Summary: For my fourth and final fic of @littlexdeaths The Twelve Days of Promptmas, I bring you a romcom-worthy meet cute! A one-night stand in a small town is always a dangerous game.
Content: Eddie and Reader are both single parents. Modern AU. P in V and oral sex. Too many feelings for a one-night stand. Reader’s shitty ex mention. Small town dynamics. Light on Christmas, heavy on Eddie being a sexy menace. If you see any typos/messy sentences lmk!!
Just an extra little note to say the biggest THANK YOU to @littlexdeaths for putting together these wonderful Promptmas ideas, and for just being completely lovely and amazing too. I have had such a fun few weeks working on writing again, it’s been a crazy few months for me personally so this has been the best way to get back into writing and feeling creative again!! I’ve loved every minute ❤️
✨bang average festive fics✨ Eddie Munson fics ✨Dividers by @strangergraphics✨
It has been quite a few years since you woke up in a stranger’s bed.
More used to the morning time routine of trying to get a sleepy six-year-old up and ready for the day, or the heartwarming feeling of said six-year-old making her way into your bed to cuddle on sleepy Sundays, you feel a little out of your depth this morning.
And some degree of hungover.
But it could be worse, you supposed. The stranger’s bed was comfy and he had plenty of pillows for you to sleep on. His sheets were clean and he had not totally smothered you like a limpet all night, nor had he expected you to get up and leave while you were still catching your breath. He was a fairer bedmate than your daughter, and it was pleasant to wake up with the warm weight of his inked arm around you rather than a kid’s-size-twelve foot digging into your ribs, or her hair in your mouth.
You sink into the comfort of it all, relishing that long-forgotten post-great-sex ache all over and the feeling of waking after a deep and dreamless sleep. You had not been this well-rested in almost seven years.
Next to you, he is asleep on his stomach with his arm across your middle. The room is dusky dark, but you can still make out the tattoos along his pale bare body and the glint of his nose ring, the spill of long dark hair piled up on his head. He is much softer now than when you met in the bar last night, no coy smirk or wolfish grin, no deep dimples on his cheeks. His whiskey eyes are still shut, and you feel warm all over when you remember how he had looked at you like you were the only woman in the bar, in the world, last night. How he had taken you home and taken you apart right here in his navy sheets.
Carefully, trying not to wake the man next to you, you ease yourself up to check your phone. It’s far too early to worry about picking Hazel up yet.
Not for the first time, you say a silent thanks to the universe for your neighbour for agreeing to babysit Hazel so that you could have a well-deserved Christmas night out with the friends you had made at work. You will bring her a nice hand-tied bouquet from the shop next week, just because. Without Claudia and her kindness to lean on, you know that going it alone in this small new town would so be much harder. It had been serendipitous really, moving in next door to an older and wiser woman who had been in the very same position as you when her son was not much older than Hazel. You begin piecing together the perfect bouquet for her, eucalyptus and rose and red ribbon, distracting yourself briefly from the dull ache in your head and the dry feeling on your tongue.
He brought you a glass of water before you fell asleep together. It’s cool in your throat, though it barely touches the sides of the discomfort pressing behind your brows. When the glass is mostly empty, you settle back next to him and let yourself doze for a little longer.
Eddie instinctively pulls you closer in his sleep, his warm morning breath tickling your shoulder and neck. You know it is just temporary, he is still a stranger, but let yourself enjoy the fleeting comfort while it lasts.
“Morning.”
His voice is rough and smoky, and there’s a tired smile waiting for you when you open your eyes a while later. You are struck by how pretty he is, handsome and hot but pretty with it; long dark lashes and doe-eyes, cheekbones to die for.
“Hi,” you whisper back. You feel yourself smiling back at him, feeling dreamy and oh-so-comfortable. You stretch your body out, relishing the rush of blood and oxygen to your muscles and your eyes drop closed again at that so-good feeling.
“Sleeping Beauty.”
When Eddie kisses your hair, you miss how he closes his eyes and savours the moment; you are too busy basking in the unexpected tenderness of this one-night stand, the easiness of waking up slow with a man you met less than twelve hours ago. Even if it is just for this morning, you soak it up.
“Mhmm. You have a comfy bed,” you whisper, looking up at him again.
You brush your fingertips along his silver chain before tracing up to his jaw, past the tendrils of hair escaping his scrunchie. You know the feeling of that dark grown-out and nicely-maintained stubble, how it brushed and burned so good on the inside of your thighs, how it feels against your lips.
Tentatively, bravely, you press your mouth against his and feel his smile. It’s sweet, slow. Intimate and lovely.
“Yeah? M’glad you think so,” he murmurs and steals one more kiss before pulling you against his body.
Last night as you basked in the afterglow, Eddie asked so quietly if he could hold you and you almost teared up about it. It had been a long time since anyone had held you like that, like he is holding you again this morning. It has been a long time since anyone has been sweet to you, shared closeness and intimacy like this. Not since the man you loved upped and left, leaving you and one-year-old Hazel with only each other to love.
You feel the strength of his arms and the softness of his belly. There’s a stirring, hardening interest against your thigh and yet he’s not being too forward or pushy. He’s just holding you, just ‘coz.
“I don’t… S’a while since I had a sleepover,” he admits, running his blunt nails over the small of your back. “You didn’t hog the covers, and you didn’t sneak off without saying bye…”
Eddie pulls back a little, wearing that small flirty smile that made you swoon last night. His voice is so playful, even though it is deep with morning huskiness.
“Still here,” you whisper back, “I… It’s been a while for me too. I don’t usually… Yeah.” You shrug, you know he gets it.
There is a glint of something in his eyes before he looks up at the ceiling. “I’m glad we did. I had fun.”
The dimple in his cheek is beautiful and bashful, and when he looks at you again his eyes go right to your lips.
“Me too.” You touch his chain again and tug gently to bring your lips together again, putting you both out of your misery.
No one has ever kissed you like Eddie did last night, with all-consuming lust that made you feel electric. He is a blend of rough and smooth, a firm guiding hand followed by a gentle caress. You have never felt so wanted, so craved.
The way he kisses you this morning pushes aside the thoughts of all you need to do today. All you know is want, the cloying feeling of wanting to touch and be touched, craving pleasure. With his hands to guide, you straddle his lap and lean into the feeling of his fingertips wandering past the hem of the t-shirt he loaned you last night.
Eddie looks up at you like you’re some sort of deity, his eyes and lips shining as you peel off the t-shirt and throw it behind you, leaving yourself bare in his lap. He was not put off by the stretch marks, or the Mom Body you felt so self-conscious about sometimes. Nor was he put off by the fact that you are a Mom. Eddie had simply smiled when you briefly mentioned your daughter, told you he had his own little girl without giving too much away. With that fresh layer of yourselves on show, you could understand each other just a little bit more without going full gushing-parent mode, sharing pictures of your little angels or ranting about who loved Bluey and loathed Peppa more.
His fingers run over the stretch marks on your hips, starting up a slow grind as he kisses your neck (remembering your ‘no marks’ rule). There is a slight chill in the air to remind you that beyond this liminal bliss, it is a frosty December morning, but Eddie warms you up and distracts you without second thought.
In the gauzy light, you see touches of fatherhood around his room, easily missed in the passion of last night - a framed drawing on his bedside table, a kiddie hair clip in his ring dish. You smile to yourself and shiver when his warm breath skates over the damp trail of kisses.
“Pretty smile,” he murmurs, needing to taste and feel it again.
Hands wander and squeeze and you get drunk on each other all over again in the cocoon of Eddie’s bed. You blindly follow his dark treasure trail before taking him in hand, hot and diamond-hard, and savour the taste and sound of his moan. Your aching need for him is tempered and satiated by his fingers and you flush hot all over when he encourages you to scoot up and let him taste you, almost begging for it. Dazed with want, you find yourself clinging to the headboard with white knuckles and his name spilling from your lips.
Eddie could die a happy man with your thighs bracketing his head. The taste of you makes him feel drunk as you take your pleasure from him; the needy roll of your hips is encouraged by his greedy hands in contrast to how cautious and careful you had been not to trap and tug his hair beneath your knees.
When you are sufficiently dumb with pleasure, he lays you back against the pillows and lays out his desire for you in between messy kisses, losing his train of thought when you get your hand back on him and whisper back your need for him to fuck you now. Eddie reaches blindly for the (blessedly still-in-date) box of foil-wrapped packets in his drawer, not wanting to look away from you for even a moment.
He holds your hand as he makes love to you and you have to remind yourself not to get too caught up in how sweet Eddie is, even when he his making you feel like you have never been so full; sweetness and filthy words wound together so sweetly. It’s overwhelming and he catches you fighting tears when you feel too good.
“Hey,” he whispers, wearing too much worry between his brows. “Do you want to stop, sweetheart? Am I hurting you?”
A guy being decent should not make your heart swell like this, and yet it does. You shake your head, tears spill over and he brushes them away with care.
“No, no. You’re not hurting me,” you promise. “I feel really good. S’just a lot.”
Your voice wobbles and he smiles fondly against your mouth, relieved and happy to be wanted in return.
Eddie has this magnetism, warm and cloying and a little mysterious; it makes you feel comfortable even when he’s teasing you and making you flush hot all over.
“Yeah, baby? That’s what I’m here for,” he whispers, and kisses you slowly, sweetly. “Let me make you feel good.” You feel like your heart could beat out of your chest. He can feel it hammering against him as he starts up a slow roll of his hips that fills you completely.
Your fingers clutch at the sheets as Eddie fucks you into his mattress. Nothing else matters in those moments, only pleasure. You fight the urge to sink your teeth into the meat and muscle of his arm, lick the drip of sweat from his neck. Instead, you taste the way he moans your name and cling to him when you come just moments apart - you first, then him.
He shares his water with you afterwards when he sees your empty glass; you are both damp with sweat and lying side by side with your heartbeats pounding in your ears, the lingering taste of each other on your tongues.
When he kisses you again, his lips are water-cooled and tender.
“Can I make you some coffee? I have to pick up my little terror in a bit…” he says, already cringing at himself. “She’s great, I swear. I promised her diner pancakes for brunch.”
Reality trickles back in, a not-unpleasant cooling off of your morning together.
“Yeah, I should probably not show up in last night’s clothes to pick my kid up. Coffee sounds good.”
There was always an expiry date on this; the boundaries of a one-night stand were set and familiar, despite how long it has been and despite how easy and intimate this morning has been. You’re both adults, both okay with it.
“Cool.” He smiles and hauls himself out of bed, stepping into his lost and found again boxers before he doubles back to kiss your cheek.
When your legs are steady enough he shows you how the shower works, leaving you to it with a new toothbrush, fresh towels and a familiar squeeze to your bare hip. There’s a little part of you that wants him to join you, waste hot water and let him press you against the cold tiles. Eddie wants that too, to delay your inevitable parting of ways and return to reality.
When you look in the mirror, you see a well-fucked woman; kiss-bitten lips and that long-lost post-sex glow.
“What the fuck,” you murmur to yourself, giggling a little when you think over the last twelve hours.
You had not gone out looking for a hookup last night, but you made the most of the festive excuse to go for drinks with the few friends you had made since moving to Hawkins six months ago. Catching Eddie’s eye at the bar had been a happy accident. A happy accident that lead to letting him buy you a drink, and then buying him one back. Your friends had wholeheartedly encouraged it, knew him to see around town and vouched for him as a mechanic. Good with his hands, they had teased. Oh, how right they had been.
The water is hot and Eddie’s shower gel is the typical ‘for men’ scented sort of thing. You feel fresh and clean when you step back into the bedroom, finding sweats and an Iron Maiden hoodie on the bed for you, alongside your clothes from last night (which Eddie has attempted to fold neatly, instead of leaving you to pick them up from the floor).
It should not make you smile so much, but your cheeks ache pleasantly as you dress yourself, opting for last night’s jeans with Eddie’s sweater. It’s washed-soft and smells like the detergent you have at home with a hint of his cologne.
You follow the scent of coffee and the sound of music downstairs, finding more traces of parenthood on your way - a purple fairy door on the baseboard, a washing basket full of clean kids' clothes outside a closed bedroom door, light-up Skechers and silver glitter rain boots in the hall. There is something familiar about them, but brush it aside as something Hazel probably asked for in Target.
Eddie’s unbuttoned jeans hang low on his hips as he makes coffee in mismatched mugs, his hair is down tickling against his bare shoulders and back. There are drawings on the fridge and a Christmas tree peeking out from the living room. It feels like a happy home.
His eyes light up when he sees you, looking as hungry and enamoured by you in his hoodie as he had been when you were wearing nothing at all.
“Do you take sugar, or are you sweet enough?” he asks, wearing a softer version of that panty-dropper smile from last night. He smells clean, minty and masculine, after a quick whore’s bath in the other bathroom.
“Just one,” you say, resting your hip against the kitchen island while you watch him fix up your coffee. “You’re smooth, huh?”
“You tell me.” He slides the mug across to you before blowing on his coffee, taking a still-too-hot sip that he tries and fails to cover. For a moment, you think he might be doing a bit, alas he is simply endearingly clumsy.
You feel bad laughing, but Eddie only pouts a little bit before grinning at you. There’s a faint blush on his cheeks and he ducks his head to hide behind his hair.
“Real smooth.”
Exercising patience, you decide to let your coffee cool a little.
“I’ll give you a ride home if you like?” he says, hoping it’s not too forward.
He wants to be more forward, ask for your number and ask you out. He likes how his clothes fit your body, and how you looked blissed-out in his bed. While Eddie’s trying not to come off too strong, you appreciate his sweetness and fight your own internal battle of trying not to fall for your one-night stand.
“Yeah, that would be great. Thanks, Eddie. I’m over on Cornwallis, is that out of your way?”
He smiles a little, “I don’t mind a little detour, sweetheart.”
You pointedly blow on your coffee, learning from his mistake, and savour the made-just-right coffee in a Snoopy & Woodstock mug.
Over his shoulder, you spot a photo of a familiar man on the fridge, bookended by two heads of dark curly hair. There’s a handpainted fridge magnet with ‘Fae’ written in childishly charming pink writing, and you feel your cheeks flame.
He watches your face change, looks over his shoulder to see what you’re looking at.
“Ah. That’s my Uncle Wayne, and Fae. My daughter. she’s six.” He unpins the picture and thumbs over it gently before turning it around to you.
You know exactly who they are, but take it anyway.
When you moved your life to Hawkins, Indiana six months ago, you would never have believed that you would make friends with a grandfather in his sixties outside of Curtain Call Dance Studio while you waited for Hazel. Making friends as a single Mom in a new town was not easy, you had little time outside of work and parenting for yourself, let alone socialising (and god forbid, dating). And then you parked next to Wayne one Thursday. He was a little quiet but had warmed up more each week; now he smiled when he saw you, asked how your job at the florists was and how Hazel was doing in school.
Even though they were in different First Grade class groups at Hawkins Elementary, Hazel and Fae had become almost inseparable in their dance classes and on the playground.
You knew Fae’s dad worked late some evenings, so Wayne helped him out. Hazel had told you that she had seen Fae’s dad once when he picked her up early to go to the dentist, and that he had hair just like her friend.
“She looks just like me, it’s crazy - poor kid. I can’t believe she’s six. She’s supposed to be three, max. Y’know what I mean?” He says, showing you more of his proud Dad side before realising that your confusion is not because you’re looking at a picture of two clones. “You okay?”
“You’re Fae’s Dad? Fae Munson?” you ask, watching his shoulders tense a little as he nods. “Eddie. Our kids know each other. I’ve met Wayne.”
He scowls slightly beneath his bangs, confused and a little worried that he hooked up with the mother of one of the kids who was mean to Fae in school, who told the teacher when she was ‘too chatty’ or when she stood up for herself.
The words spill from you untempered, unrestrained to clear it all up. “They’re at dance class together. They’re in the same grade. Hazel and Fae are friends, Eddie…”
He visibly softens, drops his shoulders, and even though he still looks confused he melts even more when an involuntary nervous laugh bubbles from your chest.
“Seriously? No… You’re Hazel’s mom?” His eyes blow wide. “Fuck.”
Eddie puts his head on the counter with a thunk, and you’re left with the photo of three smiling Munsons. Fae has her Dad’s eyes and hair, his impish mischief that had endeared you to the little girl. They really are alike.
“Wayne was right,” he says, muffled beneath his hair before peeking at you, “You are cute.”
It makes you laugh more, though your cheeks feel like the surface of the sun.
“Wayne thinks I’m cute? Huh…”
“No. Nope,” he yelps, head flying up like a wild thing. “Oh my goddd.”
You feel a little spacey as the pieces fall into place. Wayne’s nephew Ed worked at Thatcher Tyre as a mechanic, and Fae had told Hazel her Dad looked like a rockstar. She wasn’t wrong…
“He was totally going to try and set us up or somethin’.”
“He did say I’d finally get to meet you at the Winter Performance…” you say, feeling fizzy-all-over as you come to terms with the shock of it all. “Guess we bet him to it.”
“Told me you were real sweet too.” Eddie smiles, his cheeks are pinker than ever.
Part of your brain berates you for hooking up with a stranger in a small town - a small town where everyone knows everyone else. But when Eddie reaches his hand out across the island and says, “Good to finally meet you, Hazel’s Mom,” with that flirty smile and his whiskey eyes, it melts away and you’re not really that sorry at all.
You take his hand, mug-warmed and adorned with silver rings.
“Nice to meet you at last, Fae’s Dad.”
Neither of you is too embarrassed by the revelation, though you both circle back to how fucking crazy it is at least twice. Even though you still feel gooey-warm under his attention, you don’t want anything to get in the way of your daughter’s friendship, of your new start in Hawkins, and feel selfish for wanting more than the taste you have already had of Eddie Munson. You both know your time together is drawing to an end, the bubble is about to burst, and a little part of you wishes that the illusion of being strangers could have lasted a little longer.
With your coffee consumed and your coats and boots on, Eddie takes your hand and pulls you against his body before you step outside of the door together.
“Hey, gorgeous. One more kiss?” he asks, head tilted to the side.
You don’t need to think about it, and take his stubbled jaw with both hands as he holds your hips. Kissing him makes all the tension roll away once more, and you hope it is enough to help him remember you as more than just some other Mom in the First Grade Parents Group Chat (which you both have muted). You have to savour it, remember his taste and touch.
Eddie is not shy about kissing you, he slides his tongue against yours and moans ever so quietly when you push your chest against his. He is also the one to slow it down, makes it sweet and tender and you would dare say romantic, even with his hands on your ass.
“Can I ask for one more thing?” he whispers, nudging his nose against yours.
Right now, you would consider giving him a kidney or a blow job if he asked nicely.
“Mhm,” you whisper, giving nothing away just yet.
“Can I get your number? I wanna take you out properly,” he says, his thumbs play with the belt loop at the back of your jeans. “Like a date.”
Feeling hot all over, you try to play it cool and not nod so eagerly lest you headbutt him and leave him bloody-nosed.
“Yeah. That would be nice, Eddie.”
He watches how your teeth sink into your lip and has to kiss you once more, just because. You take his phone and add your number and name, adding a little sparkle emoji before deleting it. Then you add it again and hand it back before you can change your mind.
“Cool. And, um maybe the girls could have a play date sometime? I was gonna ask for your number anyway, so y’know. Two birds, one stone and all that. Silver linings?” Eddie does a jazz-hand-flourish thing before he shakes his head at himself and tucks his phone away. “I had a good time with you. A great time. And I know what you might be thinking, I don’t want this to get between the girls either. But I’d love to see you again.”
You are even more endeared by these glimpses of how sensible he is as well as his goofy awkwardness beneath the leather jacket and bad boy stare.
He is as gentlemanly as he had been last night, opening doors for you, though he is less handsy in the bright morning light (he does give your knee a squeeze at the stoplight). You feel safe with him as he navigates the frosty roads of Hawkins, talking about music, what concerts you had been to before becoming parents, and where to get the sparkly tutus for the Winter Performance.
All too soon he pulls up outside your house, spotting the red door with the handmade wreath that you had described.
“Next to Henderson’s?” he asks, brow raised.
“Yep. Do you know Claudia, or is this town just too small?”
He laughs, tilts his head against the headrest. “It’s way too small. Her son, Dustin? One of my best friends.”
You tip your head forward, smiling even as your head shakes. “I’ve heard so much about Dustin. We’re having Christmas dinner with them.”
Eddie's dimpled cheeks crease even more. “Damn. Well, I can’t wait to hear why you picked Hawkins of all places to move to. You can tell me on our date.”
Proud of how that flusters you, he presses a kiss to your hand and winks, “I’ll text you later, sweetheart.”
You want to kiss him again, but you manage to restrain yourself, remembering the nosy neighbours on Cornwallis. Instead, you let the flickering fire inside you flirt back, hoping to fluster him too.
You place your hand high on his thigh and squeeze. “You better, Eddie. Drive safe.”
You can feel him checking you out all over again, the weight and warmth of his gaze, as you make your way up the path to your door. Once your key is in the lock, you part ways with a wave and a wink, lingering just a moment more to watch his car peel away from the curb.
Left with a fluttering feeling in your tummy and warm cheeks that ache from smiling, you take a moment for yourself in your hallway.
It is time to go back to being Hazel’s mom. You can’t wait to hear about her sleepover with Ms. Claudia and the cats, bask in her brilliance and take every hug and smooch she will offer you (or let you take for yourself). Inspired by Eddie and Fae’s breakfast date, you think of taking your girl to the diner for dinner later on, maybe watching a Christmas movie before bed.
In the mirror above your sideboard, hanging above the key dish and the thrifted lamp and a photo of you and Hazel in matching sunglasses, you catch sight of your smiling reflection once more, enveloped in a dreamy daze and borrowed hoodie. Your phone buzzes in your pocket and your smile becomes bigger, brighter, brimming with hope.
What did you think? Do we want more of these two? 👀 Thank you so very very much for reading! Your comments, reblogs and likes are incredibly appreciated and adored!
Whether you're celebrating or not, I am wishing you the cosiest and most wonderful holiday season filled with peace and love and every good thing you deserve ✨
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With Eddie stuck in the hospital, the boys help you bring Christmas to him. 3k
a/n - for the amazing @littlexdeaths twelve days of promptmas! <3
“Mike, stop pulling so hard.”
“You’re holding it too high!”
Lucas scoffs. “It’s literally dragging on the floor.”
“It’s literally not–”
“Guys!” Your snow-slick boots squeal on the linoleum as you spin. “You’re gonna get us caught if you don’t stop arguing.”
“But he–”
“I wasn’t–”
“Both of you! Shut up!”
The scowl Mike gives Lucas is met with equal disdain. But he rolls his eyes and heaves the Christmas tree in his arms up a notch. You resume down the hospital hallway, hauling the front end of the tree with four grumpy teenagers in tow.
You can’t be that annoyed. Dustin, Lucas, Will, and Mike are all here with you of their own volition in this stuffy hospital very early on Christmas morning. And they all have a piece of your heart for doing so.
You adjust your grip on the tree. No matter how you hold it, the bristles poke your waist, and the bark stamps itchy lines into your palms. But you remind yourself of Eddie. Of his hospital room with white walls, white sheets, white machines, white everything. And that’s just not right, not on Christmas.
So you’re bringing the holiday spirit to Eddie this year. Between the five of you, there are three backpacks brimming with unused tinsel, lights, and ornaments, and a pine tree as tall as Lucas.
You’d have decorated earlier if you could’ve. But Eddie procrastinated until Christmas Eve to fix the lights on your roof and in his haste, his heel skidded on a patch of ice, and he tumbled off the house in a rather cartoonish display. It wasn’t funny then, but you can laugh now knowing he’s passed out on painkillers and recovering just fine. Still, two broken ribs were enough to hold him for observation and visiting hours ended before you could scrounge anything festive together. So here you are, slinking through the emergency room past receptionists, nurses, and hospital security in the middle of the night.
You raise a fist, prompting the boys to freeze. The click-clack of heels echoes from around the corner, growing louder by the step. “Back, back, back,” you order.
Mike backpedals straight into Will’s chest and Dustin steps on Lucas’ foot. The tree lurches backward as they all grapple for balance. It’s a clumsy scuffle nowhere near quiet. If whoever’s there didn’t hear you before, they certainly have now.
You try the nearest door handle and swing it open. By some miracle, the room’s unoccupied.
The boys follow your lead, bags jingling loudly with each frantic step. They shove the tree through the doorway at an angle and a branch snags on the frame.
“Wait– stop, stop!” Dustin whisper-yells.
Mike rams it through again, a flurry of pine needles shaking loose and fluttering to the floor.
“Stop,” you bark, “Turn it first.”
They’re a smart bunch but they lack teamwork skills when you so desperately need it. Several pairs of hands fight to maneuver the tree in opposite directions. And all four of them squeeze through the doorway with it, snapping a branch in half and shaking another sheet of pine needles free.
You sweep the tree remains inside with your foot– though there’s certainly still evidence in the hall– and pull the door closed behind you. The cheap window blinds crinkle as you steer them aside, just enough to see past the door.
The heeled woman is either blind, deaf, or committed to minding her own business because she strolls by the door like it’s any other. You slump against the wall, turning to flash a thumbs up at the kids as soon as she’s out of view. You’re matched with a quartet of yawns, skipping from one frown to the next.
“Almost there,” you encourage. It’s not a lie, per se, but it’s not very close to the truth either. This might be harder than you imagined.
The elevator is too risky, so you take the stairs. But hauling a whole tree up four flights of stairs is no easy task. Mumbled complaints overlap and echo in the stairwell and by the top, your arms and legs are protesting just the same.
The door whines as you crack it open, and you peer through the gap to scope out the area. There’s a nurse's station in the center of the floor manned by the same woman you’d seen earlier. Eddie’s room is on the opposite side; there’s virtually no way to sneak past without her seeing.
You turn around, eyes locking with Dustins like they’re two bullseyes.
He crosses his arms and cocks his head. He knows the look you're giving him and he doesn’t like it. “What?”
“I need you to distract the nurse.”
He says your name through a sigh, but before he can actually disagree, you yank him by the sleeve and thrust him through the doorway.
The nurse’s head pops up from the desk immediately and Dustin shakes himself into character.
“Help!” he shouts, promptly clearing his throat. “I need help– it’s my, my mother! You must help her,” he whips his head left and right. “Over here, in the elevator!”
The nurse doesn’t move. She tries to speak but Dustin interrupts her.
“No! She won’t make it! Please– hurry!”
The woman scrambles out of her seat and jogs after Dustin. He’s not very convincing, but he’s a better actor than the rest of you. And he’s very committed once he’s in it. Dustin’s cries persist, eventually distant enough that your adrenaline loosens its grip. You fling the door open, pinning it with your foot. The boys hustle through, following your pointer finger down the right corridor. You trot back ahead, escorting them right up to Eddie’s door.
The sharp, sterile scent of disinfectant imbues the frigid air in his room. The machines are off so the quiet hangs heavy. It’s the opposite of warm in every sense possible. And the little bit of it still spilling in from the hall is quickly cinched as someone shuts the door.
You grope around the darkness, staggering over to the inky shadow you recall to be a chair. Your fingertips brush the scratchy fabric, and you let your bag slip from your shoulder, landing softly on the seat.
A splash of light from the window catches one side of Eddie’s face. His lashes kiss the hills of his cheeks and his mouth is hinged open, exhaling a string of soft snores. It’s very cute, though, the kids’ expressions don’t reflect the same fondness.
“We don’t have all day,” Lucas mocks, parroting your exact words from earlier when you’d urged him to get in the van before all the heat escaped.
Your gaze sours when it reaches the boys. “Shut up. Help me stand the tree up.”
Lucas snickers, planting himself on the other side of the tree. You lift the trunk so Will can slide the base under and Mike goes prone on the floor to screw it in.
“Hurry up,” Lucas complains.
“I can’t see!”
“Shhh!”
Will pulls a flashlight from his bag and points it at Mike’s hands. The final screws are tightened and the boys let go.
You give the trunk an affirming shake before retracting your own hands. It remains upright, even after a few optimistic steps back.
If you think decorating would be the easiest part of this mission, you’d be wrong. It’s much too dark to work, even after Will situates his flashlight so it’s highlighting most of the tree. And keeping quiet might be impossible when you’re forced to mediate petty teenage arguments every five minutes.
Mike and Will are hunched over a wad of string lights on the floor, unknotting opposite ends when Lucas waves his much neater spool of lights. “Uhh, we can’t use those. I brought rainbow ones.”
Will tuts at the other boy. “So? We can use both?”
“No, it’ll look stupid.”
Will beckons you over with a growing frown. You’d swear these kids never graduated middle school if you hadn’t gone to the ceremony. The older they get, the more they fight, it seems. But your patience is thinning with each wave of attitude you receive. You’d asked for their help as their friends, not their babysitters.
“Use both,” you decide, hands pressed into your hips.
“But it won’t match!”
“It’s fine, Lucas.”
He rolls his eyes very blatantly at you. It takes every ounce of self-restraint not to drive him home then and there.
But the sound of the door handle rattling steals your attention. It jerks up and down but the door doesn’t open; one of the kids must’ve locked it. Your heart springs up into your throat, your eyes swinging around the room for an escape plan. The lock will only buy you so much time and there’s no way to safely exit through the window and—
“It’s me!” Dustin shouts, popping into the window frame. His lips are nearly touching the glass and he’s fogging up the pane with his breath.
“Jesus,” you mumble, clutching your chest as you march up to the door.
Dustin scrambles in, chest heaving with a glare aimed right at you. “You would not believe how much stamina that woman has! I mean she just kept going. I thought, I lost her, and then–”
You slap your palm across his mouth. “Shhh!”
His wide eyes follow yours to Eddie.
Eddie sighs, lips smacking as he straightens a leg across the sheets. You’ve never been so thankful to be dating such a deep sleeper.
“Sorry,” Dustin whispers.
You shove him further into the room. “Go. Be quiet.”
Dustin grabs the tail end of the lights in Will’s hands. Together they wind the cord around the bottom half of the tree. Lucas dresses the top half in rainbow bulbs, still sulking as he works.
You squat beside Mike to help him sort the ornament pile. One you brought quickly catches your eye. It’s a clay guitar pick Eddie made in middle school art class, an instant favorite of yours. You take it and hang it front and center, filling the gap in the middle of the tree where they ran out of lights.
One by one, the tree is stocked with a rainbow of mismatched ornaments. There's something from each of their homes– family photos and elementary school crafts and trinkets of every size. It’s a wild assortment but a very special one too.
Dustin is determined to hang the star– puts up a case that he was used as bait and thus deserves it– though, no one was going to argue against him in the first place. He climbs onto Mike’s back, arms stretching as far as they’ll go.
“God, you’re heavy.”
“Stop complaining. Get me closer.”
“I’m trying.”
Mike staggers closer and Dustin snatches a fistful of the top. The entire tree lurches toward him, ornaments clinking in his wake.
“Wait– careful,” you urge.
Dustin lists dangerously forward, jamming the star through the bristles.
From beside you, Will hums disapprovingly, “It’s crooked.”
Dustin’s tongue curls over his lip as he adjusts it. “Now?”
“Still crooked.”
"Now?"
Your hands hover out in front of you like a net but you are not as prepared to catch him as you look. “No, it’s fine. Just leave it.”
Dustin releases the tip and the whole tree reels back. His arm shoots back out to steady it, but a handful of ornaments swing off and onto the floor. Miraculously, none shatter, but they bounce away in a ripple of clinking.
Your focus jumps over to Eddie. He’s squinting vaguely in your direction, head tilted off his pillow with curls plastered to one cheek.
A breathy chuckle reverberates through your chest. “Merry Christmas!”
“Wha…”
The kids mimic you in their own broken choir of wishes but with half the enthusiasm you delivered.
Eddie’s eyebrows weave into one crooked arch. He attempts, and quickly fails, to prop himself up on his elbows, making a sullen sort of sigh on the way down.
You stride over to the bed, landing on the edge by his sheet-wrapped thigh. Your hand slips behind his shoulders and you offer a half smile. “Surprise?”
He winces into a sit, a hand flying to his chest. Pain folds back into confusion as his eyes flicker across each face in the room. “I don’t… Why?”
“So you can celebrate, silly.” You hook a finger under the hair stuck to his face and tuck it behind his ear.
His lashes flutter closed as he melts into your palm, slowly bending until his forehead meets your shoulder. “Sorry, ‘m so tired.”
Despite the overdramatic gagging going on behind you, you accept the embrace, running a ginger hand up his spine where his gown has billowed open. “Don’t be. Didn’t mean to wake ya. It’s early.”
His nose sweeps a cold line across your collar. “How’d you get in? Place is like a prison,” he mumbles. “Already tried to escape.”
“No, you didn’t,” you snort.
“No,” he admits, lips turning against your shirt. “You snuck in? Snuck a whole Christmas tree in?”
You lean away just enough to nod, pride softening the edges of your grin.
“And you managed to do that with Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum times two.”
“I’m sorry– Who face-planted off a roof again?” Dustin cracks.
Your sudden laughter is corked with Eddie’s palm. He glares– or tries to anyway– but you know his tells. The way one corner of his mouth twitches through his frown. How he tilts his head when he’s secretly amused. “Don’t laugh at that,” he says, utterly unconvincing.
The rest of your laugh is swallowed, but the levity doesn’t fade. You peel his fingers off, gently carrying them to your lap like they might be broken too. “It’s true. You did.”
“Whatever.”
“Don’t pout.” You tip your head, mirroring him on purpose. “Do you like it?”
His gaze tapers back up to the scene behind you, eyes glowing with red, green, and gold. “No, I love it,” he says honestly.
“Yeah?”
“Mhmm. I can’t believe this. How’d I get so lucky? Hmm?” Eddie pinches your side, cutting off your giggle with a swift kiss.
“God, gross!”
You whip your head toward the source. “Lucas, you literally have a girlfriend.”
“Yeah, but you’re kissing Eddie.”
“What? You don’t think Eddie’s pretty?” Your fingers clamp either side of his face, cheeks squishing into his puckered lips like a fish.
Eddie stares blankly at Lucas, but the second his eyes bound to yours, you both burst into laughter.
“Don’t make me laugh, babe. Fuck,” he hisses, doubled over in amusement and equal pain.
“Sorry, sorry,” you amend, hands gently sandwiching his. “Oh– Let me get your gift.”
He’s curious but he still sulks as you leave, chasing the lost warmth as you slide off the bed. “A gift?”
“Mhmm,” you say, unzipping the front pocket of your bag. You fish out a small box wrapped in glossy paper with a puffy, red bow.
He gives it a good shake when you pass it to him and a knowing smirk at the noise it makes.
“Open it.” You beckon the kids closer, taking your prior spot on the bed. “It’s from all of us.”
The paper falls away under Eddie’s eager hands, a smirk growing and growing until it suddenly falters. Pure shock washes over him as he gawks at the gift. A limited edition, glow-in-the-dark set of dice he’s been talking about for months.
His eyes shoot between you and the dice several times before he asks, “Where’d you even get these? They sold out like immediately.”
You shrug, nonchalance slipping. “Know a guy.”
He rolls his eyes, giving your shoulder a good jostle. And his gaze shifts across every person in the room, thumb absentmindedly roving across the box's label. “Thank you, guys.”
“They come with one condition,” Dustin says.
“What’s that?”
“You have to resurrect Virehart the Vengeful.”
Eddie groans, burying his smile in his free hand and shaking his head. “I told you guys I’m not doing it.”
“Please, come on! That’s our only condition,” Will tries.
“He literally had like two lines.”
“And they were badass!” says Dustin. “A blade is only as sharp as the courage behind it,” he recites in a voice much deeper than his own.
“Oh my God.” Eddie waves a dismissive hand. “Fine, fine.”
The boys celebrate with a chain of cheers. Eddie steals your fingers back amidst all of the yelling, a doting little look in his eyes. Forget the dice, you’re the real gift to him.
The fuss very promptly ends when someone clears their throat. You all turn in unison, finding the same nurse from earlier. She sighs, hands planted on her hips with a disapproving shake to her head.
Paring: Steve Harrington x chronically ill!Reader (gender neutral)
Summary: A medical mishap leads to you and Steve spending the holiday in the hospital, and discovering maybe you’re more alike than you once believed. || this is for the twelve days of promptmas! day twelve: spending christmas/christmas eve in the ER
WC: 4k+
Includes/CW: angst, hurt/comfort, idiots to lovers, misunderstandings, chronic illness (left vague to be more inclusive), some symptoms are mentioned (syncope, temp. intolerance, fatigue), language, special appearances by some pals, pathetic pining, the rest is fluff and silliness!
A/N: hi! I left the details, aside from some symptoms, of the chronic illness reader has vague so more folks might be able to relate. Thanks @littlexdeaths for the fun lil holiday prompts! I’m so stoked I was able to come up with something last minute lol. Hope y’all enjoy if you read this one <3 title is from glittery - kacey musgraves & dividers are from @strangergraphics!
Waking up from a syncope episode isn’t the same as waking up in the morning.
Your limbs feel heavy, body tingling on pins and needles all over, and you only wake up more exhausted; you’re used to it by now.
What you’re not used to, is waking up next to—
“St- Steve?” You groggily rub your eyes, feeling a slight tug in your hand.; blinking a few times to focus, you notice the IV needle attached to it.
Ah, shit.
“Hm…?” Steve, crumpled in a heap on a nearby chair, begins to stir. His legs are hung over the arm of the chair, using a balled up gown under his head as a makeshift pillow, resting on the other arm. “S’goin’ on?”
“Um,” You’re coming to, more alert as the seconds pass. “You tell me?”
He blinks sleepily, sporting a disheveled, bed head, without the bed. Stretching his arms over his head, his shirt rides up enough to see his tummy, makes a soft noise that builds into a yawn; instinctively, you stare, wondering what it’s like to actually wake up next to him. It’s cute. He’s cute. You hate him for that.
You hate him for a lot of things— so why the fuck is he here?
More importantly, why are you?
Reality catches up to Steve, and he fumbles trying to adjust himself in the chair, wobbling it a bit as he swings his legs back to the floor. “I shoulda’ just gave myself a concussion or something to get a bed too.”
You quirk a brow, “Don’t ya’ have a few racked up already?”
He grunts, waving the concern away with his hand. With a gravelly voice, still in a daze, he asks, “How’re you feeling?”
Now you’re scrunching your brows together, confused. “I’m sorry, am I dead right now?”
Steve snorts, “Huh? No, you’re not. Thought you were for a second, though. It was—“ He pauses, dragging his chair closer to the bed. Muscle memory forces you to scowl and scoot back on the bed, keeping the distance. “Shit, sorry, I shouldn’t— that’s— I should’ve asked first.”
You’re lost, not totally lost, but still lost enough.
“… S’okay, I guess.”
He still pushes the chair back a few inches, but he leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. Your eyes meet his, filled with concern. It fills you with shame— why?
“Why didn’t you tell anyone about this?” Steve’s voice drops to a whisper, glancing over his shoulder at the closed door, then back to you; it’s a genuine question, not one out of malice or anger. “The whole… you fainting, thing, I mean.”
“Didn’t think it was important.” That’s only partially the truth. Why worry anyone when you have it under control?
Well, you had it under control, until today.
You see the right doctors— though, god, did that take for-fucking-ever— you’re finally on the right meds, after trial and error, time and time again.
“You didn’t think it was— I’m sorry, but that’s pretty important to people who give a shit about you.” He scoffs, sinking in his chair. “One minute, you’re running around in the snow with the kids, the next, you’re on the ground, out cold. That’s not important?”
“Not to you, it isn’t.” Regret instantly swallows you whole, dragging you down further at the look of offense flashing across Steve’s face. He shoves his hands in his hoodie pocket, averting his eyes to the window with a heavy sigh.
“Not true, but that— that’s not my concern right now.” His voice cracks a bit— is he genuinely bothered by this? It’s not like it’s breaking news; the two of you have never seen eye to eye, barely getting along for the party’s sake.
It was just a difference of personalities and backgrounds that kept a permanent gap between the two of you. Which, of course, only made less sense once Steve and Eddie became friends.
In fact, you know Steve isn’t one to flaunt the life and wealth he was born into, at least, not anymore. He hates it, hates how people see him because of it, but you can’t see him any other way. He’s long distanced himself from the ‘King Steve’ persona, hardly forgiving himself for it, even years later. You always thought he began to care for everyone but himself first to absolve himself of any past guilt— that turned out to be wrong; he’s the first one to offer rides for the kids, whether to hang out with one another, or take Max to physical therapy, and even allowing Dustin to use his car to practice driving (despite how stressed out he is as a passenger).
Since his home is usually empty, Steve’s gotten used to everyone just walking in, or staying over, like they live there; you might be the only one who still awkwardly rings the doorbell before movie nights with the party. Gatherings usually happen at his place, because he has the room for everyone to hang out comfortably. The pool is just a bonus on the hottest days of the summer.
And Steve looks happier, despite all the inner turmoil regarding his past, and the sea of trauma he’s fighting to stay afloat in. It must be nice to fill a house with the people you love, who love you in return, and don’t just use you for shitty parties and a well-stocked liquor cabinet.
You still can’t help but resent him for the life he was born into, though, but you try to keep the specifics to yourself, for the sake of everyone else. Everything handed to him, everything that came easy his way, you had the opposite.
The unknowingly ableist, backhanded comments never helped, either. Steve probably had no idea, but any time you needed a break from exerting any energy, he’d make little jabs about how you couldn’t keep up.
“Why didn’t you take your medication?”
His question clears the fog of your overwhelming thoughts away, leading you back into the present.
Brows furrowing, you scoff a laugh, confused. “Wh— I did.”
“You didn’t,” He states firmly.
“How do you know?”
“From the bloodwork they ran.”
Something warm blooms in your chest, hearing how invested he is in your well being, but the ice in your heart quickly freezes it all over.
“Why the hell do you have access to that shit?”
Steve presses the heels of his palms to his eyes, groaning in frustration. “I don’t, but the doctor asked us all while you were out, and none of us even knew what to say.” His hands fall away, but he starts talking with them in frantic motions. “Then that sent the kids into a panic, and Dustin— you know how he gets— starts asking if you’re dying, then the others started to shout thousands of questions at the doctor, demanding explanations, but that’s where it stopped, I promise.”
“Oh.” You sink against your pillows, the weight of remorse heavy on your heart. “I just— okay, I’m not dying, so let’s get that off the table.”
You don’t miss the way Steve’s shoulders relax, wondering why he’s tense over this.
“But… ?”
“It feels like it, sometimes.” Shrugging, you hope he stops asking questions. “I’m fine, I think my body just grew a tolerance for my medication, and I keep pushing off calling my doctor.” He doesn’t need to, not yet, when you’re beginning to word vomit everywhere. “‘Cause that shit is expensive, and I don’t want to drop that kind of money on a visit that they’ll only say ‘hey, your meds aren’t working, so let’s try something new’, as if I didn’t know already. Then it’s the whole process of trial and error, and getting used to side effects, weighing out the pros and cons of sticking with one kind, or starting all over to find something else that might work, but who knows.
“I probably forgot to take them, ‘cause honestly, what’s the point if it’s not helping?” You bring your knees to your chest, resting your head on them with a huff. “But I guess they were still helping somewhat, so I fucked up.” You tilt your face away from him, staring out the window at the glum, grey sky, wishing it’d bring some snow, at least. “It gets so old being sick all the time, watching everyone else have fun, live their lives, while I have to be cautious in how I live, but I can’t really afford that, either.”
Steve doesn’t respond, nor do you expect him to after unloading all of that frustration and grief. You turn to him to find himself pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes screwed shut.
“Sorry for all of th—“
He jolts up, shaking his head wildly, hands in tandem. “Don’t apologize, this shit’s out of your control. I just— I’ve said some… really stupid stuff to you, and I had no right to.” He locks eyes with you, stare glassy and full of regret. “All the times I made comments about you sitting stuff out, or being boring— that— it was fucked up, even if I didn’t know. If anyone needs to apologize, it’s me.”
Hugging your legs tighter, you’re conflicted.
“You shouldn’t have pushed yourself to prove anything, or try to— I don’t know— look, I wish I knew, but even if you didn’t have a- this— um, condition,” He clears his throat, nervous to use the wrong terminology. “It wouldn’t be my business to ask why you’re taking time for yourself.”
Cautiously, he brings his chair a tad closer, sliding it across the floor. This time, you don’t move away, but your hand twitches in surprise when he reaches out, fingers brushing against your own. He doesn’t push it. “I really am sorry, and you don’t have to accept that, but it’s not right letting this shit go without apologizing to you.”
Over time, you’ve grown to read people pretty easily, especially in moments of vulnerability like this— you know he’s sincere, and you hate that. You hate it, and he said you don’t have to accept the apology, but you hate yourself for wanting to.
Fatigue overcomes your pride, and you whisper, “Thank you.” One last attempt at shielding yourself arises, yanking your hand away from his. “You don’t have to stick around, Steve.” Plucking loose threads from the scratchy hospital blanket, you feel your emotions come undone in time with them. “M’not sure if it’s out of guilt, or you trying to do one last good deed for the year, but I’m not a charity case.”
Steve doesn’t chase you, gives you physical space, but softly counters, “You’re not a charity case, I’d never think that about you. I just didn’t want you to be alone when you woke up.”
Guilt just seems to consistently flow back and forth between the two of you, filling the room with nothing but.
Crossing your legs under the blanket, you relax a little, still fidgeting with the blanket’s threads.
“That’s… thank you, Steve. That’s really nice of you, but I don’t wanna take you away from any plans you have for Christmas Eve.”
He snorts softly with a loose eye roll. “Yeah, right. You’ve seen how empty my place is without you guys. My parents went on some cruise, or some shit.” His smile fades, earnestly adding, “I’ll leave if you want, but no one should have to be alone during the holidays without a choice, at least.”
I hate him. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him— for… being a decent human being.
What the hell’s my problem?
A smirk tugs at one corner of your lips, visible enough for Steve to notice. “I think it’s you who doesn’t wanna be alone for Christmas Eve.”
Playfully, he rolls his eyes again. “What gave you that impression?”
“The kids aren’t up your ass tonight?” Little by little, you can feel the tension fizzle out. It’s slow, but it’s better than nothing.
“Nah, when I told ‘em I’d stay, Eddie offered to drive them home, since they all had plans.” Though the tension is on its way out, you notice Steve biting his lip, like he’s holding himself back from saying something.. He opens his mouth to speak, but hesitates, choosing his words with caution. “You scared the hell outta us. Before you collapsed, you looked over at me— and I don’t think you meant to—” He teases, trying to keep the conversation easy for both sides. “But you started to say ‘I’m gonna pass out’ and did, mid-sentence. The kids thought you were just being dramatic, but I… I’ve seen that look before… usually it’s never good.”
This was what you wanted to avoid the entire time.
“I should’ve been upfront from the start, but I didn’t wanna worry anyone. There’s so many triggers, and the cold’s one of ‘em.” He frowns with a knowing look. “It’s hard talking about it, ‘cause most people try to coddle me once they find out. I want to be understood when I need to take care of myself, especially with flare ups, not treated like some fragile doll.”
“You’re anything but fragile, let’s be real here,” He teases, earning an eye roll-chuckle combination. “Seriously! I thought the snowball you hurled at me was gonna be the big concussion to do me in for good.”
It’s a lighthearted comment, but it’s enough to make your heart ache.
“Is it really that bad?” You ask in a whisper. He shrugs lazily, like it’s no problem at all.
“Maybe not that bad, but I get migraines pretty often now, and chronic pain, just kinda… everywhere,” He admits, shoving his hands back in the front pocket of his hoodie. “Some days are harder than others, too. Makes sense for all the shit we went through, though.”
A mirthless laugh slips out. “They don’t even know where I got mine.” Contemplating, he purses his lips, looking down to the floor. “You okay?”
“I don’t think we’re as different as you believe,” Steve dares to observe. “Sure, we’re different in a lot of ways, and I don’t know your pain exactly, but you’re not alone. We’re both on the same plane.”
You snort, shaking your head. “Same boat, you mean?”
“Eh,” He grins lazily at you, “Same thing.”
He’s right, about your differences— and you don’t hate it as much as you thought you would.
“Oh, shit, hang on—“ Steve jumps out of his chair, startling you. “— I forgot the nurses wanted to know when you woke up. Fuck.” What startles you even more is the way he leans down to kiss the top of your head. It’s fleeting, without thought, only reacting on buried feelings. He doesn’t even realize it until he reaches the door, frozen mid-step.
Heat rises to bloom across your face, emotions rolling through you without mercy as your heart thumps through your chest.
“Um, sorry, I- I’ll be—“ Steve clears his throat, terrified to turn back to you, slipping out the door, “—yeah.”
Weirdest Christmas yet.
The nurses come and go, checking your vitals and asking basic questions, informing you that you’re staying the night, maybe even tomorrow night, too— which, you figured; this isn’t your first hospital rodeo.
Steve, however, doesn’t come back, and it leaves you perplexed. And weirdly enough… bummed out?
If he left out of embarrassment, though, you don’t blame him.
Snow’s finally falling in fluffy handfuls, so that gives you a good distraction. However, it doesn’t last long when the door creaks open. You glance over your shoulder, hoping to see Steve, but you don’t.
Not alone, that is.
It’s Steve, and Eddie, Robin, and Dustin, sneaking into your room well past visiting hours, snickering as they accomplish their mission. Eddie’s decked out in a Santa costume, hair from each side of his head clipped under his chin for a makeshift beard. He’s got a sack— a garbage bag— over his shoulder, with a wide grin slapped on his face. Dustin and Robin have matching elf hats, and you’re shocked to see Steve does, too.
Your face lights up at the sight of more friends, pulling a smile out of Steve, too.
“How’d you get in?!”
“Okay, so, I lied and said we were going to the children’s ward, to bring gifts for the holiday—“
“Eddie!”
“What? We’ll say we got lost, or something.” He shrugs, plopping the bag onto the chair Steve slept in. Rummaging around, he adds, “Besides, I grabbed a few old Happy Meal toys I had still lying around, so I’ll just… leave those on the desk upstairs, or something.”
Robin rolls her eyes with a huff, then grinning your way. “We heard you’re stuck here tonight, so we thought we should bring Christmas to you!”
“But you gotta close your eyes!” Dustin rushes out, and when you don’t immediately do so, he scolds you, “Close ‘em!”
“Jesus, Dustin, you’re too mean to be an elf.” Steve grumbles, making his way over to you. He leans down to your ear, whispering, “Okay, but really, close your eyes.” You do, ignoring how nervous the close proximity is making you.
A minute passes while noises surround you of giggling, cursing, scolding at one another, and some you can’t decode.
“Can I open—“
“Nope,” Steve’s hand covers your eyes, but he freezes. “Shit, I’m sorry, I keep doing that—“ He’s about to pull his hand away when you grip his wrist, keeping it in place with a sly smile. He’s grateful you can’t see how hard he’s blushing.
“Oh my god, Steve, you’re the worst elf in the world,” Dustin chides. “What happened to helping?”
“This is helping! I’m making sure they don’t peek!”
“Santa’s gotta do all the work around here, huh?” Eddie gripes. The banter fuels your giggles, while the warmth of Steve’s hand weirdly feels comforting. It ends far too soon, though. “Okay, okay, you can open ‘em.”
His hand falls away as your eyes pop open, taking in the sight around you.
Gone are the bleak, fluorescent lights, turned off and replaced by strung Christmas lights— some warm, others colorful. Illuminated on the dresser is a vintage, ceramic Christmas tree, with the tiny plastic bulbs. There’s tinsel everywhere— oh boy— with random holiday knick-knacks on every surface available, probably lovingly borrowed from everyone’s homes. Candy canes are hooked on anything they can hang from, and bows are stuck everywhere, too.
It’s as if the spirit of Christmas threw up all over the damn place.
This is probably breaking so many rules, but that doesn’t matter right now.
“We had window clings too, but that’d block the view of the snow, so,” Robin flip-flops her hand, waving away the thought.
Tears well in your eyes, adding a soft, bleary glow to the twinkling lights around you. Soft laughter laced with pure joy is all you can respond with.
“We gotta go before someone finds us, but real quick—“ Dustin sets a poorly wrapped present on your bed— it’s large, and lumpy, wrapped with three kinds of paper. “This is from all of us, and the others.”
Eagerly, you tear into the paper, finding a soft, plush blanket, one in your favorite color, and it’s so warm. While you squish the fabric to your face, humming happily, Steve clears his throat, grabbing your attention. He holds up a remote, and your brows knit together.
“And the best part— it’s heated.”
“‘Cause you’re always so cold!” Dustin exclaims, as if that’s something to be happy about, but the sentiment has heart.
“Don’t worry, we checked and it can reach that one outlet near the loveseat you always take when we’re at Steve’s.” Robin reassures with the observation.
“And it’s that fabric that doesn’t make ya’ all blegh’ed out.” Eddie adds; he’s right, it’s actually not a sensory nightmare, but buttery soft instead.
“What the hell does that mean?” Dustin snorts.
The effort, the love and care put into this wholesome mischief, the tiny observations about your personality that even you don’t give much thought to— it warms your heart and brings tears to your eyes.
“I- I don’t know what to say… thank you doesn’t seem like enough, but… this might be the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” You hug the blanket to your chest happily. “Wait, what am I doing—“ You drop the blanket on your lap, throwing your arms open, “Y’all, get over here!”
One by one each friend adds to the hug while you murmur, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” They squeeze you tight— a respectable amount, nothing to hurt you further, of course.
“Feel better, we’ll all hang out when you’re home!” Robin pinches your cheek, and you swat her hand away playfully. Dustin fist bumps you, expressing well wishes, too, adding, “Glad you’re not dying!”
Steve hisses, “Oh my god, Dustin—“
“I’m going, I’m going!”
Eddie’s the last to leave, garbage bag over his shoulder again, ruffling your hair lightly. “Merry Christmas, kid.”
“Eddie, I’m your age, you dork.”
“Not while I’m Santa!” He waves, then salutes to Steve on his way out, who shakes his head, chuckling.
The excitement dies down once it’s only you and Steve left, but the air of holiday cheer lingers, as does the awkward energy from the unexplained kiss. Steve tosses his elf hat aside, sitting on the edge of your bed when you pout.
“Aw, man,” You pout. “You looked good with that hat.”
“Don’t— I can’t tell if you’re joking or not—“ He blushes, kicking one foot across the floor while keeping his eyes fixated down. “Hope all of that was okay. I know it’s not as good as Christmas at home—“
“Steve, are you kidding me? I meant it when I said this is the nicest thing anyone’s done for me. Best Christmas in a long time, honestly.” Your hand reaches out to rest on his arm, a move of reassurance, but it sends warmth through you. Judging off the red shade deepening on Steve’s face, you assume he’s feeling something, too. “But I gotta ask... Why’d you kiss me?”
“Oh— that?” His free arm reaches behind his back hand rubbing the back of his head as he shyly smiles. “It— I— that was— I didn’t think, I’m sorry. It just felt… normal? Like in the moment— I don’t know how else to explain it. And sorry I left like that, I wanted to call Robin while I had the chance, and wait to sneak them in—”
“There’s nothing to apologize for,” You assure him softly, throwing the blanket over yourself. “You wanna try this out with me?”
Steve glances around, then points to himself, like a total goof. “Me?”
“Oh, no, I was asking the elf hat— yes, you.”
“Um… you sure? The bed’s kinda small for the both of us.”
You shrug, handing over the plug to the blanket’s remote, “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t cool with it.”
Steve studies your face, expecting you to falter, but you don’t. He plugs the blanket in, cautiously sliding in next to you. Once he’s all settled next to you, uncomfortably trying to give you space, he asks, “What changed so suddenly?”
Taking a risk, your arm slides over his torso to hook around his back, tugging him closer. “This okay?” He nods eagerly. “I thought you were different, in a bad way. I don’t know why it took a hospital trip to realize we’re on the same page, even if our lives are practically opposite, but it did.”
He gives in, relaxing against you while enveloping you in his embrace, too.
“I always thought you were cute, by the way,” You mutter into his sweatshirt-clad shoulder.
“Huh?”
“Yeah, but I… man, I don’t fucking know. I’ve been dumb, when I could’ve had a friend who gets it.”
“I could’ve been nicer, so… it isn’t all you. But we could start over.” He glances down to catch the dopey, exhausted smile you’re giving him, “This is exactly why I made sure we found a blanket that shuts off automatically. I knew you’d immediately get sleepy.”
Another detail you never expected him, or anyone, to notice. A powerful duo of sleepiness and fatigue— two you’ve learned over the years are different from one another— crash over you like a wave, pulling you under.
“Shit…” You mumble, cheek squished against him. “Wanted to watch the snow.”
“Only thing you’re gonna watch is the inside of your eyelids at this point,” Steve teases, fingers wandering to brush along your face, blushing as you hum, nudging your face into his touch. “‘M’glad you’re okay.”
Your silence makes Steve wonder if you fell asleep, until you lean in, leaving a kiss on his cheek, while half-awake.
“Merry Christmas, Steve.”
When you curl up into him, he kisses the top of your head— intentionally, this time— and is left confused as you drift off, but content.
It’s not like the mistletoe he had stashed away behind the bed would help the confusion, but that can wait until tomorrow. All he knows for certain is, this is his best Christmas yet, too.
And You're Driven Like the Snow | s.h. x mall goth!reader
Summary | Just when you thought Christmas Eve couldn't get any more stressful at Starcourt, that pretty boy from Scoops Ahoy (that you did not have a crush on) walked into your shop and threw your whole night for a loop.
Prompt | You need a last minute gift, but man that sales clerk sure is cute…
Warnings & Notes | 18+, fem!reader, mostly fluff, sorta merry little meet-cute (?), mutual pining, post-S3 au in which nothing bad happens, nervous & awkward Steve, reader's appearance not described only parts of her wardrobe are referenced
Author's Note | This was an idea I had started only a couple of days before @littlexdeaths posted the Twelve Days of Promptmas list, so when I saw a prompt that fit the vibes, I made some little adjustments to the story! This is my first go at writing Steve, so I hope I've done him justice.
Recommended Listening | very merry gothmas
WC | 12.5k
[part two: on a bed of autumn leaves]
Still night, nothing for miles // A white curtain come down
Kill the lights in the middle of the road // And take a, take a look around
The guy in that stupid little sailor suit should not have ever caught your eye, not for anything more than a simple laugh at his expense before moving on with your day. And yet - as you entered the mall before hours, running late and knowing that your manager would chew you out for it - you caught yourself doing a double-take, looking from his gorgeous head of hair down to the near dangerous length of his shorts.
It only lasted for perhaps a few seconds, but nonetheless you had to shake yourself from the moment, utter confusion written across your face. Why the hell had you looked for even just that second, eyeing some pretty boy who most certainly wasn’t your type at all?
Once you had entered Spencer’s Gifts through the staff door and gotten the expected scolding from your manager who was on an authority high, you’d all but forgotten about your strange lapse in judgment on your way here. And so your day carried on as usual, your week carried on as usual, and that stupid looking boy from the ice cream shop wasn’t even a blip in your mind.
Until a week or so later, when once again you spotted him from afar as the two of you entered Starcourt for your respective shifts. This time, you couldn’t help but stare a little longer, looking him up and down with an insatiable curiosity as he walked far enough ahead of you that he was most likely unaware of your presence at all.
You tried to convince yourself that you were staring this time simply to figure out why he caught your attention in the first place - it had to be because of how stupid that Scoops Ahoy uniform was, right? There was no way you were oddly charmed by how well he wore it, or how his hair looked incredibly soft, or how his absentminded expression had an endearing quality to it. Nope, you weren’t staring out of any sort of interest in him at all, it was simply some morbid sense of curiosity about someone so clearly unlike yourself.
It was the third time you were staring, however, that made you kick yourself, because on this occasion the Scoops Ahoy guy caught you.
You’d been walking quite a fair distance behind - hoping that you didn’t look like a total creep watching how his long strides carried him - when his keys fell from his hands. When he turned to pick them up, the two of you met eyes across the expanse of the empty mall; you hadn’t even realized that you stopped walking until that moment.
You were instantly flustered by his brown eyes and the curious furrow of his brow, trying in vain to look around yourself and act as if you totally weren’t staring at all. Of course, you knew even as you did it that the act wasn’t going to work; when you nervously met his eyes again, you thought perhaps you saw something like amusement there. So, panicked and not knowing what else to do, you glared harshly as if to dismiss your staring and briskly continued on towards the escalators without daring to slow or look back at him one last time.
Why you’d been so caught up in him at all was a mystery to you, and so from that point you made a conscious effort to ignore him in the hopes that eventually your intrigue would be forgotten. So, you briefly found some guy cute? Didn’t matter, especially considering that you had no intention of ever speaking to him anyway.
Most days, that stupid Scoops Ahoy guy never even crossed your mind, but when he did, it was nearly an annoyance. If ever you visited the food court for lunch, it was almost aggressive the way you ignored the ice cream parlor, acting as if it wasn’t even there. During some of your morning walks through Starcourt you tried to keep your head down, but more than once the two of you had accidentally fallen in-stride with one another, which would prompt you to practically stomp forward and act as if you didn’t know he was there at all.
Then there was one day when you were convinced that your coworker was conspiring against you, because Shelley all but dragged you down to Scoops Ahoy despite your protests. Evidently, her ice cream craving took precedence over your arguments against accompanying her.
You could feel the tension in your body and across your face as you awkwardly stood there beside Shelley, your eyes trained on the floor as if that would keep you from doing something foolish. If your coworker was aware of your rigid demeanor, she didn’t draw attention to it, far too focused on ordering the most annoyingly intricate sundae you’d ever seen.
As luck would have it, you weren’t invisible simply because you wouldn’t look at the Scoops Ahoy guy, because he turned his attention to you and asked, “Anything for you?”
You looked up with a mean expression, which was somewhat unintentional - your nerves always managed to make you seem bitchy rather than anxious, which was a win depending on who you asked. You could see the exact moment that he recognized you, his expression faltering for a brief moment; you weren’t sure if his surprise was good or bad.
Your eyes bounced around his face for a moment, flicking down towards his name tag just long enough to read that it said “Steve” in bubble letters; shit, having his name made this so much worse somehow. But you found your voice quickly - although it felt like a lifetime - giving him a blunt and mildly rude, “No.”
You could see a bit of tension between his brows at your response, but he was able to mask it quickly, putting on that false customer service smile while turning his attention back to Shelley. That interaction was damn near mortifying for you, and for weeks after you avoided the food court like a damn plague.
Then, of course, there was that one time you were cleaning up shelves near the front of Spencer’s, minding your business and trying to zone out everything around you, when you felt as if there were a pair of eyes on you. So, you looked around quizzically, up and down the wide aisles of Starcourt, when finally you spotted Steve rubber-necking from across the way just so he could stare at you. Beside him was his fellow Scoops Ahoy employee, and under other circumstances, their matching uniforms would have made the sight of them comical to you, but in this instance all you felt was confusion and nervousness.
Now it was your turn to pull a bewildered expression as a flustered look flashed across Steve’s face. He abruptly pulled his gaze away, pretending to look at the mannequins in the shop window next to him, though he practically tripped over himself in his panic.
Despite your utter confusion, something about it made you smile to yourself while turning back towards your work, though you just as quickly shook off the expression. You were not about to get giddy just because some guy was looking at you - for all you knew, his stare was a bad thing. Maybe he was just trying to remember your face so he knew which store to avoid, or maybe - an even worse thought - he was confusing you with someone else. Regardless, you kept your head down until you were finally done with your task, whisking deeper into the store the moment that you were free.
You were a pretty far cry from Steve Harrington’s usual type - the all-black wardrobe, the intricate make-up, and the wild hair of the goth scene had never been of any interest to him before. In fact, a younger, more entitled and rude Steve would have probably mocked your appearance. The only time he would spare a second glance at someone clad in black was usually because their attire was garishly off-trend, but otherwise he’d never once spared any goth chick a second glance.
That is, until that one morning when he dropped his keys and caught you staring at him.
Steve was almost certain that he’d seen you around before, though only sparingly and in his periphery; he could have been confusing you with some of the other mall goths he’d seen lurking about, but he was pretty damn confident that he recognized you specifically.
He was taken aback by the fact that you were watching him so intently, his interest only amplified by the way your expression morphed from curiosity into a glare before you briskly walked off in the direction of your respective workplace. Steve couldn’t help but watch you go, an intrigue planted in his brain as he looked you up and down, perhaps trying to commit your appearance to memory. He wondered why you seemed so focused on him, which quickly morphed into wondering about you in general.
It was almost refreshing to have someone new to be curious about, considering that chicks seemed to abruptly lose interest in Steve over the summer. It bolstered his confidence to catch you staring at him, a confidence that he didn’t realize had wavered so much.
Oftentimes, Steve would go days at a time without thinking about the goth girl who gave him pause, but every time he thought he was free of you, you’d appear again like clockwork. He’d see you in the parking lot as the two of you rushed into work, on a lunch break trying to scarf down your food so you wouldn’t be late, talking with people who were maybe coworkers or friends. And even that brief, stinted interaction when you were in line at Scoops Ahoy managed to intrigue him despite your rudeness.
Again, it was usually only in passing, but Steve was becoming increasingly aware of your presence… and increasingly aware of the fact that he found you very attractive.
He didn’t know a damn thing about you - not your name or what your voice sounded like or your interests - but Steve was beginning to enjoy those random sightings of you around Starcourt, even looking forward to them as if you were a rare lunar eclipse. Watching you walk quickly across the mall and towards the escalators became a guessing game for him, wondering which shop you worked in - though, he didn’t want to be that guy who would swing by your workplace just so he could catch a glimpse of you. He wasn’t sure what it was about you that he was so drawn to, yet he couldn’t resist looking each time you were nearby.
Robin, of course, wasn’t stupid and caught onto the fact that someone was drawing Steve’s attention every now and then, but for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out who. Although they’d only been friends for a few months at this point, the two of them were practically attached at the hip, so it was strange that Steve wasn’t talking about whoever this new distraction was.
Considering that he all but gave up on flirting with girls at Scoops and hadn’t been on a date in months - so far as Robin was aware - it only made this scenario all the more intriguing to her. Now, Robin was committed to figuring out who had caught Steve’s eye and why he wasn’t saying anything about it.
She finally got her answer one day as the two of them were walking through Starcourt after work, Robin insisting on stopping into a couple of stores before leaving. She noticed Steve clearly focused elsewhere, and so she tried to slyly look around, hoping she’d pinpoint the chick that had Steve’s head turning. Evidently, he must have been caught, because Steve whipped his attention around rapidly, even stumbling over his feet as he tried to play nonchalant.
So, Robin looked back while stifling her laugh, eyes scanning the crowds for anyone who could be the culprit - she was expecting it to be obvious, to see a gorgeous girl in preppy clothes with equally as generic hair and make-up. But when no one instantly stood out, it made her pause, eyes focusing in on each and every face more carefully.
Steve hadn’t realized that she stopped walking until he was a few paces ahead, looking either side of him before turning around towards his best friend. His brows furrowed with confusion as he asked what she was doing, but Robin was too focused to answer; so, he walked back towards her, trying to follow her line of sight, still feeling a touch frazzled by the fact that you’d caught him staring at you so damn openly.
It took a minute, but Robin was still coming up blank - no one looked to be Steve’s type at all. She turned her attention back to him, eyes narrowing with a scrutiny that was making him nervous all over again.
“Who were you looking at?” Robin asked. Steve’s brow rose with worry that he’d been caught before he tried to put on a false show of innocence.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Bullshit.” Robin’s expression became even more scheming, eager to play detective and uncover what Steve wasn’t telling her, “Don’t play dumb, I know you’ve been distracted by someone recently, so who is it?”
Despite it being an uphill battle, Steve still tried to feign confusion, “I haven’t been distracted by anyone.”
“You’re not as subtle as you think.” Robin smiled devilishly, looking around Starcourt again, “So, why are you afraid of just telling me?”
Steve stared dumbly at her for a moment, heart drumming nervously as if he’d committed some kind of crime. With a deep sigh, he shook his head while looking down at the ground in defeat - he figured the worst Robin could do was pick on him a little, so there was no reason to be this secretive about it.
So, Steve looked back towards Spencer’s, half hoping you wouldn’t be at the front of the store, but you were still there directly in his sight. He pointed towards you, praying that you wouldn’t happen to look back up just like you did a couple of minutes ago. Robin followed his finger, her brow knitted together when the only person who fit the bill even slightly was you, the goth chick with the “don’t talk to me” attitude.
She looked between you and Steve, back and forth enough times that it was nearly slapstick; everything she knew about Steve up to this point hadn’t prepared her for the realization that maybe goth could be his type. Is that why he hadn’t mentioned it, why he hadn’t once discussed a new crush he was maybe developing?
Once the shock of it had passed, Robin’s eyes lit up with amusement, which only made Steve sigh in preparation for the inevitable annoyance she was about to be, “How the hell do you know her?”
“I don’t know her.” Steve insisted quickly, “I just started noticing her, that’s all.”
Robin’s expression grew giddier as she bumped her shoulder into his, “Then when are you going to try to get to know her?”
“I’m not.” Steve rolled his eyes.
“Why?” Robin couldn’t help but grow invested in the scenario, especially because Steve was being so resistant to it, “What’s the harm in just talking to her?”
“I don’t know if I’m even into her, let alone if she’d give me the time of day.” Steve argued as if it were the most obvious thing.
“Only way to find out is to try.” Robin sing-songed, delighting in her best friend’s torment.
“And be on the receiving end of that glare again? Yeah, no thanks.” Robin shook her head at his stubbornness, prepared to keep up her taunts, but Steve spoke again before she got the chance to, “Look, drop it, I’m not gonna talk to her.”
“But aren’t you at least a little curious? Maybe she’s your soulmate.” Robin teased as Steve began walking again, all too invested in putting as much distance between you and him as possible. She had to jog a few steps just to catch up with him again, “Come on, Steve, just go for it.”
“I’m really not as interested as you think I am.” Steve argued as Robin looked back towards Spencer’s again briefly. She hummed with doubt, clearly not convinced by the disinterested front he put up; as Steve’s best friend, she decided it was her job to just give him the little nudge he needed, she just had to figure out how and when.
As if he could tell that she was scheming, Steve raised his brows with a warning look that was far from intimidating, “Robin, don’t.”
She continued to mull things over, quite intent on her new mission, but to appease Steve, she nodded noncommittally while rolling her eyes, “Sure, whatever, I’ll drop it…”
Eventually, Thanksgiving had come and gone; with the cold weather now a mainstay in Hawkins, you stupidly mourned the fact that Steve (and god how you wish you could just forget that name) was now wearing pants instead of those little shorts. Despite your best efforts not to think about him too much, you could no longer resist letting him cross your mind from time to time.
Around that same time that the shorts were retired for the coming winter, your manager had roped you into a supervisor role that you didn’t even want; it was more thrust upon you once they began hiring seasonal staff to help with the influx of holiday customers. This meant that you were constantly swamped with tasks, overworked and underpaid as you seemed to spend every damn day at Starcourt covering shifts or counting inventory or arguing with the delivery guys over damaged shipments.
And all for a minimum wage position at some gag store like Spencer’s freaking Gifts? You decided that you may have to do some job hunting once the holidays had come to an end.
To top it all off, you were now stuck short staffed for the closing shift on Christmas Eve thanks to two employees calling out “sick;” really, you thought it was ridiculous that Starcourt was even open on the holiday, but nothing was going to stop capitalism America from catering to those last-minute, needy shoppers.
Honestly, you didn’t celebrate the holiday, so it wasn’t as if being at work was keeping you from family or friends or parties - but you really weren’t excited to deal with argumentative customers and theft and the impatient crowds of people who simply couldn’t be bothered to do their shopping any sooner. That was the kind of shit that was bound to make you rip your hair out.
But, alas, here you were, trying to keep it together as shoppers crammed into the small store, ruining displays, asking for price checks, being rude and dismissive with the kids at the registers. It was exactly the kind of chaos you were expecting, and yet somehow it was even more insufferable than you had prepared yourself for.
Considering that you were the keyholder for tonight, you tried your damnedest to keep the ship known as Spencer’s afloat - you were all too happy to get confrontational with rude customers, get your fellow employees off the registers when it was clear shit was becoming too much, ran back and forth from the stockroom to the store floor in your best effort to keep the shelves full. The stress of it all dared to turn you into an addict of some kind, because right now you could definitely use a fix of something that you couldn’t even name.
The shop was only set to be open for another half hour, and although the crowd had thinned, there were still far too many customers here for your liking - at this rate, you’d be stuck at work half the night just trying to get everyone out of here and get the store closed properly. At least the staff looked less stressed than before, at least you had the chance to breathe between shopper complaints and demands, though that did little to alleviate your frustrations.
As you were busy putting out the last few boxes of He-Man figures that had been flying off the shelf all goddamn night, you could sense someone approaching you from the corner of your eye, a question hurriedly leaving their lips before you even had a chance to greet them.
“Would it be a little vulgar if someone gave this as a gift to the person they were interested in?” Your brow furrowed as you met the eyes of a girl about your age, her freckled face cute and friendly as she held out a pillow in the shape of tits. You looked back and forth between the gag pillow and her face a few times; although you were exhausted by the day you had, something about her question dared to amuse you, as if she knew that you needed some kind of pick-me-up.
And it had almost worked, too, until you noticed the man who had followed just a step behind her; he dragged his hand down his face uncomfortably, shaking his head while hissing her name frantically beneath his breath. His posture suggested he was exacerbated - as if he didn’t want to be here or as if they’d already had this conversation or as if he was embarrassed. It then took you another split second to realize who he was, as he wasn’t wearing that familiar uniform that you’d been trying and failing to ignore for months.
It was Steve.
Your expression instantly sobered as he looked between you and the girl, his panicky, apologetic gaze making you nervous instantly. Just like you had done nearly half a dozen times since learning of Steve’s existence, you impulsively glowered at him as if to dismiss your fears, although you immediately cursed yourself for doing something so stupid.
But maybe he didn’t notice, because his attention was already on the girl instead, brows raised with surprise at her behavior, his attitude akin to that of a scolding parent tired of their kid’s shit, “Jesus, Robin, really?”
Robin shrugged defensively, although there seemed to be some kind of knowing amusement in her eyes, a twinkle of mischief, “Well, I wanted a second opinion.”
“Oh yeah, sure you did.”
You looked between the duo awkwardly, not wanting to walk away considering that you were on the clock, but so wishing to be anywhere but here right now, as you could feel your face growing warm simply because Steve was standing right here in front of you.
In a measly attempt to calm your nerves, you returned focus to the box of figures you’d been unloading just a few moments ago. Beside you, the two bickered in hushed tones, just quiet enough that you weren’t really sure what the problem was or what they were saying to one another.
You took a deep breath through your nose, pressing your lips together as you put the last Skeletor up on the shelf; you had to decide if you were going to leave them to their squabbling or try to assist them. And for whatever reason, you chose professionalism over your selfish desire to get the hell out of dodge.
“Depends on how well you know the person.” You said plainly, cutting through their spat and quieting the both of them. You picked up the now empty box while looking from one pretty face to the other, your gaze tired from the long day that you’d had, “If they’re already a friend, hopefully they’ll laugh, but some fake tits probably won’t make someone interested in you.”
Your nose scrunched as you mulled over the girl’s question again, looking down at the stupid pillow that was dangling forgotten in her hand. A silent conversation was clearly happening between Robin and Steve, if their expressive faces were anything to go on. You sighed deeply, closing your eyes for a moment to compose yourself - it was damn near closing time, and the last thing you needed was to be stressing out over the guy that you did not have a crush on. He was just nice to look at, that’s all, though having him here just a few feet in front of you made you antsy as all get-out.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?” You asked dully, drawing their attention back to you; you tried not to swallow nervously under the inviting warmth of those deep brown eyes.
Although he looked about ready to say something, Robin spoke first, her tone purposeful to the point that it was suspicious, “Actually, if you don’t mind, Steve here was looking at something behind the counter; could you show it to him?”
Steve shot Robin a look that seemed to be either a threat or a plea, and you continued to look between them with doubt, uncertainty, and trepidation; your shift had already been ridiculous as it is, and whatever shenanigans were clearly going on here was the last thing you wanted to worry about. Once again, you could see some kind of conflict happening even without any words being spoken between them.
So, you sighed decisively, shaking your head a little, “I’ll meet you up at the counter whenever you’re ready.”
You ducked into the storeroom to discard your empty box, taking a moment to breathe and relax before peeking out the door to see if your walking away had prompted Steve and Robin to leave or if they were still lingering around somewhere. A muttered “fuck” passed between your lips as you saw them clearly bickering near the front entrance, as if one wanted to go and one wanted to stay. You rolled your eyes up towards the ceiling because of course this would happen to you tonight, obviously the one person you’d been mildly attracted to recently would show up at your workplace when you were at your most stressed. So damn typical.
Collecting yourself, you walked from the storeroom towards the front counter, curious if they’d actually come up to look at whatever the hell Steve was supposedly interested in; really, you were hoping they’d just give up and leave, it would certainly make your night easier. You tried your damnedest to not look back over in their direction, letting the other customers serve as a much needed distraction, ringing up their purchases and trying to shoo them out and close shop as quickly as possible.
You were starting to think that the rush to lock up the store for the night had dissuaded Steve and Robin, because you couldn’t see either of them from your vantage point at the checkout counter. And by some miracle, you didn’t have any customers in need of assistance - at least for the moment - so you let your shoulders deflate, a relieved sigh escaping you. Less than ten minutes and you’d be able to lock the doors.
But your luck had run out almost immediately, because you saw someone coming up to the counter from the corner of your eye; preparing yourself, you took a deep breath and turned, though your confidence had withered away the moment you met their eyes.
Steve approached you alone, Robin nowhere in sight, which made your nerves even worse than before. His mouth was open as if he was about to speak, but no words were coming out, looking like he was frozen beneath your gaze; you had to resist that impulsive urge to glare, though you were certain you nonetheless didn’t look terribly approachable.
He leaned stiffly against the counter, trying his best to look easy and unbothered despite clearly feeling the opposite. You simply stared for a moment, unsure of yourself, before you managed to pull it together at least briefly.
“What was it that you wanted to look at?” You asked in your monotonous customer service voice, bracing your hands on the counter as if that could keep you calm and steady.
“There wasn’t actually anything,” Steve finally found his voice as he looked nervously between your eyes. Your brow curved up curiously, though a part of you had nearly suspected that answer.
“Yeah, I figured.” Your tone came off colder than you intended, and it caused apprehension to immediately flashed across Steve’s face. Realizing your mistake, you looked around yourself before rounding the counter, walking purposefully as if you had something else you needed to be doing, though all you were really doing was trying to escape. You could feel Steve following, the crowded shelves of merchandise forcing him into nearly too close proximity behind you.
“Sometimes Robin just says things, you know, she can be funny like that.” Steve explained as your expression furrowed, wondering what his deal was. You stopped walking abruptly, causing Steve to bump right into you, ill-prepared for the sudden halt. As he quickly apologized, he steadied his hands on your shoulders for the briefest of seconds, just as suddenly snatching them away as if he’d been burned by you.
You spun around to face Steve, his body so close to yours that you practically bumped noses in the process; your eyes widened nervously, taking in his handsome face as you tried to keep yourself composed. Steve’s string of repeated “sorry”s tapered off, his mouth ajar as his eyes grew larger, too, gaze bouncing around your face rapidly.
“Well,” You started in what you hoped was a confident, disinterested tone, “we close in about five minutes… so if you plan on buying something, you should probably go check out.”
Steve nodded dumbly as he looked between your eyes before he dropped his gaze towards the ground; you realized he had absolutely no merchandise in hand, “Uh huh, yeah, I’ll do that.”
You licked your lip, taking in the pretty way his hair fell in his face and the unsure look in his eyes. For a moment, you became engrossed in him, feeling your own expression soften the longer you stared. But just as quickly, you shook yourself out of it, trying to speak with an air of finality that simply didn’t land, “I… hope you have a good holiday?”
Steve looked up at you through his lashes, though you turned quickly to continue walking away before you could get caught up in his eyes. But apparently he wasn’t ready for the conversation to end just yet, because he followed after you and continued, “Sorry, wait--”
You paused with a deep, nervous sigh, getting more and more edgy as the moments ticked by. What could this clean-cut, vanilla guy possibly want with someone like you?
You spun again, crossing your arms comfortingly in front of you while raising a brow; you realized after you’d done it that you probably looked pissed and defensive rather than nervous. When you didn’t say anything, Steve tripped over himself while trying to find his words, cheeks tinged with pink as he looked anywhere but your eyes.
“Look, I know I’m holding you up and you probably want to get home to your family or a boyfriend or something, I mean, it’s Christmas Eve, of course you’d have plans,” he started quickly, and there was something so damn charming about it that you couldn’t help the way your eyes lit up, gaze softening as you studied him; even still, your heart beat quickly inside your chest, “but I just, uh, I’ve seen you around the mall and thought I’d… introduce myself.”
Steve finally looked between your eyes again, and it appeared that your expression only made him more anxious, because he began yet another spiel, “God, that makes it sound like I just go around introducing myself to every damn person in the mall. I don’t - honestly that would be a lot of work - I mean that I wanted to talk to you specifically, you know.”
You couldn’t help the surprised grin that tugged at the corner of your mouth, absolutely taken aback by the unexpected personality behind the handsome face. Considering that you’d only ever watched Steve from afar and barely interacted with him once before, you let yourself think he was some uninteresting, dull guy. That little assumption made it so much easier to ignore the desire to stare at him, to forget about him more often than not. Now that you were so close and seeing his actual personality come through, he was, unfortunately, winning you over far too easily for your liking.
“Oh, you’re smiling, that’s good,” Steve said, his eyes growing larger as if he hadn’t planned on saying that out loud. Pushing his hair back in a fluid motion, he looked around the store while trying to take a deep breath, “You’re kinda scary, you know that?”
An unexpected laugh escaped you, your rigid posture relaxing a hair more, “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”
“It’s not a bad thing,” Steve held up his hands as if he were approaching a skittish animal.
“I know.” You responded without thinking; once again, your goddamn nerves were making you come across like a total bitch, “Uh, usually it makes people less interested in talking to me.”
There was something of a frenzied look in Steve’s eyes, and you realized that maybe your blunt attitude was causing him panic. His posture had grown a touch more tense than it already was, and your fear of fucking up was causing a chaos of butterflies in your chest.
But in that same moment, you remembered that you were still on the clock and desperate to close the store, your mind going back into work mode as you hissed a small “shit” beneath your breath.
“Look, I gotta close,” You started, catching the way Steve’s face fell in defeat. You quickly added in what you hoped was a more friendly tone than the one you’d been using all night, “but, uh… it was nice talking to you.”
Your expression furrowed with uncertainty, looking between Steve’s eyes as you awaited a possible acceptance or rejection to what you just said. Mirrored back to you was his own trepidation and doubt, as if he hadn’t quite understood what you said.
When he didn’t respond right away, you raised your brows questioningly, “Maybe… we’ll chat sometime?”
The question prompted Steve to nod quickly with a slightly improved look on his face, though he still seemed dumbfounded, “Yeah yeah, totally.”
You stared at each other for a long, awkward minute, neither really knowing what to say or do next. The tension between you filled your head with concern, and you were growing more and more confused the longer that you lingered.
“Well, uh… bye.” You said dumbly before awkwardly turning your back, walking deeper into the store so you could take even just a minute to calm the fuck down. You pulled a critical face at your own stupid behavior, muttering about how crudely you handled that pathetic excuse of a conversation. You tried to shake it off, knowing that you still had to get the rest of the customers moving so you could lock the damn doors, but you feared Steve would be a nagging little distraction in your mind until you finally made it back home.
Despite knowing better, you couldn’t help but look back over your shoulder apprehensively - you weren’t sure if you wanted to meet Steve’s eyes, or if you were hoping he’d already walked away. A jolt of anxiety shot up your spine when you found that he was still watching you, looking to be in deep consideration as if he was trying to make sense of that frazzling interaction. You both startled and turned away from each other at the same time, and all you could wonder is if you had fucked up enough that you’d scared Steve away.
When you finally had Spencer’s closed for the evening, you walked out in a group with your coworkers, everyone bracing themselves for the cold, teeth chattering and arms shivering. The parking lot was still littered with a couple dozen cars as you all moved together - clearly other Starcourt employees were stuck working even later than you.
You were barely listening to the eager conversation happening between the others, who were discussing their plans for the holiday; stupidly, you were still hung up on your conversation with Steve. Your day had already been stressful and shitty, so totally biffing that interaction was yet one more dumb notch in your belt. You really shouldn’t have gotten yourself worked up over it, but your nerves clearly had other plans, because now it was the only thing you could think about whether you liked it or not.
The group eventually all went their separate ways as you continued meandering to your stupid little car, not in any rush to get back home. Packed snow crunched beneath your feet as pretty flakes stuck to your face and hair; although it was cold, the night was still and the temperature almost soothing after the long day you’d had.
Unlocking your car, you carelessly tossed your bag into the passenger seat and slid behind the wheel, fumbling with the key as you tried to slot it into the ignition. But once you turned the key, all you got was a sad sputtering sound from the engine, which filled you with instantaneous dread. You paused for a moment before trying again, yet once more, the car wouldn’t start.
Really? One more goddamn thing to worry about tonight. Grumbling and huffing, you kicked the door open again and popped the hood of the car, though what you were looking for you had no idea - you knew absolutely nothing about cars, hell, you could barely put air in the tires without it becoming a whole goddamn ordeal.
With your hands braced on the lifted hood, you stared down into the old engine as if you’d miraculously figure out what needed to be done; you tried to take deep, calm breaths so that you wouldn’t freak out unnecessarily, but you could feel that impulse slowly bubbling up inside you.
To let out some of the frustration, you kicked the front bumper, your heavy boot protecting you from feeling any pain on impact. Your arms fell with defeat to your sides, because, unfortunately, simply staring at the engine did nothing to resolve the problem.
Around you, other cars left the parking lot slowly, but no one made an effort to stop and offer you assistance, not that you were really expecting any help to begin with. Headlights reflected off the glistening snowy surfaces, frost and ice crackled under tires, and you stood there like some sad, pathetic ghost of Christmas whatever-the-fuck.
“Need a hand?” A voice called from behind you, taking you by surprise, considering that you assumed the driver was simply going to pass by and ignore you. You sighed deeply to get your stress under control, because without looking you already knew exactly who it was that offered you assistance; at this rate, it was damn near ridiculous and ironic that he’d be the one to show up to your rescue.
You turned slowly to face Steve, hoping you didn’t look too pathetic as a small glare settled in your eyes. He hung out the window of his car, brow knotted with worry as he looked between you and your shitty vehicle; you leaned your rear against the front of your car, crossing your arms to protect yourself from both the cold and Steve.
“You’re not following me, are you?” You jested with little amusement, because what else were you supposed to do after the shitty day you’d had?
“Not on purpose.” Steve answered simply, pulling in next to you and putting his car in park, “Battery?”
You shrugged with a melodramatic sweep of your arms, a defeated, sad laugh escaping you, “Who fucking knows.”
There was a decisiveness to Steve’s expression as he climbed out of his vehicle and popped the hood, opening the trunk and digging out some jumper cables. The focused look on his face helped to ease you despite the way your night was going, and it very nearly made you smile through your frustrations.
“Well, let’s hope this works.” Steve said as he hooked up the cables, double checking his work along the way to make sure he didn’t blow up either engine. Eventually, he pointed towards your driver door, “See if we can get this started up.”
You nodded quickly as the two of you slid into your respective driver's seats, Steve starting his car up first; but after three attempts, your damn car still wouldn’t start, and you slumped back into the seat, groaning loudly while tugging at your hair in frustration; god, what kind of shit luck were you dealt?
Steve came up and leaned in the open door frame, eyes sympathetic as he gazed down at you; you didn’t even have the energy to be nervous about his close proximity or the gentleness of his gaze. A weak laugh escaped you as you shook your head, “As if tonight couldn't get any worse.”
You met Steve’s eyes, looking between them pitifully as the cold of the evening began to seep into your bones. He stared back sympathetically, his expression troubled by the fact that he couldn’t fix the problem for you. Despite all your earlier nerves and awkwardness around him, all you felt right now was amity between you two.
“Thanks for trying.” You sighed, resting your head back and staring absently at the ripped and tattered ceiling. You swallowed down the upset lump in your throat, “I meant what I said earlier - about wanting to chat sometime, I mean.”
A faint smile graced Steve’s lips as he glanced down at his feet a moment, meeting your eyes again kindly, “Bet you weren’t expecting it to go like this, though.”
You shook your head while closing your eyes as a smirk dared to tug at the corner of your mouth, “Not in the slightest…”
Steve wet his lips as his brow furrowed again, looking around at the parking lot that was growing emptier as the minutes ticked by. His face was contemplative for a long beat before he brought his attention back to you while taking a deep breath, “Let me give you a ride.”
You balked at the suggestion, shaking your head quickly, “You really don’t have to do that, I’ve caused you enough trouble--”
“What else am I supposed to do, leave you stranded here?” Steve interrupted, raising his brows for emphasis, waving his hand in a “follow me” motion as he stepped back. You stayed planted in your seat, watching him with uncertainty; Steve gave you another look when you didn’t follow, “Come on; gives us a chance to chat some more, right?”
You hesitated a couple moments longer, but eventually you scooped up your bag and stiffly climbed out of the car; Steve was already in the process of unhooking the cables and closing your hood. As you awkwardly stood there waiting for him to finish, he studied you from the corner of his eye, which prompted your brows to furrow as you went on the defensive.
“You better not be kidnapping me.” Your statement caused Steve to laugh and shake his head at how ridiculous that notion was; he closed the hood of his car next and rounded to the driver’s side.
“You’re scary, remember? I don’t have the balls to kidnap you.” You couldn’t help but smile gaily at his response, which seemed to please Steve, as an equally delighted look crossed his face, “Oh, another smile, good.”
You rolled your eyes, though you were nonetheless still fascinated by how nervous Steve seemed to be around you. As you stared at him for a brief moment, he chewed the inside of his cheek and made another hand gesture before ducking into his car, “Come on, it’s getting cold.”
So, you followed his lead and slid into the passenger seat, though once you closed the door it was like another wave of tension washed over you - stupid as it seemed, you found there to be something so personal about being alone in a car with someone you barely knew. Your posture grew stiff almost instantly, eyes staring straight ahead into the snowy night as Steve cranked up the heat and began a slow crawl across the parking lot.
“Where am I heading?” Steve asked while glancing over at you; you kept your eyes forward as you told him your neighborhood. For a very long minute, the two of you were silent as the strangeness of this scenario dawned on you both. Steve cleared his throat, “Sorry about earlier.”
You glanced over at him with a confused look, trying not to shrink nervously when he turned to face you, “What do you mean?”
“I was bothering you at work,” he started with a shrug, “kinda wasted your time.”
Timidly, you looked back towards him again, thankful that his eyes were back on the road, “You weren’t bothering me.”
Steve made a face as if he didn’t believe you, “Yeah? Could’ve fooled me.”
You hummed in acknowledgement of your earlier attitude, forcing yourself to be a little more communicative so he couldn’t misinterpret you again, “We didn’t really get the time to talk much… and I was nervous.”
Steve laughed, an inviting sound that drew both an amused and confused look across your face. He glanced at you again, shaking his head humorously, “You, nervous? That’s not the impression I got at all.”
The corner of your mouth tugged up as your eyes looked about his face, “Then what impression did you get?”
Steve took a breath, searching for the right way to phrase this, “That you didn’t want to talk to me in the slightest.”
“Oh.” You answered dumbly; when Steve shot you another look from the corner of his eyes, you tried to find your words, “No, I did want to talk to you… just didn’t know how.”
A far too charming smile spread across his lips as he turned to you again, “Didn’t know how?”
“You’re a little scary, too.” You shrugged with a faint grin, which grew larger at the amused twinkle in Steve’s eyes; again, he laughed, a sound that you could easily get used to.
“Never been told I was scary before…” He focused on the road for a long beat, fingers lightly drumming on the steering wheel as he mulled that thought over. Evidently, it prompted another question, because he gave you another curious glance, “Why were you scared of me?”
Your brows rose as you opened your mouth, but you hesitated before any words could come out. Nerves started to drum in your chest again as you felt heat rising up your neck and into your cheeks; and with the way Steve patiently kept looking over at you, the heat became even worse, “I, uh… no reason.”
Steve’s face twisted with suspicion at your lack of an explanation, narrowed eyes shooting a critical look in your direction. Feeling the intensity of his stare, you kept your unblinking gaze on the road, watching the snow falling gently in front of you.
Steve mulled your answer over, recalling that first day he caught you staring, the time you came to Scoops, and finally your first conversation earlier this evening; of course he could suspect reasons for why you would be nervous or hesitant, but he also wasn’t stupid enough to assume anything about you either.
“Well,” he cleared his throat, drawing on all that confidence he once harbored back when he was still King Steve, when he could land any girl he set his sights on. Though that was a side of him that he hadn’t seen nearly this entire year, he figured he had to shoot his shot eventually, “I can tell you why I was scared…”
The way he trailed off made you curious, although there was something dubious about it. You looked back towards him with a knot between your brows, and now that he had your attention, Steve’s face lit up, his smile almost causing you to drop your guard.
“I’ll tell you, but then you have to tell me why you were scared.” You shook your head with an unamused laugh, knowing that when the other shoe dropped it would be something like this. Despite yourself, you grinned, still falling for Steve’s charm even when he had you backed into a metaphorical corner.
“Oh, you wanna know real bad, huh?” You teased, because really that was your only defense between Steve and the nervousness that was crawling over you again. He gave you a short nod, his expression taunting and challenging.
“I mean, the least you could do is tell me, considering that I’m giving you a ride and all…” Steve’s unexpected playfulness took you aback, causing you to gape for a moment, which only seemed to amuse him even more. You tried to relax your expression, to put up a front of disinterest, but it was far too late for that, “So?”
You rolled your eyes and smirked, even as your heart stuttered; shit, you did not want to tell Steve what you thought of him. Maybe you could come up with a convincing lie, or maybe you could just intimidate him again until he gave up. But admitting to the fact that maybe you were crushing on him, that this ordinary pretty boy was somehow winning you over? Nope, that was something you did not want to do.
And yet… why had he come to talk to you in the first place? Why did he want to introduce himself, why was he so willing to help you on Christmas Eve when he should be off somewhere with family or a partner? Your curiosity was growing by the minute.
“Fine.” The word left your mouth before you could second guess it. Steve looked at you almost in disbelief, as if he had convinced himself you wouldn’t take the bait; you stared back, hoping your eyes didn’t give away your hesitation. Despite the warmth in the car, you shivered with nerves and apprehension.
Steve swallowed while looking back towards the road, nodding faintly to himself as he considered whatever the hell was going on in his head. You waited, impatience making you fidgety as your eyes practically burnt a hole in the side of his head.
“How much further to your place?” Your expression twisted with surprise, anticipation put to an abrupt halt thanks to the whiplash that came with the question. You studied Steve for a moment before realizing that maybe he was trying to buy some time or simply avoid the subject all together. Now, you were growing evermore curious, opening and closing your mouth smally as you considered whether or not you’d play along.
“Um, five minutes up the road.” You answered, trying to shake yourself from your mild stupor. Steve simply nodded, and you couldn’t help the way you leaned towards him just a little as if you were studying a newly discovered species, “What, you scared now?”
“No.” Steve looked back at you, “Just wanna make sure I don’t miss your house.”
Your faint smile and narrowed eyes made it clear that you didn’t believe him, though he tried to remain convincing. Slumping back into your seat a little, you kept your eyes locked on Steve, studying him and looking for evidence of hesitation. Considering it was per his suggestion that you agreed to admit anything, you couldn’t help but suspect that it was nerves that got to him, regardless of what he said.
Realizing that your brief time with Steve was soon to come to a close, you frowned forlornly, gaze dropping from his face. Considering that this whole night had been a little weird, you weren’t sure why you were so disappointed that it would end, but… perhaps that was because it felt like something was only just beginning, cheesy as that sounded. A part of you felt that if shit stopped now, it wouldn’t get to start up again - whether that was true or not didn’t matter.
Your heart picked up speed in your chest as you turned your eyes back towards Steve, words spilling from your lips before you could even realize what you were saying, “Can we just drive for a bit?”
Steve’s brows rose in surprise as he looked back over at you, his lips parting as if he had a question to ask, though no words came out. Suddenly embarrassed by your silly request, you raised your hands up as if in surrender, though your tone ended up being defensive.
“I mean, only if you’ve got nothing going on. Stupid of me to ask considering it’s Christmas Eve, but I’ve got nothing to go home to so I just thought…”
You weren’t sure what you thought, that was the whole problem. The look on Steve’s face was tough to read as he considered what you said, and, feeling foolish, you melted into your seat a little as your face twisted self-consciously.
“Let’s drive.” Steve finally said with a certainty to his tone, taking you aback as he gave you a winning look, “Where to?”
You shrugged dumbly, still trying to fend off your chagrin. Steve took you in for a moment before returning his eyes to the road and driving towards an unknown destination.
Only a minute later, he broke through the silence again, “So, is no one home?”
You shook your head, though you realized he almost certainly didn’t see it, “Dad works nights.”
Steve opened his mouth to add something, but stopped to mull it over first, “My parents are out of town. No one’s waiting for me at home, either.”
Although your brows drooped down, you gave a good humored smile as you two met eyes, “Hm, and they didn’t take you?”
“They never do.” Steve smirked and rolled his eyes, though you suspected that a part of him wasn’t nearly as okay with that as he led you to believe.
For a long beat, you studied him in silence, enjoying his profile as he focused on the road; you took in the thoughtful look in his eyes, the inviting shape of his lips, the downturn of his brows. God, you shouldn’t have been feeling all these butterflies thanks to some guy you only just met, and yet they became harder to ignore the longer you stared at Steve’s pretty face.
He, too, looked towards you when he had the chance and took you in closely, making you squirm as his dark eyes trailed from your eyes to your lips, down your neck and body before jumping back up. Lucky for you, he still had to drive, otherwise you may have melted under his intense, deliberate gaze.
About a minute into the silence that settled between you two, Steve turned up the radio, just enough to have background noise but not too loud to be disruptive. Coming through the speakers was some classic Christmas song that made you cringe; as if he caught your averse reaction, Steve switched stations, though the pop rock that took its place was no relief to you. You tried to ignore the music, not wanting to be sour about something as unimportant as that.
Although you still felt tense given the quiet that was stretching out between you and Steve, there was a certain comfort in the silence; driving down an empty road, snow falling gently, and a cute boy to keep you company wasn’t half bad.
Again, you found yourself studying Steve’s features, questions and inquiries coming to mind as the minutes passed - what were his hobbies? Was he from Hawkins, or was he a transplant like you? What were his friends like? Hell, what even was his last name? So many things you could ask, and you didn’t know where to start.
Well, there was one place to start, if you were feeling a little mischievous, but even the thought of it made you anxious and antsy all over again.
“Why were you scared earlier?” You blurted out, your own brows rising in surprise; maybe you had to get a better hold of your nerves, else you might keep saying things without thinking.
Steve shot you an apprehensive glance, though he tried to mask it with a smile, “Ah, so my distraction didn’t work.”
“Not in the slightest.” You grinned even as your nerves made it appear sheepish and noncommittal, “And don’t just say it’s because of the whole goth thing.”
“Well, not the whole goth thing,” Steve teased, pleased with himself when he caught you fighting back an amused look. After a moment, though, he sighed smally, looking around at the neighborhood he was driving through; apparently knowing where he was, he took a turn with some destination inevitably in mind.
You pulled a curious face when Steve didn’t elaborate, when his face settled into a decided look; you considered asking again for fear that he was going to find a means of distracting you once more from the question. But quickly enough, Steve pulled into the lot next to a park - it’s playground covered in snow - and you started growing nervous all over again.
With the car in park, Steve finally turned his undivided attention to you, causing you to unintentionally shrink back in your seat a little; there was a sort of safety that had come with him being preoccupied by driving, but now that his eyes were locked on you, your confidence began to diminish just a bit.
The look on his face held a sincerity that took you aback, and even in the relative dark of the night you could see the unsure gleam in his eyes. He took a deep breath before admitting plainly and assuredly, “I was scared because you were cute and intimidating.”
You blinked at him a couple of times as you processed his words, though they made your heart drum loudly enough that it was damn near distracting. As the seconds ticked by and you didn’t respond, briefly stuck in a dumbfounded look, Steve’s expression slowly fell into a look of dismay.
Getting antsy, he fumbled to elaborate, “I was interested in you, is what I mean. I wanted to get to know you, maybe flirt and see if we were compatible, you know, that sort of thing.”
Stupidly, you blinked at him again, feeling heat rising in your face - fuck, he thought you were cute, too. That should’ve been a relief, so why the hell did it make you even more nervous than you were before? You forced yourself to look away from his face as your eyes got big, because shit the butterflies in your stomach were going absolutely crazy right about now.
“You… were interested in me…” You muttered like a total idiot, but at least you finally found your voice again. Gazing up at him through your lashes, the look on Steve’s face was damn near worried as if he were preparing himself for rejection. Chewing on the inside of your lip, you finally smiled, bashfully dropping your gaze even as you tried not to sound as nervous as you felt, “I thought you were cute, too. Never had the guts to talk to you, though.”
A relieved little laugh leapt from Steve’s throat, his posture relaxing as he stared at you wide-eyed, almost as if he didn’t entirely believe you. Looking back up at Steve made your face and ears grow even hotter, his excitement at your response unexpected but nonetheless encouraging, even as you picked at your nails nervously.
“Oh, thank god, that makes this so much easier,” Steve breathed out, causing you to giggle, a delighted sound that was so unlike you.
As Steve continued to stare at you with disbelief, you tried to stop fidgeting with your fingernails, tried to relax the nervous energy in your chest because yes, this should be easier like he said, yet your body’s reaction would lead one to assume you were in all-out panic mode.
“You didn’t have the guts?” Steve asked with a laugh, “You saw how nervous I was to talk to you, right?”
You rolled your eyes with a fond shake of your head, “At least you did it; I figured a pretty guy like you wouldn’t be interested in me.”
“I thought you wouldn’t be interested in me.” Steve found himself staring at your lips, the temptation to lean over and kiss you coming over him abruptly, though he tried to shove it aside and ignore it, “So, I guess maybe I should ask you out now, right?”
You nearly giggled again as you looked between his eyes with a pondering expression, “I mean, we’re already here - alone, getting to know each other…”
Steve laughed smally, his eyes taking you in, “Oh, so this is a date now?”
You raised your hands in a vague, unsure motion, a faint knot between your brow, “Could be?”
Another charming smile crossed Steve’s lips, and you were still astounded at the fact that you could make him grin and laugh so damn easily. The look on his face was sweet as his gaze swept gently over your face, looking between your eyes and your mouth like he was studying you closely; when he finally drew his attention away, it was to stare out the windshield and watch the snow fall.
“You're not what I expected,” he started as you absently began to fiddle with your nails again, “I was worried you’d be mean, or that you’d laugh at me.”
An embarrassed smile drew across your lips as you took the opportunity to enjoy his profile again, “If I didn’t like you, I would’ve been mean… and I did laugh at you, once, when I first saw those stupid shorts you used to wear.”
A chuckle leapt from Steve’s throat as he looked back at you, “Yeah, they’re kinda ridiculous, aren’t they?”
“Your entire uniform is ridiculous.” You laughed gleefully, “But I… liked it.”
Steve’s eyes narrowed teasingly, “Oh, so that’s why you were staring.”
Easily flustered, you diverted your gaze down towards your hands, focusing on the chipped nail polish that you’d been fussing with, your face growing hot yet again,“Well, I just… yeah, okay, that’s why I was staring.”
Steve leaned in close towards you, dipping his head to try and catch your eyes, “If you hadn’t been staring, I wouldn’t have noticed you.”
You glanced up through your lashes, a faint grin on your lips as you met Steve’s attentive stare, “Then I guess we’re both lucky you have nice legs.”
Steve laughed again with utter amusement, something almost like wonder alight in his eyes; you thought he may have leaned in a little bit closer, but you weren’t quite sure. He glanced down at your hands briefly, watching the way you continued to gently scratch at your nail polish before meeting your eyes.
“I mean this in the nicest way possible, but you’re a little strange.” Your brows rose at the comment, and so Steve continued, “Well, wait, don’t get mad about that. What I’m saying is that your energy is really nervous, but you don’t come across like you’re scared at all, you know what I mean?”
You looked between Steve’s eyes, wondering how he had managed to clock you so damn easily. Your nail picking became a little more aggressive as you came to your own defense, feeling jittery as you spoke quickly, “Yeah, I know I can come across pretty bitchy when I’m nervous, it’s landed me in trouble before. I don’t always think when I speak or I don’t know when to shut up, because my head gets all messy and loud, so it’s impossible to think clearly anyway--”
“Can I kiss you?” Steve blurted out with awe in his voice, disrupting your train of thought and causing you to look back at him with large eyes. He even looked surprised at the question, as if it leapt from his mouth without warning or thought; his expression was much like your own, taken aback and confused. He quickly tried to course correct, raising his hands defensively, “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that, that was totally out of left field--”
“Yes.” Steve paused and looked as if he didn’t hear you correctly, brow furrowed while trying to read the look on your face, which was torn between sheepishness and eagerness, “I’d like it if you kissed me, actually.”
Steve, admittedly, had not anticipated your approval of the idea, especially considering how it was asked. He just got so hung up on how damn cute your rambling was that it drew him like a moth to a flame; he wasn’t thinking when the question left his mouth. Shit, you said “yes” and it made his nerves spike, heartbeat eager in his chest as he took in your features a little longer, biding his time so he could calm down.
From where he leaned over the center console, Steve moved in a little closer, looking between your eyes and lips. You mirrored this as if in a trance, body drawing towards him; when you paused, a smile graced his lips as he said firmly but quietly, “Come here.”
You felt a chill up your spine thanks to the simple yet wanton direction, Steve’s delivery of it far more enticing than he probably realized. Despite wanting to kiss him, you felt momentarily frozen as you took him in, hooded eyes becoming enraptured by his lips.
Coming back to yourself, you took a calming breath and moved in closer, and once you were but a few breaths apart, Steve carefully cupped the back of your neck, fingertips grazing through your hair. The touch made you sigh longingly, your body melting in response; a knowing smile graced Steve’s face.
There was a moment’s hesitation between you as Steve’s warm breath brushed across your lips and cheeks; you swallowed down the lump in your throat just before Steve leaned in, closing that short distance between you to capture your lips with his own.
Your body jolted at the feel of his kiss, so soft and tentative, and yet charged with your combined pining for one another. As your body relaxed despite the frantic beating of your heart, your fingertips trailed up Steve’s arm, gently grabbing at his shoulders through the fabric of his coat. His mouth was tender and explorative against yours, touch gentle on the back of your neck as he pressed forth more confidently; you met him with equal need and curiosity, your body growing eager for more as your nerves slowly dissolved away.
When Steve tried to pull back and catch his breath, your grasp became assertive, fingers tightening on his sleeve as your other hand moved to cup his cheek. You felt a small, surprised laugh in his throat, taken aback by your eagerness, though he was just as enamored by it.
He carefully gripped your jaw with both hands, pulling you back just enough for him to take in a gasp of air; you, too, took a deep breath, delighting in the way his lips grazed against yours, the way his thumb lazily trailed along your cheek.
After a beat of consideration, Steve kissed you again needily, fingertips firm along your jawline as a fire lit up inside you. Your lips grew feverish as you leaned in closer, curling your fingers in his soft locks while an eager sound rose in your throat. As you kissed him with zeal, Steve matched your desire, mouth growing urgent against yours, grip becoming increasingly possessive while his tongue trailed along your lower lip. With another hungry sigh, you opened your mouth to him, tongues swirling together impatiently, desperate for one another.
You pushed closer to Steve, though the center console pressed irritatingly into your stomach, causing a faint sound of annoyance to rumble in your chest. Wanting to be so much closer, you broke away from the kiss abruptly, though his lips chased yours, gently nipping at your jawline as goosebumps broke out across your skin.
Finding your voice, you managed to instruct breathily, “Move your seat back.”
A huff of a laugh escaped Steve as he muttered against your neck, “What?”
You gave his hair a tug, directing him to look you in your lusty eye while repeating slowly, “Move the seat.”
He looked between your eyes for a moment before your reasoning dawned on him; he nodded quickly, pulling away so he could slide the seat back, creating enough space between him and the steering wheel for you to slot into. And you did just that, gracelessly crawling over the center console, careful not to crush Steve with wayward limbs or unsteady knees.
Once situated in his lap, you laughed smally at yourself while resting your hands comfortably on either side of his neck. Steve smiled at the way you bit your lip, hands firm as they settled on your hips; his hooded eyes took you in adoringly. Impatiently, your lips crashed onto Steve’s once more, feeling his fingers flex against you, eager little sounds escaping your throat.
Hooking your arms around Steve’s neck, you kissed him yearningly, his hands creating a hot, greedy trail down your back, pressing you flush against him as if he couldn’t get enough. The movement caused your hips to roll against his, making the both of you moan into the other’s mouth from the friction. The way your lips moved together was aching and salacious, tongues explorative and hands grabby as if trying to consume each other whole.
Even as he kissed you and groped at your body lewdly, there was something undeniably tender about Steve’s touch; his lips were endlessly hungry for yours, he held you close as if fearful of letting go. It caused a knot of arousal to twist in your stomach, your body blazing and impassioned after all these months of watching him and wondering what he tasted like.
Steve’s hands roamed your body in a slow, amorous crawl, teasing down your spine and grabbing at your ass, sending an eager shiver through you as if there weren’t all these layers of clothing keeping your skin separate from one another. Your mouths became even sloppier, kisses ravenous as you breathed each other in and tasted each other’s tongues, keen moans passing between your lips to his.
Your own grip at Steve’s neck and hair was growing possessive and domineering, tugging at his locks and scratching his skin enough that he whined shamelessly. Emboldened by the heat scorching between you, your hips rolled once more, slow and deep, making Steve’s fingers dig into the meat of your ass as he groaned; the sound was far too encouraging, causing a coil to tighten in your center. You moved to hold his jaw softly in either hand, breaking away from his lips hastily with a big gasp for air.
For a long beat, you stared at one another through lusty, hooded eyes, watching the way Steve licked his lip as he watched the rise and fall of your chest. His lips were so damn inviting, and you wanted to lean right back in for more, yet you didn’t want to get ahead of yourself, didn’t want to be greedy for more than you could take. Steve’s hands gently trailed up your back again, finding a comfortable resting place at your waist, where his fingers drew absentminded circles into the back of your coat.
While staring at Steve’s handsome face, an airy laugh fell from your mouth, your eyes lighting up softly; his brow furrowed in response, leaning forward to tease at your lips, nose gently bumping yours.
“What?” You could hear the grin in his whispered question, causing you to laugh again, your smile causing your lips to brush gently; the intimacy of the moment dared to give you butterflies as you nearly shivered.
You bit the inside of your cheek in an effort not to giggle again, pulling back from Steve so you could trail your thumb along his jaw and to his plush lower lip, “You got a little something…”
Steve looked as if he was about to ask you to elaborate, but the gentle way that you cleaned his lip with your thumb stalled him as a captivated sigh left his throat. He realized then what you meant, noticing the way your near-black lipstick had smudged around your mouth; he laughed, too, while trying not to moan from how much he enjoyed your sweet and careful touch. Once you were certain you’d gotten most of your lipstick off of him, you delicately held his chin as if to inspect your work.
“Is making out with you always going to be messy?” He teased, bringing a hand up to help you with a smear of lipstick that was under your nose. Your cheeks warmed as you fondly rolled your eyes, half-tempted to lean back in for another kiss as if to prove a point.
You hummed smally in your throat, “Only if it becomes a regular thing.”
Steve’s brows rose cheekily as a large smile spread across his face, “Oh, I plan for it to.”
Heat rose in your cheeks again as you bit your lip, laughing faintly while looking away from his eyes as if bashful, “Do you?”
He leaned towards you again, trying to catch your eyes with his, “Well, I’d still like to take you on a real date, so, yeah, I’m counting on this becoming a regular thing.”
Another uncharacteristic giggle left you as a swell of excitement filled your chest, “Then maybe I have to do something new with my lipstick so you’re not wearing it by the end of every date.”
Steve shook his head, hands gently sliding down your neck and to your back as he stared at your lips again, “Don’t change it, I like it too much.”
You leaned in close again, lips grazing with Steve’s as you whispered flirtatiously, “Good, because I think I like kissing you.”
Steve’s nose brushed gently against yours, his lashes tickling your skin as you felt a faint smile on his lips, “You think?”
“Might need to do a little more of it just to make sure.” You planted a teasing kiss against his lips before pulling back, which made his hands grip tight on you as if you were something coveted.
“Well,” Steve’s lips were gentle as they grazed against yours, his voice low and sweet as his fingertips trailed along your back, “should we make sure now? You’ve got me all night, if you want.”
You hummed as if you were mulling the suggestion over, hoping that you were making Steve antsy from the wait. You smiled fondly as your hands wove into his hair, tugging gently as your lips hovered just centimeters away from his; when he tried to kiss you, you pulled back tauntingly, causing a faint sound of impatience in Steve’s throat. Unable to resist the laugh that escaped you, you caved to his desire and you pressed your lips longingly to his.
.
.
Addt. Author's Note | I'm currently working on a follow-up to this oneshot because I just can't get enough of these two! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for that, please let me know, I hope to get it out soon!
summary: 'twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a — what the hell is that noise?
for @littlexdeaths 12 days of promptmas game!
prompt: whatever you do, don't feed it after midnight.
a/n - this is 2.1k words of pure silliness with sprinkles of horny. takes place somewhere in the ‘90s in whatever large city you want to imagine. shout out to my love @londonfog-chan for inspiring this fic! no major tags other than fluff, yearning, non-explicit smut, reader speaking a little bit of Spanish, and robin & reader being obsessed with each other. also i had to use that picture of the grinning kitten, but the cat in his fic is written as older and chonkier. as usual, my work is 18+/mdni. please reblog and comment if you enjoyed, thank you. 🫶🏽
divider by @strangergraphics
A faint beeping sound rouses you from your slumber.
Eyes crusted with sleep, your blurry gaze drifts to the digital clock on your nightstand. 2:38 am. Confusion settles over you for a moment when you look at the window and see grey, muted light instead of the usual nighttime darkness. When you squint harder, though, you make out the slow descent of fluffy snowflakes.
It’s definitely too early for your alarm to go off, but whatever you just heard, it’s not coming from the clock.
You sigh, frustrated that you’ve been dealt the curse of being a light sleeper. Even the smallest of noises will have you up and unable to drift back into the recesses of your dreams; unlike Robin, who could probably sleep through the apocalypse. And speaking of your beloved girlfriend, your hand runs over the left side of the bed in search of her warmth, craving the feeling of her lanky body curled into yours. A small frown pulls your brows together when all your palm meets is the smoothness of the sheets.
She’s wandered off, then, which typically means one thing: she’s had a nightmare.
Seldom does she talk about her past, but between her and the eccentric group of friends she has, you’ve gathered enough over the years to understand that whatever happened in Hawkins still rattles her sometimes. It’s with this information that you roll out of bed, intent on providing her some comfort in the form of a hug and a smattering of kisses. With your pajamas askew, you toe on your slippers and push open the bedroom door.
Living in an old two-flat means that your bedroom is connected to the dining room, so when you step out, you fully intend to find her seated at the slightly-wobbly table the two of you thrifted a few weeks ago (“The quality! The craftsmanship! The charm! Baby”—she pulled you to a stop and gripped your shoulders, blue eyes puppy-dog wide—“They don’t make ‘em like this anymore. We have to buy it right now.”), glasses sliding to the tip of her nose while she hunches over one of her latest library finds. Reading helps her chase away the monsters, she once told you. The ones hiding in the shadows of her memories, that taunt her in her dreams. So, it’s a bit of shock when you find the dining room dark and empty.
There is a light coming from the kitchen, though. And when you listen carefully, you catch the end of a whispered sentence.
“—have to be quiet.”
Equal parts curious and suspicious, you inch closer, trying your best to avoid the creaky parts of the wooden floor. When you round the corner, a snort of laughter and a drawn-out mewl punctuating the silence, you see a sight that has you muttering, “Esta tonta” under your breath, your lips curving into an incredulous grin.
“What’s going on here?”
Robin startles, head whipping up so fast that her messy hair flies around her face.
“Baby, I – uh, it’s not what it looks like.”
“Oh, really?” you reply, hands perching on your hips. “Care to explain, then?”
“It’s actually a really funny story. Like, totally hilarious—"
“Rob.”
“—And when I’m done telling the story, you’re not gonna be upset with me at all because you’ll be so tickled that you won’t stop laughing—”
“Rob.”
“—And then we can laugh together and maybe make out a little? Or a lot. Definitely a lot, because I like you. Well, I love you, actually, in a maddening and sort-of-obsessed kind of way, but not like…creepy obsessed? ‘Cause I’m not a creep, I swear! I’ve only watched you sleep, like, twice. I’m just…very in love with you. I’d fall over and stop breathing and wither away into these sad, gross little flakes of dust if I didn’t have you—”
“Robin!” you exclaim, her nervous rambling coming to a halt. She falls silent, staring up at you with a sweet smile she hopes will communicate her innocence, all while the hefty orange cat in her lap continues to eat from the chopsticks she hovers above his mouth.
You take in the pair of them – Robin sitting crisscrossed on the checkered tile, clad in her reindeer-themed pajamas with cartons of last night’s Chinese takeout strewn around her; and Gremlin, the orange tabby that demanded housing, food, and belly rubs from you three Novembers ago, showing up on your doorstep as a small, sickly kitten; who is now happily overweight and nibbling on small pieces of sweet and sour pork when he shouldn’t be.
Your affection sweeps over you in seconds, warm and fuzzy as it flutters in your chest and swirls in your stomach. It’s impossible to feel any semblance of exasperation when the two of them are so goddamn adorable. Still, you keep up the ruse and say, “Babe, you know what the vet said.”
“I know!” she laments. “But I couldn’t help it! I mean, look at him! How could you say no to a face like that?”
You do as you’re told, staring down at Gremlin like you’re expecting an explanation from him. He gazes up at you and blinks in slow motion, not a single thought behind those bright amber eyes.
With a sigh, you shake your head. “He’s supposed to be on a diet. The vet said we had to have him on a strict feeding schedule. That means no grazing, no food after midnight, and certainly no takeout leftovers!”
“I…I just – here’s what happened! So, I was sleeping soundly, having this crazy dream that I was trapped in Jurassic Park and being chased by a Velociraptor, and I’m running and running, and I trip over a log that appears out of nowhere, and when I roll over, the Velociraptor puts its foot on my chest, then I literally feel a weight on my chest and think, ‘oh my god, it’s gonna eat me’, so I somehow manage to wake myself up, and sitting on my chest, breathing his funky breath in my face, is this little guy right here.” She pauses to take a deep breath, unaware that she’s still gripping the chopsticks between her fingers (and that Gremlin has been hungrily following every sweep and flourish of her hand). “And he reaches out and very gently paws at my face, and immediately, I know he’s asking for food. And like…how could I deny him when he asked so nicely?”
“Easy. You just say no.”
“But I’m weak!” she cries out. “When it comes to chunky cats and beautiful women, I’m spineless, I’m gutless, I’m putty.”
She knows what she’s doing, because any remaining tension in your body has melted away, and now you’re wearing that besotted smile of yours, the one that makes its appearance whenever she combines her chaos, theatrics, and charisma into one irresistible amalgamation – the Buckley Triple Whammy, she calls it.
“So, we climbed out of bed—careful not to wake you, of course—and snuck out to the kitchen. And when I opened the fridge, it was like we were connected in that moment, because I went for the leftovers just as he reached up to tap one of the cartons. And then—”
“You microwaved Chinese food for you and the cat to share,” you finish for her.
She nods, bashful and blushing as she strokes along Gremlin’s back with her unoccupied hand. “Guess I woke you up after all. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
But she trails off when you plop down next to her, leaning in to softly press your lips against hers.
“I’m not mad at you,” you tell her, leaning back and giggling when she chases you.
Her lips meet your cheek, then the tip of your nose, then the corner of your mouth, before they’re slotting against yours again. And you’d be content to stay here all night—especially when you nip at her bottom lip, and her tongue, warm and wet, slides slowly against yours; and in the back of her throat, she makes this needy little noise that has you itching to splay her out and coax it from her even louder—but the cat situated between the two of you, who makes his momentarily-forgotten presence known by screeching, has you pulling away from each other breathlessly.
“Sorry, Gremlin. I’m not mad at you either.” You gently tap his nose, chuckling when he hops out of Robin’s lap to go sniff the other unopened leftovers. “Still gonna make you diet, though.”
“Starting tomorrow, right?” says Robin, who’d somehow managed to hold onto her chopsticks whilst the two of you kissed. She’s digging into the sweet and sour pork again, pulling out a piece small enough for Gremlin to chew. When she looks at you—eyes dazed as they drink you in, freckled cheeks dusted the prettiest shade of pink, lips a little swollen and curved into a smile that makes you think, god, I fucking love her—you can’t deny her a single thing.
“Fine,” you concede. “Starting tomorrow.”
She cackles triumphantly, summoning Gremlin back into her lap with a whistle. There’s no way you’re going back to bed now, so you decide to join them in their late-night snacking, warming up a bowl of shrimp lo mein that you share with Robin (and, begrudgingly, Gremlin, who is a notorious shrimp fiend). Once the three of you have had your fill, you migrate to the living room, Gremlin perching in his cat tree to watch the snow blanket the ground outside. Robin plugs in the Christmas tree, then she pulls you into the lumpy couch with her, the two of you landing on top of the mismatched throw pillows as her arms wind around you from behind. Together, you bask in the incandescent glow of the lights, the radiator blowing out warm puffs of air. Robin holds you tighter, face buried in your neck.
“I really am sorry I woke you up earlier.”
“It’s fine, amorcito,” you murmur sleepily. “I already told you I wasn’t upset.”
“I know, but…I’m more than willing to make it up to you.”
You hear the playful mischief in her tone, but the way she rolls her hips against your ass, her fingers toying with the drawstring of your pajama pants, tells you that all it’ll take is a faintly whispered yes for her to move her fingers lower, lower, right where you always ache for her. You let out a regretful whine at your next answer.
“We’ve gotta be up in a few hours. The buñuelos aren’t gonna make themselves, plus my mom needs us to bring some more tomatillos for her pozole verde, and we have to make sure we arrive on time for the train, and—"
“We’re already up, amorcito. Why don’t we stay up a little longer?”
Her accent isn’t perfect, but with her lips at your ear and her hand slipping under your camisole (where it snakes up the soft flesh of your belly, fingertips stopping just beneath the naked curve of your breast), she sounds like heaven.
Without a single ounce of hesitation, you surrender yourself to her. You let her drag you back to the bedroom where her lips find yours again, desperate and unrestrained, as she whispers I love you I love you I love you; where, bathed in the snow-white light spilling through the window, she lowers you onto the bed and takes her time undressing you, eager hands roaming and rubbing every expanse of skin she exposes; where she saves your panties for last, and in the kiss she presses to the wet spot you’ve left for her, you can feel her smirk; where she makes a home for herself between your thighs, drawing out the sweet cry of her name from your lips with hungry strokes and languid swirls of her tongue; where, after she has pushed you over the precipice of ecstasy, you straddle her and your fingers beckon that desperate little whimper she’d made earlier, over and over again, louder and breathier, until the two of you are slick with sweat, limbs tangled and trembling.
With your arms around her waist, pressed so close that she can feel the racing thump of your heart, you place a kiss to her bare shoulder. You whisper that you love her. “As long as time.” She doesn’t miss a beat. “Infinite, like the universe.” Te amo. Then, with heavy eyes, you follow her into the cozy embrace of sleep.
And after he’s done searching the kitchen floor for crumbs, Gremlin hops on the bed and takes his rightful spot beside you.
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@littlexdeaths shared some festive prompts for the twelve days of promptmas and I really wanted to try and write at least a few short fics for some of the prompts.
Day 1:Snowed in/Caught in a blizzard.
When a snow storm sweeps across Hawkins, and your plans to fly out to visit your family for the holidays are thrown out of the window, Eddie does his best to bring his family to you.
Word Count:835
Masterlist // Eddie Munson Masterlist
*divider by @strangergraphics
“I just don't want to upset your parents babe, I mean, this is the first Christmas we're spending together and we were supposed to be staying with your family!”
It's true, you had made plans that this year you would be flying out of Indiana with Eddie to be with your parents for the holidays. It would be the first time that you were going to introduce Eddie to your parents. Of course, they already knew about him, given how much you talk about him whenever you're on the phone to them. But this was going to be the first time they had met him.
Or at least it would have been.
“Eddie, there is a blizzard sweeping through Indiana and the rest of the midwest right now. There are no flights. The only way we're getting out of Hawkins is if Santa flies us there on his sleigh.”
“But your parents are going to-” he starts, already worrying about what your parents are going to think of him.
“-But nothing. I’ll call them and I’ll tell them everything. We can speak to them together. They’ll understand, I promise.”
“But-” he tries again, but you’re quick to silence his worries with a soft kiss pressed to his lips.
“Eddie, stop worrying, and who knows! We might be able to reschedule it and fly out to see them on new year's!”
Sure enough Christmas day rolled around, and despite knowing you weren't going to be able to see your parents for Christmas this year, calling them just wasn't the same. Sure, they were so completely warm and understanding, and reassured you that if the weather held out, you and Eddie were more than welcome to stay over new year's, but it didn't stop you from missing them.
You rolled over in bed to find Eddie’s side of the bed empty. Touching your hand to the empty space where you expect to find your boyfriend, you're met with the cold press of the mattress.
Just as you're about to sit up in the bed, the bedroom door swings open, and Eddie, dressed in a soft grey tank-top and red plaid pyjama bottoms, his wild hair pulled back into a little bun at the nape of his neck with a few soft strands falling down around his face, steps into the bedroom holding two steaming mugs.
He hands one of the mugs off to you as he places a soft kiss to your cheek.
“Merry Christmas, Sweetheart.” he says with a lazy smile pulling at his pink lips.
“Merry Christmas to you too, Eds.”
“Drink up that coffee and come with me to the living room, we’ve got presents to open!” he smiles with that happily wild smile.
You let him lead you through to the living room, where the rainbow fairy lights illuminate the room in a soft colourful glow, and the tree in the corner of the room stands proudly, adorned with your’s and Eddie’s combined collection of unique Christmas tree ornaments. The scattering of a few presents sat underneath the tree, ready for you and Eddie to exchange them between yourselves.
You reach underneath the tree to give Eddie one of his carefully wrapped presents, but he lays a soft touch to your arm, as if asking you to wait for just a moment.
Looking down at his watch on his wrist quickly before his eyes flick over to the front door.
And then as if perfectly choreographed there’s three distinct knocks to the front door.
“You should probably answer that.” Eddie says, giving you a soft smile.
You go to answer the door, and immediately you are met with the weathered, yet kind expression of Eddie’s Uncle Wayne.
Wayne was someone who you felt an immediate kinship with when Eddie had introduced you to him, something about his hard on the outside, yet soft on the inside demeanour reminded you very much of your own father, and when he saw how much Eddie loved you, and you loved Eddie, it seemed only right to welcome you into his life with open arms.
“Ed told me you were missing your family this Christmas, and whilst I may not be your family, you’re in my boy’s life and you make him happier than I’ve ever known him, and I’ll be damned if I let you be sad on Christmas day, missy.” and although he wasn’t know for his physical affections, he wasted no time in giving you a warm hug.
“I couldn't take you to your family, but what I can do is bring my family to you.” Eddie smiles brightly, happy to have two of his favourite people surrounding him this Christmas.
“Come on in, we were just about to start opening presents, and there’s real a big one right here with your name on it, Mr. Munson.”
It may not have been the Christmas you had planned, but it ended up being the one of the best Christmases you could ever have hoped for.
pairings: modern!bestfriend!Eddie x bisexual!fem!reader
plot: you and Eddie decide to have a calm day before your Christmas party. and, for the first time since you met this year, you find clarity.
cw: cannabis consumption, nicotine indulgence, a dash of spice, gentle angst
wc: 3.2k
note: this is a one-off of my High Tolerance series, as well as my submission for @littlexdeaths's Christmas Event, choosing prompt 10: ghosts of Christmas past. I love you, Mari. Merry Chrysler <3
This is a Christmas present for one of my lovely best friends, @jo-harrington who has made a huge impact in my life, my heart, and my writing. Thank you for all the love you've shown me. I don't take any of it for granted.
“No, what I’m saying is that I think a man is lame if he won’t let a woman peg him.”
“That’s over dramatic.”
“What, you don’t agree with me?”
“No, I just think you’re simplifying it.”
“Are you saying that you wouldn’t let a woman peg you?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Ha!”
Eddie shook his head, carrying the last of the Kroger bags to your kitchen. “Listen, all I’m saying is that I don’t think you can judge someone like that. What if they’re straight?”
You took two of the heavier bags from him before placing them on the counter. “Well then I have more incentive to judge.” He rolled his eyes. “Would you go close the door?”
“You’re ruthless. Absolutely not,” he responded before doing exactly what you asked.
Eddie had been a big help, prepping for your Christmas party the following night as co-hosts. The decision on where to hold it was easy: your apartment was slightly bigger than his, not to mention Eddie was still figuring out how to decorate his new apartment.
Steve and Robin offered, but Eddie had been adamant that it was him and his Weirdo who would do the best job. The A-List guest list consisted of you two, Steve, Robin, Gareth, Grant, and Jeff.
While you’d gone home to see your mom and sister for Thanksgiving, Eddie’s bandmates had surprised him with the news that they were officially planning to move to Atlanta after college graduation in May. Thus, you'd been left to your own devices until now.
Eddie had made the first few weeks of December as festive as possible, surprising you with peppermint hot chocolates and the worst Christmas movies you’d ever seen. You’d begged him for a classic, like Elf or It’s a Wonderful Life, but he’d strategically saved those for the week of Christmas itself.
Without any explanation, Eddie pulled something out of his tote bag. It was a small box, wrapped in red and white striped wrapping paper with a ridiculously big bow on top.
You scowled at him. “Eddie. No.”
He grinned. “Yes.”
“No!”
“Yes!”
Shaking your head, you stated, “We said no presents.”
An overdramatically apologetic expression filled his face. “My fingers crossed unexpectedly when we said that.”
“That’s very convenient.”
“I thought so, too.”
He was insufferable.
You sighed, raising your hands. “Eddie, I can’t accept it.”
Before you could think to move, he grabbed your hand and shoved it into your palm. “It’s already in your hand.”
Groaning, you conceded. “Fine! Fine.”
“Yes!” he exclaimed before shoving his hands behind his back, failing to hide his smile.
Rolling your eyes, you tore the paper and delved inside.
“It’s…oil,” you stated.
Eddie raised his pointer finger, catching your attention. “A very specific kind of oil. Delta-8.”
“Did you give me drugs for Christmas?” you asked.
“There’s no better time.” He wasn’t wrong. “Besides, you’re making that beer cheese and I thought it’d go great.”
“That’s perfect, actually,” you said seriously. “Thank you.”
“No problem.”
“You know, I have a secret.”
Pages ripped from your latest notebook rested in your pocket. Actually, they weren’t exactly restful. They felt quite restless, burning a hole in your pants and your mind. The ink clogged your throat, the words swirling together in your head, preventing any clarity from forming.
“Which is?”
Here this guy was, your certified best friend standing beside you after a year and a half of silence. His presence in your life came with open arms and a struggle for pure vulnerability. You’d had your moments over the last seven months, what with your pasts coming up and all of the memories that felt like stories the moment they were shared.
Give it to him, you thought. Come on, do it.
“I actually had all of my toes crossed when we said no presents,” you said finally, fingers reaching toward your back pocket.
His eyebrows lifted. “That’s very convenient.”
“Yeah, I thought so, too.”
The pads of your fingertips grazed the paper gently before you reached around him to grab a tiny cardboard box resting on your kitchen table.
Coward.
“How did I not notice that?” he asked, taking it from you.
You shrugged. “I’m the master of disguise.”
“Clearly,” he muttered before opening the top of the box slowly. He made a show of it, closing one eye and trying to peer into the darkness. You giggled as soon as he saw what was inside.
“A joint, huh?” You nodded, biting your lip. “All for me?”
“All for you.”
He placed a hand on his chest, giving you a big smile. “That’s extremely heartfelt, sweetheart. Thank you.”
You tried to keep your smile from faltering, that note starting to singe your skin through the denim.
Give it to him, you thought again. Do it. Do it now.
“Do you want some beer cheese?” you asked.
“Under one condition,” he said, holding up a finger. Your eyebrow quirked up. “You can’t down it like you did last time.”
You scoffed. “Oh, come on! That’s not fair!”
“Those are the rules, Weirdo.”
“Ugh,” you grumbled. “Fine. Come on.”
Eddie had been shocked when you picked him up. Your face was nearly bare, wearing neutral eye shadow fading into a charcoal gray with thin-winged eyeliner and maroon lipstick. It was the first time he’d seen you without eyes completely coated in darkness.
It was startling.
You were dazzling.
Donning a black turtleneck, jeans, and combat boots, you flitted around your kitchen as you measured how much oil you’d pour into the cheese.
And, okay. Eddie didn’t mean to look at your ass. Scouts honor. However, you bent down to grab a pot from your cabinet and he couldn’t help but look. He could admire how well your jeans fit you, couldn't he?
In the midst of his perusing, he noticed paper in your back right pocket. He found it curious. It couldn’t have been your grocery list—you’d used your Notes app for that. What were you hiding?
“When do the boys come in?” you asked.
Eddie blinked, tearing his eyes away just in time to meet yours. “Oh, the band?” You nodded before turning the burner on low. “Uh, yeah. They come in at nine-thirty tomorrow.”
“And you’re sure you wanna sleep over tonight?”
He shrugged. “Only if you want to.”
“We’ll see if I get sick of you by then.”
Eddie snorted before moving past you to grab some Pringles from your cabinet. “After my killer present? Nah, I don’t think so, sweetheart.”
“Don’t sweetheart me, mister,” you said playfully before gasping. He jumped back just in time as you thrusted a cheese-covered wooden spoon in his direction. “Damn, Eddie, get your own Pringles! Those are for the party!”
He moved to the back corner of the kitchen, quickly shoving a Pringle in his mouth. As he held the can like it was the Ark of the Covenant, he grinned at you before giving a chip a rather loud crunch.
“That fucking does it!” you exclaimed, leaping towards him.
The two of you fought to claim the Pringles can for yourselves. Eddie couldn’t help but giggle the entire time, loving each touch you shared, even if it was so you could hit him.
He was grateful he’d met you. There was something extraordinary about the way you fell into each other, effortless in nature. The hesitation you once held with one another had dethawed, replaced with a promise that you’d catch each other when you fell. Even now, after you nearly slipped onto the floor.
Eddie caught you, arm scooping under your waist just in time before your head met the tile.
Maybe there was a time and a place to say how he felt. Maybe it could be today or tomorrow after the party. Christmas morning or New Year’s Eve. But when he gazed into your bewildered eyes, he reflected on everything you’d opened up to him about over the last seven months. The pain, the betrayal. You needed a friend, not another messy situation that would ultimately hurt you.
So, for now, he focused on the here and now. And by the end of the night, he’d solve the case of the mysterious note.
The south didn’t do snow.
It was a made up concept, some nearly forgotten folklore created when a hint of ice formed along mountainsides and frozen faucets. When it came to winter, the grass resembled wheat and the spindly trees towered above the cities.
And there you were with Eddie, out on your tiny balcony as you had your nightly cigarette and waited for spiked cheese to kick in.
Eddie had been rambling about a few lines of his latest song that he couldn’t quite make right, needing a better word than beaming that still held two syllables.
You’d stared out at the street, but something happened the moment you looked back at him. He was leaning against the railing, going back and forth from placing his unlit cigarette between his teeth and removing it so he could talk. Your gaze fell to his lips, watching his constant back and forth.
For a moment, perhaps in a trick of the light, an image flashed in your mind. Eddie on his knees, hands curling around your thick thighs, smirking up at you with a look of mischief. His eyes, alight with darkness that swirled into something magnificent before dipping his head under your skirt and pressing a kiss against your—
Then it was gone, replaced with Eddie’s final attempt to put the cigarette between his teeth and light the damn thing. The second he let out his first wave of smoke, you felt your breath hitch in your throat.
Because you were starting to think about his mouth around something else.
“Flaring?” he pondered, taking another thoughtful drag.
The chill of forty degree weather did nothing to stop the fire rushing to your core. His unoccupied hand bounced along the railing as he thought. There was a crude kind of desire in you to grab it and place it against the ache, relieving the tension that was starting to twist inside you.
“Flooding?”
The wetness sat in your underwear, diabolically abandoned by the man in front of you who continued rambling on. The wind rustled his hair, sending wisps into his mouth that he had to pull away. Why weren’t your fingers tugging at the strands, claiming his lips with your own?
Your impulse control felt, well, out of control.
“Surging?”
The racing of your heart was made worse the harder you pulled on that cigarette, the clouds you created only growing. But there was an emotion billowing in that smoke, signaling to you that something had shifted.
You had shifted, as quickly as the season.
Seven months. Three seasons.
Not nearly enough time to catch your bearings or build a stable foundation. However, you were starting to notice more and more that there was something else hiding behind every sleepover and good morning text.
This was an awakening.
An awakening that was surely going to ruin everything.
But when he asked what you thought of blazing instead of beaming, your heart fluttered and you answered without hesitation, “It’s perfect.”
Eddie watched with amusement as you floundered over the kitchen table like a fish, definitely feeling the effects of the beer cheese. You were starting to look like an inflatable balloon man on his final wave.
“We…” you trailed, holding up your pointer finger. “Weeee need to put up decorations.”
He laughed, leaning over to boop you on the nose. “Yooou need a timeout, Weirdo.”
You let out a sound resembling a growl. “Noooo.”
“Did you just growl at me?” he asked.
Shrugging, you poked him repeatedly before letting out another growl. “Bark, bark,” you said, lowering the pitch of your voice. “Hiss, hiss.”
“You’re fucked, sweetheart,” he commented, grabbing your finger and placing it back on the table.
Your eyes widened slightly before you snorted and waved your hand around. “Get your head out of the gutter, Munson.”
Before he could respond, your fingers were moving back to him, snatching his hand and holding it firmly. Seemingly without thought, you brought it up to your mouth and pretended to bite him. Eddie tried to yank it back, but you were surprisingly strong, lips hovering over his skin.
In a quick flicker, Eddie found himself lost in an image of your teeth clamping down on his throat, wrists caught in your grasp as you pinned him to your bed. You, grinding your hips against his in a frenzy, chasing friction as he bucked in an attempt to reach the same release.
What he wouldn’t give for you to draw blood.
“Oh, so now you’re a vampire?” he asked with a cough, trying not to let the pink meet his cheeks. Or his poor dick.
Without a word, you gave him a smirk and bit him.
Eddie jumped with a yelp, almost knocking his chair over if it hadn’t been for your death grip.
You let out one of the loudest guffaws he’d ever heard, warming his heart as he settled back into his wobbly chair. He couldn’t help but laugh along, but he unfortunately couldn’t keep his cock from getting hard.
What was it about you that drove him fucking insane?
“You’re so easy to freak out,” you said with a toothy smile, running your thumb over the bite mark you’d left behind.
Or just easy to turn on, he thought.
In the minutes that passed, you sat in silence, mutually gentle as you enjoyed your shared high. He studied your mark on him, the curve of each individual tooth imprinted on the skin between his thumb and pointer finger. If only he could keep it from returning to normal.
If only he could tell you how he felt.
“You’re holding my hand,” he observed quietly.
“Oh! Sorry,” you replied softly. But you didn’t release your grasp.
Eddie chuckled, face growing hot as he tried his hand at bravery. “You’re all good. It’s cute.”
“Cute?” you asked, lifting your head from the table.
He shrugged. “Yeah, I’d say so.”
“I like your hand. It’s warm,” you mumbled. Your tracing became languid, slow and gentle.
“Yeah?” His breath was starting to go ragged, entirely blown away by your forward nature. Of course, he knew it was because of the weed. That’s all it was to you. But, to him, it meant everything. He never wanted you to stop.
You nodded. “Yeah. It feels really nice. Softer than I expected.”
Then a thought bloomed.
“Can I ask you a very stupid question?”
“Always.”
The knuckles on his unoccupied hand drummed against the table as he asked, “What’s in your back pocket?”
Your head snapped up. “Eddie…”
“Is it bad?” You avoided his gaze. “You’re making it sound like a ransom note or nuclear codes.”
“No, that’s not…” you trailed before sighing. “That’s not it.”
Eddie watched as you deflated, shoulders hunching forward. What was going on?
“Then what is it?”
You barely gave him a glance before averting your gaze again. “I wrote you a note but I’m too scared to give it to you.”
“Why?”
“It’s cheesy.” Your hand retreated from his, leaving his palm to freeze instantly. “But sometimes if I’m not sure what to do for presents, I like to write notes. It’s just, after a while, I decided not to give it to you.”
“You could read it to me.”
Scoffing, your tone grew sarcastic. “Read it? Right. Sure.”
“Come on, Weirdo.” You bit your lip. “Do it for the spirit of Christmas.”
“Absolutely not.”
“If not for Santa, then for me.”
That’s when he finally found your eyes, pooling with indecision.
Without a word, you stood up and pulled the paper out of your back pocket.
“Eddie,” you started, sending flutters to his chest immediately. “I know that we haven’t been friends for a year yet, but you’re probably the best friend I’ve ever had.” He watched you take a deep breath, desperate to see what was settling in your eyes. “I don’t say this to put pressure on you, but to tell you that your…” another deep breath, “friendship has changed my life.”
Your glossy eyes lifted.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I can’t finish this,” you replied.
Eddie felt his heart crumble the second you crushed the paper between your fingers. He jumped up immediately, quick to try and grab the note.
“Hey, don’t do that,” he whispered, shaking his head. You took a step back, mirroring his action. “Come on, it’s not stupid. I wanna know what else you have to say.”
“It’s cheesy.”
“It’s genuine.”
He went to take it again, but you moved your hand away.
“It’s unoriginal.”
“It’s authentic.”
One more attempt at snagging the note resulted in you taking three steps back. “I hate Christmas,” you whispered. Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie found your hands shaking. “I can’t control the passage of time and whether you’re going to be here next year or not. What if I give this to you and then in six months you realize how stupid I am and you just go?”
He said your name gently, but you shook your head.
“I can see it now, you know? You’ll find the note lodged in some pocket somewhere and wonder how it got there. And you’ll be so livid that you’ll go and set it on fire and light your cigarette with the flame.”
Before you could continue your dark forebodings, Eddie fingers wrapped around your trembling, tight-knuckled fist. The contact set him ablaze as he felt the tension build. Here you two were, connected by a bittersweet tug of war.
“Hey,” he whispered, trying to keep his voice steady. But how could he? You were searching his eyes, crestfallen and confused. He could say the same for himself. “I know it sucks to open up to people you don’t know are gonna stay.”
He heard the catch in your breath before tears fell down your cheeks.
“I’m here to stay,” he said, more confident now. “You’re not sick of me yet, are you?”
You suddenly chuckled, shaking your head as you wiped your tears away. “Anything but.”
“Then there’s nothing to worry about, okay?” You nodded, tucking your crimson lips inward, disappearing into your mouth as if you were ridding yourself of speech for his sake. “Let this Christmas be this Christmas.”
“Okay.”
“And then we’ll get super cross-faded tomorrow night and then we’ll get cross-faded on New Year’s—” A watery laugh rippled through you, piercing the air and his heart. Finally, his favorite sound. “Then we’ll just keep going and figure shit out along the way. Sound cool?”
“Yeah. Sounds cool.”
Eddie didn’t know what to do next, refusing to think before he enveloped you in a tight hug. Your arms quickly squeezed him back, exchanging heartbeats under thick sweaters.
“You know what?” Eddie asked, resting his chin on your head. “I think you’ve earned a good holiday movie.”
“Which is?” you asked, voice muffled in his shirt.
The edges of Eddie’s lips quirked up as he said, “When Harry Met Sally.”
