let himself dwell on that bit). He certainly wasn’t expecting the teary look in your eyes.

“Shit, baby.” He thumbs your cheek and pouts back at you, pressing the sweetest kiss to your lips; so sweet and slow like the maple syrup you have been adding to your coffees now that it’s Fall. “I mean it. If things went differently, if I didn’t come back, I wouldn’t have met the sexy new bartender, huh?”

You smile, laugh a little wetly and try to blame the post-sex rush for being weepy. “I guess I’m a little bit glad you came back to be annoying. Super selfish of me.”

You can’t help but think that there might be some parallel universe where you’re still shaking cocktails in Jackie’s but Eddie’s on stage opening for Metallica, Corroded Coffin at the top of the charts. With that thought comes a deep-sinking feeling that maybe someday you might not be enough and he will want that rockstar life; groupies, supermodels, a pretty blonde actress on his arm.... Not you.

Eddie kisses you again and pulls you close, cocooning the pair of you in the blanket. You find his hand to kiss the black enamel heart before resting your head, cheek to chest.

You have never felt so in love, nor have you felt so scared. Eddie feels lighter now that he has said out loud the thought about fate that has been rattling around his skull for too long. He feels your arms wrapping tighter around him, like he might disappear.

He presses his smiling lips fiercely to the crown of your head. “What’s goin’ on in here, huh? I can hear that big brain thinkin’ up a storm.” He thinks over everything he said; was he coming on too strong?

“I just really really like you, Ed,” you whisper, squeezing your eyes shut. Telling him that felt so easy; maybe if you weren’t being sucked into an internal doom spiral you could play it up and roll your eyes, pretend it was icky to like him.

“Yeah? I really really like you too.” Your admission makes his heart sing; Eddie tries to temper his smile but can’t. He won’t pretend he’s not head over heels for you, he’d give you a vital organ if you needed it - hell, his heart was already yours.

He cups your cheek again, coaxing you to look at him. “What else? You’re like… a scared little bunny right now.” He concentrates all his love into how he’s holding you as if it could be transferred like magic from his fingertips.

“I just...”

He doesn’t force you to go on when you hide your face in his chest, feeling so stupid for being emotional. Your eyes burn, and he wishes he could be whatever you need right now. He’s not used to seeing his bossy flirty girl so unsure of herself; it makes him love you a little more. He looks up at the ceiling and squeezes your body gently.

“Hey. You don’t have to say anything, just listen okay? I’m serious about you, about... Everything I feel for you.” His voice shakes minutely but he takes a moment, stroking your back to centre himself. “I’m not going to up and leave someday to be a rockstar without you. I need you. Okay? You’re my girl. Best thing that’s happened to me in so so long.” Eddie presses a fiercely loving kiss to your head. “I’m yours, all yours.”

A tiny shaky sob escapes your throat, leaving you embarrassed. “I’m your girl,” you nod, looking up to see Eddie’s sentimental smile, his wet brown eyes. Your voice is thin and wobbly, like a broken pencil. “I’m so fuckin’ happy with you, Eddie.”

Neither of you says it, but ‘I love you’ is woven into your confessions, binding you together as you share that moment on Eddie’s squishy, comfy sofa.

You tilt your head to exchange teary-wet kisses, wobbly smiles on your lips as you begin to feel calmer.

“My baby,” he murmurs. “Don’t bottle shit up, okay? Doesn’t help.” He cups your face, wiping the last stray tears from your cheeks and presses kisses there as a balm.

“I know. I feel stupid for getting upset, it’s like so early for us..” You look down at his chest, trace the black ink you can reach before looking at his pretty face. You know it’s so early, so why get ahead of yourself when Eddie’s already made you a promise? You take a breath, close your eyes and focus on what you really want, “When can I come to see Corroded Coffin play?”

Eddie grins, laughs a little throaty. They had taken a little break after tour, played a few bars in the Spring to make sure they didn’t rust up. With Gareth settled back in college, they were ready to get back into it.

“We’re trying to get a gig for the end of the month. Andy knows a guy putting on a night close to Halloween. Jeff’s the organised one though, I’ll check with him tonight.” He kisses your head and smiles. “I gotta get you a shirt, huh?”

“Mhm, yes please. I heard the lead singer is so hot,” you say, smiling a little when he makes a happy noise deep in his throat. “Might throw my bra on stage if he’s as good as they say…” The thought of seeing your man on stage - your man - makes your tummy flutter.

“Yeah? Shit, lucky guy.”

You look up at Eddie and move yourself to rest your forehead against his. “The luckiest. I’m the luckiest girl though.” You mean it too, sealing it with a kiss.

Eddie cups the back of your head, pressing the loveliest kisses to your mouth. “Lucky fuckers,” he murmurs. You trade kisses back and forth, chasing lazy happy smiles for ‘just one more?’ until you need to move.

“Can I shower? Feel sweaty.” Your time together before work is already ticking away, though you’ve made excellent use of it so far.

“Can I come watch? I mean wash your back?” he asks, walking his fingers down your spine with a coy little smile.

“You just want to see soapy boobs,” you tut, looping your arms around his neck as he sits up, taking you with him.

“What guy doesn’t want to see soapy boobs?” he asks, incredulous at the thought.

You kiss the corner of his mouth, humming in agreement, “You still got that disposable camera?”

Eddie’s eyes go wide - you half expect his heart to beat out of his chest, eyes on stalks like a babbling cartoon. “Yes ma’am.”

He dumps you off his lap onto the sofa to root for the camera in his room. The sound of his sweary search carry down the hall as you laugh up at the ceiling.

You love him. You absolutely love Eddie Munson. He’s very easy to love.

Later, when you’re showered clean (a process which required getting just a little bit dirty again with Eddie worshipping you on his knees in the shower) and full-bellied after the dinner you had brought, you and Eddie get ready for work side-by-side in his room.

You’re putting mascara on in his mirror, humming to Queen despite Eddie’s protests, when you hear him call your name.

“Mhm?”

Eddie’s dressed in a black Henley and some jeans - his leather boots and jacket to go on next. You see the glint of silver around his neck as he nods for you to join him on the bed.

“Help me pick what rings to wear?” he asks, voice soft and tentative.

Your heart skips and you nod, crossing the gap to perch on his lap as you pick three more for him to wear - an upside-down cross, a very mean-looking skull, a silver signet ring with ‘EM’ engraved (the gift from his friends for graduation).

He lets you choose where they go and watches as you slip them onto his long fingers. “Perfect,” he murmurs, linking your hands together.

“Pretty damn perfect,” you agree, kissing the back of his hand so he will show you that bright and beaming grin.

You love him, you love him, you love him. And Eddie? He already can’t wait to put a ring on your finger.

Thank you for reading! Likes, reblogs and comments are absolutely adored and cherished ❤️

596 notes · View notes

bangaveragewhitewine · 5 months

Text

feel the magic

Steve Harrington x Reader

Seven days before Christmas, you find yourself stuck in a snowstorm in the middle of a city you're still finding your place in. You wait out the weather with a handsome stranger.

This prompt is from @allthingsjoeq & @bettyfrommars ❄️ Holiday Prompt Party ❄️ which was so fun! Thank you ladies for sharing these ♥️

You both rush to find shelter in a bookstore or bar during a snowstorm

Word Count: 6.6k

Contents: Set in 90’s Chicago, reader & Steve are both mid-late twenties. Nothing explicit, some kisses and mentions of arousal. Some talk of Steve’s shitty parents. No physical descriptions of reader. Steve Harrington’s charm comes with its own warning.

Note: Thank you @specialagentmonkey for proofreading and being my hype woman as always ♥️

Chicago in December was cold. Very fucking cold.

A million miles from the hot and heavy city you moved to in the summer, there was something about that bitter chill of the air, the frosted pavements and the warm glow of the Christmas lights decked across the city that made it feel like something right out of a movie. You never felt like you could relate to those leading ladies in the romantic comedies and the coming-of-age romances you grew up watching, more like some side-friend character who faded into the background, inconsequential to the plot and action.

It was your first winter in the city, your first Christmas too, and it wasn’t long before you realised that your grandma had been right - investing in a good winter coat was a must for the Windy City. Despite the cold, the shininess of your new adventure in a new city still held up, feeling like the city girl you had always dared to dream of being.

With the holidays too close for comfort - just seven days before you caught a cab to O’Hare to make the journey home - you cashed in some of your overtime and finished work early to hit the city to get the last few presents for friends and family.

The snow had started just before you left the office, a light dusting that made your shopping trip feel even more magical. You had carefully stowed your camera in your bag to snap shots of the big tree at Civic Centre and the lights around City Hall to show your Mom and friends at home. When the snow started to come down heavier and heavier, the fluffy fat flakes falling in the shot made it feel more magical.

As you looked around, soaked in the festivity of it all, you thought that maybe for one day you could play pretend and let yourself feel like the glossy, confident main character of the movie in your head.

By six o’clock the magic of it all had well worn off and you were ready to go home. Your wool winter coat kept you warm-cheeked and overheating as you waited in line in Macy’s to pay for a scarf and fancy hand cream that your Aunt would fake-smile at before tossing it to the side. It felt like years since you had stepped inside the huge store, some sort of liminal purgatory where time didn’t exist and it was far too easy to get lost amongst the shiny Christmas displays and the disorienting overstimulation of the cosmetics and fragrances department.

Your head was surely going to explode if you heard some poor impression of Bing Crosby crooning another Christmassy jingle over the store’s speakers. You were feeling distinctly less festive and fun now - less merry and bright, more murderous and bad-tempered.

Over the tinny muzak and the scratch of your scarf on your too-warm neck, you tuned into the conversation going on behind you.

“That snow is really coming down, huh?”

“Didn’t you hear? It’s some sorta weather-bomb - only going to get heavier.”

You and every other shopper within earshot looked toward the windows, seeing the white flurry instead of the warm glow of Christmas lights.

You became all too aware of the sheer number of bags you were carrying, weighed down with books and gifts and trinkets, the heft of your camera and the bottle of wine you had bought to sip when you got home. The overheated parts of you longed to be cool again, but this felt like some sort of karmic mockery. The tad-too-short-for-work skirt you had chanced and got away with that day felt minuscule beneath your coat as you imagined how cold a weather-bomb was going to be.

By the time you paid and politely refused gift-wrapping for your purchase, the snowstorm had thrown the city into chaos. Traffic was at a near standstill when you reached the front door on State Street, the sidewalks packed with shoppers and commuters battling through the snow and each other to find a way home.

The subway entrance was one street away but seeing the pushing and shoving crowd cramming themselves underground made you feel claustrophobic, twisting hot panic in your gut. Maybe the stop before might be less crazy, you thought, hoping for a better chance of getting home sometime before midnight, so you squeezed away from the crowd and braved the worsening blizzard.

The magic of Christmas had almost fully waned now, despite the snowball fights starting up amongst the gridlocked traffic. You just wanted to get home, feel your fingers and toes again perhaps. You picked your steps through the icy streets, trying not to slip or whack other flustered pedestrians with your bags; they didn’t have the same courtesy or kindness. Patience and Christmas cheer had worn thin, battered by heavy snow.

“Watch it!” one sharp-elbowed woman hissed over her furry coat collar as she shouldered past you, sending you off-balance just as a rogue snowball hit your shoulder.

Had your feet not been aching so badly, you would have stamped like a toddler.

“Bitch.” Your frustrated whisper went unheard as you continued down the block, squinting to pick out a landmark to orient yourself in the snowy city.

You tucked yourself into a side street to regroup and take a breath, attempting to condense your too-many shopping bags to protect the preciously picked-out presents inside. The welcoming glow of a bar sign caught your eye, a blinking beacon through the fluster of snow.

Tucked away down the side street, The Snug appeared like a mirage. Twinkling Christmas lights blurred by the steamed-up windows winked at you, inviting you inside. It was fate.

Surely the snow will stop soon, you thought as you gathered yourself again. One drink and some fries would be plenty of time to let the streets and subways settle.

The cold air made your nose and lungs feel spikey-sore after a few deep steadying breaths. With your bags clutched safely in your hands, you picked your steps toward the almost-hidden bar, dodging patches of ice to get to the door.

Inside was cosy-calm, with clusters of friends and a few fellow solo drinkers hiding from the heavy snow and chaos. It was quieter than the streets and packed subways, their chatter backed by songs queued up from a jukebox glowing in the corner.

You squeezed yourself and your bags into a free booth, taking a load off with a sigh that pulled the tension all the way up from the tips of your toes.

Daringly, you chanced a look in your compact to assess the damage of a day of shopping and going head-to-head with the bitter cold front. Mascara smudged beneath your eyes, hair a riot.

“Shit,” you murmured, pulling the attention from the man at the next table.

He smiled, sympathetic when he saw your flustered state. “You look like you’re in the right place.”

After blowing hair from your face you returned a tight smile. “Thanks, I think.”

His brown eyes widened. “Oh no, no... I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, horrified that he had offended you.

You shook your head, “No, I get it. I look insane. It’s been a day.” Handbag in hand, you looked at him again, smiling a little softer at the flustered stranger. “Could you keep an eye on my bags for a sec? I’m just going to the ladies' room. And the bar.”

The man nodded, sitting back in his chair. “Sure, go for it. I’ll guard them with my life.”

You didn’t miss his charming smile, or the pink tint of embarrassment that lingered on his cheeks after accidentally telling you the truth about just how crazy you looked. You caught the subtle once-over he gave you after your coat was removed and hoped that your sixty-denier tights hadn’t laddered. Your cheeks felt warm again as you made your way to the ladies' room, purse in hand to wrangle your messy hat-hair and fix your face.

As you patted rose-tinted balm onto your lips, you quietly hoped that first impressions could be overwritten.

Armed with a glass of red wine and your receipt for a basket of fries, you returned to your table and tried not to sigh too obnoxiously (or moan) at the relief of sitting down. At the next table, the brown-eyed man was looking over a piece of paper and tapping his pen against his full lower lip.

“Thanks, Stranger,” you said, looking and feeling at least ten times better.

“Oh. You’re welcome,” he said, smiling distractedly before raising his half-drunk beer to you.

You raised your glass in return, sharing that little smile with the stranger before plucking one of the new books from your cluster of bags to distract your busy mind.

Wine and a book in a cosy bar? Maybe the day had not entirely gone to shit.

The stranger went back to his list, and you tried not to let your gaze linger too long on his broad shoulders or his sharp jaw. He looked like he had just finished work, a few shirt buttons undone beneath his navy blazer, his coat and scarf bundled on the chair opposite him with one lonely Macy’s bag on top. You watched him push his honeyed hair back, raking his fingers through the strands falling over his forehead. It was easy to forget to even open your book to start reading in favour of being distracted by him.

There was no denying he was attractive. And there was no denying that you were caught looking when his brown eyes met yours and his lips twitched with a charming smile.

“Steve.”

“Huh?” Wide-eyed, and flushed-hot with embarrassment, you could not find a quick way to explain away your gazing.

“You called me ‘stranger’ before. My name’s Steve.”

“Oh. Of course. Steve.” You gave him your name, watching how he smiled when you said it before repeating it as you had done with his.

“Pretty name. Guess we’re not strangers anymore.”

“I guess not.”

His mouth curved up as he lifted his glass again, taking a slow sip. Your eyes drifted to two perfect moles on his neck as he swallowed; they matched the twin set on his cheek.

Some sort of alarm started to scream in your head; you had forgotten the feeling of being flirted with. If that’s what this was.

“Christmas shopping?” he asked, nodding to your bags.

“Yeah, just about have everything,” you said, “Now I have to wrap it all.” After a steadying sip of wine as your fries arrived, you watched how he twirled his pen between thick fingers, names left uncrossed on the paper in front of him. “Are you stuck?”

Steve slumped back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head before running his fingers through his hair again, making it messy in the most artfully effortless way. “Yeah, a little.” He rubbed his face before looking at you again. “Um, can I pick your brains? I don’t wanna impose…”

This was never how your day was supposed to go. As the snowstorm raged on outside, inside the cosiness of the bar felt like a whole other world miles from your planned evening of gift-wrapping and most of a bottle of wine. Instead, surrounded by soggy shopping bags, you found yourself with the attention of an Adonis-like stranger. You felt like it was some sort of fair deal from the universe.

When you made the move to the city, started afresh with this new chapter, you made yourself promise to take life as it came and not be too uptight. Maybe this was all part of the flow you had vowed to go with…

Smiling at Steve, you pushed your unopened book to the side and leaned forward on your arms, “Sure. Go for it.”

Steve relocated to your booth after a few minutes of chatting. An hour and a half later, he had made himself at home opposite you with his bright smile and dreamy dark eyes.

The bar had become a refuge to a few more bodies seeking shelter from the bitter cold front raging outside. He didn’t need much convincing to share your booth, freeing up the table for a couple huddled together over hot whiskies.

You had insisted on sharing your fries with Steve as you gave suggestions on what he could buy for the last few names on his list. A second basket and another round of drinks had been ordered on his tab when you realised that neither of you would be going home any time soon.

With a greasy-hot fry between your fingers, you tried not to drool over his thick forearms as he rolled up his shirtsleeves, and went back to navigating Steve’s complex network of friends-turned-family.

“So he’s your ex-girlfriend’s little brother? And you stayed friends… because he’s friends with Dustin…? Who’s like your brother?”

As you figured out who the hell ‘Mike’ was, Steve nodded encouragingly and chewed another fry.

“You got it.” His straight white teeth glinted in the warm light of the bar.

“And his sister - Mike’s sister, your ex-girlfriend, Nancy… Is Robin’s girlfriend now? Robin, your best friend?”

“Yep. See, told you you’d wrap your head around it eventually.” His smile was proud as he nudged the fries your way again.

You took two more fries as your reward before nudging the basket back to Steve. You tried not to focus on the way the fries had left his lips shiny, or the pink glow on his cheeks when he caught you staring. Again.

When you realised that this serendipitous stranger who gave you butterflies wasn’t someone else’s boyfriend, you dropped your shoulders and your guard and relaxed into the booth more. You willed yourself to relax, to go with the flow. It was not difficult to let yourself sink deeper into those warm brown eyes of Steve’s as he slowly upped his flirtations and snuck his own barely subtle glances at your lips.

He was smooth.

Steve tapped the paper list with his finger, transferring more salt and oil from the fries to the now annotated and doodled-on list.

“So, any suggestions? He’s the hardest one to buy for, so of course I got him for Secret Santa. Again.” He leaned his head back against the booth. “He’s a little dweeb. Big dweeb now. Taller than me.”

He spoke with such fondness of the kid he swore didn’t like him. It wasn’t difficult to figure out that Steve was maybe one of the most thoughtful people you had ever met. Most of what you had learned about him had been through what he told you about his friends - where he grew up, his collection of poorly paid jobs after high school before going to college in Indianapolis, then onto Chicago. His best friends were never far behind. He would be spending the Holidays with friends and their families instead of his own, which he seemed perfectly fine about.

He was funny too, heavy-handed with charm and kindness. You were definitely done for.

Steve Harrington seemed like an enigma, one you would happily devote hours and hours to figuring out.

The basket fries were pushed back and forth and you wracked your brains to think of a gift for this random college kid you didn’t know. The barman announced that the snow was still coming down heavily, and to make yourselves at home. You had lost all track of time, cosy in the bubble of the booth with your new friend.

His brown eyes fixed on you as he rested his chin in his hand. “All you wanted was a quiet drink and a place to hide from the snow, and now you’re helping some dork with his shopping list. M’sorry, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. The butterflies in your gut swooped.

Warm-cheeked, you shrugged, “I don’t mind. It’s distracting me from panicking about how I’ll get home, or if I’ll ever get home. I’m still figuring out the subways.” Picking at the crisp ends of the fries, you tried not to get lost looking into his shiny amber eyes. “I was only going home to wrap presents anyway.”

Steve smiled when you mirrored him, cheek resting on your hand.

“I think this isn’t such a bad way to spend the evening, Steve.”

A pink glow - not entirely from his beer - warmed Steve’s face and he looked down at his almost empty glass. You would think he was being bashful had there not been a grin spreading on his handsome face.

“Oh, you’re trouble.”

You shrugged, attempting to play coy. “What were you supposed to be doing tonight? What are you missing to be here with some strange girl?”

Steve shrugged. “Well, I was Christmas shopping, like you. Killing time. I was supposed to meet my buddy for dinner and drinks, came in to use the phone to cancel when the snow got bad. I’ll catch up with him tomorrow.”

“A buddy on your list?” You asked, nodding to the piece of paper.

“Mhm. Eddie. He didn’t mind too much, I’ll make it up to him.” He sipped his drink again. “He has a gig tomorrow night, so I’ll see if I can help with lifting amps and shit.”

“He’s the heavy metal guy?” you asked, remembering back to Steve labelling him as so easy to buy for.

Steve had not smiled so much in weeks, maybe months. With you, tucked away in The Snug, he basked in the ache in his cheeks, the way you laughed, how you remembered little things about him and his friends.

“I hope these friends of yours realise how much you love them, Steve.”

He liked that blunt edge of your delivery too.

You watched him fluster a little for the second time that evening.

“I do mean that. You’re putting so much of yourself into these presents, not just… I don’t know, throwing money at stuff. There’s so much thought in all of these.” You tapped the paper for emphasis, recognising a little of yourself in the way Steve put thought into his gifts for the ones he loved.

You knew the sting of that thoughtfulness not being returned, or even noticed.

Watching Steve flounder, seeing him resonate with your assessment, you felt a sinking stone in your chest. Too much. Too far. He was still a stranger, a stranger you were practically snowed in with and had probably developed some sort of cabin-fever-bond with, and you had to push it.

“Sorry. Shit. Steve, I should just shut up. I don’t know you, or your friends. I would be so mad if some stranger just-”

His hand, his much bigger, warmer hand, reached for yours and squeezed.

“Stop. It’s okay.” Steve squeezed again, his palm warm as it curved around your hand. “What you said, it’s true. I.. Shit.” He smiled, a sadness in his eyes you had not seen and blamed yourself for, “Here I am dumping my baggage on you.”

Steve sighed but didn’t let your hand go. You didn’t mind; you didn’t want him to.

“My parents just threw money at gifts for me. Totally impersonal shit I didn’t need, or want. They didn’t know me or what I liked, all for appearances and shit like that.” You watched soft fondness pull at the corner of his mouth. “So I put thought into stuff for my friends. They’re my family now. They annoy the hell out of me some days, but I want them to know… I dunno, that I listen. That I hear them. And see them, what they like…”

He trailed off when you turned your hand beneath his and squeezed.

“That’s the sweetest, Steve. They’re very lucky to have you.” Your voice was a gentle murmur, loud enough for him to hear.

He shrugged, playing smooth again despite the reality check he had been dealt. “M’the lucky one. They’re buttheads, but they have my back too. Promise.”

You nodded and tried not to flush when you looked at your joined hands.

“Tell me something about you then, Steve… I don’t even know your last name. What’s your favourite colour?”

He smiled again, back on some new track now after that detour to the trauma dump. “I like yellow. I usually say blue, because when I say yellow people look at me like I’m crazy or somethin’. Yellow. Definitely.”

It clicked then, the warmth of his smile and his presence glowed like yellow sunshine and the golden bulbs of Christmas lights that could warm up the most frigid places. Warm like melted butter on toast and the glow of the lamp beside your bed for reading late into the night. It made you feel warm despite the winter cold.

“And it’s Harrington. Steve Harrington.”

“Yellow suits you, Steve Harrington.”

You and Steve moved on to clove-heavy hot whiskies as you traded questions back and forth, learning about each other little by little. You found it hard not to fall a little bit in love with him as he became less of a stranger to you.

He played basketball in school and swam competitively. His favourite films were Top Gun and Dirty Dancing. He preferred pancakes over waffles and didn’t like bacon on his burgers. You spoke briefly about what you did for work and focused instead on trivial things that showed each other the real you, the real Steve Harrington.

What’s your middle name?

Best Halloween costume?

Most important question ever, crunchy or smooth?

He was as close to perfect as you had ever dreamed someone could be.

Two middle names, Henry Michael.

Maverick, or Sandy from Grease - don’t ask, I’m not drunk enough.

Crunchy, duh. Have you tried it with honey instead of jelly?

A tiny cynical part of you waited for something about him to dislike. You could have kept waiting, kept wondering, but instead you decided to relent to the simple serendipity of it all. Maybe there was nothing to dislike about Steve (Henry Michael) Harrington, and that was perfectly okay.

You sat alone at the table, watching Steve’s broad back as he leaned against the bar to get change for the jukebox. That golden glow of his made him like the North Star in the business of the bar; simultaneously exciting you and making you deliciously nervous.

The first couple of people left the bar to bravely trek home through the mean cold streets a little after nine, promising to call to let the bar staff know they got back safe and advise whether others should stay or chance the journey home. Everyone had agreed to a lock-in until morning if the snow didn’t stop or if the conditions got too dangerous.

You all waited on a collective breath for the phone to ring; drinks flowed, and conversations continued and deepened over strong drinks. Feeling comfortably blurred around the edges, the spirits stayed high despite the less-than-perfect circumstances.

The shrill ringing of the phone behind the bar pulled the air from the room, silence fell.

Home safe. The barman gave a thumbs up and relayed the message that the streets were walkable, a few taxis were running if you were lucky to catch one.

Steve’s searching gaze found yours as everyone else cheered. The bubble had burst.

His smile was a little sad, matching yours despite the good news that you could actually go home. He held up a finger, ‘one sec’, and darted to the jukebox with his handful of change to queue up some songs before you had to say goodbye.

Goodbye.

You didn’t want to say goodbye to Steve Harrington.

A heavy weight settled in your chest as you took stock of your bags, distracting yourself until Steve settled himself across from you again. His hand patted the smooth table top twice, head tilted to look at your face.

“Y’okay?” he asked. “Guess it’s good that we don’t need to sleep here tonight..?”

“Mhm. Definitely. Just… trying to figure out how long it’s going to take me to get home,” you said, not totally a lie. Your smile didn’t meet your eyes, even though you looked forward to getting into your cosy bed with the brushed cotton bedsheets and your fuzzy flannel pyjamas.

“Me too. What way are you headed?” Steve said, an innocent glimmer of hopefulness in his eyes.

When you told him where you lived he nodded. “M’not far from there. I’d… really like to walk you home, if that’s okay? Or try to find a cab…We could share?” Steve rambled a little, his smooth exterior cracking. “Fuck it. I want to make sure you get home safe, and I like talking to you. A little part of me was hoping we’d get snowed in or something so stupid so I could spend more time with you.”

You looked at him across the table, wide-eyed as your heart hammered in your chest.

“Is that crazy of me? I’m coming on way too strong, aren’t I?”

“Steve.”

You smiled, taking his hand. “That would be really great. I kinda hoped the same. I’d like it if you walked me home.”

His smile was blinding as he took your hand between both of his, warm and large. “Okay, great. Cool.”

“Cool,” you echoed, placing your other hand on top of his like a stack as you tried not to giggle or kick your feet.

The familiar opening chords of Old Time Rock and Roll played from the jukebox, making you both grin wider at each other.

“It’s a classic, I couldn’t not put it on,” he said.

You threw your head back, laughing happily as Steve murmur-sang along with Bob Seger, bobbing his head as he crooned quietly for you. You knew about the scar on his arm from when he recreated that scene at a party; slid too hard, right into his mother’s second-favourite vase as his friends cheered him on (then drove him to the ER).

“Don’t tell me you put something from Dirty Dancing on next, Steve,” you teased, seeing his eyes sparkle with a sly sweetness. “Steve!”

Your laugh made him feel tingly-warm all over.

“It’s not Time of My Life or She’s Like the Wind, promise,” he said, smirking as he kept his cards close to his chest. “Promise. We can go when it’s over. If you’re ready to head out?”

You nodded, squeezing his hands before rooting in your bag for your gloves. Knowing that you didn’t have to part ways just yet made the idea of being out in the cold a little more tolerable.

“You been taking photos of the lights?” Steve asked, picking up your camera from the table after taking it out of your bag.

He remembered that ‘new in town’ excitement, still had the photos of him with Robin in front of the tree at Civic Centre (fresh-faced and pink-cheeked after too much mulled wine). The big tree had been nothing on their own lovably wonky tree in their tiny apartment, decorated with cheap baubles and coloured lights and tinsel that shed so much .

“Yeah, to show my Mom. Super cheesy, I know,” you rolled your eyes and watched as Steve turned it so carefully in his hands. “Might get some snaps of the snow, to remember tonight.”

As Steve nodded, an idea bobbed to the surface of your mind.

“Steve? Feel free to say no but… Could I get one of us? To remember…”

As if you would ever forget the night you met Steve Harrington.

Steve watched your teeth sink into your lower lip, let his eyes linger before catching your eyes. You saw the whiskey-brown disappear, swallowed by deep black pupils.

“Only if you get me a copy of it.”

His voice was low, smooth, and made your thighs squeeze - not for the first time that evening either. Without saying as much, you knew it meant he would like to see you again, that he didn’t want to forget you either.

You kept your voice remarkably cool and calm, despite the urge to squeal and kick your feet. “Yeah. Of course…”

He winked before leaning over to catch the attention of the woman at the next table, checking with you before he passed your camera to her with that bright charming smile of his.

The woman directed you both to lean in a little across the small booth table, taking her task very seriously. “You two look great! So cute!” she said, beaming behind the camera.

The opening bars of Hungry Eyes started up as she counted down.

It made the perfect picture; Steve grinning as he watched a giggle burst from your smiling lips. Your head was spinning, your heart beating hard in your chest - when you looked at that photo in years to come, you would never forget that feeling.

He thanked the woman and took the camera back as you soaked the lyrics in, thinking of Steve instead of Swayze. As you tucked the camera away, you realised that the song said more than either of you were brave enough to say out loud.

I feel the magic between you and I…

When your glasses were empty, when the butterflies had settled again, you began to wrap yourselves in your scarves and coats, hats and gloves, and gather your bags and belongings before braving the cold together.

The warmth in your bones from the bar was quickly extinguished by the bitter air outside, though you couldn’t pretend that the snow was not beautiful. A little post-apocalyptic perhaps, but beautiful nonetheless.

“Fuck, that’s cold,” Steve hissed, his words turning to vapour as you set off together, leaving footprints side by side in the crunchy snow.

“No shit,” you teased, giggling at Steve’s scowl.

The combination of frigid air and the alcohol in your blood made you feel delightfully dizzy. Steve’s hair was crushed beneath his beanie hat, the longer ends peeking out beneath between his turned-up coat collar and scarf. Something about how much hair he could squeeze under that fine (expensive) knit hat made you feel terribly fond and giddy about it.

“Okay, smartass. You were such a nice girl in the bar,” he tutted, teasing you back.

“Tricked you,” you shrugged, “I was never nice.” Your chattering teeth make your playful quips much less believable - as if Steve couldn’t see right through you.

“C’mere. Stick by me, we’ll either stay warm or freeze together.” Hooking a hand around your arm, Steve pulled you close to share body heat. Closer than you had been in the bar, body to body, you found that you fit nicely under his arm. Spicy-warm notes of his cologne mixed with whispers of cigarette smoke buried deep in the wool of his coat.

You smiled up at him, a shiver of nervousness down your spine as you realised you were alone together - actually alone now - for the first time.

“This okay?” he asked, pink nose matching his cheeks as he steered you both through the snow.

“Yeah,” you said, smiling back. With your arm wrapped around the thickness of his torso, you squeezed gently and hoped he could feel it through the winter layers. His grin told you he did.

You walked in silence for a while, carrying the weight of ‘when can I see you again?’ and ‘please tell me you feel that spark too?’ with all of your shopping bags.

“Hey, Steve?”

“Yeah?” His eyes shone, sparkled with something when he looked down at you.

“We still haven’t figured out a present for Mike…”

Steve hung his head, eyes squeezed shut as your feet slowed down. “This fuckin’ kid.”

He lifted his head after sighing so hard you swore he was going to turn inside out.

“Mike Wheeler is going to be the death of me, I swear to god,” he said, speaking up to the sky. “He’s getting a Sam Goody gift card. Done. I don’t care anymore.”

“Steve Harrington, you can’t pussy-out and get him a gift card,” you tutted, leaning your weight against him to make him swerve.

The way Steve’s laugh echoed through the empty snow-capped streets made your heart flutter. “You did not just accuse me of being a pussy. You’re breaking my heart here, baby.”

When he looked down at you, eyes sparkling with mirth rather than genuine hurt from your playful betrayal, you could not miss how his tongue darted out to wet his pretty pink lips.

Baby echoed in your ears, warming you from the inside.

“You cannot get him a gift card.” Voice quiet and insistent, you squeezed him again, “Think, Steve.”

“I am.” Played-up-pathetic, Steve’s whiney voice made you double-take and giggle at him. “He’s impossible.”

“No one is impossible. Tell me what he likes again. Don’t say ‘nerd shit’, Steve.”

Steve rolled his eyes and you poked his ribs, far too cosy and familiar with the man who was a stranger just a few hours ago.

“Dungeons and Dragons, weed,” he listed, “He writes stuff sometimes, films, uh… Taco Bell?”

“He likes films too?”

“Mm. Studying film. Wants to be a screenwriter or somethin’...”

You hummed and looked up at the clear sky for an answer. “How about… a framed film poster?”

“Say more.” Steve looked down at you, prettier than the stars ever could be.

You forced yourself not to look at his lips, knowing you were a weak tipsy woman at heart. “Well, what’s his favourite film? Posters are pretty easy to find, a nice-ish frame. Slap a bow on it, Merry Christmas, Mike.”

Padded fingers tapped your upper arm as Steve thought, wracking his brains. “When they were kids, they dressed up as Ghostbusters for Halloween. Recreated it this year. Oh, you’re a fuckin’ genius!”

Steve squeezed you tight against his side, and with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes, scooped you up with admirable ease to spin around in the snow.

“Steve!” your voice was an undignified yelp, cracked with laughter.

“You’ve saved Christmas!” Steve’s smiling face was brighter than any Christmas lights guiding your path home. Still turning with you, slower now and more careful, he rested his forehead against yours and murmured, “You’re some kinda miracle, baby.”

Steve’s warm whiskey-tinted words whispered over your mouth. Your breath was caught, choked in a gasp in your throat, as he slowed down his spinning to ease you down onto the snowy empty road. Arms still wrapped around each other, shopping bags crushed and be-damned, you stood toe to toe just looking at each other.

“Can I..?” Quietly smooth and charming, Steve’s eyes dipped to your lips.

Instead of giving him an answer, using your words like a big girl, you grabbed a handful of his coat to bring your mouths together in a kiss.

Christmas lights twinkled above you, like movie magic or fairy dust. Lips pressed and lingered, kisses slow and sweet. It was everything you dreamed it would be, better even as Steve hauled you closer still and traced his nose against yours.

Smiling, breaths warming each other’s faces, you let Steve lead the next kiss - after all he had asked so nicely. One gloved hand on your cheek, his lips slotted with yours before he deepened the kiss with a tenderness that made your bones ache. Had he not been holding you so close, had you not been moored safely in the circle of his arms, you would have surely swooned.

His kisses warmed you, sending sparks through your limbs as his tongue grazed yours with a promise of more. You felt his lips tug and smile in response to the tiny gasping noise that escaped from your throat. Slowly, so sweetly, he kissed the side of your mouth and up to the warm apple of your cheek.

“Wanted to do that all night,” he murmured, making sure you were steady to stand before peeling away slightly.

“Me too.” You grinned, a giggle barely held behind your teeth. “Knew you were looking at my lips.”

“Oh yeah? Should’ve kissed you sooner then.” A smiling peck pressed to your lips as your reward, your gold star for being so observant, before you righted and reoriented yourselves for the rest of the walk home.

With most of your bags in Steve’s steady hand (the one that was not keeping you close to his side), you trekked together toward home as more frosty flakes fell from the dark night sky.

The heat of your kiss had melted something more between you, both relieved that you weren’t the delusional one, that you both felt that same something.

Without much traffic, meeting only a few other pedestrians trekking home in the snow, it felt like the journey was about to end far too soon. You passed and pointed out the place where you got your photo-film developed, your favourite diner, Steve’s favourite coffee place which happened to be by the bookstore you liked.

“I don’t wanna be presumptuous,” Steve said, “But I’d love to see you again.” He looked down at your face, feeling his heart beat harder. “I’ve never met someone like you… Y’know, when you click right away?”

“I’d like that, Steve. I’d like that so much.” Butterfly wings fluttered hard in your chest as you watched his smile melt onto his handsome face. “Anyway, I want to know how that Secret Santa goes down.”

His grin was brighter than the snow. “You have full credit for that, honey.” Smiling lips kissed your forehead, just where your hat ended. He had scribbled his number on a clean napkin back at the bar, tucked it in his pocket to slip to you if (when) you said yes to seeing him again.

You let yourself lean into him, nuzzling his cologne-and-smoke-spiced arm before sighing. With your door in sight, you took a breath and made yourself be brave.

“This is me, just up here.”

You spotted the recognition on Steve’s face. This was goodnight - at least it wasn’t goodbye.

“We’re not so far from each other. I’m like.. Five blocks that way.” He pointed off to the left, somewhere you did not bother to follow in favour of looking up at Steve.

Now or never. This didn’t have to be goodnight…

“Hey, so I don't love the idea of you out here on your own in the snow. What if you freeze into an ice cube, or slip and crack your head?”

As your teeth grazed your lower lip, you watched his cheek pulse as he tried not to smile at your dreamed-up worries. Your own smile was barely hidden, ducked briefly behind your thick scarf.

“Huh. I didn’t think of that.” Steve bobbed his head, faux-thoughtful as he considered his next steps. “Pretty perilous…”

“Christmas would be cancelled…” You bit the inside of your cheek.

“Oh shit, you think?” his brows raised beneath his beanie, a knowing smile gave him away. You couldn’t possibly match Steve’s smooth charm.

You took a little breath in before asking the question you both knew the answer to.

“So, you might… You could stay the night? With me. If you want to.”

Steve measured himself and tried not to be too eager at the thought of more time with you, more kisses. “You sure?” he asked, glancing up at your building before looking right back at you.

You nodded slowly, smiling when you spotted the fresh snowflakes on his lashes, dusted over his broad shoulders too. “Mmhm. I’m sure.”

Steve smiled, closing the gap between you to kiss you again as the snow fell. “Then I’ll stay.”

Thank you for reading💙 Likes, reblogs and comments are loved, cherished and stored in a little locket 💙

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fluff #90's steve harrington #steve stranger things #steve harrington x f!reader #promptparty #steve harrington #holiday prompt party #steve harrington fanfic #bangaveragefics

332 notes · View notes

bangaveragewhitewine · 5 days

Text

Steve Harrington x Reader

Airport Meet Cute - inspired by @loveshotzz Older Steve from Colors & All I really want is you

Clean Slate - A blind date with a familiar face might just be the clean slate you didn’t know you needed

Pinch Me - After your first date with a familiar face from home, waking up next to Steve feels like something out of a dream. (A follow up to Clean Slate) 18+

Wanna be with you everywhere - After moving into your first apartment together, Steve reminds you that the most important thing is right in front of you

At home with the Harringtons - Snapshots of life as Mrs Steve Harrington (dad!Steve x mom!reader) 18+

feel the magic - Seven days before Christmas, you find yourself stuck in a snowstorm in the middle of a city you're still finding your place in. You wait out the weather with a handsome stranger

Happy Birthday Steve - A short and sweet peek at a morning with your favourite birthday boy

back to the main masterlist

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #dad!steve harrington #dad!steve harrington x mom!reader #bangaveragefics #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #masterlist

263 notes · View notes

bangaveragewhitewine · 6 days

Text

Happy Birthday Steve

A short and sweet peek at a morning with your favourite birthday boy.

Word count: 533

Author’s note: seeing as it’s our boyfriend Joe Keery’s birthday, I felt a wee bit inspired to write some more early morning Steve sweetness 🩷 written on my phone and barely proofread, but we move!

Your eyes open to milky white dawn on the walls, dappled with morning sun like gold-leaf breaching through the gauzy curtains. In that cocoon between sleep and wakefulness, you feel the warm weight of his arm and the puff of slumber-sweet breath against you.

Steve radiates warmth like a personal space heater throughout the seasons, like the welcoming hug of home and comfort and safety when you need him.

You turn your head on the pillow to watch him, older now than he was when you fell asleep together last night. Lifting your heavy head, you brush a kiss to his temple and murmur ‘Happy Birthday Steve’ quiet enough not to wake him fully, loud enough to leech into his hazy peace so he knows he is loved and adored and worshipped.

It is too early move and begin the day proper. Too soon to begin brewing coffee and toasting bagels and cutting up fruit to share between the sheets. You are too comfortable to slip away from the warm bed to place a candle in the surprise cupcake and sing a quiet ‘Happy Birthday to you’ in your morning voice in place of the usual shrill of the alarm.

Soon, in time. Not yet.

Steve shifts beside you, pulling you close again as he huffs into the pillow. The sleepy scowling frown between his brows softens, relaxed again as he dreams on. The smooth pad of your thumb passes over the crease, chasing away the dregs of whatever pissed him off inside his head. You look forward to hearing what it was, told in his tired timbre, when he wakes.

When - not if, when - he wakes and catches you staring, gazing, mooning over him, he will smile into the cotton pillowcase and call you a creep, light-voiced without an ounce of malice or meanness. He will pull you close and pretend to groan as you pepper his face and anywhere else you can reach with birthday kisses until his cheeks are pink and aching, until you are both at bursting point with how much you adore each other, how happy you are together.

There’s a party planned for later, much later and too far away from your dreamy morning bliss to fret about. The cake is ordered and the balloons will be bright and round, there will be paper plates stained with pizza grease and sweet icing. The Party is surprise-party-ready with presents for Steve - who you think has cottoned on to the plans but he has kept schtum out of kindness. He turned a blind-eye to the hushed heads-together chats with Robin, the phone calls with Dustin or Max or a cacophony of competing voices on the other end.

It will be far from the for-show extravagance of his childhood birthday parties and the cheap-beer fuelled ragers of his teens. As long as you are there, propped on his lap as he blows out candles or tucked under his arm with your fingers in his back pocket in the kitchen, it will be a good birthday.

But for now, you linger in that cosy space with the weight of Steve’s arm keeping you near and his breath on your neck.

dividers by @saradika-graphics 🩷

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n fluff #bangaveragefics #bangaveragefic #Steve Harrington x y/n #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic

149 notes · View notes

bangaveragewhitewine · 7 months

Text

such a flirt!

Eddie Munson x Reader (bouncer x bartender, established relationship)

May 1992

Flirting with Eddie Munson was in your top five favourite things to do. To flirt and be flirted with was written through him like a stick of rock candy. Feeling secure in your relationship, you don't let it bother you too much - you know that no matter how many women (and men) gave him doe eyes and fluttered their lashes, Eddie would be going home with you.

That being said, you saw red when Crystal showed up.

A follow-up to crazy-mad for you & I'm yours, all yours. (part of the Happy Hours series)

Word count: 7.9k

Content / Warnings: Jealous!Reader, feeling insecure & spiralling, comparing yourself to another person, mention of being cheated on in the past. A tiny fight (kinda). Female OC. Flirting, turned all the way up to eleven. Bi-panic 😈. This is 18+ if you are not 18 please read something else; semi-public sex, fingering, a hefty helping of dirty talk, slight perv!Eddie and mention of bruises left after sex. Eddie ‘Motormouth’ Munson, a certified menace.

This one is quite introspective, a look into Bartender-reader’s self-doubt and insecurities.

Author’s note: Well girls, we’re back. I really can’t get these two out of my head. Thank you to bestie @specialagentmonkey for proofreading ♥️

Flirting with Eddie Munson was in your top five favourite things to do.

To flirt and be flirted with was written through him like a stick of rock candy. Perfected and fine-tuned over time, Eddie was smooth-talking, honey-tongued and could undress you with a simple glance - all things that had drawn you to your co-worker-turned-boyfriend. To bear witness to his talent (one of many, to be fair) had helped you to up your own flirt-game; figuring out how he liked to be flirted with, what made his pupils blow wide, or his tongue dart out to wet his lip. Flirtation was part of the very foundation of your relationship with the curly-haired rocker.

Working together made your flirtation extra fun, a tool for extended foreplay while you poured shots and beers, while Eddie checked IDs and did his rounds to make sure no one was bumping coke in the bathroom (again).

It also meant that you both had seen your other half be flirted with by strangers more times than you could even quantify. It was part of the job, a grin-and-bear-it part that sent Eddie home with more than one feather boa or a smeared lipstick mark on his cheek from a bachelorette party (bachelorettes loved your boyfriend, and you understood why). It also often meant you could make a few extra dollars on tips if and when you allowed it, extra dollars to buy a book or new tape you wanted or pay for takeout on your next night off together.

You felt secure enough in your relationship to not let it bother you too much, knowing that no matter how many women (and men) gave him doe eyes and fluttered their lashes, Eddie would be going home with you.

That being said, you saw red when Crystal showed up.

It had started off as a usual shift; a Friday night in early May; the weather was warming up and the new cocktail menu you had put together was already proving popular. You and Eddie arrive together after an afternoon of lazy sex, reading together in bed and taking turns to make coffee before hauling yourselves up for a shared shower and a pre-shift diner dinner.

By now you had all but officially moved into Eddie’s little apartment. You spent the odd night apart if you were meeting friends, or if Eddie had a gig, but oftentimes he would come crash at your place instead of going two more blocks home. His little one-bed apartment had begun to feel very much like home. You felt the question might be coming soon after he was a little too interested in your lease agreement and when it was up for renewal. If you had paid a little more attention, you might have noticed the dogeared YellowPages bookmarked with a scrap of paper on a page of addresses of key-cutting places on your side of the city.

You walked in the back door of Jackie’s, Eddie hot on your heels with his fingers dipping into the back pocket of your denim skirt to poke the mouth-shaped bruise he had bestowed upon your asscheek. It was in the tender purple-black stage, and he loved to rile you up by pawing at it.

“Quit it!” you hiss at him, scowling over your shoulder. “You’re a fuckin’ menace, Munson.”

Eddie’s clever comeback is cut off by a roar of laughter from the bar. The bar doesn’t open for another hour so it’s only the other staff in before you.

“Weird.” Eddie double-checks his watch to make sure he didn’t keep you late making out in the car or lose an hour somewhere.

“Definitely weird,” you agree. “Is it someone’s birthday? Shit…” You think through the calendar in your head. Frank’s birthday isn’t for another two weeks…

Eddie shrugs and cranes his neck as you turn the handle of the staff room door. “Go ahead out, nosy. Be there soon.”

Eddie pauses, makes sure you’re alone, and takes advantage of the distraction in the bar to press you against the doorframe. With an almost predatory grin, he leans in for a slow filthy kiss. Taking your surprised little gasp for an opportunity to slide his tongue against yours, he pulls that little gasping moan that he loves right from your throat.

“Love you,” he murmurs before grazing your lip with his teeth. “Don’t miss me too much.”

He smacks a final kiss to your warm cheek and gives your achy butt one more squeeze before hot-footing it to the bar to see what’s going on.

You hear his throaty laugh as he leaves you close to panting against the wall. “Asshole.”

The staff room door muffles the noise as you scowl to yourself, left throbbing between your legs in more ways than one. As you swipe on some lipstick and tie your apron with a bow, you contemplate just how to get Eddie back for kissing you like something straight out of a smutty romance novel. After a final once-over in the mirror, you head out to join in on whatever is going on.

Sitting on the bar, holding court, is the most stunning woman you have ever seen. She’s got these shiny green siren-eyes that command attention with hypnotic power. She reminds you of a copper-haired Kelly Bundy with deep red lips and the perkiest tits you have ever seen.

She’s hot.

She’s also got her hand on Eddie’s shoulder, toying with the freshly trimmed ends of his hair and twisting the coils around her long manicured nails.

It makes something acidic unfurl and burn in your chest.

He doesn’t even look over when you step out from the back, too busy nodding along to whatever the reincarnated Birth of Venus is saying.

Through the sheer black of her blouse, you can spy ink that will have taken hours to press into creamy blemish-free skin, black and sharp and perfect. She carries an air of ‘your friend's cool older sister’, something utterly unattainable that makes you feel like an awkward teen again.

Michelle beckons you over, flashing a smile when she sees you. “Hi sweetie,” she squeezes your hand with a little whisper.

“Who’s -?” you mouth silently, not wanting to interrupt when this siren-woman has everyone hanging on every word.

Before she can even answer, the goddess has everyone laughing again and she turns her attention on the late-comer to her one-woman show. You.

“Oh hi! You’re new!” Her voice is sultry and smoky-smooth. “I’m Crystal, used to work here way back. You’re…?”

New? In a couple of months, it will be two whole years since you first stepped foot inside Jackie’s and scored a job the same night.

You plaster on a smile, feeling tiny as you gaze up at the goddess on her plinth. You tell her your name, eyes darting to Eddie briefly but Frank has his ear while Crystal questions you.

Michelle wraps her arm around your shoulders. “She’s a superstar. Our cocktail queen! Designed the new menu and everything,” she squeezes you against her and leans her blonde head against yours.

“Oh, cute! You have to make me something later, okay?” Crystal insists, glancing at the board behind the bar where your carefully curated creations have been colourfully chalked up by Eddie’s artistic hand, complete with little illustrations of cocktail glasses - you had teared up when they surprised you with it.

Crystal taps Eddie’s shoulder. “Ed, what’s good on the menu? Is there anything better than my Long Islands? You know, I used to make him drinks after every shift.”

You watch your boyfriend smirk before he catches your eye. “Those were lethal, Crys. There’s not one bad drink on the menu. She worked super hard on it, best sellers all round.” Eddie winks at you, smiling proudly. It should settle then twisting discomfort in your chest but it barely touches the sides.

“You’re such a flirt, Ed. My god.” Crystal laughs and shoves his shoulder gently before hopping down with her graceful long legs. “You got a cigarette? We better let them get the bar prepped. Friday nights are always so crazy here.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Crystal flashes a smile your way, something playful. “See ya later for that drink.”

Warm-cheeked and grey-matter scrambled, you watch Eddie pat down his pockets as Frank and the other bar staff tell Crystal how good it is to see her again. Jeff is already walking ahead toward the door, playing it smooth and cool though his eyes are hearts on stalks like a cartoon character.

“Inside left, Ed,” you say, pointing out where his battered pack of smokes were hidden. You had slipped them in there after all.

Eddie breathes a sigh of relief, a grin on his face - he plans on quitting or at least cutting down but right now, a shift without smokes doesn’t bear thinking about. He’s about to say thanks but you have already turned your back to hide your pink cheeks, ashamed of the jealousy coursing through you.

It pisses you off more when he doesn’t come over anyway for one more kiss. Your lips still buzz from the swoon-worthy smooch he had laid on you but it turns to a sting as he turns and follows Crystal instead.

You distract yourself with your to-do list before the bar opens and ponder over the history your boyfriend may or may not have with Jessica fucking Rabbit.

You’re lucky not to lose a finger with how furiously you chop wedges and slices of lemons and limes, feeling totally on edge when you think about Crystal and Eddie laughing and smoking together. The last time you had seen another girl touch his hair he had very kindly moved her hand and directed her to the bar to buy a drink from you, ‘the hottie bartender, she’s my girlfriend - tell her Eddie says hi’.

Michelle lets you stew a bit as she checks the taps and restocks the straws and napkins. She catches you swearing at an unopenable jar of maraschinos, fearing you may smash the jar and slice your hand if you don’t quit knocking it on the counter.

“Okay, what’s going on? Did those cherries kill your grandma?” she asks, taking the jar from your lime-juice-sticky hands.

“Nothing's going on. I’m fine.”

Liar. You’re actively thinking about how good Eddie and Crystal looked side-by-side and you hate it. Red and black, his favourite colours.

“Do you have cramps? Are you and Eddie fighting or somethin’?” she asks, hand on her hips.

“No, and no. Just… Ugh.” You know Michelle doesn’t give up until she gets an answer. You love and hate her for it, she’s definitely one of your best friends for life now - especially when she opens the cherries without breaking a sweat.

“Spill, babe.” She spears four cherries with two toothpicks; one for you and one for her.

You accept it with a little smile that fades quickly and use the distraction to figure out how to say what you want to ask without sounding like a crazy person.

“Crystal… Did she and Eddie…?” You brace for impact.

Michelle raises one thin brow as she chews the sticky red fruit. “Go out? Fuck? Nuh-uh, don’t think so. You’d have to ask him though, babe. She’s just… super flirty. They were friendly, and I think she had a little crush on him.” She shrugs, “He left for tour before she quit, she moved out west.”

You nod, chewing the second cherry without really tasting it. “Yeah,” you sigh. “I guess… I just thought he might’ve told her I was his girlfriend or something.”

Michelle watches your shoulder slump and pulls you in for a one-armed hug. “Maybe he should’ve. He did hype up your cocktails - he does that when he’s checking IDs y’know, gives out recommendations and everything. Totally whipped, huh?”

She kisses your head and squeezes you to her side. “Don’t let it get to you. Crys will get bored soon, especially if he’s not flirting back. She’s a Vegas gal now, I doubt we’re to her standards anymore.”

You lean your head against your friend and fold yourself into a hug. “Thank you. You’re the best.” After a few moments, you speak again. “She’s so pretty.”

“Ugh, I know. Makes my piss boil, she’s so hot.”

You both break into giggles as you squeeze each other extra tight, pinky-swearing to have a girls’ night the next time you both have the same night off.

With a little boost from Michelle, you finish setting up the bar and write up the night’s drink specials on the menu boards. You turn the music up to cover the sound of Eddie’s throaty laugh as it carries from inside the door, trying to ignore the twisting feeling in your gut.

It’s busy from the off tonight and though you had plenty to distract you as you poured and mixed drinks, tendrils of jealousy crept in and coiled around you like boa constrictors. You half-watched Crystal flit and flirt around, distracting the other bartenders when she wasn’t lingering far too close to the door for your liking.

Why hadn’t he ever mentioned her before? Had he flirted with her like had with you before you got together? Was she going to take her job back and take your boyfriend too?

If she didn’t seem so fond of your boyfriend, you might just be in awe of her and want to be her best friend. Alas, your hang-ups don’t extend such kindness and instead make you bitterly territorial as you shrink into yourself, feeling like a toe in comparison to her.

You want to take your overloaded brain out and shake the stupid thoughts out in a chilled silver shaker, strain them away before screwing your head back on so you could be normal about the woman who might have no ulterior motive for hanging around your boyfriend.

Around nine thirty you step away from the bar to take your turn collecting empties from tables; the crowd is cheerful and you move around them with ease. Crystal isn’t anywhere and you see Eddie chatting to Frank by the door before the big boss heads home for the night. Your shoulders relax a little, hoping that Michelle is right and the redhead had decided to find somewhere a bit more salubrious for the rest of her night.

It’s almost time for your first break; you need a stone-cold Diet Coke and ideally a joint - but that’s a post-shift treat, so fresh air will have to do.

The catchy part of En Vogue’s My Lovin’ plays on a loop in your head as you drag yourself to the back door with your fizzing pint glass of Coke and lime. The ice clinks out of tune with your hum-singing.

You’re almost at the door when you realise there’s someone else out there before you. The rest of the staff is behind the bar and Eddie doesn’t take his five minutes this early (not when the door is peak-busy). You try to spy through the gap in the door where it’s propped open with a crate and see a flash of shiny copper, perched on your stool.

The click of ice against glass gives you away and Crystal turns her head, spotting you peeking. She’s not even supposed to be out here, but at least she’s not haunting Eddie - small mercies, you guess. You give her a tight smile and step outside.

“Oh, hi. Is it your break?”

“Yeah. Just my five.” You shrug and sip your drink, leaning against the cool bricks as Crystal eyes you from behind the smoke of her menthol cigarette.

“Want one?” she asks, offering the packet out.

You do. You miss the menthol burn from high school parties. “Sure. Thanks.”

She gives you a little smile and passes you the packet, a new Bic lighter under her thumb to light you up.

“Is it nice to be back?” you ask, filling the silence after your thank you as Crystal looks at her nails. Up close you can see a few of her tattoos beneath her sheer blouse; a rose on her shoulder, a fierce trad style leopard on her inner arm.

“Oh yeah. Missed the guys, they’re such sweethearts.” She smiles and watches you sip your drink. You feel like a lamb next to her, an elegant lioness. “You like working here?”

“I really do. They’re kinda like family now.” It’s no word of a lie.

“Cute. It was one of the best places I worked.” She stubs her smoke under the block of her heel. “You work with Eddie much?”

And there it is.

You take a long minty drag. “Yeah, pretty often. We’re usually scheduled on the same shifts.”

Crystal nods her head. “Super hot right? Somethin’ nice to look at to make the night go faster huh?” You watch her lips curve into a coy grin.

Your own smile is a little at her expense.

“Oh for sure.” You double-fist your drink and cigarette, tapping the ash off carefully. “That’s why we don’t let him behind the bar, leave him by the door to draw in the girls.” You echo Frank and Michelle’s teasing of your boyfriend; his heavy pours and clumsiness with glasses are the main reasons he stays stationed on security, but it’s fun to tease him.

Crystal laughs at that, head thrown back. “Right?! And such a flirt!”

It’s the second time she mentioned that tonight. It wasn’t a lie - you’re simply used to being the only subject of Eddie’s well-practised flirtation after seven months of being his girlfriend.

It rattles around your head, clanging like a bell. Such a flirt! There are a few beats of silence before she speaks again.

“Hey, do you know if he’s seeing anyone?” Crystal asks. “I’m flying back out on Sunday. The rockstar thing really does it for me.”

You feel a stone - nay, a boulder - sink in your belly and take another drink as she continues. God, you wish you had spiked this for yourself, smoky-sweet rum or clean sharp vodka. The chill of the ice and menthol can’t dampen the burn in your chest, a heady mix of jealousy and rage.

“I was going to try and link up with him when he was on tour, I was in L.A. for a bit before the move to Las Vegas. I thought he might stick around out there a while,” Crystal digs around in her purse for her compact and lipstick as she speaks, prettying her already stunning self up for your boyfriend. “Maybe tonight’s my night,” she says, touching up her powder before looking at you for an answer.

You blink a few times, bathing your sticky tongue with cold Coke before you can speak.

“Sorry, Crystal.” Your voice is surprisingly steady for how all over the place you feel. “Yeah, he’s definitely got a girlfriend. Together almost a year.” You blow menthol smoke into the air, feeling it turn your mouth acrid in a way that can’t be balanced by your sweet drink. You crush the half-smoked cig under your boot and push off the wall to head back inside.

“Guess tonight’s not your night,” you say, shrugging.

It’s a little bitchy and mean when you could just put her out of her misery. Instead, you just turn and head back inside, cutting your short break even shorter. You shut the door behind you, slamming it just hard enough to make a point.

You should have just told her, acted like a grown-up instead of a jealous teenager with a chip on your shoulder. The anxious little worm in your brain had decided for you, calling out ‘don’t tell her, she won’t believe that Eddie would want a girl like you when goddess-women like her walk the earth!’

As you rest your back to the door, you squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath.

In for four, hold for four, out for four.

Eddie isn’t like Connor. He’s not like Eric either.

Years of hurt and heartbreak, being someone’s number one until someone better, prettier, funnier came along, had made you wary of dating when you boxed up your life and moved to Chicago. You had gone on a few really crappy dates last summer before getting together with Eddie, before he showed you the real him (unexpectedly sweet-hearted, willing to get a bloody nose in a fight for you).

His flirty nature had made you wary of having your heart broken by a charming ladies' man all over again. But that’s not your Eddie. He had promised you that wasn’t him, showered you with love and promised you were it for him. He never seemed frustrated with affirming his feelings for you, promising you it was the real deal. He loved the heartbroken girl inside you just as much as he adored the woman you are now.

Having a borderline existential crisis on your five-minute break wasn’t the respite you had planned from the busy bar. As you splash cool water on your wrists and spritz your warm cheeks with rose water, you just hope that Crystal isn’t one of the girls who sees a man with a girlfriend as a fun challenge rather than off-limits.

When you feel a little less shaky - or steady enough to not drop every glass you pick up - you tag one of the other barmen to go on his five and slot back into your pit of self-loathing, hidden behind a smile and the beer taps. By the time you shake up six Appletinis and a tray of Blowjob shots for a table of girls celebrating a birthday, you have convinced yourself that Eddie would probably be better off with Crystal instead of your petty jealous ass.

You’re so deep in your wallowing that you miss Eddie darting from the door to your side of the bar. His hand is tapping the drink-slick bar top to get your attention before you even see him.

“Psst. Hey, c’mere. Need to talk to you.”

Are you in trouble? Had Crystal told him about your less-than-friendly behaviour? You plaster a smile on, one that he sees right through.

“Ed, I’m working. What’s wrong?” you ask, stepping away from your station to hear him better over the music.

“M’working too, it’ll just take a sec.” Eddie leans forward, smiling cheekily. “You’re my girlfriend, right?”

Your cheeks heat up. Shit. He knows.

You nod. “Yeah…”

“Lemme hear you say it?” he tilts his head, batting his lashes a little playfully.

You sigh and roll your eyes, pretending that your heart isn’t beating out of your chest, even though it feels a little bruised. “I’m your girlfriend.”

He looks triumphant and amused and pulls your hand in between his own, holding it like a treasure. “Okay, good. Why didn’t you just tell Crys that?”

The rolling boil of hurt that had been bubbling in your chest all evening and into the night doesn’t evaporate with Eddie’s loving little touch.

“Why didn’t you tell her, Ed? You could’ve told her fuckin’ hours ago that I was your girl.”

Your heads are close together as Eddie leans in to hear you over Alannah Myles crooning Black Velvet.

Expecting you to be a little more playful, matching his energy, he sobers and frowns, studying the hurt marring your pretty face. “Oh shit. Honey…”

“It hurt, Ed. You had like two chances right off the bat... How many more did you miss, huh?”

Eddie’s brows disappear under his bangs. “Fuck, it’s not like that. I didn’t realise… Didn’t even think. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah? Good.” You squeeze his hand anyway, proud of yourself for not minimising your feelings to just go back to normal.

“Baby…” “Eddie…”

His Bambi eyes aren’t enough this time. But you know he’s going to feel like shit because he hurt you, which makes you feel crappy for ever doubting him.

“Can I kiss it better?” Eddie’s pouted lower lip is obscenely kissable.

A mid-shift kiss is usually Eddie’s reason for waylaying you at the bar, though he can usually hold off until your break together. He leaves Jeff to man the door when it’s quiet so he can claim his sugar tax or borrow your lip balm (he really has an impressive collection of euphemisms for begging a kiss from you).

You’re usually very forthcoming, and right now you would love a kiss but the opportunity to fuck with him and get a little payback for his romance novella bullshit earlier (getting you worked up before the longest shift of your life) feels too good to miss. Your scheming lifts your mood from the doom spiral, just a little.

Yeah, flirting with Eddie was core to the foundation of your relationship, but so was fucking around with him.

You meet his baby cow eyes with your own gaze, looking through your black-coated lashes.

“You love me?” “To the death.” “Then you can wait.”

Eddie’s jaw drops. One hand clutches his heart as the other holds your hand even tighter. “Baby… You’re really withholding a kiss right now? I said sorry! And I meant it!”

You roll your eyes, classic drama queen Munson. You fucking love him.

“I am.” “You’re killing me.”

You smile and lift his hand to kiss the back of it. “Then suffer. I’ve got customers to serve, Ed. See you at twelve - maybe you’ll get a kiss then.”

You pat his cheek and turn away, hearing the thud of skull versus countertop as he groans like a wounded man.

He’s going to be insufferably lovely for the rest of the weekend to make it up to you.

Your re-found spring in your step has you back in your usual flow as you pour beers side by side with Michelle. Eddie has dragged himself back to the door to sulk, but not before tossing scowling puppy eyes over his shoulder at you.

“I should be pissed you’re slacking off to talk to your boyfriend but whatever that was made you actually smile, so I’m here for it.” She grins and bumps your hip with her own, your signature move together as you work in tandem.

“Just a wee bit of payback. I’ll tell you on girls’ night,” you promise, hearing her laugh as you ring up your customer.

Spirits lifted, albeit at your boyfriend’s expense, you make it through the peak of the night without spiralling any further. In fact, your distraction is all Eddie Eddie Eddie.

At least until the scent of freshly spritzed Dior Poison wafts over the bar as you catch sight of copper and red next in line for you. Crystal.

She looks just as gorgeous when she’s a little bashful, giving you a warm smile - a promise that she comes in peace.

You’re cringing, wishing you could duck behind the bar, but you definitely owe her an apology.

“Hi.”

“Hey, Crystal. I think I owe you a cocktail…”

She smiles, her creamy cheeks blushing in the dim light of the bar. “What do you recommend? I’ve heard you’re like, the queen of mixology and know exactly what drink people will like.”

You can hear Eddie’s praise of you in her words; his little alchemist, his sexy potion-mistress. He took his role of taste-tester in chief with the utmost seriousness.

“Mm, I do my best. You like cherries?” you ask, tilting your head.

“I do.”

She lifts her arm to show you a stick and poke cherry tattoo on her wrist.

“Tequila?”

“Girl… Are you in my brain right now?”

You grin and shake up a mix of cherry liquor, ginger syrup, tequila and lime juice with ice - adding a little extra cherry syrup just because. You pour the mixed margarita into a chilled glass with salt and sugar rim and a cherry garnish.

“Don’t even think of getting your purse out,” you say as you slide it across the bar. “I’m sorry for being weird.”

Crystal accepts the proffered straw and slides it into her drink, taking a slow sip. Her eyes blow wide as the flavours of cherry and earthy tequila bathe her tongue, zinging sharp with bright lime. “This is amazing.”

You smile and shrug. “It’s my personal favourite, and… Well, you strike me as a woman with excellent taste too.”

The thick tension and coiling vines of envy from before are totally gone now as you both share a knowing smile.

“Sorry for flirting with your boyfriend. I definitely wouldn’t have if I knew…” Crystal squeezes your forearm where it rests on the bar. “Nothing ever happened between us, just friends when I worked here. We flirted back and forth, just for fun. That’s all.”

You nod, feeling more at peace now. “He’s fun to flirt with, I don’t blame you. We started off just flirting too. And bitching at each other. Just for fun.”

Crystal smiles and sips her drink again. “He’s crazy about you. You know that right? Only has eyes for you. He’s got it bad.”

Feeling your cheeks and chest heat up, you nod again. “I do, I’m kinda crazy about him too. Literally crazy tonight, apparently. I’m really sorry I was a total weirdo with you earlier.”

Crystal extends one hand, long red nails pointed at you, and you take it to shake. “Water under the bridge, babe.”

You wish you hadn’t wasted your time spiralling when you could have been making a friend.

She squeezes your hand, making sure you’re looking at her. “Y’know, I was gonna ask earlier if you were single even if Eddie wasn’t… The hot bartender thing also does it for me.”

Oh, she was good.

So good that your brain goes static for a few moments.

The hot girl thinks you’re hot. She’s totally flirting right now. It feels…good?

Crystal fixes you with that siren stare, black lashes sweeping her cheeks when she blinks slowly. Your face and chest flame hot as you become the focus of her flirtation.

“Uh… I… Wow. Really? Sorry… We kinda ruined your night, huh?” Your voice is shakier than you would like, your tongue thick in your mouth, but she finds it endearingly sweet.

“Nah, you made me this yummy drink. And hey, if you two are ever planning a trip, Vegas can be lots of fun. Come find me maybe?”

Crystal drops you a wink before disappearing into the crowd like a breath of cherry smoke, a napkin with her number left on the bar for you - for you and Eddie. You fold it into your back pocket, another little thing to tease Eddie with when you get on your break with him.

Being flirted with and propositioned while you were working had never been quite so fun or exhilarating. Usually, it made you feel icky, but now you feel like you’re zinging with electricity that helps you power through the thirsty queuing customers cleaning spills and collecting glasses until you’re tagged to go on break again.

You uncap a beer for yourself, shoving lime in the tall neck, and take one for Eddie with you when you head out back to meet him. You pause to swipe more rosy lipstick on before shouldering past the heavy exit door.

Your brain hurts from the tornado of different emotions you have experienced on your shift so far, but the chill of brick against the back of your head and the cool beer on your tongue helps.

As always, you hear your boyfriend before you see him. Tonight is heavy boots pounding on stone as he rushes back to you, unable to stand another second of being un-kissed.

“Medic? We have an emergency!”

For a moment you think he might not be fucking around, but the way his eyes glint when he sees you proves otherwise.

“Jesus Christ, you scared the shit outta me,” you tut.

“Thank god you’re here! It’s life or death.” His breath comes quick as he stops in front of you, holding your face in his hands. “There’s a dying man, he needs urgent mouth-to-mouth.”

Your brow rises as you fight the urge to grin. “Oh yeah? Poor guy. Sounds fatal.”

“It is. He was a total idiot and now he’s not got long left.”

Those baby cow eyes shine with genuine regret, sparkling with a sprinkle of mischief that is so innate to Eddie Munson.

“Well, maybe I can help. But I don’t think he’s totally in the wrong.” Your hand slips over his shoulder, touching butter-soft leather. “There’s also a crazy woman on the loose - you might have seen her… I think it might be all my fault.”

“Nah. Only saw this crazy-beautiful woman. She looked kinda sad though… Broke my heart a little.”

You look up into Eddie’s eyes, feeling more than in love as you close the gap between you. Pillow-soft lips press against your rose-tinted mouth, kissing away any remnants of worry and sadness as he wraps you up in his arms.

“I fuckin’ love you, baby,” he murmurs, barely breaking away to remind you of what is true. “M’sorry.”

“I love you.” Your palm curves, moulding against his neck and you can feel his pulse hammering beneath. You move back slightly, so you can tell him what was bugging you without being waylaid by the need to kiss him. “I got so in my head. It just…”

Eddie’s head rests against yours as he listens.

“I got really jealous.” It’s barely a whisper when you speak it out loud. “It was stupid because it was all in my head.”

Eddie runs his nose against yours, lips tracing its path until they press your forehead.

“S’not stupid if it’s real to you, princess.” Eddie holds you against him, pressing kiss after kiss to your busy head. “I wish I could’ve made it better sooner. It’s not nice to hear that I made you doubt me. I’m not going to hold it against you, I promise.”

You direct him back to your lips, kissing him when words fail you.

“M’sorry,” you whisper against his mouth. “I never doubted you, Eddie. I just.. it was me. I didn’t get why you’d want me when Crystal was right there. She’s the hottest woman ever.”

Eddie scoffs. “Are you jokin’ with me? Baby, you are the hottest woman ever.”

“Eddie, it’s fine. We both have eyes - she’s hot,” you admit, smiling a little. “Wanna hear something funny?”

He nods and presses one more kiss to your mouth.

“She was trying to flirt with me too. I was just too up in my head to realise…”

Eddie grins, shaking his head. “As she should, you’re smokin’.”

Your arms wrap around him, hugging tight. “We’re all good now. I made her a drink, she prepositioned me…” you say, totally offhand.

You brace for Eddie’s reaction.

A ten thousand-watt grin almost blinds you when Eddie peels himself back. “Oh yeah? That is kinda hot…”

“Shut up.” Your voice wobbles with laughter. “Don’t worry, babe. She said you’re invited too. If we’re ever in Vegas, that is…”

Brown eyes blow wide - Eddie doesn’t know what to do with himself. “H-whaa?”

Pressing your face against the soft black cotton of his t-shirt, you giggle against his chest. “You heard me. She was crushing on both of us tonight.”

“That… I… My brain has stopped working…” “Stop imagining it, Edward.” “I’m not.” “You are! I can feel your dick on my leg, dude!”

Eddie takes two steps back, hands on his head as he spins in a circle. “I’m in some parallel realm. Did I die? Oh, I did die… See? This is why you should’ve kissed me earlier! I’m flatlining here! Medic!”

His dramatic ass has you cackling, cheeks hurting as the no-game nerd inside him fails to comprehend what you just told him. You were both interested in exploring with each other in the bedroom and had already broadened your tastes with him, but neither of you had anticipated stumbling across this unopened door…

“So I’ll throw her number in the trash?” you ask, sipping your beer with a pointed raise of your brow.

The nonsensical goblin-yelp that comes from Eddie’s mouth makes the bubbles fizz up the back of your throat, making you cough and splutter. He’s an absolute dork and you adore him.

He presses pause on the dramatics to check on you, making sure you’re not going to choke on lime-spiked beer.

“Hot.” Eddie laughs as he wipes the fizz from your lip, then pats you hard on the back. He pouts as you pinch your brows at the sting of beer in your nose. “Poor baby.”

“Dick.”

“Yeah, your dick.” His cheeky grin softens. “You’re the only woman for me,” Eddie says, cupping your face again. “I mean it. It’s hot as fuck that we were kinda prepositioned like that, but you’re it. I only want you.”

You pull him in for a kiss again, deeper this time as his tongue licks against yours. The zing of electricity that runs the length of your spine pushes you closer to Eddie.

“Yeah? Even if Elvira rocks up?” “She’s my hall pass, baby. Just like you and Keanu.” “Mmmm...okay.”

Eddie drags you in for another smiling kiss. You feel small in comparison to the breadth of his shoulders, the subtle bulk he carries - you love it. His hand rests on your neck as he presses up close to you, thigh slotted between yours where your skirt pulls tight across the plush part of your legs. The well-loved denim bunches and slips higher as Eddie crowds you against the brickwork - he’s amped up and wound tight too many kiss-less hours and the revelations of the last few minutes. It’s easy to match him, mirror the needy grasp of hands on denim to pull him close.

His kisses soothe any whisper of doubt or fear that haunted you since your shift started.

“You’re so fuckin’ sexy, princess. S’hot that you’re crazy for me,” he murmurs against the side of your mouth before diving in again for another filthier kiss.

Your nails graze the back of his head, fingers twisting and tugging in dark brown curls to draw that pleasured little noise from the back of Eddie’s throat and swallow it all for yourself. Hips shift against the meat of his thigh; silky lace on denim dark enough to mask the damp mark you’re bound to leave there.

Eddie’s mouth moves down to your neck, seeking out that spot that makes your jaw drop open and your lashes flutter. One big ringed hand dips lower to encourage your hips to roll and rock against him, propped against the wall with his lean strength holding you up. “That’s it, baby. I gotcha.”

It’s easy to forget you’re at work, where any one of your co-workers could come looking for you or Eddie, but when he’s touching you like this and making you burn for him you can’t spare the space in your brain to care. You’re sure that you should both be on some sort of formal warning by now after how many times you have been caught making out and groping each other on your breaks. You had given him a hand (and head) more than once on the clock; some nights were slow and called for a distraction.

And nights like this? When you need each other so desperately, they were something else entirely.

“Ed..” Your voice sounds whiny and pathetic in your own ears as you clutch at his shoulders.

“That’s me, doll,” he murmurs, “M’gonna make it up to you okay? Say sorry for making you jealous’n’sad.” His fingers slip up beneath the bunched hem of your skirt, touching the warm spot on the front of your underwear as his forehead presses against yours. “Can I? Just a little somethin’? Promise I’ll make your head all empty when we get home. Yeah?”

You’re a weak woman, rendered boneless and speechless as Eddie’s fingertips press there. With a lazy nod, dragging him back for a kiss, you roll your pelvis against his hand.

“That’s it.”

You feel his smile against your mouth as he pushes your underwear to the side, enough to feel how wet you are as his fingers press and dip and stroke. Eddie drags your slick gloss up, easing the friction as he circles his thumb.

“Oh Jesus,” you gasp, a shuddering breath as he pushes two fingers inside with ease. You hold him to you, clutching the back of his neck.

Eddie spares you a cocky comment in favour of kissing you again, stroking up inside you before beginning to fuck into you. He doesn’t stop his kisses when your jaw slackens, tongue meeting his with lazy strokes as blood rushes in your ears.

“That’s it, just let me take care of my girl.”

My girl. It gets you every time.

He feels the pulse and gush, a Pavlovian reaction, and presses deeper.

A slow pleasured smile spreads on your face as his fingers fill you. Eddie watches, eyes heavy-lidded, before moving back to kiss your neck.

Motormouth Munson keeps his title as he murmurs filth against your neck, punctuating praise and promises with sucking kisses and scrapes of teeth, soothed by his slick tongue.

“That’s my girl, I know what she likes. Need it so bad, don’t you?”

“Oh, you’re so fuckin’ soaked for me. Can feel you pullin’ me in, princess.”

“You been so worked up all night, huh? I’m gonna take such good care of you. Not leavin’ our bed tomorrow until you forget your own name. Gonna show you just how much I love you, baby.”

You choke down your moans, quietening yourself to breathy gasps and pleas in Eddie’s name. The fear of interruption, of getting caught, gets you both going.

Eddie hoists your thigh up to his hip, widening you more more more as his fingers find, then curl and press on your spongy spot.

Your moan is muffled against his shoulder, still too loud to be decent and louder still in Eddie’s ears.

“Fuck, there we go. Oh, you’re so fuckin’ close already, huh? Gonna come for me right here?” His voice is low and rough, words ground out as you feel him hard against your leg.

“Yeah,” you whimper, already shaking. “G-uh.. Oh god.” Your back arches away from the brick as his fingers speed up, thumb pressing hard circles in tandem. “Eddie… Fuck, fuckkk!”

He nods, speeding up just enough, just like he knows you need. Eddie squares his jaw as he listens to the sloppy wet sound of his fingers between your legs. Your jaw drops, brow creases; blissful agony. Eddie steals another kiss, soaking up the little noises you make when you’re close, the noises that make him throb in his jeans.

“Come on, sweetheart. Come for me.”

You leave the marks of your teeth on his leather-clad shoulder, biting back your moan as you obey. Eddie makes you come hard, making you drip over his silver rings. Eddie has to hold you up, keep you steady as your body convulses with absolute bliss. You hold on like he’s your life raft; he is your life raft - steady and sure when you falter or fall.

Eddie keeps you close, basking in your glow as you catch your breath. The hand on your thigh moves, cups and cradles the back of your head so you don’t bust it too hard against the wall.

“Fuck, baby. That was a big one.” He smiles when you smile, pliant and lazy, brushing kisses and praise against your hot cheek. He reaches to prop the stool beneath you to take your leaden weight.

“There she is, my pretty princess.” When you open your eyes, you can see the flush on his cheeks and the pulse of the vein in his neck.

You’re so utterly spoiled by this man. You kiss his lips, softer now as you come back to life, to earth. You’re shaky, breathless but you feel alive. You feel loved.

“That was… Full marks, no notes.”

Eddie raises a fist, triumphant like John Bender. “I know what my baby needs.”

He makes you giggle and bite your lip as he licks the taste of you from his fingers. “Sweet.”

You pass him your open beer to down as his prize, as you put yourself back together, sliding your ruined underwear off over your boots to use in lieu of a rag.

Eddie snatches them just as you consider trashing them (not that you were going to, they weren’t cheap). “Mine.” He’s breathless from sucking down the fizzy beer as tucks them into his pocket.

Your laugh is shaky but you don’t even fight him on it. It’s not the first pair he has pocketed mid-shift, nor will it be the last.

“Pervert.”

He shoves them against his nose for good measure, living up to the accusation. “Oh yeah. That’s the good shit.” He winks before shoving them back inside his leather jacket, right by his heart. A romantic pervert at least.

“That keep you going for the rest of the night? Until I get you home?” Eddie asks, before starting on the second beer; he shares a few sips with you.

“Mm, just about. You have promises to keep, rockstar,” you say, pulling him in with fingers hooked in his belt loops. “I wanna return the favour but ‘Chelle will kill both of us if we disappear again…”

“I’ll survive. Be strong.” He musters up faux courage as you press kisses to his face.

“My brave boy.”

Your arms wind around each other, hugging and holding your other half close.

“Y’feeling a bit better than earlier?” Eddie runs his hands up and down your back; his voice is sincere and sober.

“Mmhm. Much better. Not just ‘coz you made me come. But that did help.” You smile and tuck your head under his chin.

He hums a happy noise and presses his lips to your head. “Glad to be of cervix. I mean, service.”

“Ugh. Really?” You can feel him laughing, shaking with it.

“It’s a good one!” “Eddie, my love - what’s a cervix?” “It’s like…womb-adjacent.” You can hear his smugness. “Hmm, don’t need to know how you know that.” “Did biology three times.” “Oh. Okay.”

You weren’t sure what you were expecting. You tilt your head to look up at him and smile when he kisses you again.

“If I help you clean up later we can get fries on the way home. You’re going to need your strength, baby.”

His eyes glint with that look that makes your tummy flutter.

“Deal.”

Eddie cups your face and kisses you with a soft sweetness, something like a peach, that contrasts with his filthy promises of taking you apart and putting you back together later.

He helps you up from the stool, making sure your knees don’t buckle and your skirt is pulled down properly to cover up your lack of underwear.

Eddie makes you spin for him, admiring you with his kiss-bitten lip between his teeth. “Mm, one more time for me?”

You roll your eyes at him before tucking yourself under his arm.

“Love you.” Eddie pulls you in for one more peck before opening the back door for you.

“Love you more, rockstar.” You feel like a girl being walked to homeroom as he smooches one more kiss against your cheek.

As he backs away, not wanting to be the first to turn, Eddie points a finger at you, “Love you most.”

You roll your eyes, grinning anyway as he backs around the corner with the Bender-fist raised in the air again.

Eddie Munson might be a flirt, such a flirt, but he is all yours.

Thank you for reading! Likes, reblogs and comments are absolutely adored and cherished ❤️

Tags: @oneforthemunny @munsonmecrazy @parmawiolets

471 notes · View notes

bangaveragewhitewine · 9 months

Text

Pinch Me

After your first date with a familiar face from home, waking up next to Steve feels like something out of a dream.

This is a follow on from Clean Slate but can be read as standalone fic.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings/Content: Both you and Steve are in your late-twenties and were in school together; you met again on a blind date almost ten years later. This is an 18+ fic; oral (reader receiving), penetrative sex. Spoiler but use of ‘good girl’ in a sexy content. Steve Harrington being a smooth mf comes with it's own warning.

I have tried to leave physical descriptions as neutral and inclusive as possible! Some mentions of anxiety and insecurity. Plenty of kissing to make up for that!

Author’s Note: Clean Slate was intended to be a one off fic but here we are! This is my first attempt at smut in a fic, so hopefully it’s not horrendous! Thank you for reading, enjoy!

Thank you to my lovely @specialagentmonkey for beta reading for me💖

Once again, this is an 18+ fic. Please do not do any AI fuckery with my work or repost on other sites.

(divider by me)

Ever since you were little, your bed had been one of your favourite places. Soft sheets, books on the bedside table and a perfectly curated stack of pillows all topped off with the quilt you had made with your grandma before her arthritis got too bad.

In your mom’s photo albums there was more than one snapshot of you as a sleepy toddler with a wild bed head peeking up from your pillow on Christmas morning. Another few of you reading Nancy Drew in a pillow nest with a gap toothed smile.

By now, you had made your own little nest out in the big bad world now; a surprisingly roomy studio with big windows and noisy neighbours on one side. You had bought new sheets and a duvet printed with dusty pink roses on porcelain white cotton, curated a new stack of pillows and added too many decorative cushions on top of the same quilt that had made the move with you to Indianapolis and on to Chicago. There were still books on your bedside, a little dish for your jewellery to sit in while you slept, and an accumulation of lip balms, pillow mist and a candle or two to set the mood.

After long shifts and bad dates, your bed was still your haven. When you were particularly anxious, you could still hear the shrill of your old alarm blaring in your ears; the sound of that clock that had dragged you from sweet dreams in your beloved bed on chilly winter mornings. Some mornings, as you rode the subway to work, you swore you could hear your bed’s own siren song calling you to get off at the next stop, come home to read and nap the day away.

The sanctuary was for you alone, save for an occasional sleepover with your best friend Annie. Your dates were never invited to stay and make themselves comfortable. But this morning, waking up with Steve Harrington in your bed? That was new.

It was safe to say that your blind date went well. Really well.

You had resolutely avoided talking about school, only mentioning people each other might have remembered in the context of a story about your lives outside Hawkins. Steve was still in touch with a lot of people from home. You recognised some of their names; Robin who grew up a street away from you, Eddie Munson who you knew from art class and the occasional house party in your youth, even Nancy Wheeler. The way he lit up with so much fondness for ‘his kids’ who weren’t kids anymore made your face ache from smiling.

And Steve had listened, wanted to hear how you had liked Indianapolis for college (he had spent some time there too before making the move to Chicago with Robin after Eddie had sussed the place out and found an apartment near his own for them that they still shared). He had asked about your job, your life in the city, and took a real interest in you.

His attention had stayed on you, never straying to see who else was around or looking for an escape route. His honeyed gaze had stayed focused, watching how you used your hands when you spoke and dipped occasionally to look at your lips. Steve’s hand had stayed close by when his fingers weren’t outright intertwined with yours. He did this thing with his thumb, stroking it across the bone of your wrist, and a few times he had squeezed your hand while you spoke as if to say ‘go on, I’m listening’ - it was so centering for your often anxious mind.

You had a few more drinks, picked a few songs on the jukebox, kept talking and talking until you were sitting close enough to hear Steve’s stomach growl, making his cheeks flush pink.

“I know a pizza spot close by if you’re hungry?” you suggested.

“DiFontaines?” Steve smiled a little, nodding at your suggestion. “Yeah I love it. Let’s go.”

Neither of you wanted to end the night yet, say goodbye. So you didn’t. Instead you headed hand in hand into the warm night air, nicely buzzed and in search of hot pizza and crispy cold sodas.

The sun had dipped in the sky, taking the worst of the heat with it, but the night stayed humid and sticky. Despite the warmth, Steve held your hand and between stories, as you walked down the next block, he lifted his arm to twirl you when you passed a bar blaring Achy Breaky Heart onto the street; Billy Ray’s crooning was eclipsed by your laughter.

“You’re such a dork,” you giggled, pushing him gently before Steve quickly hugged you against his side again. Never had you felt so comfortable on a first date - but this wasn’t just any blind first date.

“Dork?! You been talkin’ to Robin?” Steve smiled down at you, sparking heat in your belly.

“Guess your reputation precedes you, Harrington.” With a burst of bravery, owing it to your younger self, you bounced up on your toes to peck his cheek before taking off a few steps ahead, turning to grin back at him as he jogged to catch up before you swerved into the pizza place.

You joined the line of late night pizza lovers and Steve had slipped an arm around you, leaned his chin on your head as your heart pounded hard. “So, what’re we getting?” he asked.

The familiarity of it all made you feel fuzzy around the edges, his thumb stroking your shoulder, the heat of him pressed against your side.

“It’s probably sacrilegious but the New York style slice, veggie or… artichoke.” Feeling brave again you cover his hand with yours and squeezed. “You?”

“Okay so we’re both sinners then.” He hummed, considering his options. “You’re vegetarian right?”

“Yeah, I try to be.” You liked how he had remembered a tiny detail from a story told hours ago.

“Okay. Four cheese then.”

“You sure?” Your interest piqued.

“Yeah, ‘course. You might not want a goodnight kiss if I have pepperoni breath.”

You swear your jaw dropped as Steve schooled his smile, watching the group of tipsy tourists ahead of you order their slices before his eyes darted back to you.

Steve was more timid, his voice quieter as he filled the silence between you when you had been too stunned to answer. “It’s also totally fine if you don’t want to kiss me, sweetheart. I know I can lay it on ki-“

Instead you rocked up to close the gap between you, ignoring the pinch of your sandals to lay a kiss onto his lips. Steve was quick to cup your cheek, keeping you there to kiss you back just as sweetly.

His nose has nudged against yours before he let you go, gazing into each other’s eyes until your attention was pulled to ‘order or get out’. His arm had stayed around you as you placed your orders, splitting a third classic deep dish slice between you so you wouldn't be run out of town with torches and pitchforks.

Full of pizza and soda and bravery, you had taken Steve’s hand again and strolled through the sticky Chicago night, steering him toward your apartment with the guise of proving that the same pink scrunchie you wore in high school was in fact on your bedside table. You both knew what you were really suggesting.

Part of you niggled away, expecting him to make a polite excuse to head home instead. But Steve only had eyes for you and sealed the deal with another kiss. You lost yourselves in each other, feeling younger together, and made out with Steve’s back against the shutters of somewhere long closed for the night as he squeezed your hips and you toyed with the ends of his hair. It was with regret that he had to tear himself away from your lips to hail a cab for you both, where you did your best to behave on the way to your apartment.

As you lay in bed that next morning, watching how Steve’s chest rose and fell with breath, how soft he looked in sleep, you felt warm and happy. His golden glow was just as dazzling in the morning light.

Your night together had been unrushed. Steve hadn’t just hit it and quit it with you. No, instead you had kissed and kissed, making out and letting your hands roam like two teenagers except there was no hurry; no seven minute deadline or someone pounding on a guest room door to see if it was occupied. The rumours in school had been true; Steve Harrington was an amazing kisser. You had listened to a friend of a friend rave about his soft lips after a lucky spin the bottle in junior year; now you had tasted him for yourself, you understood why she had brought it up so much. But Steve was in your bed now, not hers, you thought smugly.

On the way from the couch to your bed, he had unzipped your dress and you made sure his powdery blue shirt wouldn’t be too creased in the morning, draping it over the back of a chair instead of leaving it balled up on the ground.

Steve had made sure you knew how beautiful he thought you were, kissed you everywhere before taking his time with you and spent an age between your legs as he worked you open for him. Lying there the next morning, you could feel your face heat up when you remembered how his touch set you on fire. The pleasant all over ache weighed you down into your mattress.

With a messy bed-head, Steve woke a little after you and saw you smiling dreamily to yourself. He reached out to pull you closer, tucking his face into your neck.

“Mornin’.” His voice was gravelly and deep.

“Morning.” You brush his hair back gently and dot a kiss to his forehead before stroking your fingers over his shoulders soothingly, dragging them down his arm.

“S’nice,” he said, lips moving against your neck before he pressed a few kisses there.

Lying face to face on your pillow, your fingers played with the fine gold chain that settled around his throat, dipping lower into the thick hair on his chest.

“I had a really good time last night.” Steve’s fingers walk up your arm, before twirling your hair around one carefully.

When you look up at him, he’s got this little smile on his face. He inches closer, letting his gaze drop to your own smiling mouth before you share a slow morning kiss.

“Me too,” you whisper, settling your hand on the side of his neck before returning his kiss again. Your fingers skate across and behind the lobe of his ear, the underside of his jaw and the shade of stubble there.

With his large soft hands, he drags you closer still, pressing you right up against him. The t-shirt you had pulled on after the sweat on your body had started to cool last night was rucked up over your hip as Steve’s thumb strokes the dip there.

You sigh into his mouth, feeling warm all over despite the chill of your box fan to cool the room down. This morning you're warmed by the heat and glow that radiates from Steve Harrington, hotter than the sun itself.

“You’re really beautiful,” he murmurs against your lips, shifting his weight so you’re on your back again with one of his thighs slotted between yours. Steve brushes your hair back, fanning it out over the pillow before dipping down to kiss you again. He leaves you breathless before his lips trail lower to your jaw and neck.

It’s an intimacy you hadn’t had with anyone in a long time, feeling safe enough with Steve to let yourself be loved on like this. You will yourself to be present with him, bask in his glow as it warms you, but barbs of anxiety have crept in to distract you.

Last night was amazing, slow and syrupy and tender. If that had been the last time you ever saw Steve Harrington you could have probably died happy - happier than before anyway. But instead he stayed, and as he kisses you again (morning breath ignored and forgotten). Steve didn’t care that you had faded into the background of your shared high school halls, he had loved how you had the bravery to break out of Hawkins and be you now.

Steve notices you tensing up and peels himself back, thumbing your cheek again as he says your name. “Do you want me to stop?” he asks, concern in his eyes. It makes your heart ache.

You shake your head and cover the hand on your cheek. “No. Never.” You pull him to you again and relish the weight of him on top, your hands over his shoulders. “I’m getting in my head. You’re straight out of a dream, Steve. I feel like asking you to pinch me.”

You feel a little embarrassed about being quite so honest with him like this, but he oozes a magnetism and calmness that makes you want to tell him everything. But you don’t want to scare him away, be left waiting for another call that’s not coming, or hear him say ‘that was fun but I’m not looking for anything serious right now’.

He smiles and leans his weight on one strong arm so he’s not totally crushing you. “I can, if you want. But I promise I’m real. And I’m just some guy.”

You laugh. “Some guy? Nah Steve, I think you might be some sort of apparition. Or like, a Greek god.” You squeeze his bicep for emphasis. “Definitely dreaming.”

Steve rolls his eyes, playful, and pinches your cheek lightly. “See? Silly.” He presses a kiss to where he pinched before going in for another on your smiling mouth. Steve was not shy or stingy with his kisses, you had learned. You liked that a lot.

“I think you’re pretty amazing, y’know. If you’re not sick of me yet, would you wanna go for breakfast with me?” Steve kneels up between your thighs, the sheets pooling around his hips. Your eyes go right to the white Calvin’s pulled tight over the thickness of him. Your eyes rake up over his body until you’re caught staring, ogling, and Steve smiles when you pull a pillow over your face. You certainly hadn’t been so shy last night; he laughs and lifts it away to gaze down at you, hoping you will say yes.

“C’mere. Then you can take me for breakfast.” You coax him back down, hooking one leg over his hip. “Prove to me again that you’re not just in my imagination?”

Steve grins and rolls himself down over you. “You been imagining me like this? Scandalous,” he teases before resuming his kisses from earlier, which you are eager to return. Your bodies move together, hips tilting toward each other seeking out that pressure that makes your tummy sizzle. As Steve’s hands slip under your sized-up sleep shirt again, your own dips down to cup him through his underwear. His breath hitches, eyes fluttering shut.

“Baby…”

Baby.

You smile and repeat the movement firmer this time before beginning to coax him to hardness, breaking your hold on him only to help him remove your tshirt. It’s lost to the floor along with Steve’s briefs. His breath is hot against your mouth as your bodies press together. The feeling of Steve’s hands on your breasts draws out a whine that’s swallowed by another kiss; his hands are so big and they feel like they are everywhere, like Steve is everywhere. His mouth and hands trail lower, spreading you out for him on your dusty rose bedsheets. He cups you there, thumb swiping in a delicious rhythm that has you gasping against his shoulder.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, kissing the tops of your breasts. “Let me hear those pretty noises again, baby. Please?”

You whimper as his fingers ease you open, so gentle like the polite ‘please’. Steve had proven he was a talker already last night, his words making you feel hot all over as he had pushed so carefully inside, turning tipsy giggles into needy gasps. You felt the same heat engulf you now as he lay wet kisses to your tummy, your hips, pausing only so that he could lie comfortably between your thighs after shouldering his way between them.

He’s looking up at you, his cheek against the meat of your thigh. Lips curve into a smile when you meet his gaze, and he closes his eyes when you stroke his hair back. One of his hands takes yours and rests together on your belly as he dips to kiss you where you need him, humming against you when you gasp his name.

Your eyes drop closed, fireworks bursting behind them as he makes you feel so good. The once or twice any other man had done this was lacklustre in skill and enthusiasm, which Steve possessed in every cell of his being. When you chance looking at him you spot his hips shifting against the mattress, chasing relief for his own ache which makes you moan louder. His whispered “good girl” sends your eyes rolling back into your skull.

Steve brings you to your peak quicker than anyone ever had before. Mindful that you might be a little tender from the night before as he presses one long and thick finger inside before a second joins it a few moments later, gentle but with a purpose of making you forget your own name. His shoulder presses firm against your thigh, spreading you wider as his fingers pump steadily, keeping the pace and press against the spot inside you that makes you feel fit to explode.

You squeeze his arm while your capacity for coherent speech vanishes, focusing only on the swirl and suck of his mouth and the crook and curl of his fingers. It’s so sudden, and you swear you’ve never made a noise so loud as you moan for him, trembling all over. He whispers his praise against your thigh before bringing his mouth back to where you’re weeping for him and doesn’t stop until your thighs are crushing his ears, muffling your voice.

Chest heaving, you feel him move up to check on you. He brings you close, holding you as you glow with him and presses feathery kisses to your hairline. “You still with me? Not still dreaming about me?”

“Mm, think I died,” you manage, peeking up at him with teary eyes. Another tender kiss to the dopey smile on your lips. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me, sweetheart.”

His grin is deservedly cocky, earning himself the warm grasp of your hand around his length. The prettiest frown graces his face as you squeeze and slowly pump your hand, your lips moving to his neck.

Steve’s gaze moves from your face, dragging down your body to where your hand holds him. His size makes your hand look small and you feel the kick of his arousal on your palm. You manage to swing one wobbly leg over him, sitting on the breadth of his thighs with new confidence as he holds you steady.

You lean across him, earning kisses to your chest as you fish for a condom to rip open and roll on to him before lowering yourself down into his lap.

Sinking your teeth into the fat of your lower lip at the stretch of him, Steve huffs out a breathy swear against your chest. His hands settle on your hip and thigh, grounding and never rushing as you breathe into the feeling of him inside you before beginning to move.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, watching you in awe. “So pretty f’me.”

That spurs you on, chasing the tingle deep in your abdomen. Your fingers lace with Steve’s on your thigh, the other hand braced against the wall behind his shoulder.

His head leans back by your hand, turning to kiss your wrist as you move in his lap. You curl your arm around him, bringing each other close as his hips hitch up to meet you.

“So good, baby,” he murmurs, kissing you again as his breath comes quicker now. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty.”

Gasping his name, you hold him tight to you as you move together. He can’t take his eyes off of you, “Good girl, so gorgeous.”

Messy kisses broken by gasps and Steve’s praise are traded back and forth. His hands feel huge where they hold you at your waist.

The cord of pleasure deep in your pelvis winds tighter. Steve’s jaw twitches as he holds on to you, and you kiss the tense muscle before whispering, “You make me feel so good.” The sound he makes is almost a whimper and he squeezes the meat of your ass. Your hips continue their rise and roll, you feel like every cell of your body is aflame.

Steve watches you, praising words fanning the fire low in your belly. The burn in your thighs makes you pause and he takes the chance to kiss you stupid again.

“Feel good? Yeah?” When you nod, feeling spaced out, he pecks your swollen lips and whispers, “Let me take care of you, sweetheart.” You wonder if he lets anyone take care of him, return his generosity and affections.

He is so gentle as he holds you to his chest and slouches lower on the bed. You close your eyes at the feeling of being held like this, cheek to his broad shoulder. His feet are flat and firm on the bed and the experimental thrust up into you makes you sigh his name. Steve sweeps your hair to one side so that he can kiss your neck again, checking in with you before continuing.

His name echoes on your bedroom walls as he grazes the elusive spot inside of you; the way you press right against his pelvis gives a rub of friction that makes lightning zing through your limbs. “That’s it. Huh? Right there?” His voice is tight as he drives up into you again, faster now with the new angle.

You can hardly summon the sense to make a sentence, babbling now with how good he’s making you feel, the occasional broken curse or plea. After last night and this morning, the neighbours won’t be happy or forget Steve’s name anytime soon - not that you give a fuck.

You kiss him again, though now you’re both so far gone it’s messy and needy, hot breaths against each other’s cheeks. The lick of his tongue against yours makes you shiver. You feel ready to burst, pleasure building as his hips drive up hard into you

With the feeling of him so deep inside of you, you fall over the edge again. The feeling of your orgasm, clenching and fluttering and soaking, drags him with you, groaning against your neck when his hips slam and stutter still. His arms are tight around you, both heaving deep breaths together.

Steve eases you both down onto your sides, tangled together. You feel dazed and heavy but the stroke of Steve’s fingers on your hip, his hot breath on your collarbone grounds you until the sounds of Chicago on a Saturday morning remind you that this wasn’t a dream.

“You okay? That.. Jesus…” Steve’s voice is breathy, but you hear his smile.

“Yeah. I’m…amazing.”

“Yeah, you are.”

There’s comfortable silence as you both come back to earth.

After a few moments Steve dots kisses to your cheeks, forehead and nose before he eases out of you to bin the full condom. Soon you’re back in bed with him, held safe in his arms. His cheeks are pink and you want to squeeze them.

“You’re so gorgeous, Steve.” Your fingers brush over the moles dotted along his cheekbone, and he catches your hand to kiss your fingers sweetly in distraction. “Hey. Look at me, Harrington.”

“Back to Harrington?” he teases, looking into your eyes with faux intensity to make you giggle. “M’lookin’.”

“Steve. Steven.” You match his teasing with pretend-seriousness.

“Not Steven. Please, baby.” His mouth turns down, exaggerating his unhappiness with you, but the stroke of his fingers on your hip say otherwise.

“Ms O’Donnell called you Steven.”

“Please don’t bring O’Donnell up while my dick is still out.”

You both dissolve into giggles, pressing your face against the chain on his chest. “Shut up, she had that much of an effect on you?! Calling you Steven gets you all worked up? Okay perv, good to know.”

“You’re sick in the head.” His voice is shaky with laughter against your hair. “S’a good thing you’re cute.”

“Mhm. Definitely a sicko. Two cute sickos.” You take his face in your hands again. “You’re a great date Steve Harrington.”

He smiles, but it falls a little - you just about catch it. It makes your heart hurt. Your inability to just say that you don’t want this to be a one time thing makes you want to pull your own hair out.

“I do my best. I had so much fun with you. I’m just kinda… sick of first dates though. Yknow?”

“I do know. But that’s not how last night felt.”

There’s a flash of recognition in his eyes as he nods.

“Definitely helped that we had a bit of a head start on the ‘where are you from?’ shit..” There’s a twinkle of playfulness in his heart wrenching sincerity.

“I hate that part.” You look into his eyes. It makes your chest flutter, how he looks at you.

“I know we didn’t know each other all that well in school..”

“Since kindergarten.” Your shrug is tiny, you smile playfully as he groans.

“Since kindergarten. Shit. What’ve I been doing all this time…” he asks the ceiling.

“Same as me. Getting out of Hawkins. Going on crappy dates...”

“Mm, true. Growing up, I guess.” He’s quiet for a moment, “Last night wasn’t crappy. Best date I’ve been on in a long long time.”

“Me too. I think I’ll let you take me out again, if you want to…” you say, whispering bravely as you act all playful despite your hammering heart.

The smile on Steve’s face makes the butterflies in your stomach swoop again. You weren’t the only one who felt so dimmed by dating around, having your heart broken. There’s a beat of silence, charged electric as Steve looks at your lips and you touch his chain again.

“You like pancakes, or waffles?” Steve’s eyes twinkle.

You squeeze the bulk of his bicep. “French toast.”

His head tips back in laugh, showing off his delicious throat. “Oh she’s fancy?”

“She is.”

He leans in to kiss you in more time. “I can do fancy, baby.”

“You’ve done fancy twice. Fancy is hungry, Steve.”

Your laughter echoes in the golden morning light that fills your room as his fingers skate over your ribs, finding the ticklish spots before he hauls you as close as possible again.

Steve’s nose presses against your cheek, smooching one more kiss there before sitting up to find his pants. As you stargaze at the constellation on his broad back, you think this might just be the start of something really amazing.

comments, reblogs and likes are not simply appreciated - they are cherished

#steve harrington x reader #Steve Harrington x you #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #Steve Harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington #Steve Harrington x y/n #steve harrington is a total dreamboat #my fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington x f!reader #steve stranger things #Steve Harrington smut #bangaveragefics

697 notes · View notes

bangaveragewhitewine · 3 months

Text

baby, be my valentine

dad!Steve Harrington x mom!Reader

February, 2000

A snapshot of Saturday morning with the Harrington's. In between toddler-cuddles and sister-squabbles, Steve has a very important question for you ❤️

In the same universe as soft slow, morning glow & hearts are wild creatures

Word Count: 5.3K

Contents: Sickeningly romantic loverboy Steve Harrington comes with his own warning. Heavy flirting and some kisses. Steve refers to you as his wife / Mrs Harrington. Parental domesticity - Steve & Reader have two kids. Valentine's vibes.

Author's Note: After a very frustrating few months, I found some sort of spark to write something and here we are. Easing myself back in gently, with my preferred brand of cosy domesticity and warmth. Proof-read by @specialagentmonkey. Dividers by @saradika-graphics.

Steve Harrington was a romantic.

He was a self-proclaimed hopeless romantic until he met you. After you smiled at him that first night almost ten years ago everything felt possible and full of hope.

Steve was easy to love, despite years of believing that he was not, that he would never be loved by someone in the way he wanted and needed. You were careful with his battered and bruised heart, nursed it back to health with your sweet kisses and gentle hands.

After years together, marriage and a house and children, you could swear on it that Steve had only got more romantic and loving with age. You were sure that he spoke each of the love languages fluently.

Physical touch was doled out in spades; he liked to have you always within reach of him, a hand in your back pocket (and yours in his ideally), gentle fingers brushing back your hair or beneath your chin so he could gaze at your pretty face. The weight of his hand against your hip, squeezing as he passed you by in the kitchen, or your shoulders when he knew you were feeling tired and tense; Steve’s touch gave you butterflies every time.

You never had to de-ice your car on cold mornings or fill the tank with gas. He had mastered the perfect bubble bath, filled deep and topped with fluffy bubbles - Steve knew too when to leave you alone in there with your book and a candle and silence, and when you wanted to rest back against his chest and talk about nothing and everything until your fingers and toes were pruny.

There was never a need to wonder whether he loved you; he told you every day. How beautiful you were, how proud he was of you. You both made sure your daughters knew too, that they were adored, that they were beautiful and smart and good. Steve listened too, remembered the little things you told him and loved seeing your eyes sparkle when he recalled something tiny from weeks ago. He surprised you with flowers and always bought the chips you liked when he was doing the groceries.

You were Steve Harrington’s favourite person and he was yours too. There was plenty of love to give and room in your hearts to spare when your girls came along, Beth and then Ava. Steve had learned a lot from his own Dad, though it took him a few tough years to figure it out. He learned how not to cherish your wife, how to make your kid feel totally worthless in a house full of valuable, breakable things. He promised himself that he would never be his father, do everything his father had failed to do. In a way, that is what made him the good man he was today. You were proud to be Mrs Steve Harrington.

February in Chicago was freezing, but the promise of brighter warmer days kept you going. On the Saturday before the big day, you wake to an empty bed. It was not unusual with Steve, who spent the mornings in the den with the girls and Saturday morning cartoons. Instead of his messy bedhead on the pillow beside yours was a bright red envelope. It took your sleepy brain a few moments to figure it out, but once you did you felt warm all over with butterflies swirling in your belly like a schoolgirl.

The card inside shows Snoopy holding a big red heart. When you open it, in Steve’s neat writing, is a simple question:

Will you be my Valentine? Steve x

You press your smiling face into his pillow, breathing in your husband's musky, lovely scent. An almost overwhelming wave of cuteness aggression crashes over you and you want to squeeze Steve until he wheeze-laughs and says something gorgeously charming like ‘down, girl’ or calls you his strong lady, asks for tickets to the gun show.

Nine Valentine's Days together and he always found a cute way to ask you before the day even arrived. Pre-kids there were flowers delivered to your workplace, a question whispered in between kisses lavished on your neck in the months counting down to your wedding. When Beth was born, he dressed her in a pink babygrow with red hearts and enlisted her cuteness to ask the question. When she got a bit bigger, sentient enough to understand it a little more, he would ask her too. When Ava joined the Harrington Crew, Steve found himself with three Valentines and felt like the luckiest man alive.

You think about the card and present tucked away in your closet to give him on Monday morning, a red envelope with your heart poured out inside that matched the nicely wrapped new Chicago Blackhawks jersey (with two tickets tucked in the collar). You cannot wait to see his face when he opens it.

Thinking about him, Steve’s smile, makes you miss him next to you. It makes you miss the warmth and weight of his arms made stronger from carrying car seats and all of the grocery bags in one go. Beth’s giggly voice travels upstairs, barely breaching the bedroom door but it is enough to make you ache with the need for morning hugs and toddler kisses.

You tiptoe downstairs to the den to find Steve in his comfy throne (his spot on the sofa, the left side near the side table with the lamp and TV remote and his coffee cup gone cold). He is watching the girls watch Bear in the Big Blue House. Ava is mesmerised by it, standing with one little hand on his pyjama pantsed knee and the other clutching a bottle. Beth sits cross-legged a few feet away, a little smile on her face because she loves Bear. Steve is just glad it’s not Barney & Friends - he loathes Barney and his friends.

You take a mental snapshot before Ava’s bat-like hearing makes her head whip around to spot you at the door. Her face melts into a beaming baby-grin (a toddler now, but she’s still got that gorgeous baby fat that you want to bite and nuzzle).

Babbling ‘Mama!’ she bee-lines to you and you wrap her to your chest with equal eagerness.

“Good morning, little one,” you whisper to her cheek, kissing it over and over as her dimples pop. Beth’s arms wind around your legs, head against your hip (she should never be this tall!) and you drop one hand to stroke her bed-head hair. “Hi Betty Bee.”

When you look at Steve he has a soft smile on his lips, everything is okay in the world now that you are here.

It makes your heart skip a beat. You feel just the same, everything is good. The washing machine has been acting up and your back still aches from when you slipped on ice after Christmas. There was a lice outbreak at Steve’s school in January and you both still get the phantom itches and have to check the girl's hair, just in case. But everything is good.

“Morning, handsome.”

“Hi, pretty lady.”

You can see that simmering excitement, barely contained beneath the surface. Did you see the card? Do you still think it’s sweet? Are you going to be his Valentine? You make him feel seventeen and stupid again.

Beth is chatting at breakneck speed and pulling you over to sit on the sofa as Ava’s curious hand wiggles beneath your fluffy robe.

“Mama! Tut-ter!” she says, pointing at the worried blue mouse, “Oh no!”

“Bear said I smell like warm an’ cosy, like a good sleep! I did have a good sleep!” Beth says, tapping your knees with busy fingers.

“Really? Let me smell...” Your Bear-like sniffing sends her into a fit of giggles when your breath tickles her neck, leaning against her Dad’s legs to evade the ticklish feeling.

“Mm, so warm and cosy,” you agree, before giving Ava the same treatment.

Steve feels a little bit like he might die if he does not get a kiss from you soon. Ava’s honey-blonde head blocks his way in for a smooch against your cheek, resting against your shoulder with a sigh too big for a two-year-old.

When Beth is distracted again by the television, you turn your body a little to look at Steve. He’s already looking at you and it feels like the sun is shining on your face, bright gold in the grey chill of the morning.

“Hi.” Your voice is a whisper across the youngest Harrington’s head. “Miss you.”

“Miss you,” Steve says, inching closer to you out of the warm Dad-shaped groove he has made on the sofa. His arm brings you and Ava closer, manoeuvring a kiss to your lips without squishing the little one too much. She complains anyway against your neck and earns herself a kiss from Steve as an apology.

“Kiss ‘gen, Dada!” she insists, and is only placated when her cheek is well and truly smooched. Her laughter tickles your neck until it is damp with baby breath.

He is still wondering whether you saw the card, feels a little silly asking in case you think he is corny or in case it had slipped beneath the duvet after he left.

“Up long?” you ask when she settles again, eyes on the screen. It’s barely after eight-thirty but his coffee is long gone cold.

“Ava woke at seven fifteen-ish, woke up Beth. I might have promised breakfast out if they were quiet and not wake you…” Steve watches your face for a reaction, hoping the lure of waffles and breakfast that you don’t need to do dishes after can win you over to his well-meaning-but-morally-skewed bribery. The creases from the pillow on your cheek make him feel fond and he chances another kiss over Ava’s head, pressed right on the pillow-marks. Her cute scowl is worth it to see your smile.

“I think that’s a great idea. Brains and beauty, huh? I’m a lucky woman, Harrington.”

That makes Steve smile, a shade of coy confidence. “Well, I’m a lucky guy, Harrington.”

There is a fluttering feeling deep in your chest, close to where Ava is stroking the collar of your pyjama shirt, but this is one hundred per cent Steve. Beside you, he basks in his own loved-up feeling, that sense of warmth and calm.

“Lucky us.” You turn and land a quick kiss on the side of his head. “Can we go to Bakehouse?” You are already dreaming of waffles with chocolate chips and strawberries, and crispy hashbrowns and coffee.

“S’a date,” he says, winking.

Ava turns in your lap, her eyes are back on the screen but yours are fixed on Steve, the smile lines around his eyes and the tired crescents beneath them, the stubble on his cheeks.

“I got your card.”

Steve’s heartbeat triples at your coy little smile. “Yeah?”

“Mhm. You’ve got yourself a Valentine, handsome.”

Steve beams brighter than the sun. “Cool. Prepare to get totally loved-on.”

Laughter bubbles from your lips, a giddy feeling vibrating through your bones. “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah. You’re getting so spoiled, baby.” Plain and simple; the sky is blue and the grass is green, and Steve Harrington is a romantic motherfucker.

You cannot stop smiling, cheeks aching as Steve presses one more lingering kiss there. “Okay, Cassanova. I’m ready to be ‘sooo spoiled’.”

He runs a hand through his messy hair, feeling all too pleased with himself.

“You wanna grab a shower before we go?” you ask.

His smile melts into a weak laugh, “Oh, you wound me, babe.” Steve lolls his head the other way to pantomime sniffing himself. “Not bad…”

“I like it when you’re musky.” You really do. You can’t make the most of it anymore, but when he comes back from a run or coaching basketball at the school, there’s something about sweaty pink-cheeked Steve that makes you feel a little bit crazy.

“But,” you continue, “if you go while they’re distracted, you can shower in peace.” Your fingers brush through the crushed baby curls at the back of Ava’s head, tickling the back of her neck until she squirms and cuddles back against you.

Steve softens and rests his head against the couch. “God, I love you.”

“Mm, I know. Love you more, Valentine.” You accept another smiley kiss and pout for one more because you need it.

“Go shower, stink. Bear will call you out if you stay for the next episode.”

You smirk when he rolls his eye at you, murmuring a playful ‘alright, jeezusss’ before squeezing Ava’s foot gently. His knees crack and Steve barely suppresses an all-out Dad Groan when he stands. Pinching your lips together barely contains your laughter, hidden against your toddler’s head when Steve narrows his eyes at you.

He is barely out of the room when you slide into the warm groove left behind, bringing cuddly Ava with you as Beth sings the ‘Goodbye Song’ as a duet with Bear. She joins you on the sofa and wiggles right up under your arm as the credits and advertisements roll.

“Mommy, are we going out for breakfast? Daddy said we might, if we were little angels.” Beth asks, resting her bony chin against your arm to look at you.

“Mmm, you’re always a little angel, Bethie.” You wink at her and watch her glow. “And Ava, my angel baby.”

“So can we?” she pushes, cherubic and smart.

“I think we can, sweetie.”

Beth wiggles with excitement before whispering to Ava, “We did it! Angel-girls!”

The thrill is contagious and Ava is wiggly with excitement. “Yay!”

They make you dissolve into a puddle of sugar with how sweet they are. You pull yourself together and crystallise back into Mom.

“Are you going to help me decorate for Valentine's later? We can do some crafts, hang up some bunting...” You watch Beth’s eyes go wide.

“Yes! I love Vanentimes!” she insists. “Miss Janine says, she says we making cards! On Monday. Van-en-time cards!”

With wide-eyed Mom-enthusiasm, you match her smile. “That’s so fun. Who are you going to give your card to? Do you know who you want to ask to be your Valentine?”

Beth considers it as you brush her hair away from her face. “Ummm. Maybeeee… Daddy!” Her smile shows off her perfectly milk-white baby teeth

Heart warmed, you stroke her soft cheek. “I think Daddy would be over the moon if you asked him to be your Valentine, babe.”

“I’ll ask Daddy, and Ava will ask you!” she decides.

Ava backs her up, “Yah, Mama!”

Beth giggles and tucks herself against you to watch the screen again. You don’t miss how she whisper-sings along to the theme song and looks up at you to make sure you’re watching too.

The need for coffee is pushed way back in favour of soaking up the quality time with your girls, how cuddly they are with you on this cold February morning. It’s cosy and perfect until it’s not, but those ten minutes were pretty great. Beth wants her turn sitting on your lap and Ava is absolutely not having it. It’s nice to be the centre of attention, but not when the two warring parties are tearful and are still learning how to process their emotions and words.

“Beth, please don’t push your sister. That’s really not kind,” you say. The smile-ache feels long gone and instead, that line between your brows feels deeper than the Grand Canyon.

“Ava hitted me! I did’in push her!” Her voice wobbles dangerously as she insists that she was pushing her sister's hand away. “I- I- wanna sit o-on you, Mommy!”

Ava is all out crying against your chest and your soothing circling back rub is doing nothing to comfort her upset.

There’s a particular heartache you feel when they both need your attention. It tugs hard that knot of anxiety in your chest; tears you can fix but you can’t figure out how to fix it fast enough. You want to gather them both into your lap at once and hold them both, but their pushing hands and kicking feet aimed at each other (sister-enemy #1) do you no favours.

You carefully lift Ava and place her down in your seat, keeping enough distance between them in case of any rogue pinching fingers. You kneel in front of the sofa, knees cushioned by the rug. “Listen to Mommy, please. Let’s take one big deep breath in, okay? All of us. Hold my hands.”

Their little hands slip into yours, both copying you to take deep shuddering breaths. It works better with Beth because she is older, a little wiser, she knows the drill. But Ava sniffles her way through it like a trooper, doing her best.

“Now we blow out the air.” Your big breath tickles their faces and makes the wispy hair around their faces fly, pulling tiny scrunch-nosed smiles onto their faces.

“Good. One more big big big breath.” Your thumb rubs tiny circles on their hands as you help them (and yourself) settle the big feelings. “You girls just got a bit frustrated, that’s okay. I love having you both sitting with me, it’s my favourite thing ever. But we have to be gentle and careful with each other.”

Sweet kisses are pressed to their hands in turn. “There’s plenty of Mommy to go around, no need to fight over me. I love you both so much.” You open your arms to gather them up, a few final tears soaked up by your robe.

Beth’s adjustment to Big Sister after two years of being the sole focus of your attention had gone mostly okay, but as Ava got bigger you could see the moments when she struggled with it all. You and Steve always made sure she got quality time with each of you, but it was still tricky at times.

“Are we all okay now?” you ask, watching them nod tentatively, “It’s okay if we’re not, we can take more deep breaths...” Neither girl lets go but you manage to move your head back to look at their pretty faces.

Ava rubs at her cheek and rests her head on you with another big sigh. “Oh-kay, Mama.”

“I’m okay, Mommy,” Beth promises.

You kiss their cheeks and tap your fingers on their backs. “If you’re okay, Mommy is okay too.” Neither really want to let go of you and that’s okay.

“Let’s go get dressed and we can start our day. Daddy’s going to bring us for breakfast. That’s going to be so nice, huh?” you suggest, hoping to distract and cheer them up. “I want waffles and some yummy strawberries.”

Steve’s voice at the door makes you startle.

“Good choice, Mama.” He has a small frown between his brows, a towel around his bare shoulders with his jeans already on. His hair is combed-through and damp, and his gold chain glints around his neck and collarbones. You don’t let yourself look at the happy trail disappearing beyond his waistband, though it is tempting.

“We okay?” he checks, looking at you. He brings with him an energy that makes the tense room feel light again. It is something you can’t quite name but it feels like everything will be okay again.

“We’re okay. Just a sister squabble. We took some breaths, didn’t we?”

Steve had introduced that trick - his school councillor certification came in handy at home too. You could simply not do this without him.

“Yeah, we okay now.” Beth hugs Ava, a little for show but mainly because she loves her. “Sorry Ava. I did’in mean to push you, I jus’ wanted to sit with Mommy too.”

Ava is too little to get it but she likes hugs and she loves Beth so she baby-hugs her right back.

“I get it. I like sitting with Mommy as well,” Steve says, hands on his hips. “So are you three going to get this show on the road or am I going for breakfast all by myself?”

You try to hide your smile in your robe but he knows that the Dad-routine really does it for you. “You going to ask us if we’re ‘ready to rock and roll’ next, Stevie?”

“Maybe, guess you’ll have to wait and see.” Steve winks at you as the girls hop off the sofa and make their way towards him. “You need a diaper change, and you need a hairbrush.” His finger points at Ava, then Beth as they hold hands now.

“And you.” You are next. “Need a kiss.”

Beth laughs when you fake-swoon and Ava squeals in delight at your silliness.

“How romantic. Come sweep me off my feet, I think I’m stuck.” You could haul yourself up from the floor but Steve’s warm hands do a much better job of helping you up. He sneaks an ass-grab while delivering the kiss you need so badly. With giggly kids present, you can only let it linger for a few moments but it is enough for now.

“My hero.” He earns himself one more peck before you pat his behind toward the stairs, the girls already waiting by the stair gate like the little angels they are. You spare him from your chilly fingers on his bare back as you follow them up - he always finds a way to get you back for that.

Steve scoops Ava up to change her diaper and dress her in something warm for the day and you shepherd Beth to pick an outfit. You can hear him wrangling her to lie down on her changing mat as you make Beth’s bed and pick up the fallen teddies from the floor.

“What are we thinking, babe? Maybe your pink cords and a sweater? Or…?” you suggest, turning to see her looking at her own reflection in the mirror on her wardrobe door.

Your arms wrap around her as she leans back into your legs, sharing a cheesy smile in the mirror. “You’re so pretty, Betty.”

“I look like you!” she beams, tilting her head back to look at you. The angle can’t be any good, she’s seeing the worst angle of your chin and right up your nose, but to Beth you are beautiful. “Daddy says I’m mini-Mommy, coz our nose and smile is the same!”

You cannot deny that Beth is more you than Steve in looks but she is bless with a beauty mark or two like his, you think they make her extra gorgeous.

“Let’s see?” For a few moments, you smile and pull faces with each other in the mirror before agreeing she is definitely all you. It’s quiet(er) down the hall, meaning Ava has stopped evading Steve and the clean diaper.

The pink cords are set aside for preschool on Monday and you dress Beth in a long-sleeve striped turtle-neck top and dungarees to keep the warmth in. She agrees to a woolly cardigan over-top and her snow boots, but only if her hair is half up with her butterfly clips - it’s a fair deal and she looks adorable. Her fifth birthday looms a few months away and you can already feel your heart aching in the best way.

“Beth Harrington, you are so gorgeous,” you say as she swishes her arms and bounces happily in front of the mirror again. She has his sparkle in her eyes that is so Steve, it hits you right in the chest. “Will you help me pick out my clothes, please? You’re a fashion expert.”

Nodding eagerly, Beth runs at you for a hug as tight as her little arms can manage. “Yep! We could match, Mommy! Please?!”

When she looks at you like that, with huge brown Bambi-eyes like her Dad, it’s hard to say no. Not that you want to.

“I’d love that.” You stand from her bed and feel her little hand slip into yours as you make your way down the hall to your bedroom.

It smells like Steve after his shower, warm and fresh with a hint of something spicy. He has made the bed and your Valentine's card is pride of place next to a photo of the girls on your bedside table. Beth zeroes in on it as you pick out some underwear and switch the bathroom fan off.

“Mommy, a card! Look!” she gasps.

“It’s from Daddy, he asked me to be his Valentine.”

You watch her eyes go wide before her face splits into a smile. “Daddy looooves you!”

“He does. And I loooooove him.” You wiggle your shoulders for emphasis, pulling more delighted laughter from your eldest.

While she strokes the sparkly heart on the card in awe, you pull on your jeans and pick out some top and cardigan options for Beth to choose from. You forgo the butterfly clips, but once you are dressed, you and your Mini-Me match quite nicely.

“Woah. Too much beauty in this room, I gotta leave,” Steve says when he joins you, pretending to shield his eyes.

Ava runs past you and climbs on the bed with Beth, a tornado in cosy pink and lilac leggings and a matching fleecy top. Her hair is in pigtails and you swear she ran right out of a JCPenney catalogue.

Steve is still in just his jeans, his hair mostly dry now after taking on Ava’s morning routine which primarily consists of her evading capture until she is limp with laughter.

With the girls minorly distracted, you take the chance to give Steve that appreciative once over. His tummy has this beautiful pudge that you want to press your face against and bite. He filled out a little more over the years, much to his initial disdain, though he did not care so much when he realised just how much you loved those softer edges.

Steve watches you do it, feels the warmth of your gaze roll over his body. You could surely be the death of him, making him boil over or implode with desire.

“Hey, handsome. Are you going to get this show on the road or are we going to have to do this breakfast thing all by ourselves?” You feel smug, parroting his words back at him and catching him off-guard.

His tongue presses into his cheek as he shakes his head, smiling down at his own socked feet. “You…” Steve shakes his head again. His hands feel huge on your hips when he squeezes past you, closer than he needs to be but still not close enough.

There’s a heat in his stare as he pulls a navy Henley on, then a sweater. He dials it down quickly when Beth remembers out loud the time when she saw Uncle Dusty’s cat throw up a hairball last summer.

You try not to laugh at her totally out-of-the-blue memory but nod along anyway, remind her how gross it was. “Good remembering, Betty.”

“Meee-ow!” Ava chirps next to her, proud of herself when she makes everyone laugh. “Cat!”

Steve cups her little face. “You’re a funny bunny, Ava.” He squishes her cheeks and rests a kiss on her forehead before giving Beth the same attention. “And you! Best remember-er in this house, huh? I had forgotten all about that.”

He had actively tried to forget it. It ruled out ever getting a cat, especially when Ava tried to touch said hairball. The memory makes him shudder.

Once everyone has brushed their teeth and used the bathroom, you bundle everyone up in coats and hats and gloves and pack into the car. It’s freezing cold but a morning out of the house is what you all need. A morning with no breakfast to make or dishes to wash is worth braving the cold for.

You feel toasty enough with your three favourite people, and Steve could swear that your hand on his thigh as he drives is all he needs to keep him warm.

“You look extra gorgeous today,” he says when you stop at a red light, the girls happily distracted in the backseat.

“Laying it on thick today.” Steve is easy to tease. “I already said I’d be your Valentine, Stevie. Consider me buttered up.” You squeeze his leg through the denim to lock in your promise.

“I’m being serious,” he insists. “Besides, I know you’re all loved up with me. You want to kiss me sooo bad.” His voice is like a song as he returns your teasing.

“Oh, I do. I even wrote your name in a heart in my diary.”

“Cute.” His teeth shine when he grins, glancing over at you before starting to drive again. “You want to go on a date with me? Dinner and some drinks. How ‘bout it. I’ll be real good to you, baby. Have you home by ten…”

Your laugh echoes around the car, cutting over the car radio quietly playing the Backstreet Boys and Lauryn Hill.

“What’s funny? Did Daddy make a joke?” Beth asks, wanting to be in on it immediately. “Tell me!”

She is quick, but Steve matches her. “What do you call a cat with a lemon in its mouth?”

You don’t know where he pulls them from, it’s probably deep in the Dad Manual, but it keeps the older girl thinking for a moment.

“Um… Lemony?”

He catches her eye in the rearview. “A sour puss.”

There’s a beat as she makes sense of it in her head, and you’re already groan-laughing when Beth gets it and joins in. She sets her sister off and Steve feels like King of the Car.

“Thanks guys, I’m here all week.”

Beth is tickled-pink and repeats the joke again for Ava who doesn’t get the word play yet but laughs when her sister cracks up again.

“So?” Steve asks you.

“Your jokes suck.”

“You laughed.”

“It was at your expense.”

He winces at that. “You’ve been spending too much time with Robin.”

With a coy smile, you counter, “You can take it, big boy.”

You watch his cheeks flush minutely, just like you knew they would. “And Eddie. Stop that,” he mutters, “Anyway. You never answered my question.”

Steve looks at you expectantly as he waits for a car to reverse out of a space right outside the cafe. If it wasn’t sub-zero you could have walked. Maybe in the spring.

“Ohhh.” Your smile is coy as you remember his pitch for your date. “Okay, Romeo. You can take me out.”

He grins, trying not to look quite so pleased with himself and failing miserably. “Cool. Tonight at eight. Rob’s taking the girls.”

As Steve swings the car into the parking spot, you sit in stunned silence. He switches the engine off and watches you for a moment before concern drips in, second-guessing himself.

“Is that okay…?”

“You… Steve, of course it’s okay!” You unclip your seatbelt to hug him across the gear stick, peppering kisses to his stubbly cheek. “Thank you,” you murmur. You can feel the relieved sigh leave his body as you crush him in a hug.

Steve steals a kiss from your lips. “Don’t thank me. I promised to spoil you.”

He earns himself another kiss with his sweet thoughtfulness as the girls begin to complain a little - Beth because she’s ‘sooooo hungry’ and wants to know why you’re kissing again, and Ava because she is sick of her car seat and simply must be freed from it.

“Alright, alright, we’re getting out now. Hold your horses, ladies,” Steve says, faux exasperation on his face that softens when he looks at your smiling face again.

“I love you, Steve Harrington,” you say, warmed from the inside out with pure adoration.

Even though the girls are getting whingey, and it’s starting to snow again and the cafe looks busy, you could not be happier or more content with life than you are right now. Everything is good.

Steve unclips his seat belt and zips his jacket all the way up. He winks at you before opening the door to start the endeavour of freeing the girls from the back seat with you and making sure they don’t slip on the ice, or wander in front of a car, or get too loud in the cafe.

“Love you more, Mrs Harrington.”

Thank you for reading! Reblogs, likes and comments are absolutely adored and cherished ❤️

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #dad!steve harrington #dad!steve harrington x mom!reader #steve harrington fluff #bangaveragefics #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington fic #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington series

260 notes · View notes

bangaveragewhitewine · 4 months

Text

maybe it ain't so bad

Bouncer!Eddie Munson x Bartender!Reader (established relationship) - Part of Happy Hours

Your boyfriend doesn’t like Christmas much. Inside his huge soft heart, he carries the memories of Christmases good and bad. After this year, the first Christmas you will actually get to spend together, he might feel a little warmer towards the Holidays…

Word Count 4.4k

Contents / Warnings | 18+ | Eddie & Reader are in their mid/late twenties | Loss of a parent, mention of child neglect and abuse | No explicit sex, nonetheless this is an 18+ fic - making out on the sofa, brief choking mention, Eddie’s love of hickies, being horny and in love, mentions of sex and post-sex softness, ‘slut’ as a term of endearment | No physical descriptions of reader; the image used in the header is not indicative of Bartender Reader in this series

Note I missed our metalhead bouncer boyfriend. I tried and tried not to make this sad or angsty. A quick moment to say thank you for all the love over the last sixish months while I have been writing and sharing my work. It’s a joy, truly! Have a cosy holiday season, sweet angels!!! ❤️❤️❤️

Christmas, 1992

Eddie Munson didn’t care for Christmas.

A long time had passed since the last Christmas with his Mom, but each year the scabbed-over wound inside him tore and stung and bled just a little more around the Holidays.

It might be more accurate to say then that Eddie Munson did not let himself care for Christmas. It hurt him to care about it, to remember the good ones and the bad ones with his mother, so he tried to just not care.

When he closed his eyes, he could still see the coloured string lights wound around the shitty plastic tree, glinting against baubles that had seen better days. He could feel her hands holding his much smaller ones as they danced together to Christmas records, the way she held him safe and steady to place the star on top of the tree. The shininess of it all had pulled his attention from her pilled and threadbare sweaters and the bruise-like bags beneath her eyes. The festive earworms drowned out her tearful phone calls to her parents for some extra cash to make sure Eddie would have a present from Santa beneath the tree this year, and her promises that her no-good-husband would see a penny of it.

As he watches you hanging shiny-and-new decorations on the branches of the small fir in the corner of your shared living room, humming to music only you could hear, he could not help but think of her. It hurt, but the smile that spread across your face when you caught him watching soothed his soul just a little bit.

“Hi, handsome.”

Your voice and that cosy greeting, the eye-sparkling smile you wear when he comes home to you, feels like stepping into a warm bath every single time. It’s a hug before you even open your arms to him.

You watch him unwind his scarf and shake out his frosted curls once his jacket has been hung on its peg. His boots are slipped off and left to pick up later.

“How’d it go?”

Eddie stares at the shiny ornament hanging between your fingers on gold thread, lost somewhere in his head or hypnotised by the way it caught the light until you call his name again.

“Sorry, yeah. Went good. You’ve been busy…”

While Eddie was teaching his last guitar lesson before the Holidays, you had draped the tree with shiny bright lights and made a start on the baubles, hanging them extra-slowly in the hope that your boyfriend might want to help when he got home. Neither of you had work tonight, scheduled off synchronously as a little reward for working Christmas Eve.

“You wanna help?” you ask, a glimmer of hope in your eyes, even as you readied yourself for rejection.

You knew his feelings about Christmas - not just his capitalist hellscape rant that came out whenever someone asked if he was looking forward to the holidays, but you knew the deep emotional pain he carried as another year passed without her. Every year the taste of her cinnamon-spiced sugar cookies and the scent of her perfume, that special Mom Smell, faded more in his memories.

For the first Christmas you would actually spend together as a couple, you wanted it to be special and cosy. You wanted Eddie to feel comfortable and safe, not like a prisoner bound in tinsel as you forced him to watch Miracle on 34th Street or How the Grinch Stole Christmas! (though he did have a soft spot for the green guy). A lazy few days cocooned in your apartment, a nice no-fuss dinner and quality time together. It helped too that you could pick up the Christmas Eve shift in the bar instead of travelling out of the state to sit at home with your families and miss each other, count the days until you hopped back on the plane to O’Hare, and pray that Eddie would drive safe on the icy roads around Hawkins.

The decorations had been a compromise; Eddie never usually bothered and you liked to spend at least half a day making your home look like a festive explosion. A deal had been made on a small tree with a few lights.

You looked at that tree now, its small and slightly wonky stature had charmed you. Eddie’s staring at it too and you can see a glimpse of the broken boy Eddie once was; it makes your heart hurt.

“Is it too much? I can stop…” Your voice is quiet.

Eddie shakes his head and plasters on a smile for you that makes your chest ache, before rounding the sofa on socked feet to press a kiss to your head and squeeze you around the middle.

His nose is cold from being outside. That fresh scent of bright winter air clings to him and slowly melts away inside the warm flat you share.

“Looks great.” Eddie picks up a random red bauble. “Where does this one go?”

“Wherever you want it to go. Just look for the bare spots.”

You tamp down any fizzing excitement that he’s taking an interest, then feel guilty that you are thinking of him like he’s a wild animal who is easily spooked.

Eddie brings you back to reality, just like always.

“You gonna move it later when I’m not looking?” he asks, brows raising beneath his bangs as you loop your ornament on a branch.

That ‘I know you too well for your cute lies, babe’ look he gave you made your cheeks feel warm. It was close to his ‘you’re pushin’ it and you’re being a brat on purpose’ look. That one was fun.

“Only if it’s too close to another red.”

He had seen you and Michelle in full-festive-flight when you decorated the bar every year; every year he braved the cold of the beer cellar or the back alley to stay well out of your way lest he be roped into a squabble on the placement of some stupid garland.

Not fully convinced, Eddie zeroes in a bare spot (not too near to another red ball) and slips it over the branch with less practiced precision. It’s perfect.

You lean over to smack a kiss on your boyfriend’s cheek. “You’re a natural, Teddy.”

His arm slips and winds around your waist, squeezing the squish of your hips before he presses his lips to your head. “Do I get a reward?”

Eddie’s touch and the low timbre of his voice stoke the cosy glow in your body into something more fiery and exciting. His fingers skate along the waistband of your sweatpants, tracing up beneath your (his) hoodie. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

Two can play that game.

“For one little bauble? I’m not that easy, Munson.”

It pains you to pull yourself away but the warmth and hunger in his gaze feeds your ego and the flame in your gut.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, I need you to show me.” His fingers reach out to grab the empty space between you.

Your eyes roll as you crouch to pick up two more baubles.

“Gimme a kiss for every decoration I put on then?” Eddie suggested, “I’ll keep tally.”

A slow smile makes its way onto your face and you nod. “That could be arranged. Don’t half-ass it though, they’ll fall off if they’re not on properly.” Your eyes narrow in warning, “I’ll bite you instead of kiss you if you half-ass it.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, honey,” Eddie smirks and takes both baubles from you - one gold, one pink - and hangs them on his fingers, strategically dangling them right over his nipples. He gets the exact reaction he was hoping for - an eye-roll and that smile you do when you try not to laugh at his silliness. That smile that had made him fall for you.

“And you know my motto - full ass or no ass at all. No half-assin’ around here.”

Before you can make a smart comment about his flat ass, Eddie takes his time to thoughtfully hang the ornaments in two bare spots and surveys his work with a quietly-pleased hum. You could imagine what he was like as a kid, bargaining for an extra cookie once the tree was decorated, or an extra bedtime story. You didn’t hang any more decorations in favour of watching him work for a few moments, the colourful glow of the lights on his pale skin.

He catches you staring and softens, winks at you as he picks two more baubles up. One for you, one for him.

After passing the gold string between your fingers, you press a bonus-kiss to Eddie’s lips before finishing off your first tree together. Neither of you acknowledges with words how special it is, but it’s there. You squabble playfully when you get in each other’s way or when Eddie slaps your ass while he’s reaching for the snowman ornament you have had since you were a kid.

You had accumulated a little collection of retro Christmas decorations in thrift shops over the years - pretty vintage baubles and kitschy ornaments, a few random or weird tchotchkes. A purchase from last year - a glittery skull wearing a Santa hat - earned instant approval from Eddie and pride of place on the tree. That one had caught your eye a few months after you two had started dating.

When the box of ornaments runs out, you take a step back and pull Eddie’s arm to join you.

“You like it?” Your voice is quiet and careful as your cheek rests against the softness his sweater.

“Pretty,” Eddie says, just as quiet. His arms wind around you and hold you against his chest, starting a slow rock from foot to foot.

“Can I give you something?” you ask, voice muffled against his chest.

Eddie’s brows shoot up, a flirty look in his eyes. “Oh? You can give me whatever you want, babydoll.”

That wolfish grin of his still made you feel tingly all over, even as you rolled your eyes at him.

“It’s for the tree. Cool it, Romeo.”

You pay this kiss-tax to be freed from the cosiness of his arms and slip into the bedroom for just a second. It is enough time for Eddie to edit a few baubles like it’s second nature to him, swapping out colours that are too close to each other and filling gaps until you arrive with a box. He has forgotten that he used to watch his mother do the same thing while he was content with his oven-warm cookies and cold milk on the couch.

You pass the box to Eddie. “It’s not really a gift. It’s for both of us.”

“Is it lingerie?” His brows raise, hopefully suggestive, as he smooths a finger over the lovingly slapped-on bow. Lingerie has certainly proven itself to be quite the mutual gift over the last year. His mind wanders to that last deep purple set you bought, and he can feel himself starting to drool.

“Eddie, just open it. You’re going to be so disappointed, it’s lame…”

At the talk of lingerie, you are acutely aware that you are currently dressed in sweats and one of his hoodies. In a funny sort of way, you know that the cosy combo does it for Eddie as much as lace and satin. The every-horny-for-your-boyfriend part of your brain considers wrapping yourself up in a big red bow for him. He would like that far too much.

He feigns coolness as he pulls the lid off and you push your unhinged thoughts away.

Inside, wrapped in crinkly red tissue paper, are two things - a matte black bauble with your initials curling together in shiny red calligraphy. Beside it, a small silver frame ornament with a candid snap of Eddie and you from Thanksgiving just passed, the one you spent in Hawkins with Wayne and his girlfriend. You’re perched on his lap, arms looped around his neck, smiling and very clearly obsessed with each other.

“I just thought we could... We could start our own traditions. Little things.” You speak into the quietness of the room as Eddie stares into the box. You murmur to yourself when he doesn’t answer, “You didn’t even want a tree, it’s so stupid.”

“Stop that.” Eddie’s frown is serious. “My girlfriend isn’t stupid. How dare you.”

“But you don’t even like Christmas… It’s kinda stu-”

“Don’t. It’s fuckin’ thoughtful as fuck.” Eddie smiles softly at the ornaments, a warm feeling spreading in his chest. “You’re too cute, baby.”

Pressing a smiling kiss to your lips, Eddie could feel himself beginning to soften. Maybe this Christmas thing would not be so bad this year…

Christmas with Wayne was always low-key - some years his Uncle took a shift at the plant and they exchanged thoughtfully practical presents like new guitar strings or picks, a book or an album, novelty mugs and new baseball caps or shirts.

Wayne was not so fond of Christmas either. It reminded him of his heavy-handed drunk of a father, and the anxiety-inducing unanswered phone calls to his idiot brother’s house after Elizabeth died. It reminded him of finding his nephew alone in a cold house on Christmas Day, without a tree or dinner when Al forgot to come home. The kid didn’t have a single present to open from Santa.

When Eddie moved to the trailer with him, too wise to the big bad world to be so easily distracted by shiny things, Wayne made sure there was a present for Eddie every single year, a meal and some company - even if the kid didn’t want it, even if Eddie screamed and threw a fit until he sobbed himself silent because he was just a little boy who missed his Mama…

Now, in the cocoon of your home together, Eddie's smile brims with child-like innocence, touched by the weight of wanting to start your own traditions together. You knew you were it for each other, but the little reminder of how much you meant it makes him glow.

He puts the box down and cups your face, pressing kisses everywhere he can reach. “God, I’m so in love with you,” he growls like a happy demon, making you laugh.

Contently trapped against his body, soft and lean in all the right places, you release the breath you had been holding as Eddie studies the contents of the gift box again.

“Look at these! I need this picture for my wallet. I need like, six copies,” he murmurs, “Have you ever seen a hotter couple?” Eddie brushes his thumb over the velvety loop of ribbon to hang it on the tree. “We need this for our grandkids, baby.”

“Laurel took it. I’ll get you another copy.” Your face hurts from smiling as he kisses your cheek again. Wayne’s girlfriend was fond of you both, particularly Eddie.

“And this? Fuckin’ gothic as hell, I love it.” He strokes the intertwined initials before putting the box down to hug you just a shade off too tight. Nuzzling your noses together, he asks, “Where are we going to hang ‘em?”

“Front and centre?” you suggested, shrugging a little. “We could move that one…”

“Creepy Santa?”

“Banish him to the back of the tree. Begone, creep.”

Eddie chokes a laugh and muttered, “I love when you say nerdy shit, baby,” before unwinding his arms from around you to banish Creepy Santa.

“My boyfriend is a huge nerd, I can’t help it,” you tease.

After some careful re-arranging, the two new additions take pride of place on your tree. Eddie’s tongue had stuck out in concentration as he balanced them both so carefully; you wished you had your camera to capture the moment, not that you would ever forget it.

You are wrapped up in his arms again once you agree on the placement, nose to nose as Eddie tells you how much he loves you again. The little noise he makes when you slip your hands into his back pockets hits low in your gut.

“You saving those kisses you earned or cashing them in, hot stuff?” you ask, tracing his jaw with the tip of your nose.

Eddie’s teeth flash in the low light; the room is shadowy and warm in the glow of string lights and a dim lamp in the corner.

“Oh, I’m saving them up, princess. Might claim one or two right now, but the rest are staying with me. Got a pocketful of IOUs for kisses.”

You press your face against his shoulder, smiling. “That’s so ominous, Teddy.”

“Next time you’re mad at me? Kiss token. When you’re too busy with stupid chores to take my human right to be kissed seriously? Pucker the fuck up, pretty girl.”

You love him all ways, but especially like this; playful and fun, flirting hard with you. Eddie’s using his voice in a way you know comes from years of playing DnD, and a stint in the drama club at school. He’s in-your-face-flirty, never subtle. This is the man who punched someone for you before you were even dating; there’s nothing subtle about Eddie Munson.

No, there’s absolutely nothing subtle about Eddie as his hips press forward against yours and he directs your mouth to his, cashing in the first of those kisses. He smiles when you chase him for more. You pull him closer, your hands on that flat ass of his, and sigh when his tongue licks across your bottom lip.

“That’s one,” he whispers.

He cups your warm cheek, his pinky stroking your pulse point. He can feel your blood pump quicker when his breath breezes over your mouth, like the hard beating of butterfly wings that he feels too. Eddie likes how they have not gone away yet for either of you; over a year together and no sign of migration. He hopes they never leave.

“M’not counting. Just kiss me,” you whisper, a little whiney and needier than you had realised now that you are pressed up against him with nowhere else to be.

Never one to leave you hanging (unless that was part of the game you were playing), Eddie kisses you like a man starved. He craves that gasping whimper only he can pull from your throat, the flutter of your lashes when your tongues slide together.

You shiver when his chilly fingers slip up beneath your sweatshirt, palm flat to the small of your back - the part he likes to see arched when he takes you from behind.

Your lips buzz where they press against Eddie’s; the electricity passing between you makes you glow like Christmas lights.

Eddie can tell your brain is still working too hard and brings his hand to your throat; not squeezing but his touch just enough to bring you back to him. It makes you keen for him. A reminder of something you both want to try, but not before you work up to it and do a little more research.

“Okay?” he checks, kissing the corner of your mouth. He watches your eyes go dark, swallowed up by your pupils in the dim light.

“Mhm,” you murmur, tilting your chin just enough to graze your lips against Eddie’s.

He blesses you with an all-too-brief kiss, knowing you need and want more. He backs up a few steps, taking you with him to sit on the couch. Sitting there, thighs spread and waiting, the way he looks up at you makes you clench. You take your place in his lap and spend a moment slowing it all down again, forehead to forehead with Eddie’s hands stroking your hips.

“I love you,” he whispers, the words tickling your lips.

“I know. Love you,” you murmur back, pulling back enough to look into his eyes. You thumb the tired crescent beneath it, skating along his smiling cheek.

When he looks at you, it makes your heart beat double time; it’s not just the lust darkening his eyes, but pure adoration.

You cross your arms to wriggle out of the hoodie, stripped down to a cotton cami and a bra that had been relegated to comfy-wear-only. Eddie thinks you are a goddess, and he is completely and utterly down-bad for you. The glow of the Christmas tree behind you makes you look like some sort of angel.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs. His hands run up your sides and down again, pulling you in closer onto his lap. You can feel him beneath the layers of sweatpants and denim.

You lean into him again for another kiss, melting against Eddie’s warm chest when his hands begin to wander. He kisses you, his tongue twisted with yours as he takes his time. There is no rush this evening, no need to get off quick before your shift.

Without the deadline, you draw it out - kissing slow, hands wandering to squeeze and tease, hips rolling and grinding together hot and hard beneath the layers. You give extra attention to that spot on Eddie’s neck that makes him go cross-eyed, dragging your teeth over the little bruise he can hide beneath his hair (but he won’t because he’s a menace and a bit of a slut).

You pull off his black sweater - the one that hugs his arms and makes his waist look biteable - and kiss along the neckline of his tank top. Your fingers push at it and his silver chain when they get in the way of another bruise-making kiss that makes Eddie swear under his breath.

“Baby, fuck.”

He grunts quietly when you push your hips together again, attempting to relieve some of the building ache between your thighs.

“Mm, that’s the plan,” you whisper, smiling against his collarbone when he chokes on his own throaty laugh.

When you look up at him there is a dusty pink flush across his cheeks. You watch his jaw drop just a fraction when your breath casts over the damp kisses you left on his neck. When your thumb catches purposefully on his nipple there’s a quiet ‘fuck’ that tumbles from his tongue.

As his ability to be patient wanes, Eddie catches your lips again and slowly guides you to lie back against the sofa cushions.

“You drive my crazy,” he whispers, brushing back the hair that had fallen around your face. He kisses you again, a whisper of teeth against your lip before your tongues meet in a filthy kiss.

You make space for him between your legs, lying chest to chest as close as possible without opening up your chest and letting him crawl inside, without physically melting together to become one. You lose yourself in each other, bathed in the warm light of the tree.

“You didn’t do a star. Or an angel, angel. Do you have one?” Eddie’s jeans and belt are undone around his hips as he sits with your feet in his lap, pulled back on to smoke out the window.

“I got distracted before I could put it up.” You wiggle your toes against his thigh, yelping when he runs his fingertips over the sole. You shove it beneath his leg, safe and warm away from his tickling fingers. “I have one. It’s in that bag.”

Back in your (Eddie’s) hoodie and your underwear, you point him toward the busted-around-the-edges gift bag left forgotten by the stereo. “You wanna put it up?”

Eddie smells warm and smokey when he leans in for a kiss, a tinge of sweat lingering after making love to you. He still has his warm pink-cheeked glow and proudly wears the bruises from your sweet mouth, the red marks left by your fingernails on his back.

Three pecks later, he stands with a groan more befitting a man of his uncle’s age and picks up the bag. You watch him stare at the contents, an unreadable look on his face as he lifts it out.

Your star is kitschy as hell, gold with little tinsel pom-poms on the pointy edges and definitely older than both of you. It’s not to everyone’s taste, a little tacky perhaps, but that was part of its charm. When it caught your magpie-eye in a junk shop a few weeks ago you couldn’t leave it behind. The had-seen-better-days tree-topper that had cost one whole dollar and seventy-five cents. It had glittered at you from the shelf and whispered ‘take me with you’.

“If you hate it, we don’t have to put it up. We could put Creepy Santa up there instead,” you mused, “Our creepy angel…”

“I don’t hate it. It’s so… wrong in the best way.” Eddie turns the star-shape in his hands. It reminds him of the chintzy and bright Christmas trees and flashy lights in Forest Hills. “Where the hell did you even get this thing?”

“In the little thrift store near the camera shop. The one where you got me those earrings…?”

“Mm, I know it. Maybe we can un-banish the Creep too. I guess it’s Christmas after all…” he reaches for the previously hidden Santa Claus figure with shifty eyes and rosy cheeks and replaces him near the top of the tree. “Yeesh, you’re a weird little man.” He flicks Santa before lifting the star up. “You wanna do the honours?”

From your cosy place on the couch, still pleasantly jelly-legged and tingly all over, you shake your head. “You do it. I’m comfy.”

Eddie shrugs and reaches to balance the topper on the highest point of your perfectly wonky little tree, standing back with his hands on his hips before looking to you for approval.

You give Eddie two thumbs up before opening your arms for him. You barely brace for impact when he pounces on you, head thrown back laughing. “Ed!” You squeak when he presses growling kisses to your neck.

Resting on your chest, Eddie looks up at you with those shiny baby-cow eyes you adore. He is so soft beneath it all. He makes your heart beat double time. You brush back his hair and kiss his forehead as he gets comfortable. You wrap your legs around him so he cannot go anywhere, even if he wanted to.

“Can we make this part of our tradition too?” he asks.

“Mm, I like how you think, pretty boy.”

Your fingers comb through his curls as he rests his weight on you. There is nowhere you would rather be.

Eddie cannot keep himself from staring at the tree in the quiet bliss of it all. He soaks it in; the thud of your heart beneath his ear, the way the tree-lights blur his eyes when he stares at them for too long.

A small slow smile spreads onto his face. He decides then that maybe, just maybe, Christmas might not be so bad this year.

An easter egg for the babes who made it to the end - here's the picture from the header image (I love making photos like this for fics tbh). I like to think this is one of the pictures Eddie's Mom sent to Wayne and he still has it 🥲🥲🥲

Thank you for reading ❤️ reblogs, likes and comments are cherished and adored!

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x f!reader #bouncer eddie munson #bouncer!eddie munson x bartender!reader #happy hours #bangaveragefics

177 notes · View notes

bangaveragewhitewine · 6 months

Text

blood red bloom

Eddie Munson x Reader (bouncer x bartender, established relationship)

Halloween, 1992

“You’re gonna have to work a lot harder to come up with a prank that will actually scare me, sweet thing.”

Eddie’s voice echoes in your head as you stare at the red inky star in your little leatherette diary.

A late period wasn’t quite what you had in mind, but here you are, sitting on your bedroom floor and staring at the mocking inky red star in your diary.

This Halloween was turning out to be pretty damn scary.

Word Count: 6.7k

Content / Warnings: Pregnancy scare - this is angst-heavy with some brief mentions of Eddie and reader's anxieties of being parents. Discussion of the future. Miscommunication. A fight that's not a fight but they kiss and make up anyway. Brief sex mentions. A reminder that this, and all my fics, are 18+!!!

Please feel free to skip this segment if it’s not your thing!!

Author's note: We couldn't let Halloween pass without an instalment of Happy Hours, could we? This was a toughy, it's been a rough and hectic few weeks, but I hope you enjoy reading the latest snippet! Proof-read by @specialagentmonkey, finished off in the taxis to / from the airports in Dublin and Boston!

Since the first day with a chill in the air, the first fallen crunchy-crisp leaf, your boyfriend had been in Halloween mode. It was your second Halloween together, your first living together after you accepted Eddie’s cute proposal with his spare key in June. Even though he was messy and left the toilet seat up, you loved living with Eddie.

You loved waking up with him every morning and falling asleep together every night. You loved going grocery shopping together, and you adored how he would sit in the bathroom to talk to you or read his book while you lounged in the bath or did your makeup.

Autumn and Halloween meant horror movies, decorating the apartment and planning your costumes together. Eddie was stupidly talented with carving pumpkins, and you roasted the flesh with thyme and sage and onions for a huge pot of soup that warmed your bellies for days.

During your first year together, he had noticed how you scared easily - jumped a little or clutched your chest when he accidentally jumpscared you or purposefully snuck up to grab the squish of your hips with a monster-like growl. It always made him laugh, and his apology was always a kiss that quite often turned into something more.

You quickly learned that you could never get him back.

Yeah, Eddie was jumpy but he possessed a sixth sense for whenever you were trying to scare him.

When he had challenged you to scare him - to really scare him - you’re not sure that realising that your period was later-than-late was quite what he had in mind.

A rare Friday night off, October 30th, had started with another failed attempt to spook him. He was almost condescendingly kind when he said ‘ooh, that was a good one!’ after you popped up from that cramped back seat of his Dodge.

Once you clambered out of the car so Eddie could make it to work on time, he pulled you in for a kiss and cupped your face with such tenderness.

“You’re gonna have to work a lot harder to come up with a prank that will actually scare me, sweet thing.”

He kissed your pouty scowl away with his wicked smile and left you to enjoy your night off.

His challenge to scare him echoed in your head as you stared at the last inky red star scribbled in your diary. The hardwood floor felt chilly beneath you as you knelt on the ground surrounded by lipstick and pens and detritus from your bag spilled around you.

Thirty-six.

Your period was thirty-six days days late.

The little leatherette diary fell from your shaky hands. If you hadn’t already been on the ground, you are sure your knees would have buckled.

Slumped against the side of the bed, you rested your racing head against the navy duvet - the blood-red blooming rose print seemed mocking as you tried to remember if you had definitely written your dates down correctly. Your periods were pretty regular, never more than two or three days out of sync if even that many.

You hadn’t even thought about your period, or its lateness, until you spied the full box of Kotex next to Eddie’s shaving kit beneath the sink. As the bath filled with lavender bubbles and swirling steamy water, you had pondered on how you liked seeing your things side by side now that you lived together; your dresses hanging next to his nice shirts and jackets, toothbrushes sitting in the same holder, your perfumes and potions lined up and organised next to his new shampoo and conditioner replacing the horror that was 3-in-1 shampoo, conditioner and body wash.

As you gave a pot of fresh-green facemask the sniff test, the box of period products had caught your eye.

Eddie had picked them up for you during a particularly bad set of cramps, cramps so bad you had called out of work. He had arrived home with salty Lays and sweet creamy chocolate and the biggest pack of painkillers they would let him buy, and you had cried because it was so kind and thoughtful of him. But that had been well over a month ago…

As the filling bath turned to white noise in your ears, you had flustered to the bedroom to check your diary.

The thirty-six (almost thirty-seven) day lag made you feel like you were going to turn inside out. And not because you were cramping up this time.

The bath was cold by the time you arrived back from a late expedition to the CVS five blocks away, armed with a share-bag of Reeses Peanutbutter Cups and a pink box that promised ‘quick and easy results!’

A year in and neither of you could keep your hands to yourselves. Moving in together had meant that you and Eddie had endless pockets of time together, and rooms and surfaces to officially christen as a cohabiting couple. Eddie’s car had seen some action when you took a road trip back to Hawkins to visit his Uncle a few weeks ago - the driver's seat, that cramped back seat, the bonnet…

When Eddie arrived home from work just after 3 a.m., you still had not touched the test or had a wink of sleep. He crept in like your favourite cryptid and dropped a kiss on your head, trying with all his might not to wake you as you feigned sleep. He settled behind you and fell into a sprawling-limbed rest while you lay awake.

In those dark hours, lit only by the red glow of the clock, you imagined every scenario.

The thought of a little one with dark curly hair and big brown eyes makes your heart ache in a good way, especially when you think of this imaginary little person in Eddie’s arms. That ache twisted like a knife when you imagine him not wanting anything to do with that made-up little person, half him and half you.

You were never set firmly for or against being a mother - of course you got broody sometimes when you saw a cute kid in the grocery store, but equally you had been more than happy to hand back your cousin’s screaming baby when his diaper leaked on you when you visited home back in the spring.

And Eddie? Did he even want to be a Dad?

He had a lot of tangled-up feelings there, held them in his chest like a pulled-tight tangle. That’s how he explained it when his own Dad had come up in conversation. He carried that sadness and hurt with him for almost two decades.

Would he want you to get rid of it, or would he even want you if it was really happening? You tried to be rational, think about how he had promised to love you when you had silver hair and dentures one night when you were both high as kites. Maybe it might be okay, you could make it work…

Sleep came and went, pockets of light dozing interrupted by your heart thrashing in your chest just when you managed to snatch some peace.

As Eddie snored softly, peacefully asleep, you glared at the red-glowing clock, its analogue numbers mocking you until 5:55 blurred behind your eyes. Caged in by the weight of Eddie’s arm, with his hand on your tummy beneath your (his) sleep-shirt, you managed to drift again.

The pitiful pockets of snatched sleep make you feel irritable and wrung out the following day. With a steaming mug of strong coffee, you watched the sun peak through the broad silver-grey sky while Eddie slept on, snoring and unaware.

You still couldn’t summon the courage to sneak the test from your bag and pee on the damn stick. In true Halloween style, it mocked you like Poe’s Tell Tale Heart all damn day from its stowing place in a bag under the bed.

Eddie was unbearably sweet with you from the moment he woke to find you re-reading the same page of your book for at least the eighth try.

It didn’t take long for him to figure out that you weren’t in good form - despite your joint excitement for Halloween - so he tried and tried to cheer you up; a late breakfast sneaking smiley kisses over egg and cheese and home fries. With a wide smile, he shared his ideas for a new drawing for a new batch of Corroded Coffin T-shirts for their gig before Thanksgiving with hot sauce staining his mouth until you wiped it away.

You kept getting distracted when he showed them to you and felt awful when you saw the flicker of hurt on his sweet handsome face. You rallied yourself and helped him pick two to show to the guys when they met to rehearse.

You finally snatched some sleep, cuddled up on the sofa before you had to get ready for work. Eddie hated having to wake you; he was as gentle as he could be, rousing you with light kisses to your troubled brow and warm cheeks.

“Hey, princess. Time to transform,” he whispered, his fingers itching with excitement to don the black velvet and silver chains draped on hangers in your room.

Hours later, you and Eddie walked into Jackie’s carrying a tense air between your joined hands.

You were still the sexiest vampire couple Chicago had ever seen; Eddie in a halfway unbuttoned black shirt and slacks topped with a velvet blazer you had thrifted, silver chains shining on his chest and fake blood smeared like your lipstick on the side of his mouth. Your black velvet dress showed off your curves and made Eddie’s eyes pop out of his skull like a cartoon when he first saw you in it. The bloody puncture marks on your neck dripped onto your chest and cleavage, the perfect blend of gore and sex appeal.

You felt shitty, had snapped at Eddie more times than you could remember while you tried and failed to make your makeup look not terrible.

“You look hot as fuck, baby. Have I told you that?” Eddie squeezed your shoulders as he looked at your reflection in the small vanity he had bought for you when you moved in. He was sweet like that.

“Mhm. Only ten or eleven times.” Tight smile, you met his warm gaze in the mirror. “Not as hot as you, Ed,” you say, pushing off the attention he doled out so genuinely and easily.

The subtle dark shadows below his cheeks and smudged smoky beneath his eyes suit him, gothic and mysterious. You had spent more time on it than you had planned because he couldn’t stop talking and you had (quite seriously) threatened to stab him with your brushes on more than one occasion. Now you were pressed for time with your own makeup. Clock ticking, you were at least thankful that the shadows beneath your eyes didn’t need much more darkening up.

“Nah, fuck off. You’re beyond belief. I can’t wait until after work already.” That glow in Eddie’s eyes that usually sparked hot want in your belly made you feel like prey. Sure, you were dressed as his recently-changed victim but you didn’t feel much like play-acting now, or sex for that matter.

He kissed your head and breathed in your perfume - he loved how you changed it out for the seasons - and the Fall’s scent was rich and warm and sexy.

“Feelin’ okay?” Eddie had asked when you went silent and spaced out again for a few moments, shoulders tensed. He missed your usually returned flirtation when you give as good as you get and then some.

“For the hundredth time, Ed. I’m fine. Please just let me finish this, okay? Please. We’re gonna be late.”

Since then it had been pretty much radio silence.

Eddie stewed, not rising to your bad mood because he might say the wrong thing and make things worse. In the car, he had bit his tongue and held back the suggestion of a weekend away, the idea to book some time off around Thanksgiving and just go somewhere together, alone. He wasn’t sure he could take another unexplained sad sigh or an away-with-the-fairies gaze when you hadn’t even heard what he had said.

So he said nothing and scared himself with his own spiralling ‘what if’.

Instead of eking out the last few minutes before work with Eddie, sharing a cig and trading kisses like you usually do, you leave him to enjoy his cigarette without your dark cloud mood.

“Hey. You’re forgetting something.” Eddie raises a brow at you.

“Oh, thanks.” You hold your hand out for your bag he had carried from the car.

You lean up and peck his cheek, swiping at the mark your dark lipstick left behind.

It wasn’t the proper kiss he had been angling for, but it was better than nothing.

“See you later?” he tries.

“Yeah, if I can get away from the bar. It’s going to be mental busy…” Resisting the urge to rub your eyes and ruin your makeup, you offer a small smile. “Be good. Love you.”

“Yeah, love you too.”

Eddie watches you go, his heart hurting in a way it hasn’t since he finally mustered the courage to kiss you in that same dingy back alley. Yeah, you two had your little arguments over the last year, didn’t always agree and got in funny moods with each other, but this felt different. He didn’t like it one bit.

The bar is the fullest you have ever seen it, everyone decked out in their Halloween-best. Your arms ache from shaking cocktails, but the special menu you had curated is going down a treat. The pain is worth the tips and the compliments, the recommendations passed between high-top tables and clusters of costumed customers.

The music is loud, the atmosphere sparky and fun, and yet it isn’t enough of a distraction, or enough to buoy you up when you’re feeling so low. Not the compliments on your costume, or the questions about whether you and the hottie bouncer were matching on purpose. You forced your smiles and laughs, genuine love for your vampire lord on the door made it easy to answer those probing questions. You tried to get out of your head and lose yourself in the best night of the year, but every time you would remember the last inky red star in your diary, the full box beneath the sink, the test you were scared to take.

You weren’t necessarily avoiding Eddie, you had filled waters for him and Jeff and the new guy Trevor, but had barely had time to look for him in the crowd, never mind checking in on him. Your mood had transferred over to him, and your guy twisted tighter with extra added guilt.

It was well after midnight before you took your break; the bar had been rammed with orders and while you could have slipped away, you threw yourself into work instead.

The need to stretch out your legs and hips and crack your back for good measure became undeniable and you slip away with a glass of ice-and-lime heavy soda water for a breath of cold air.

You’re mid-sip when Eddie pulls you into the small staff bathroom, spilling your water down your arm and onto the busted tiles. You yelp as the door clicks, pure fear until you realise it’s him

“What the- Eddie!”

Eddie’s gaze bores down on you, looking like a very pissed-off sexy vampire.

“You fucker! Scared the shit outta me, Ed.” You shake chilled water from your arm as you glare at him. He was lucky not to have glass in that pretty, pissed-off face of his.

“What the fuck is up your ass today?” he asks, arms folded.

Your skin prickles all over, hairs stand on end.

“You’re in a foul fuckin’ mood. What’s up? Did I do something?” Less accusatory now, he just looks hurt.

“Eddie, it’s fine.” You will your voice to stay steady as your stomach drops.

“It’s not. You’ve barely spoke to me, every little thing I do has annoyed you.” “It’s not you…”

That sounds way worse and you see him visibly wince.

“Ed, it’s not your fault, baby. I’m sorry.”

He sighs, shoulders deflated. “Then talk to me. Please.”

“Ed…”

“Am I not making you happy? Is that it?”

“No! Jesus, Ed. Never! You make me so happy..”

“Then what?! Please just talk to me.” His voice breaks.

“I… fuck.” You sigh, breathe deep. Your eyes strong as you speak, say it out loud, “My period is late.”

His brow creases, confused, before folding high under his bangs. Eddie’s eyes are wide, frantic. “Oh.”

Silence settles, no more voices echoing on the tiles.

“Yeah. Oh.”

“Fuck… Are you..? Are we..?”

There’s a sweetness in how he asks, a scared look in his eyes that you recognise from the mirror. It makes your tummy twist and your heart ache. Why had you been so scared?

“I don’t know.” Your voice is cracked and broken. “I don’t know.”

His arms open out to you. You don’t need a second invitation. You practically fall into his arms, gripping him as tight as you can.

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” he whispers. Eddie’s heart hammers hard in his chest. “We’ll figure it out.”

As he holds you close, his eyes cast upward to the grotty ceiling. He has no idea what he’s doing, but right now you need a hug so that’s what he will do.

“I’m sorry.”

His big-ringed hands hold your face, looking into your tired eyes. “Why sorry? Pretty sure it takes two… if you’re. Y’know.”

You sniffle, nod. “I know. I don’t know if I am..”

“You need to piss on a stick or somethin’, right?”

You can’t help the little laugh that escapes you, despite the tears in your eyes. “Yeah. I do.”

“Okay. Okay, you can do that. I’ll even hold the stick if you want me to.” He’s dead serious too, not just trying to make you smile. Though it is a bonus, and he melts into a little grin to match. “There’s my princess.”

You cuddle back into him again, “Sorry I was a bitch all day.”

“You know I don’t like that, baby.” He frowns and cups the back of your head, stroking gently with his thumb. “Knew there was something wrong though. Wish you could’ve just told me.”

“I…” Your voice gets caught in your throat, words lodged and stuck like they choke you. “I was scared.”

Though your voice is muffled against Eddie’s jacket, he hears you and squeezes you tighter. His eyes squeeze shut too.

“You don’t need to be scared on your own. I can take it, I’m a big boy,” he promises, repeating it so you know it’s true and real. “We’ll figure it all out.”

His sweetness makes tears flood down your face, that dam holding back every conflicting emotion finally broken. And Eddie holds you. He simply holds you tight and safe and doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t know either. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to kiss this better, doesn’t know what he wants or what you want either. All he knows is that you need him like he needs you.

“Fuck, my makeup,” you sniffle, face creasing more when you realise you’re still mid-shift.

“You’re gorgeous,” he promises, kissing your forehead. “Okay so, we’ll work our butts off for another few hours and then we can go home and swing by CVS?”

“I already bought one. It’s at home.” You look down at your toe-to-toe boots before looking into Eddie’s eyes. “Bought one last night when I realised. Too chicken to take it.”

He nods, pinches your chin with sweet affection. “Okay. Well, drink your water so you can piss on that stick, yeah?”

He’s smirking when you hide your face in his neck again, groaning in something like embarrassment. “I’d do it for you if I could. But I can’t, so drink up.”

Eddie lifts your glass from the sink ledge and tilts it to your lips. Despite the warmth of his arms and the stuffy little bathroom, the water makes you shiver as it cools you from inside out.

Hand in hand, Eddie walks you to fix your makeup at your locker as he distracts you with a few of his little anecdotes from working the door. He catches your eye in the mirror in your locker as he tells you about a table of drinkers he heard raving about your cocktail menu.

“Can you make me one later?” he asks, coming to rest his chin on your shoulder.

“Course,” you murmur, patting deep Merlot-red lipstick on your pouty mouth.

“Can I get some of that?” He raises a brow in the mirror, and smiles, his teeth glinting, when you tilt your head back to press a peck against his mouth.

A few kisses and the squeeze of his hands on your hips centres you again, helps the tension loosen in your shoulders.

“We need more fake blood.”

“We definitely do. Want me to bite you a little more, my pet?” His voice is wickedly low against your lip; it makes you shiver.

Sexy vampire couple had been an easy pick for you both. Eddie had got really into it when you arrived home with the press on fangs - a hookup from your friend who worked in theatre production and went costume shopping with you.

“You’ll get carried away again, Drac. I’ve gotta go back out in a sec.”

He squeezes your hips and behaves himself as you dab fake blood against the corner of his mouth, letting it drip down his chin, before adding more to your neck and chest.

“Hot.”

“We are.”

He hugs you from behind again, one hand on your tummy, so he doesn’t mess up the blood. “S’gonna be okay, I promise. We’ll figure shit out. I’m behind you no matter what. Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’d be fucking lost without you, Eddie.”

“Right back at you, sweet stuff.”

A well-aimed kiss saves any blood transferring onto your face before Eddie walks you back to the bar. “If you need a sec, just take it. Don’t worry, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Love you.”

“Love you more.”

He smiles and steals a final kiss before patting your velvet-clad behind as you step right back into taking orders.

You don’t see the moment he takes, ducking into the back again to process what was going on. You pour cold beers as he sinks against the wall, breathing deeply so he doesn’t spiral into panic.

He doesn't know how to be a Dad, didn’t have a map or footprints to follow. Wayne was a great substitute, but Eddie was nine years old and grown beyond his years by the time he stepped up to try and fill the gaps made by his no-good brother.

Ringed fingers push and scrape against his scalp, tugging hard enough to bring him back to earth. The pain anchors him, reminds him to breathe again.

He doesn’t know what to do, how to feel, how to be what you need. But he does know one thing.

Running away isn’t an option, not when he has you.

It’s almost 4 a.m. before you can leave with Eddie. It’s almost 4 a.m. and he keeps you tucked safe and warm beneath his arm as you walk toward his car. You can see your breath bleed into vapour in the now-November air.

You feel like you have been run over by a semi-truck as you fold yourself into your seat. Everything hurts and yet you’re somehow wired and wide awake, even on the pitiful amount of sleep you managed last night.

Tired eyes stare into the streetlight above the car until you see spots. Brought back into orbit by the squeeze of Eddie’s hand over your fishnets, you share a tight smile with him.

“Okay?”

“Ish. Tired. Need to pee.”

You had been holding it in. No more excuses, or avoiding the inevitable.

You help Eddie click off the little fangs on his already pointy canines and do the same with your own, tucking them into their boxes and into your bag. Shiny gold plastic medals sit on your chests, your prizes for the best costumes among the Jackie’s crew.

He turns the key, squeezes again before hooking his arm works the headrest to reverse out of his spot.

You’re both carrying the weight of the unknown. It doesn’t feel any lighter. Not when you have caught Eddie chewing his black-polished nails and the skin around them, seen him zoning out and pretending he was fine.

Until you know more, have an answer, you can be not okay together, hand in hand in the darkness.

Once you’re on the road, he squeezes your hand and keeps a hold of it as music from the radio fills the silence.

“You hungry?” Your voice is the first to breach the fragile peace.

“Kinda. You want fries?”

“Not really but if you do, it’s my turn.”

He smiles, slight and soft, and squeezes your hand. “There’s some spaghetti left. I’ll heat that up.”

You squeeze back, it’s enough to say ‘okay’ as he sails through green lights and empty streets toward your cosy little apartment.

The walk from the car to the lift to your door, apartment number 8 with its handcrafted Halloween wreath, feels like wading through syrup.

Eddie doesn’t let go of your hand from the moment he helps you out of the car; not when you press the button for the lift, or when he fights with the sticky lock that you have been meaning to call maintenance about. It locks easier from the inside, the bolt slides in easily to double-lock it safely.

Eddie takes your jacket to hang side by side with his own, matching leathers that make you smile through the pressure at the back of your eyes.

“I wanna clean my face and then do it,” you murmur, fiddling with the strap of your bag.

“Okay. We can do that. Clean faces and pyjamas.” Eddie nods, a held-in breath puffing his chest up with false confidence.

He eats cold spaghetti from a Tupperware container by the fridge as you strip out of your clothes and change into fuzzy leopard bottoms and a holey She-Ra t-shirt once the fake blood is swiped from your chest.

The pink and white box from under the bed comes with you to the bathroom.

Eddie joins you at the mirror with oily rich red spaghetti sauce slicing through the fake blood around his mouth. You clean your face as he strips down to boxers and pulls on his soft sleep hoodie that definitely has a concoction of questionable stains; toothpaste and your sleep-drool for sure.

Red and black stained makeup wipes and cotton pads fill the bathroom bin and Eddie lets you comb and scrunchie his hair as you ignore the pressing need to pee for a few more moments of normality. He closes his eyes as you rub cleanser into his face as you had your own, gentle touches and swipes of wet-warm cotton until he’s shiny-clean and human-looking again.

With a layer of moisturiser on, there are no more distractions. The boxed test can no longer be ignored.

“Will I go?”

“You can come back in after I pee. We have to wait like..” you check the box for an answer, “Ten minutes.”

Eddie nods, leaning down to kiss you once. “You don’t need me to hold the stick or anything?”

“I have to pee in a little cup-thing and drop it onto the stick. Chemistry shit,” you shrug, cheeks warm.

“Oh yeah, rules me out then.” He drops one more kiss to your lips before awkwardly taking his leave.

You feel less alone when you know he’s lingering close by.

Eddie doesn’t realise that he’s picked up stress-tidying from you until the bathroom door creaks open and you find him crouched amongst a clutter of unorganised tapes.

“Can you time ten minutes on your watch? Or the egg timer?” you ask, hanging against the doorframe.

The tapes are shoved back into a nonsensical stack - not organised by artist or chronology as he had planned to do - and Eddie scurries to grab his old Casio watch before joining you in the bathroom again.

He slightly panics when he sees you sitting on the floor, but crouches to join you with cracking ankles.

“Old man ankles,” you tease, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Mmhm, getting more like Wayne every day,” he murmurs back, dropping his hand in your lap for you to hold.

Cradled between your palms, you lift it to kiss the side of his thumb.

“Wayne is great. Just keep your hair. Please.” “Deal.”

Silence settles across the room and you watched the way Eddie’s socked feet bounce nervously.

“Eddie?” “Yeah?” “What are we going to do?”

He turns his head and presses a kiss to your hair, bumping the side of his face against your wobbly scrunchied bun.

His voice is quiet. “We don’t know yet.”

“I know that. But it… I’ve been going crazy thinking, Ed. I know you have too.” You squeeze his hand. “Would you want me to get rid of it?”

That idea plucks something painful in his chest. The knot of tangled emotions feels heavier than ever.

“No. Only if that’s what you really wanted. I’m not gonna make you do anything, especially not anything you don’t want to do.” His murmured words are warm on your head and your heart.

“I feel like I’m being pulled apart. Like… I’m just so confused about what to do, Eddie..” His arms wrap around you, hugging you close.

“That’s okay. That’s okay,” he promises.

After a few beats of silence, you feel like you can breathe deep enough to say the words that have been rattling around your head. “I… I do want kids. Some day. With you.”

He nods, agreeing before going quiet again. He thinks, tries to choose his words carefully.

“If that day is like.. nine months away, is that okay with you?” he asks.

“That’s the scary bit.” “Yeah.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready to be a Mom yet. What if I do it wrong?”

Eddie gives you a sad smile. “That’s how I feel too.”

Your foreheads rest together, eyes closed.

“What if I’m never ready? What if I always feel like this?” you continue, leaning your cheek against Eddie’s steady palm. “I’m so happy with you, Eddie. What if this changes us, fucks us up?”

Dry lips press against your forehead, his thumbs swipe your cheek soothingly as you admit the fears that he has been holding too.

You hug him again, squeeze Eddie hard.

“My mom and dad had me by our age.” Eddie’s voice is a whisper against your cheek. “And… it went so wrong, that I’m scared I can’t do it right.”

You squeeze him tight, brushing loose hairs back from his face as his truth spills, unwound from that knot in his chest.

“I just wanna… I want to do it right. For us. For a baby. I want them to feel so fucking loved and happy. I’m so fucking scared, but… I know what to not do. I don’t want to be like him.”

Your heart breaks for that hurt little boy. You had seen him in photo albums and yearbooks, seen him with your own eyes when Eddie had bad days. He’s with you now, looking lost under the shitty bathroom light.

“You won’t be like him. You’re not him, Ed.”

“What if I am? And I just don’t know it?” There’s a frantic smashed-broken edge to his voice.

You crawl onto his lap, a knee on either side of his thighs so you can hold him properly, see his face. Swiping the beaded tears on his black lower lashes, you return that kiss to his forehead.

“You are not your Dad. You just said it, you know what not to do yeah? That’s so important, baby.” You stroke his cheeks with your thumbs.

He nods, wiping his face with his sleeve. His fingers drop to press against his chest like he is massaging the knot to free up his words. “I don’t want to let you down either.”

“You never have, Ed. Never ever.”

His head rests back against the bath as you hold each other. Both scared, but it feels less utterly impossible and all-consuming.

“I think… maybe, it’s good that we’re kinda scared. Because it means we care.” Eddie looks up at you, smooths his hand up your side.

“And babies are kinda scary.” “Oh yeah. Absolutely terrifying.” “Cute though.” “Oh, for sure. That one in the park last week, with the bobble hat..?” “Cute as fuck.”

You share a smiling little kiss before he brings you back for another long holding hug.

It’s easy to get lost in your head, trying to add up your very minimal savings with the cost of a baby, a bigger apartment.

You had both agreed that while you liked your jobs, you didn’t want to be there forever. Eddie wanted to get some more experience with music technology, maybe take a few courses and start teaching guitar lessons again to make extra cash on the side.

It’s early morning now; your routine is all over the place with your late shifts and sleepy afternoons.

After a few moments of silence, Eddie speaks again, bringing you both back from the meandering paths in your minds.

“I’m gonna marry you, y’know.”

You smile, knowing that you both wanted that happy ending. “Yeah? You gonna make me Mrs Munson?”

“Yeah, for sure. Knew that since the day I met you, baby.” He rolls his eyes, playful and pink-cheeked to distract from how raw he still feels.

The swell in your chest makes you sob-laugh.

“You gonna say yes?” he asks, just in case. “When I ask, I mean. This isn’t me asking, by the way. That’ll be way more romantic.”

“Okay.” You roll your eyes at him. “When you ask me, yeah. I’ll say yes.”

“Okay. Cool.” “Cool.”

Another smiling kiss, noses bumping each other’s cheek as you imagine your future together.

You have this feeling in your gut that this man holding you, letting you hold him, will be a great Dad someday. Eddie thinks you will be a great Mom; with you by his side, he feels like he can do anything.

“Ed?” you murmur against his lip. “They have to look like you or I’m gonna be pissed. Whenever that is.”

“Nah, get outta here. Poor kid.” He pokes gently at your ribs with wiggling fingers, stops you from squirming away with another hug.

“Been thinking about a little baby with curly hair and brown eyes,” you admit quietly, mumbling against his neck.

“You been spending too much time in those photo albums with Wayne.”

“It was one afternoon. Your Mom had hundreds of photos of you, Ed. It’s sweet that he kept them, and started his own albums.”

Your fingers fiddle with the drawstrings on his hoodie as Eddie loses himself down that same path of practicality, lit by glowing reminders that he has to grow up someday soon.

“I’m gonna get those fliers for guitar lessons printed next week. Get some cash together. I have some amps I could sell…”

“Ed, you don’t have to do that.”

“I know but.. we can’t have loose wires and heavy shit around with a baby, baby.”

He smiles at the word-play and your heart swells with how much you adore him.

When your lips meet again, the tinny ring of the timer beeps on Eddie’s watch, eating up the distracted peace you had both found.

“Want me to check?” he asks, seeing the shining fear reflected back at him when he looks into your eyes.

“Yes please.”

You slip off his lap and stand, holding out your hands to help Eddie up before you perch on the side of the bath.

“One line is negative, two is positive,” you say, the pink example lines from the back of the box etched into your mind's eye.

“Okay.”

Eddie takes a deep breath. Pauses to cup your face and kiss you before going any further.

“I love you.” His eyes are sparkling, the set of his mouth more serious.

“Love you.”

“This doesn’t change that, okay? S’a fact.”

You nod and steal one more kiss before letting him go to the counter.

Eddie picks up the stick, checks under the light. You watch his face, see the shadow of conflicted confusion. You know then that it’s negative.

“One line,” he whispers, looking up at you.

You nod, coming over to stand with him. You see the one line, solitary and stark.

“Okay,” you whisper, tucking yourself under Eddie’s arm.

You can’t decide if it’s relief or loss you feel; either way, it pushes you over the edge of the precipice you have been teetering on all day and you sob.

Eddie’s hands smooth over your back in soothing strokes, up and down, as your tears soak into his hoodie. He’s not sure what to say, not quite sure how he feels. Burning pressure pushes at his eyes as he lets his cheek rest against your head.

“I don’t know how I feel,” you manage in a small voice after a few moments.

Eddie swipes your tears, the dripping snot too, and thinks you look beautiful. One day, he knows you will shed happy tears caused by two pink lines and he will kiss their salty joy away with a smile.

“We don’t need to have an answer. I think we got carried away thinkin’ huh?”

You feel bone tired, wrung out. “Yeah.”

“Let’s sleep on it.”

There’s a lingering question about your late period that you can’t fathom yet, maybe the test was a dud? Maybe your iron is low, your hormones are off. But at almost five a.m. on that chilly Sunday morning, it can wait until Monday.

You had felt every single emotion since the evening before when you realised and now that you have an answer to the question that had terrified you, thrilled you too in some small way, you felt like a popped balloon.

“I’m really tired.” Your voice sounds pathetic in your ears and it makes you grimace, feeling mad at yourself for getting so worked up.

“I know, baby. Let’s go to bed, okay? I’ve got you.” Eddie whispers his promise against your temple and bends his knees to lift you up.

“Ed…” you start to complain but you’re too tired to fight, so you wrap your legs around him and hold on.

“Shh, let me.”

Eddie is so gentle, it makes your heart hurt. He lays you down and makes sure you are cosy, leaves ever so briefly to get some water and flick off the bathroom light before joining you in bed.

With the lights off, you seek each other out, hold each other close.

You feel utterly consumed by that confusing feeling, the sad relief.

“I’m sorry.”

“Sweetheart.”

“No, I... I got us all wound up and now I feel so stupid.”

Eddie is a steady and sure anchor as your body shakes in the dark.

“You’re not stupid.” He holds you, whispering your name a little firmer to try and bring you back to him. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Please, don’t beat yourself up.”

He sows kisses along your hairline as he makes his heartfelt promises. “I meant what I said. I want the future with you, all of it.”

You just nod, promise him that you want him too, forever. Slowly the tears subside, leaving you feeling beyond exhausted.

Eddie fights sleepfulness to make sure you’re okay, already at peace with the fact that you had so much ahead to look forward, to plan.

He thinks of the antique shop windows, packed with trinkets and curios and glittering gems that you’re drawn to, like a magpie, every time you have a free afternoon to wander in the city without worry. You’re easily sidetracked by their beautiful mystery, and Eddie loves watching your awe.

He thinks of a shiny sparkle on your finger, a little ceremony or a flight to Vegas for the hell of it, and of tiny hands to hold and teach.

He thinks it will be okay.

Lulled to sleep by Eddie’s stroking hands, the warmth of all of his adoration he wraps you up in, you feel peaceful and calm, and not at all scared.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs, likes and comments are absolutely adored and cherished ❤️

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #bouncer!eddie munson #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x f!reader #bouncer!eddie munson x bartender!reader #bangaveragefic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x y/n #eddie stranger things #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson fic #vampire eddie munson #bangaveragefics

212 notes · View notes