munsster

[munsster]

sorry for the lack of activity lately! i want to write more but i’ve been so busy with class and work and life in general. i miss everyone, and i hope i can get back to it asap!!!

[munsster]

moron

I own you.  The words practically drip from your rose coated lips, meant only for Steve, and he knows he’s lost.  “Yeah, whatever.” And it’s agreed. Come this Saturday, you and Steve will be working together. No one else, just the two of you, for eight long, maddening hours. 

Summary: steve really hates his coworker, but you know who he hates even more ? your shitty ex boyfriend (who he just so happens to share jacket preferences with)

Rating: general, violence, lots of swearing

Warnings: allusions to abuse, use of bitch as derogatory language towards women, shitty ex boyfriend, violence, enemies to lovers (more friends), fem!reader, use of y/n

Words: 3.9k

Before you swing in: hey gang !! long time no stevie blurb, so here yall go <3 please, read the warnings for this one. theres a really shitty character in this and he may be triggering, so please be safe.

-

Steve doesn’t consider himself a bad guy.

Sure, he had the whole “King Steve” stint back in high school where he was an asshole to everyone, but he chooses to ignore those four years of his life. They were a brief lapse of judgment. 

A very long, brief lapse of judgment. But whatever.

The point is that Steve opens the door for strangers. He greets everyone with a smile and a polite nod of his head. When Robin forgets her lunch at work, Steve always gives her his. He walks his neighbor’s dog, he offers to carry groceries for the elderly. Hell, he even waves at babies. 

By all accounts, Steve would consider himself a goddamn saint. 

Except when it comes to you. 

Steve isn’t holding open any fucking doors for you and if you ever asked him to walk your dog, he’d laugh in your face. The moment you stepped foot in Family Video for your first shift, you made Steve’s life a living hell. He doesn’t know why or how you manage to dig so deep under his skin, but he’s convinced you do it on purpose. 

The movies you stack on the shelf always somehow manage to land on Steve’s head. The jokes you make with Robin are always at his expense. You never clock in on time, extending his shift by one more minute every goddamn time. The way you laugh pierces Steve’s skull, the sound rings in his ears and blinds his senses long enough to feel nauseous. 

Steve likes everyone, he isn’t a hard guy to please, but he truly, deeply, hates you. 

“Y/N wanted me to ask if you’d cover her shift this weekend,” Robin scans a beat up copy of Grease, trying to feign indifference as she brings the topic up. She absolutely doesn’t want to be doing this, she knows that any mention of you to Steve makes his eye twitch, but you called her crying and Robin is far too sympathetic for her own good. 

Predictably, Steve’s eye twitches and he snatches the movie from his coworker. “What, did she fall and hit her head this morning?” He scoffs, he can’t believe you even thought he’d consider the idea. “She knows I’d rather her show up with a broken arm and matching black eye to work before ever covering her shift.”

“Okay, that’s psychotically cruel. You know that, right?” Robin scans another movie and shakes her head. Steve hates you, she gets that, and while she doesn’t understand why, she also doesn’t like how much of an asshole he is about it. You’re her friend, too. Robin really likes you. 

“Good, I meant for it to be.”

“Steve, she’s going through a hard time right now–”

“No, I don’t wanna hear it, alright? I don’t care if her grandma died and left her an orphan,” the sound of the bell above Family Video’s front door rings, but Steve is too lost in his rant to hear it. “There’s no way in hell I’m ever, ever helping that demonic witch of a human being.”

Robin’s eyes widen and she tries to cover the teen’s mouth, hissing his name, but Steve bats her hand away and keeps going. “Y/N is a fucking moron for thinking otherwise, and that’s her problem. I mean, I know she’s your friend, which I still don’t know how she even managed to do that, but–”

“Steve!” Again Robin tries to get her friend to stop talking, but Steve is on a roll now. He’s fired up, tired of biting his tongue for the last six months. 

“She makes me want to physically tear my skin off and shove it down my throat every time she opens her mouth. And I’m being nice right now. I mean, I will gladly say this all to her tiny, annoying face–”

“Oh, you would?”

Immediately Steve’s voice dies and his words fall down upon his shoulders. He doesn’t dare turn around. He’s frozen. He’s convinced himself that if he doesn’t move then he can linger in the remaining few seconds where he hasn’t just said all those horrendous things with you standing right behind him. 

Robin drops her head onto the counter and groans. “You’re an idiot, Harrington.”

“Well, are you going to turn around?” Your breath almost fans Steve’s neck, you’ve walked up to him. He can practically envision the curl in your eyebrows whenever you get angry. An expression Steve has become familiar with. 

He gulps, still refusing to turn around. “You know, I really don’t think I can turn around.” His legs shake. Steve doesn’t think he’s ever fucked up this horribly before, and he’s fucked up a lot in his life. 

“Robin,” you turn your attention to her, the edge in your voice is the only indication of your anger. “Please inform our coworker that it’s inappropriate to use that language in a workplace, and please also inform him that I will no longer be needing him to cover my shift.”

“You… Don’t?” Robin looks between you and Steve. He still hasn’t looked at you yet, his face stares straight as if he’s trying to somehow disintegrate. You, however, face her with a steely look in your eyes, which surprises her. She thought there’d be more heartbreak in them. “I-I mean, are you sure? All things considered…”

“I’m fine.” The way you say it leaves no room for arguments. It’s already been decided, and Robin knows not to try and reason with you. She deflates, and you’re pleased with this. Even though her sympathy is unneeded, you can use it to your advantage. You’re going to make Steve pay. “In fact, I think you should inform our coworker that he’s covering your shift this weekend.”

Robin chokes on her spit, startled, while Steve finally turns to face you. “I’m sorry?”

“Aw, it’s okay, Harrington.” You pat his chest, albeit with more force than probably necessary, which he huffs at. “But I think the apology will work even better after spending some quality time together.”

You’re going to spend the entire eight hour shift making Steve’s life hell on earth. And he knows it.

“But–” 

“Say, Robin. What’s the company policy on harassment of employees?” You tap your finger against your chin with a menacing smile on your face. You’re enjoying this, and Steve hates you even more for that. “Doesn’t it say something about verbal insults?”

Steve sends the girl a pleading glance, begging her not to respond, but she can only shake her head at him. He’s the one who couldn’t keep his goddamn mouth shut. Sighing, Robin nods. “Yeah, it does.”

“I thought it did! Thanks, Buckley.” You wink at her before facing Steve again. He almost flinches at the coldness in your eyes. He’s so, so fucked. “Harrington, I’m sure you simply forgot, and I’m sure I can let bygones be bygones after you cover our dear friend’s shift. Yeah?”

I own you. 

The words practically drip from your rose coated lips, meant only for Steve, and he knows he’s lost. 

“Yeah, whatever.”

And it’s agreed. Come this Saturday, you and Steve will be working together. No one else, just the two of you, for eight long, maddening hours. 

–

When Steve arrives at work Saturday, you’ve already clocked in. 

He finds you sitting at the cash register, looking over the shipment for tomorrow. Sundays are the restock days, and the lists of orders are a pain in the ass to get through. It can take hours, sometimes even days, to comb through. When you see Steve walk in, you give him an icy smile. “Oh, perfect timing!” 

“We’re supposed to get here at eight.”

“And being early never hurt anyone.” Although you’re never early, you’re always late, and both of you know this. You scratch something off from the list, eyes never leaving Steve, and he can’t help but feel that the rough scratch of the pen is meant to symbolize his face. 

“What do you want?” Steve is too tired to play your games. He recognizes that he was a grade A asshole to you a few days ago, but this is going too far. 

You flick your hair behind your shoulder and straighten your posture. The gesture casts a cloud of a sickly sweet pomegranate scent over to Steve, causing him to sneeze violently. He’s always hated the perfume you wear. Smiling at the desired effect, you finally shove the restock lists towards him. “I need you to start sorting through next week’s orders.”

Steve looks at the lists and nearly cries. There’s at least thirty pages in the stack, doubled sided, with five columns and fifty rows. This is the largest shipment order he’s ever seen since working at Family Video, he can’t even believe it’s real.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Nope!” You hop down from the counter and walk over to the cart of returned movies. “Now, I’d get started if I were you. You know how much Keith hates it when we don’t get Sunday’s orders in on time.”

Your figure disappears behind a shelf of movies and Steve pretends to strangle you with his bare hands. You planned this. He doesn’t know how, but you did. If he didn’t have a reason to hate you so much, now he does. 

Hours pass by, you don’t at all speak to Steve as he labors over the shipments. Family Video requires the employees to manually input all the orders into the computer to send to the supply chain. The process alone is impractical and takes longer than it should, but pair that with the shitty computers that Keith refuses to upgrade, it makes Steve contemplate running into the road. The browser crashes three separate times. At one point he loses track of which movie he’d been on and has to restart an entire row at number forty-three.

It’s the worst fucking five hours of Steve’s entire life.

Meanwhile, all you do those five hours is browse through some online catalog on the other computer and help a total of two customers who come in. 

By the time Steve has finally finished inputting everything, words float around his vision and he can feel the beginning stages of a headache forming. The pressure sits right behind his left eye, dull and throbbing. 

All because he couldn’t keep his goddamn mouth shut.

Steve should really learn to listen to Robin. 

“Are you all done?” You materialize next to Steve, startling him and he lets out an embarrassing shriek, which you snicker at. “Wow, Harrington. You’re really tense today.”

He rolls his eyes and steps away from you. “Gee, I wonder why.”

“Yeah, who knows!” Steve glares at you and you smile right back at him. “Anyways, since you finished up so fast, why don’t you sort through the backorders next? It shouldn’t take you that long.”

The backorders. 

Steve wants to fucking scream.

The backorders are all the movies that the store can’t input into the system. They’re orders that get messed up, misplaced, and abandoned in Keith’s disgusting office. The pile of discarded movies has grown so large that it rivals Steve’s height and build. It’s its own entity at this point. A terrifying, breakdown inducing entity. 

You’re a fucking evil genius. 

But if Steve even looks at the backorders, he thinks he might actually murder you. 

“No,” he crosses his arms, trying to look more dignified and intimidating than he really feels. Awkwardly placing his weight on his left foot, he purposely ducks his head down to emphasize how much taller he is than you. “No way in hell am I going through the backorders.”

“I wonder what Keith would say when I tell him all the wonderful things you said about me on Wednesday,” you step forward, angling your head up to get a better look at Steve. You want him to see all the hatred you have for him in your eyes. 

What he said about you hurt. There’s no other way to put it. His words had been venom upon your skin, searing the flesh as it left a nasty scar. The wound has festered ever since, making your already shitty week even worse. 

Steve had called you “fucking moron”. Just like he had. 

“Oh, screw company policy and whatever that asshole Keith says!” Steve doesn’t care anymore if he has a job by the end of today. He’s had enough of your shitty mind games and power plays. He may have been a dick, but he doesn’t deserve any of this, either. The strenuous labor and migraines. “I’m done, alright? You’re being such a–”

“Bitch?” A gruff voice chuckles, interrupting. Steve, surprised to hear another male voice in the store, quickly turns around. 

The guy is tall, taller than Steve. That’s the first thing he notices. Then he notices the cold blue of his eyes and the way your entire body freezes in fear when you see him. Steve moves your body behind his, unconsciously putting you out of harm’s way, protecting you from whoever the hell this guy is in front of him. It’s instinctual, he doesn’t hesitate.

Who the fuck does this guy think he is, calling you a bitch?

“I would never call her that,” Steve squares his shoulders, putting ice into his words as he does so. He wouldn’t. He was going to call you a child. Steve would never call a woman a bitch, his mother raised him better than that and Robin would hit him if he ever did.

The guy laughs again. “You sure about that, buddy?”

“Jack,” Steve almost doesn’t hear you, you’re barely audible. He’s never heard your voice so soft before, so weak and scared; he decides he never, ever wants to be the cause of this voice. “You can’t be here.”

“Says who? I don’t see anybody kickin’ me out.” The guy, Jack, shrugs indifferently. He stuffs his hands into his jacket, it’s made of a nice, suede material that Steve is ashamed to admit he’d wear himself. “I wanted to see you, sweetheart.”

Jack tries to step closer to you, but Steve blocks him. “Funny, I thought she was a bitch?”

“Bitch, sweetheart, easy fuck, fucking moron.” Jack laughs, only this time it’s cruel. “It’s all the same when it comes to Y/N.”

Fucking moron.

Steve had said the same about you. A heavy weight of shame crushes his chest. He should’ve never called you such a cruel name. He knows that, now. 

“Don’t fucking talk about her like that,” Steve sneers, hand now coming around your arm as if terrified Jack will pull you away from him. “What the hell is your problem, man?”

“Why don’t you mind your own business? This is a conversation between me and the sweetheart over here.” Jack tries to reach for you again, but Steve shoves the guy away. He stumbles back, a wicked smile on his face. “Oh, the pretty boy can fight?”

“Steve,” You finally speak again, trying to shove yourself between the two men. The room grows hot and you don’t want anyone getting hurt. Not here, not with Steve. “Just leave it alone, walk away–”

Only Jack grabs your arm and viciously pulls, causing a pained yelp to escape you. A nerve pinches in your shoulder, he sends your body flying forward. His grip is harsh, it will leave bruises tomorrow, and you’re weak against him. Fear chokes you, he always does this.

“Don’t touch her.” Steve’s fist collides with Jack’s face, starbursts of pain explode in his wrist but he doesn’t care. All he sees is red now. Jack hurt you. He caused you to cry out in pain. Steve punches him again, the sound of pain you made rings in his ears, turns his blood cold and his anger boiling hot. 

Jack recovers from the punches quickly and he raises his fist, but you try to get him away from Steve. “Stop!” 

The fist comes down, you brace for impact, helpless against it, but the sound of skin hitting skin is all you’re met with. You open your eyes, Jack’s fist is in Steve’s palm. Stunned, Jack is too slow to pull away before Steve wraps his arm around his and twists it behind his back. The muscles strain, the ligament cries in pain as Jack’s arm is pulled dangerously far back. 

“Fuck!” Jack screams, contorting his body desperately to get out of the death lock he’s in. 

“You’re going to leave,” Steve hisses into his ear, “and you’re going to never, ever come back. If you even look at Y/N again I swear,” he mercilessly pulls even harder on Jack’s arm, the bone threatens to snap, but he doesn’t care. “I will break every bone in your fucking body.”

And with that, Steve finally releases Jack, who crashes pathetically to the ground. The moment he’s freed, he scrambles to his feet and cradles his sprained arm. He’s panting, no longer the confident and arrogant asshole he once was when he walked into Family Video ten minutes prior.

“Fuck you,” Jack spits out at Steve, but he’s already walking backwards towards the door to leave. “That bitch isn’t worth it, anyways.”

The door slams closed. 

Silence fills the void that the violence left behind. 

Steve shakes out his wrist, wringing out the pain from the punches. His knuckles are red, raw, bruising with every passing second. He brings the injured hand closer to inspect it, wincing at the inflamed skin. 

“You’re hurt.”

Your eyes linger on the blood that leaks from his knuckles. The skin has split, but the pain that the nerve endings scream over soothes Steve. He shakes his hand out again as he shakes his head at you. “I’m fine.”

But you don’t believe him.

Carefully, slowly, you bring your uninjured hand over Steve’s injured one. Your touch is gentle, hesitant. The pads of your fingers skim over the bruising that litters Steve’s skin. “I’m sorry.” 

“Hey, no.” Steve pulls his hand away, he doesn’t like what the image of his injury is doing to you. He’s not used to your tenderness, the sympathy you blanket him with. Besides, he isn’t the only one who got hurt. Steve instead brings your hand up, holding your wrist delicately as he sucks in a breath seeing the bruises Jack left. “You didn’t deserve any of that.”

You don’t say anything. 

Steve kisses the damaged skin, he feels you shiver beneath his lips. He isn’t sure why he does it, he just knows that he wishes he could physically remove the burn of the bruises from your memory. 

Minutes pass, the silence is all that is spoken. 

Eventually the two of you get back to work. There’s still two more hours before either of you can leave, even if the thought of staying in the store suffocates you. No other customers come in. It’s just you and Steve, matching bruises to keep you guys company. 

When four in the afternoon comes along, Steve clocks both of you out and locks the store up. He doesn’t let you do a single thing. He insists on having you sit by the window as he finishes the last restock orders and closes the door. His hand softly guides you outside, lingering on your waist as he locks the store’s doors for the night. 

“Alright, well…” Steve clears his throat. He doesn’t know what else to say to you. “Guess I’ll just, you know, leave–”

“Please don’t leave me alone.”

His breath catches. You stare up at him, eyes wide with fear and vulnerability and despair. “I…”

“Please,” you can’t walk home alone. Not tonight. Not after everything that happened today. “I just…”

Without saying anything, Steve’s hand finds yours, and he walks you to his car. He opens the door for you, closes it softly behind you once you get in. He gets into his own seat, turns the radio on and fiddles with the stations until he finds the one he knows you like. Every time you have a shift together, you play the same station and sing along to all your favorite songs.

It used to drive Steve insane.

Now he’s relieved he can do this one thing for you.

The drive is quiet. The only conversation that is made is mumbled directions to your house. It isn’t a far drive, but Steve takes his time anyways. He doesn’t know if you have anyone to go home to, he knows you haven’t stopped shaking quite yet. 

“Turn here,” your voice is hoarse from lack of use.

Steve listens, turns into a neighborhood he’s unfamiliar with. He thinks he’s nearing your home and he isn’t ready to let you go just yet. He knows you have to talk about what happened today. The bruises on his knuckles will fade, but the memory of Jack’s cruel words won’t. 

“So,” He clears his throat. He’s doing the right thing, he knows he is. “Jack. He was…?”

You’re quiet for several moments and Steve is afraid he’s ruined everything, pushed you too far, but eventually you respond. “Ex boyfriend. Broke up a week ago. He didn’t take it well.”

“I hate him.”

Despite the fatigue that weighs upon you and the dread that Jack will come back, you can’t help but laugh at what Steve has said. “Yeah, I guess I do, too.”

Silence falls again. Steve pulls into your driveway, he turns the car off, the headlights die, but neither one of you move. 

“You’re not, you know.”

You finally face Steve, confused as to what he’s referencing. “What?”

“You’re not a ‘fucking moron’. And you’re definitely not a bitch.” He clarifies, eyes meeting yours. You’re almost breathless by how brightly they shine with remorse. You’ve never known a man who felt such an emotion. “Jack is a dick, and so was I.”

“Steve…”

He doesn’t let you pity him. He knows what he did was wrong, the words that fell from his mouth about you will haunt him forever. Steve may not have liked you, but he didn’t have any right to say those things about you. “I really am sorry, Y/N.” 

There’s nothing to forgive.

Steve isn’t Jack. You know that, now. 

“It’s okay. I think I made you go through enough today, anyways.” You nudge his shoulder with yours, risking physical affection just this once. “First the restock orders and then defending my honor? I think we’re even.”

“I was pretty heroic, wasn’t I?” Steve tries to laugh, play along, but it’s bitter on his tongue. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forgive himself for how much he hurt you. 

Noticing his darkened expression, you poke Steve’s cheek. “Hey, you’re not allowed to brood. I’m the one whose crazy ex showed up at work today.” But it doesn’t work, he doesn’t laugh and you know he blames himself for everything. “Look at me, Steve.”

Night has fallen and the honey brown in Steve’s eyes resembles darkened ash. You place your hand on his, careful not to disturb his bruises. “I forgive you, but if you insist on being such an annoying jerk about it, then you can make it up to me by being my friend.”

“Your friend?” Steve doesn’t pull his hand away from yours, and it’s a start. 

“Yup, think you can handle that?” 

“‘Friends’,” he lets the word roll over his tongue. Tests it out, gets a feel for what it would be like to call you his friend. He thinks he likes the way it feels, the weight that accompanies it is one that settles his chest, soothes his wounds. “I guess I can be okay with that.”

He smiles at you, then, and you smile back.

You’re beautiful when you smile; warm, angelic.  

Steve doesn’t consider himself a bad guy, but by all accounts, he considers you a goddamn saint. 

-

⌑ writing masterlist

⌑ please feel free to like, reblog, and comment. i adore hearing from you guys :)

[munsster]

actually im like a clingy baby and i cant wait for more chapters of this series☝️👶

Down Together 1

Series Masterlist

Summary: Steve doesn’t want to show up to the Harrington family reunion without a girlfriend again. Though you didn’t know him too terribly well, you offered to go with him. Nothing too exciting could happen on a weeklong trip to the lake, right?

What to expect: Fake Dating. Angsty Steve.

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Been sitting on this baby for like a year and slowly chipping away at it. Please let me know if you enjoyed it! 🫡❤️

For my best gals: @hellfiredarling @pastel-pillows @lesservillain

Finally—The weekend. You hated having a 9-5, which in reality was a 6-7 when one took getting ready and the commute into account. While yes, having a job paid the bills and allowed you to live a moderately comfortable life, you were glad for the two days a week (though arguably that wasn’t nearly enough) to take time for yourself. 

Your plans for this evening consisted of meeting up with some friends for much needed drinks and food after work. It wasn't a weekly occurrence, but it happened enough that the group had a few spots in rotation. Tonight’s eatery would be a small bar in Midtown that had a stage on the patio for live music. Eddie insisted on it since he was interested in the local talent lined up to play tonight. 

Eddie Munson—what a guy. You met him last summer when he worked in the downstairs cafe of your office building. He was cute, kind, and made a show of giving you discounts and memorizing your lunch order. He quickly became a friend though you were interested in pursuing more. After two dates, it was apparent that your desires for the future didn’t quite add up. Eddie wanted to live every day like it was last with no thoughts or plans for the future. He was also very bad with money, which as an accountant you found quite off-putting. So, it was decided that the two of you would remain friends. Even though it was an amicable and mutual dismissal, it still injured your pride. But after a week of moping, you got over it. 

He turned out to be a lot more fun as a friend and wasted no time indoctering you into his clan, introducing you to loved ones from as far back as his high school days. Some of the people you liked, some you found to be tolerable only in minuscule doses. Tonight, though, you would be surrounded by your favorite few: Eddie, Robin, and Steve. 

Robin worked as a music teacher tutoring kids in trumpet, trombone, and saxophone. You appreciated the tight bond she had with Steve, who managed Richie’s Sports and Outdoors, and Eddie had since moved on from the cafe downstairs to working concessions at the arena venue downtown. You missed having him to chat with on your lunch break, but you certainly missed the two dollars off of your lunch the most.

Spotting Robin and Steve in the back corner of the poorly lit eatery, you made your way to them with a small wave.

“I need a margarita on the rocks post haste,” you huffed, plopping yourself onto the rickety wooden chair a little too harshly. 

“You too?” Steve asked miserably, nibbling on the end of the plastic straw in his drink. 

“It wasn’t a bad day, just a long one,” you answered. “I felt like two o’clock lasted for three whole hours. I even checked the clock on my desk to see if it was busted, but nope. Just dragged on and on.”

Steve hummed into his drink, placing both elbows on the table and leaning his head against his knuckles without another word. 

You were on the verge of asking him what was wrong, but the server came by and grabbed your drink orders just as Eddie appeared and took his seat next to you—pushing the question from your train of thought. 

“Have you guys ordered any food yet?” Eddie asked breathlessly. 

“Spinach artichoke dip for the table and those jalapeño poppers you like,” Robin answered. 

You scanned the laminated menu for something that wouldn’t induce severe heartburn and ultimately settled on a dish that sounded safe enough. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m starving.”

“Oh my god, I’m about to gnaw off my own hand!” Robin groaned. “My one o’clock kept adding another half hour until I finally had to put my foot down. I hated stopping him but I wasn’t about to stay the night!”

“Eh. More money in your pocket,” Eddie shrugged. “I’m probably only going to eat my poppers. I took one for the team at work and ate all the hotdogs that were about to be tossed out. Not feeling too hungry after that.”

You and Robin grimaced at his admission, quickly changing the subject to catching up on what had been happening in the few weeks since the last get together after Eddie let out a particularly rancid burp. 

Robin happily boasted about her student that after weeks of intense practice landed first chair in the school’s concert band. She lamented over having to spend an ungodly amount of money on replacing her brake pads and rotors after years of neglect—something that left both Eddie and Steve especially perturbed. She confided in the group that the woman at the library was giving off some rather encouraging signals, which had Robin blushing at the mere mention of it. 

Eddie liked his job at the arena. He didn’t give a lick about sports, but he enjoyed being able to see other events from behind the concessions counter. His band was saving up money to record their first EP heavily inspired by King Diamond’s new album, and his uncle was recovering well from some sort of surgery. 

You hadn’t been up to too terribly much. You survived your second tax season and managed to build up a small clientele outside of your company for extra cash next year. The book series you had been enthralled with for the last month or so concluded on an absolutely bullshit and infuriating ending that sent you into a small rage every time it crossed your mind. Your favorite show had been renewed for another season despite rumors it was to be cancelled. The noisy neighbors who lived above your apartment thankfully moved out and you were anticipating who would replace them. Other than that…there really wasn’t much else going on in your life.

It felt a bit discouraging to have so little to discuss with your friends. After hours of squinting at numbers and calculating, your brain was often too fatigued to handle a lot during the week. Escaping through fiction whether it be through reading or watching TV was how you left behind the stress of your day. What was more comfortable than getting into your coziest clothes and lounging on the couch with good food? But there were times when coming home to an empty and dark apartment made your shoulders slump. Sometimes the love interest in your stories incited a flicker of jealousy and heartache within your chest—shoving in your face just how long it had been since you felt the warm embrace of a man. 

Still, if past relationships taught you anything, it was that it was better to be alone than to waste your time on someone who didn’t appreciate you or only wanted to change you into their mother. So for the time being, loneliness would just have to suffice. 

No one at the table made you feel like a loser for not having anything more to talk about. The only person who hadn’t taken part of the conversation at all was Steve. There was no sign he had heard anyone speak whatsoever. No chuckles, smiles, or anecdotes. When Robin nudged his ribs and asked what crawled up his ass and died, Steve sighed heavily and drowned the last bit of amber liquid from his glass. 

“Lake Superior next Thursday,” he said bitterly. 

Robin visibly winced and Eddie sucked in air through gritted teeth. 

Feeling left out of the loop on why a Great Lake could possibly put Steve in such a bad mood, you carefully asked, “What does that mean?”

Steve ran his hands through his hair and tousled the locks before answering. “It means a week at the lake house with my family. My stuck up, over achieving, ‘why aren’t you a doctor or a CEO. When I was your age I had a wife and kids. What the hell is wrong with you? Are you happy being a bum?’ nagging, pompous family. Happens every few years. A shitty reunion of sorts.”

You frowned at Steve’s venomous tone. You’d never seen him like this before. Down and disappointed, sure, but never so bitter. “Do you have to go?”

“Oh yeah,” he snorted. “You don’t wanna know the hell I’d catch if I didn’t. Miles worse than the shit I’m gonna get if I go.”

An uncomfortable silence settled over the table as Steve pouted. You didn’t know a lot about his personal life. There was a running joke about how he had a terrible love life and that he was once high school royalty. His dad had a lot of money from owning his own business. Other than that you didn’t know much about his origins. You hadn’t a clue about immediate or extended family, nor if he even had a pet. 

“If I show up without a job at a Forbes Top 100 or at least a girlfriend, I’ll be the laughing stock. Especially since Jared is gonna be there with his new wife and new baby. Carrying on the Harrington name while I try to snuff it into the dust,” Steve rambled miserably. 

You locked eyes with Robin who in return frowned and slightly shrugged. 

You had asked her once why Steve had such bad luck with women. Objectively speaking he was a good looking guy—great looking, actually. Tall, muscular, with shaggy honey brown hair, hazel eyes, a strong jawline, and a breathtaking smile. Actually, when Eddie first introduced you to Steve your cheeks warmed at the sight of him, but you quickly banished away the thought. At the time you were there as Eddie’s guest and felt guilty for wishing you had met Steve first instead. 

You met two or three of his actual girlfriends and heard a few names in passing here and there, but for some reason they never lasted very long—a few months at most—and you rarely saw the same girl more than thrice. 

You wondered if there was something wrong with him. Maybe he had bad bathroom habits or a nasty temper, but you never saw that side of him. Not even when Eddie took a drunken piss on the side of his car. You had asked Robin not so subtly what could be the issue, and her answer was rather upsetting. 

“It’s dumb, really,” she sighed. “It usually goes okay until they meet me. They think I’m secretly in love with him.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at that. “Secret lovers? Do they not know that—you know?”

Robin was quite guarded with her sexuality, so it didn’t come as a surprise when she shook her head. “Only one, but she didn’t believe him. I told him if we needed to hang out less then it would be okay. Give his relationship a chance. But it seemed like it made things worse for her when we did actually make time for each other.” 

The more you thought about it, the more you could see how Robin would be a bit of a concern. Her and Steve were like two halves of one brain. If you didn’t know them, you would have thought they were soul mates. Incredibly close and on the same wavelength. But once you got to know them it was clear there was nothing more than a sibling-esque relationship and nothing to be jealous of once it was known that Steve was the farthest thing from Robin’s type. 

She sighed again and frowned deeply. “I feel really bad about it. He doesn’t deserve that. But he says that anyone who tries to force him to pick between a relationship and his friends, he’ll always pick us. If he does get another girlfriend, we’re just going to say we’re cousins and leave it at that. By the time they figure out it’s not true then they’ll know I’m not a threat, right?”

That was quite sweet of him. You didn’t think any twenty-three year old guy would turn down prospective reoccurring sex in favor of a friendship. You didn’t think it would blow over that well once his hypothetical girlfriend found out he lied about being related, but you didn’t want to dampen Robin’s fragile optimism. Instead, you nodded and changed the subject.

“Alright, Harrington. You don’t have to keep giving me those pitiful eyes,” Eddie sighed dramatically. “I’ll go with you.”

“Yeah right!” Steve scowled. “You know my dad still wants your head over the mantle.”

“I told you, man!” Eddie shrieked. “I wasn’t trying to flash your mom! Had I known she was looking out of the window, I wouldn’t have pissed on her flowers, okay?”

Steve rolled his eyes, clearly not wanting to hash out the details again. “Forget it, Munson. I’d rather go alone than try to explain why I brought a dude with me.”

“As if you could pull a guy like me,” Eddie teased. 

Steve wrinkled his nose. “See? That’s why I can’t take you. If you said something like that in front of my dad—“

You weren’t sure what possessed you to suggest it, but before you could even process the thought yourself, it was slipping past your lips. “What if I went?”

Steve gawked at you, his hazel eyes bulging and lips twisted in bewilderment. “What?”

You shrunk in your seat as all eyes were suddenly on you. Robin and Eddie looked just as confused as Steve as they gaped at you. 

Heat seeped into your cheeks under their scrutiny. “I said, what if I went?” 

You hated when they did this. Friends for much longer than you knew them, Robin, Eddie, and Steve could easily communicate nonverbally through unnerving staring, and they often did it in front of you, just like now. The only thing that gave it away that they were having a totally silent conversation were little ticks one could miss if they weren’t watching. A tilt of Steve’s head. The way Robin’s blinks became more prolonged. Eddie’s eyebrow twitching. It was infuriating, and you hated feeling left out. Especially when you just threw yourself out there like a lifeline only to be presumably rejected. 

“Never mind,” you said quickly. Picking up the coaster Eddie refused to use, you held it up to read the fun fact on it in hopes to disrupt the awkward silence settling over the table. “The first ballpoint pen was sold in 1945 for twelve dollars. Huh.”

No one seemed to hear you as they continued their secret meeting. Maybe one day you would let it slip that it annoyed you and that they should do that sort of thing out of sight since it was extremely isolating and rude, but for now you were just desperate to change the subject. 

What possessed you to offer yourself up like that anyway? Well, who wouldn’t want to go to a friend’s lake house for a weekend? That, and you supposed Steve looked so miserable pouting into his drink. You hated seeing anyone in the midst of a pity party, and Steve’s bad luck with women on top of his fear of being the family failure was enough to extend a helping hand. 

“I have to pee,” Robin announced suddenly. She waved at you to follow as she stood to her feet. “Let’s go.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You immediately jumped up, eager to scamper away from the table and leave the air of embarrassment behind. Hopefully by the time you guys got back, the appetizers would be there and a new conversation could take place. 

In the shelter of the dimly lit bathroom, Robin started to wash her hands. 

“Steve thinks you and Eddie still have a thing,” she revealed. 

“What?” you shrieked. “We went on two dates almost a year ago! I didn’t even kiss him!”

“I know,” she answered simply. “That’s what he’s telling Steve now.”

You couldn’t hold back the snarky bite. “Oh, is that what all the eyebrow wiggling was about?”

Robin gave you a look in the reflection of the mirror as you stood beside her and washed your hands too. “Sorry,” she apologized sheepishly. “We don’t mean to do that.”

“Sure,” you grumbled. “Why does it matter if I had a thing with Eddie?”

Robin rolled her eyes as she fluffed up her bangs. “Men are stupid.” She cleared her throat and put on her best impression of a masculine voice. “I thought you liked her? No, dude. We’re just friends. Why did I think that then? We went out a few times. No big deal. You sure? Yeah, man. It’s not weird if you take her as your fake girlfriend. You’re not gonna hurt my feelings. Really? Really.” 

You quipped your brow and chuckled at how that could have been the conversation. “Well what did you say?”

“I just told him ‘Duh, Dingus.’ but he didn’t look like he believed me. So we’re in here while Eddie gives him verbal confirmation. But I have to ask—are you sure you wanna go? His family can be…intense.”

Your shoulders slumped. “Doesn’t really seem to matter if I wanna go. He didn’t exactly jump at the idea.”

“Oh, he will definitely take you,” she snorted. “He just wanted to make sure Eddie was okay with it.”

“What does Eddie have to do with any of this?” you sneered. “Like he owns me or something because we went on date forever ago?”

She rolled her eyes again. “Of course not. They’re friends. Steve doesn’t want to make Eddie uncomfortable if he has any sort of feelings for you, even if it’s only pretending for the sake of his family. Eddie said he didn’t, so it’s not something Steve or anyone has to worry about. I’d ask you, you know,” she added thoughtfully. “If suddenly I wanted to date Eddie. I’d ask if you were okay with it.”

The reminder of Eddie’s lack of interest still stung, even if you weren’t romantically interested in him either. No one wanted to feel undesirable. 

“I think I’d be more concerned with you suddenly liking men,” you laughed forecully. 

She grinned. “You know what I mean. But, I’m serious. Steve’s family—his mom is nice enough but his dad is harsh.”

Something about the way Robin was grimacing over the Harrington patriarch made you just that more determined to go. Steve may not be the brightest, but he was always genuinely kind to you. He deserved at least some of that in return. It would also give you the chance to hang out with Steve outside of the group, something you’ve never done before. 

Besides, you could really use a vacation. If you went home alone to your bleak apartment with nothing to do but read another shitty romance novel, you'd probably be driven to eat Ben & Jerry’s out of business and wallow. A week on the water sounded perfect, no matter what the family who owned it was like.

“If he wants to take me to the lake house, I’ll go,” you announced. 

Robin sighed but gave her blessing in the form of a shoulder pat. “We should get back out there. I may die if I don’t get my hands on some food soon.”

Upon returning to the table, both Eddie and Steve were trying to cool the lumps of steaming hot spinach artichoke dip that they had in their mouths, obviously too impatient to wait for the food to be at an edible temp before digging in—like always.  

“Do they ever learn?” Robin chortled, taking her seat next to Steve. 

“Learn—hhhhhaahhhhh—what?” Eddie breathed, titling his head back to let the steam billow from his open mouth. 

“Nothing,” you giggled, watching Steve do almost the exact same technique. 

“So,” he started once he finished chewing. “Would you really be willing to come to the lake with me? Cause you gotta know, my family is—“

“I’ve been warned,” you interrupted. 

“Okay, well, yeah. They’re that,” he chuckled nervously. “If you don’t wanna go, it’s totally fine. I won’t hold you to it.”

You pretended to think about it, watching Steve bite the inside of his cheek with anticipation. “Yes, Steve. I will go to the Harrington Family Reunion with you.”

“As my—you know—girlfriend?“ he said nervously. “You won’t have to do anything. Hold my hand or something sometimes. My family hates PDA so—“

“Steve,” you said gently. “I already said yes.”

All the tension in his body expelled through a deep sigh. You could almost see the weight lift from his chest as his posture straightened and a smile spread across his face. It really was a nice one—sideways, showing a little bit of teeth and made his eyes crinkle in the corner. He reached over the table to take your hand. “I can’t thank you enough.”

You tried to ignore the warmth of his hand atop of yours, the sheer size of it, and the tingling sensation his touch left behind on your skin. 

[munsster]

hi jade!! could i please request a steve harrington x luna lovegood!reader? i don't have an specific idea in mind, sorry about that. <33

r makes her move on a lovestruck Steve! ty for ur request ♡ fem!reader

"Stevie," you sing quietly, creeping up behind him. He knows you're there because you'd bumped into a cardboard cutout and apologised, but otherwise he'd have jumped a half mile. 

"You walk, like, silently, you know? It's creepy," he says mildly, on his knees in front of the horror tapes. 

"Thank you." You're completely genuine. Steve's glad – he's not insulting you to be cruel. He's trying to flirt. 

He'd tried the normal route. Called you pretty, asked for your number, taken you out. And while you'd eagerly accepted each of his advances, you hadn't seemed to clock that they were of romantic intent. 

So now he's taking relationship tips from thirteen year old boys and hoping something will stick. 

"What do you want, trouble?" 

"I don't want any trouble," you say, kneeling down beside him. 

Your skirt falls around your thighs in a pretty heap of thin, flowing fabric. There's a horrendous bruise on your leg, though whether you know it's there or not is anyone's guess. 

"No, I mean- how are you?" he asks. 

"I miss you like crazy. You didn't call me last night." 

His hand slows where it's reaching out for a tape. He looks down at your bruise and asks tentatively, "You wanted me to?" 

"Duh." You hand him the movie he'd been aiming for and dip your chin to your chest slightly, drawing his gaze. "Wanna go get food?" 

"I'm working." 

You wrinkle your nose like this hadn't occurred to you. "After?" 

"Sure. Are you hungry now? I have a peanut butter-" 

"No, it's okay." 

He nods to himself. "Okay," he mumbles. 

You lay out all the tapes in the plastic tub he'd been carrying them in on the ground and start to sort them from most scary to least, asking his opinion every now and then. 

"You've seen all these?"

"No, I'm going by cover. This one?" you ask, holding up The Morgan Murders with a curious smile. 

"Definitely least scary." 

He shoves the rest of the movies on the shelves, leaving your least to most ranking intact on the very bottom. 

"How'd you hurt yourself?" he asks, standing up and offering you his hand.

You take it, your palm soft as silk. He knows your hands must smell nice because he's seen your little tube of herbal hand cream. He wonders what it smells like.

He cringes at himself and goes to drop your hand. You hold on tightly but let them hang between you, eyes wide as you explain your injury. 

"I fell in the bathroom." 

His eyes fly to your head. "Are you okay?" 

"Of course I am. I slept really well after, like half a day! I think I reset my sleep cycle. Although, that might be 'cos I stayed up to try and find a Lunar Moth yesterday." 

He takes a while to let all of that sink in, your fingers gentle where they've curled around the back of his hand. He uses the little bit of height he has over you to lean over your shoulder and check the back of your head for bumps. 

"Why didn't you call me?" you ask. 

Steve can't believe you're still holding his hand, to be honest, and he blames it entirely for his ineptitude. "I didn't think you were interested." 

"In what?" 

"In me." 

"Oh…" You step between his shoes and look up at him. "Please call me tonight." 

"I thought we were going to get food?" 

"After food." 

He shrugs, more blase than he feels. "Okay. Whatever you want." 

Your smile is blinding. Despite your general attitude, Steve can count the amount of times he's seen you smile on one hand. It really does stun him, worse when you look down at your joined hands and thread your fingers together properly. 

"You have bigger fingers than me," you say conversationally, "so you'd worry that we wouldn't fit together, but look." You squeeze his hand.  

Steve short-circuits.

"How about we go for food now?" he asks. 

Another blinding smile. Steve could get used to those. "Really?" 

"Yeah. I'll take a sick day." 

Your head skews quizzically to the side. "You don't look sick." 

"I'll explain in the car." 

[munsster]

i'm so so obsessed with the winter in hawkins series!! i love a loser!steve and the kids pushing the steve x reader agenda

LITERALLY ME TOO! i am so glad u like it. truly nothing and no one compares to poor babygirl loser!steve. and now because i’m crazy, i came up with a billion headcanons for winter in hawkins au.

robin was obviously definitely the first one to notice babygirls longing glances (does that make robin olaf or sven in this situation…)

of course, steve was catching strays from dustin long before but it was all conjecture for like the first month

once robin pinpointed steve’s desperation and utter infatuation with you, she was hooked and intent on finding dumb excuses for the two of you to be alone

aka robin is the WORST instigator and only encourages loser!steve

yes, she thoroughly clowns on him, but her heart says steve x reader ftw

the rest of the kids find out because dustin will. not. shut. up! about it

again, thanks to auntie robin only fanning the flames

(they came up with a group name for their shenanigans: the secret society consisting of everyone who thinks steve is her prince charming OR the prince charming project for short)

(dustin uses the full name every time)

(the main points at meetings include planning your wedding, drawing your future children, and anything anti-brad)

speaking of brad, steve still remembers exactly where he was when you told him you got a new boyfriend

he cried in his car after work that day

robin was in the passenger seat

she cried, too

that was really what spurred loser!steve on

before that, steve was minding his own hopeless romantic business, but the introduction of brad put emphasis on the ‘hopeless’ aspect

honestly, steve’s just glad he still gets to see you every weekend for game night

brad is not invited to game night

you don’t think he’d come even if he was

steve hates brad

regardless of br*d, steve is not shy about complimenting you on anything and everything

sure, it makes him a little blushy thinking about how you’ll react

with that dazzling smile he adores

and yeah, theres a tiny wobble in his voice when he gets your attention

but you don’t seem to notice

and if you do, you don’t seem care

(you always notice, and you think it’s sweet)

“i like your hair like that”

“really? thanks, stevie!”

oh he melts

whenever you compliment him back, he takes diligent notes

one time he wore the same shirt three times in one week just because you mentioned how it complimented his eyes

he also got a big head when you told him his sailor outfit makes him look dashing

sometimes the kids write out lists of really good and not at all embarrassing pick up lines

sometimes these lists suspiciously wind up in steve’s glove box or tip jar

one time a list appeared in his wallet

it’s weird that they practically pickpocketed him but it’s weirder that they had access to his wallet and didn’t take the twenty

robin has a secret scrapbook dedicated to you and steve

it has secret pictures (courtesy of el), ticket stubs, cute stickers, and random receipts

if you couldn’t already tell, everyone is very normal about the situation

steve gets to know you so well that you actually start saying things in tandem

he knows your ice cream order, your coffee order, what temperature you like the thermostat, the name of your first pet

he’s never been good at memorization but it feels so easy knowing it’s all attached to you somehow

he will often bring you random little flowers that seem so small in the palm of his hand

it makes him feel very proud when you tuck them behind your ear

even more so when you let him do it for you

one late summer night, steve hosts a sleepover

OR the kids begged and begged him to either ask you on a date or let everyone use his pool for the night and watch a scary movie and stay up really late and eat junk food

so because he’s a loser, steve hosts a sleepover

and his heart flutters when you show up on his dimly lit doorstep with a gaggle of children behind you

they push past the two of you and barrel straight towards the back door

you warn him, saying you’re pretty sure only two of them brought towels

he chuckles and assures you that they do this every time and he already has a stack set out

you laugh in response and he thinks this is what a heart attack feels like

just imagine how he survived the rest of the night basking in your company and the soft moonlight

you sat next to him during the movie and fell asleep on his shoulder and he swears he’s never been so still

and the movie was really scary

steve wishes brad wasn’t such a dick

especially because he’s made you cry now on a handful of different occasions

steve’s flattered that he’s the first one you call, but he’s heartbroken hearing your choked sobs through the receiver

it’s kind of like a routine the way you always apologize for dumping everything on him and the way he tells you he’d do it any time

for you

at this point, he doesn’t care how desperate he makes himself seem

he really cares about you

steve likes you, and brad could spare a couple teeth

but he knows you love brad blahblahblah que sera sera whatever

he should’ve asked you out when he had the chance instead of sulking and pining

robin still has hope three months into the relationship

she knows for a fact steve still has a raging crush on you

those big brown eyes give everything away

and the way he gushes about your phone calls and your cute sweaters

something happens and i’m head over heels

steve has your gift picked out a month before the holiday season

little does he know, you’ve got his picked out, too

“i saw this in a shop window and thought of you…”

“i remember you mentioning that you wanted one…”

they really are just two losers fated to fall in love

sigh

more like this

masterlist

[munsster]

lost in the woods

A/N: i literally couldnt resist getting my grubby hands on this brainrot song (gif creds: @longestwave)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader (Season 3)

Summary: You, the party, and Steve attend an annual winter festival while he's feeling utterly lost in the woods. 3.7k words

Warnings: fluff, everything is corny xoxo, slight angst/anxiety/embarrassment, pet names (sweetheart, honey), flashback, general party shenanigans, GODAWFUL PINING, kissing

Robin had slapped a flyer for Tippecanoe’s First Annual Winter Festival on the counter, and Steve knew he had to be there with you somehow. He just had to make it subtle enough not to seem desperate but obvious enough that you knew he wanted you there. Which was easier than he predicted when he handed the flyer to Dustin and his eyes lit up at the idea of a real festival with live music and gingerbread and carnival games and sledding.

So you and Steve caravanned the children and Robin in your cars. Of course, driving separately was not Steve's ideal situation as he loves having you in his passenger seat picking the music and humming softly to yourself. But you had suggested it since there were more bodies than could fit in your station wagon. Robin had begged to differ, insisting there was always more space with a nod to the trunk, which made you giggle and subsequently made Steve absolutely melt. He didn't usually have the patience for her antics, but he would do anything to hear you laugh even if it meant contorting himself into your trunk.

However, he knows that's not the only reason you suggested separate cars with separate drivers. Things had been tense since the last time he saw you, and the guilt weighs on him like a cold metal barbell crushing his chest.

Your fingers curl into the collar of his shirt, barely grasping, and you crane your neck towards him. You watch his honey eyes draw over your lips just before he leans in and kisses you.

His hand molds into your side, melting over the exposed skin like hot syrup. You press into his hold and smile with your fingers drawing up and across the back of his neck.

But the kiss short lived when he pulls away, shoving a hand through his ruffled hair.

"Sorry, sweetheart," Steve huffs, standing and backing away, "I don't know what I'm doing. I should go!"

He hadn't planned on rushing out of your house and into the snow without any of his belongings, but that's how it happened. It's the subject of most of his nightmares. The look on your face and the blaring sound the door made when it slammed. He had stood on your porch wringing his hands and exhaling puffs of hot air when he finally decided to go through with his running away.

But now he felt completely lost. And he could tell he was losing you, too.

Robin had thoroughly scolded him when he called her that night, telling him he's an idiot for walking out on you when you two were clearly and stupidly in love. He agreed and wallowed in self pity, listening to sappy love songs and soft rock until he eventually fell asleep.

This festival was his chance to make apologize. To fall for you all over again. If only he could get you alone without the squeaky voices of a handful of pestering teens.

El and Max drag you and Robin toward the steep hill carved out for sledding, and Steve follows with the group of boys hot on his trail. They coo taunting endearments at him, urging him to share a sled with you. Dustin hollers something or other about his probably fake girlfriend Suzie and how he officially has more game than Steve.

You look back at him sweetly and mouth 'sorry' before you plop down onto your sled. For all the trouble, you mean. You know the kids would be much calmer if they knew Steve didn't actually want you. And he clearly doesn't after the other night. And the way he seems so nonchalant. He shakes his head and mouths 'don't worry about it' as he shoves his jittery hands in his pockets. The wind whips at his hot face and he wishes he'd brought a scarf. Or some dignity.

"You have to win something for her," Lucas says once they reach the bottom of the hill, and Steve is hit with the realization that all of these twerps somehow got girlfriends before him. Although, Dustin's status is still questionable. He at least has the audacity to lie about his romantic endeavors.

"Yeah," Max agrees, pointing to the tip-a-jug stand lined with winter themed plushies, "Girls love stuffed animals. Plus, winning will be an excellent show of your strength."

"And generosity! The ladies love a charitable man," Mike adds. Steve rolls his eyes, worried you'll hear them from where you walk just a few paces ahead with Will and El. But maybe they have a point.

"I don't need advice from schoolchildren."

"You mean romantically successful schoolchildren!" Dustin chirps.

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose while they beg him to win you something good. Finally, he gives in, sifting a few singles from his wallet. Max calls you over to watch Steve win, and you chuckle weakly, knowing they forced him into it somehow.

The vendor hands him a basket of blue bean bags with snowmen painted on them. Steve's heart races when you step up next to him.

"Good luck," you huff. You both know these games are rigged from the moment the cash hits the counter. But he smiles at you and holds one of the bags in his palm. God, somehow you're even prettier with snowflakes in your hair and the warm fairy lights twinkling behind you.

He lasers in on the game, winding up that rubber arm like he's back in little league hoping for a strike out. The first few jugs clatter backwards. Suddenly, the kids are much more invested learning the possibility that he might actually win.

It's down to the final jug, and he takes a deep breath. In all honesty, he's never been this successful in any stupid carnival game. Why he is tonight is a mystery. Maybe next he'll be struck by lightning.

Except, the last bean bag thuds against the side of the apparatus, and the crowd groans. He perches his hands on his hips and bows his head.

"You did pretty good, kid. Why don't you pick one of the medium sized prizes?" The vendor asks, gesturing to the small stuffed animals halfway up the wall.

"Which one do you want, sweetheart?"

He turns back and his eyes lock with yours. He's hoping the kids were right. Maybe you'll be impressed or charmed. Or maybe you'll think he's being vain and trying needlessly to boost his ego. But you glance at him in surprise, eagerly stepping forward and tugging on his sleeve.

"Steve, I can't accept your prize. You won it fair and square."

"They begged me to play. I only did it because I love showing off," he teases, and it makes you giggle. Hallelujah. You point to the small polar bear plush, and the vendor hands it to you. Steve's heart flutters when you accept the bear so tenderly and thank him like you're shy. But he's never known you to be bashful. At least, not when it comes to teasing him.

Everyone, including Robin, coos and hoots and hollers at the two of you basking in the soft carnival game light. You whip around and tell them to shush.

"Quit it, I'm not afraid to send you all home right now," Steve says, pointing an accusatory finger. You hide your grin behind your plush when his hair bounces from his intensity.

The kids grumble, and Dustin says, "Yes, mom and dad," begrudgingly but with a shit eating grin on his face. It makes Steve blush more than it should.

You suggest stopping for gingerbread-flavored funnel cake and hot apple cider and face a hoard of suddenly starving children.

Dustin sighs dramatically, catching your attention. "This night is so beautiful, don't you think, Steve?"

"Careful, Henderson, I'm your ride home," Steve says.

"What? I’m just saying it would be a shame to waste such a romantic night." Dustin tries his hardest to wink subtly. "If only it weren't for Brad—"

"No, she dumped Brad," El helpfully suggests. The news lights up their eyes, and they bounce around excitedly.

"Who raised these kids?" Steve huffs, eyebrows raised and cringing at their blatant attempts at match making.

You roll your eyes, announcing, "You guys, Steve has more important things to worry about than a girlfriend."

Steve looks at you. You're trying to settle them down, but all it does is shatter his heart and make him their target. He knows it's in good fun and all but the wobble in your voice makes his knees buckle and his throat tighten. He needs to fix this and fast if he wants any chance at reconciliation.

Max stares him down. "What did you do?"

"Come on, Steve the King," Lucas sighs, "You're supposed to be working with us, not against us!"

Steve shakes his head and turns away from the slander. You follow his lead. You're staring straight ahead, pretending to look at the menu while he fiddles with the hem of his sleeve.

Then, El notices a small mistletoe hanging from the edge of the canopy. The kids giggle and nudge each other, and Robin's eyes go wide realizing the front of the line crosses through its path. And you and Steve are standing side by side.

So just as the line shuffles forward, Robin elbows her way between the two of you, earning a hearty grumble from Steve.

"Sorry, I—uh"—solid gameplan, Robin—"Lovely weather we're having."

You chuckle and look up at the way the snow seems to hover midair. Little specks of white illuminated by the festivities with a backdrop of darkness and starlight.

"Yeah, I guess so," you hum. Steve crosses his arms over his chest with a sour look when he spots the mistletoe dangling above the two of you.

"Oh, gosh! Would you look at that," Robin chirps, "Mistletoe! You know what that means."

"You cut the line just so you could kiss me?" you say, smile creeping onto your face. She shrugs, and you hold her jaw while you lean in and peck her cheek. Steve lets out a sigh of relief, but Robin is stirred, her cheeks blooming a rosy pink from more than just the cold.

"Satisfied?"

Robin nods, tugging on her hat and warbling about checking out the ice sculptures and how she'd be back in a second. Steve sheepishly reclaims his spot beside you.

"You want one, too?" you tease. His heart flutters considering it, but his silence has you recoiling and turning away. "Sorry. Just... kidding."

Of course, he wants to kiss you. And he doesn't want it to be an accident or a mistake or a regret. He's already messed up once, and the thought of messing it up with you again hurts like an icicle to the heart.

The kids bound towards the huge tree sprouting from the center of the fair grounds. An announcement had called for the first annual tree lighting at nine, and crowds had flocked to the base of the looming tree. Not Steve, though. He lingers just behind you while you order the funnel cake. He's a little embarrassed when you turn back around holding the plate to find yourselves deserted by your group.

"Where'd everyone go?"

"Distracted by the lights, I guess," he huffs, feeling the pang in his chest when you nod wearily. "Wanna sit down? I saw an open bench back there."

You grab an extra fork and follow him to the bench seated along the edge of the grounds. There's a perfect view of the grand tree with a couple minutes to spare. The bench is snug enough, your thigh pressed to his. It reminds you of that night in your living room and the way he looked at you like he really cared. Like he could have actually wanted you. Honestly, you think, who was he kidding.

But it's second nature the way you hand him a fork.

"Mmm, tastes like..." he hums while trying to decipher the distinct flavor but all he can muster is cinnamon and sugar.

"Gingerbread?" you tease. He ducks his head, grinning and reaching for another bite.

"That would make sense."

You laugh when powdered sugar kisses the tip of his nose. He's confused why you're staring at him like that and rubs his sleeve across his mouth, which makes you laugh harder.

"What?"

You try and wipe it way but miss by a long shot, swiping at his chin through your giggle fit. He finally wipes the tip of his nose. You take a deep breath in, calming your laughter.

"Sweetheart, what is it? What's on my face?"

"You got it." You shake your head. "Just some powdered sugar."

"All that for a little sugar," he teases, grinning from ear to ear when you stifle a laugh. You settle into the bench and he drapes his arm long the back of it. He likes having you so close. It makes him feel foolish and ecstatic and boyish. And he doesn't think he's ever felt so warm before.

You're about to say something when the tree lights up. A million tiny bulbs of green and red and yellow lead to the shining star on top. It illuminates his face, and you can really see the glimmer reflected in his brown eyes. Carolers sing holy night across the festival, but you can still hear them loud and clear. You want to tell Steve he's everything. You would if you could be sure it wouldn't scare him away. People clap and whistle. You're conflicted.

Is this how he felt before he ran away?

"I owe you an apology," he blurts. He turns to face you to find you're already looking him dead in the eyes. His stomach twists because that means it's real and he's not daydreaming. The hope makes him nervous.

You shake your head.

"No, Steve, you have nothing to apologize for. If anything, I should apologize. I still have all the blankets you left, and it's the middle of winter."

"Sweetheart, please, I'm the one who ran out on you," he huffs, "I was being a coward. I've liked you for so long, and I wanted to kiss you, and I know the kids are usually full of shit—and I can't believe I'm saying this—but they're right. I belong to you. I mean it, I'm yours. And as cheesy as it sounds, without you... I feel lost."

The air between you feels thick enough to carve with a butter knife. It's not snowing anymore, but still, something stirs and shimmers and wavers as his confession sets in. It gets a little harder to breathe and he can almost feel the altitude sickness from the flicker in your eye. Though, shortness of breath is nothing compared to the way you make him feel on top of the world with just a glance.

His heart sinks when you tear up and look away.

"Hey," he whispers, leaning in when you desperately press your mittens to your cheeks.

"Sorry. Sorry." You tilt your head back and squint your eyes shut to stop the hot flow of tears.

"It's okay. I didn't mean to make you cry," he says softly when you cover your face and chuckle dryly.

"I know. I just feel like..." you huff, feeling a little silly for crying when Steve rubs your back like he means every word he said. Like he's really sorry and all he wants is you. "It was never the right time for us."

He can't help the way his heart crumbles to pieces like forgotten pastry between your skilled fingers. You're trying not to cry, and it's his fault. You take a deep breath. He thinks he would buy you all the sweet things in the world to make you happy. Even if it meant you didn't need him anymore. It would be enough to know he could do something good for you.

Then you turn to him, and he's doe eyed and handsome and hopeful.

You whisper, "But, now—"

Suddenly, the hoard returns, stampeding and complaining about the cold and how Robin is flirting with the pretty exhibit curator and the tree lighting was so cool but now El wants to take pictures with her new camera and are you gonna eat that? Steve's still hanging onto your every word over the ruckus. Now?

You offer them the rest of the funnel cake which Mike and Dustin devour in seconds. You give Will your scarf when he shivers, and Steve offers his gloves to Lucas who gives one to Max so he can hold her other hand.

"Hey, remember when I told you you'd be cold?" you tease Will who shrugs shyly and Lucas who grumbles, squeezing Max's hand.

"But why would they wear proper clothing when they know you're too caring to refuse?" Max says, cocking a brow. You squint at her.

"Are you calling me a pushover?"

She giggles and kisses your cheek before skipping away with Lucas and shouting, "Only because I love you!"

El hooks her arm in yours and tugs you towards the string light tunnel near the exit. You glance back at Steve who listens to Dustin talk about all the old couples watching the tree lighting ceremony. He makes a point to tell Steve he'd like to come back every year.

Steve looks to you and agrees.

You think El's trying to win the record for most polaroids taken in ten seconds. She takes a few of Max and Lucas and a couple of all of the boys together. She's shouting at them to behave when you wander off towards Steve.

Your knuckles brush his, and you startle, but he's already holding your soft, gloved hand and biting back a grin. You tug him towards you and face him with a fierce look in your eye.

"Quit putting the moves on me, Harrington," you tease, but he sweeps your hair out of your face anyway. Oh, and he looks like he wants to kiss you. Just like before. Only this time, he's not going to run away. And you can tell when he gently cradles your neck that he’s gonna stick around for a long time.

But just as he leans in, a flash goes off and you look straight into El’s lens as the camera clacks and zips. You quickly let go of Steve’s hand and huff out a laugh when one of the kids wolf whistles. Steve chuckles and dips in to kiss your cheek. El skips over and hands you the polaroid, telling you to shake it until it develops.

Once it does, you’re already headed back to the parking lot. You hand it to Steve, and his face lights up.

The light tunnel frames the picture like a halo. Your eyes are wide, staring into the camera while the flash shines on your shocked face. But he’s still looking at you and waiting for his kiss, holding your face with your mitten tucked into his cold hand. You think he looks handsome. He knows that’s because he’s lovesick, and it shows

“I hope you know I’m keeping this,” he says, pinching the corner like it’ll fly away in a snow flurry. You giggle.

“Fine, but I want it on weekends.”

“Deal,” he teases. He plops into his driver’s seat, tucking the polaroid into his sun visor. You lean down and perch your forearms on the window.

“Drive safe, Stevie,” you whisper, glancing at his sweet smile and flushed face.

“I want to kiss you.”

You raise your eyebrows and peek into the back seat where Will, El, and Max giggle. And then to where Dustin is slumped in the passenger’s seat, his forehead rested against the glass.

“Dustin is gonna be furious when he finds out you said that, and he wasn’t awake to witness it,” you hum, but Steve couldn’t care less with you so close to him.

“Maybe it’ll teach him to mind his own damn business.” Steve says it so casually, it makes you smile.

“His meddling isn’t all bad,” you shrug, “It brought us together.”

Well, shit, Steve thinks. He’s never gonna hear the end of it from the kid.

“In that case, I owe him one,” he says, out of focus when you lean further into the car. “Or a couple.”

You smile against his mouth and he hums lowly. It’s gentle. Unhurried. Like it could stop the world from turning if only for a second. If the festival were any quieter, your heartbeats would be audible. You pull away with a small grin and smooth down the collar of his jacket. He holds your wrist, fingers lazily wrapping around the cuff of your mitten to keep your hand close to his chest.

Max pokes Dustin’s shoulder and he wakes with a loud startle. He orients himself to find the both of you staring back at him.

“What was that for? What did I miss?” he whines with a furrowed brow. Max rolls her eyes, tugging her headphones on.

“Dude,” she huffs. El giggles, shaking her head, and Will waves when you stand back from the window.

You pat Steve’s shoulder and say, “Seriously, please be careful. It’s slippery.”

Steve nods, giving you a little salute. You smile. He blushes.

“You, too, honey,” he coos, hoping you’ll linger by his window just a little longer. But Dustin snaps his fingers impatiently.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” he says, already nodding off again. You chuckle.

“I’ll follow you out,” you say with a nod, “Nighty night, Dusty.”

Dustin swats away the tease with a, “Yeah, yeah. Talk to me when you’re boyfriend-girlfriend.”

Steve cocks a brow and you laugh, shrugging. His engine revs to life and you back away further with a cute little wave when his headlights flicker on. He watches you open your car door and disappear inside before slowly creeping out of the parking spot. You shuck your mittens and set them in the cupholder, Robin grinning from beside you the entire time.

“We saw everything,” she says. Mike and Lucas share a knowing glance in the backseat, and you hold up one finger.

“Not a word.”

But you smile the whole way home.

more like this

masterlist

[munsster]

charmed

e. munson x reader, 3k

summary: eddie comes home from a long day at work to discover wayne has a pretty surprise for him includes: established!eddie x reader, wayne being the sweetest paternal figure, mumblings of a found family, wayne manifesting a daughter in law by years end warnings: afab reader, non descript

a/n: writing from the boys perspective is always way more fun. i have so many thoughts about wayne and eddie's relationship.

Eddie had intended to be home earlier, a far cry earlier than the 9:30 that blinked hazily on his vans dashboard as he pulled in before the trailer. He was meant to be home hours ago, hoping to enjoy a Friday night the way that a young person ought to – out with the people he loved. Instead he sat in his driver's seat, covered in oil and grime and god knows what else from under the hood of some deadbeat richman from the other side of town. The apprentice had fucked the repair of a rather pricey car, one that was to be picked up first thing monday, and Eddie didn’t have it in him to let the little guy drown under the barrage of abuse from an intimidating customer. 

So he stayed back, and now he was paying the price. Dinner would have been long over by now, and it was unlikely that Wayne was still home at such an hour. He usually had the night shift on this pay cycle, but Eddie couldn’t tell one from another these days. The lights were still on, his indication that he’d gotten his weeks wrong. 

Worn leather boots beat against the gravel as he trekked towards the door, hand running through the curls that hung low on his forehead; wild, in desperate need of a trim. He was spent, body weary and limp from the extra strain. He wanted to call his friends, to call you, to ask for good company, but he knew even now he was too tired to go anywhere. 

The door was unlocked, so he slipped into the warmth of the trailer with an involuntary shiver, eyes blinking tiredly to spot the figure propped up on the couch. Wayne. Beer in hand, chin shadowed with stubble; Eddie’s hero, if anyone were to ever ask. The old man was his favourite person, whether he knew it or not. 

Wayne gave a gruff smile, tilting his chin up at his nephew. “Long day, boy?” 

“Yeah.” Eddie breathed, voice more gravelly than he’d realised. “Got stuck back, sorry I didn’t call.” 

Wayne shrugged. “I figured, though there’s a surprise in your room f’you.” 

A surprise? Eddie couldn’t possibly guess what. “You’re joking.” 

Wayne simply smiled in response, shaking his head. “You go have a look ‘n tell me if I’m joking. Just be quiet about it.” 

Eddie gave a quizzical sort of look, boots resounding against the floorboards as he moved towards the room, a quick mumble from Wayne catching his attention again. 

“Quieter than that.” 

Eddie scoffed, his demeanour still playful despite his disbelief. He took more careful steps this time, readjusting the band wrapped clumsily around his bound tresses, trying to alleviate the steadily subsiding headache from two hours ago. Wayne had never been much of a secret keeper, nor was he one for dramatics. He was a pragmatic, realistic, nonfrivolous sort of man, which made that excitable little sparkle in his uncle’s eyes all the more amusing. Wayne didn’t play tricks, but Eddie couldn’t help but feel he was walking into one. 

With a slow turn of his door handle, Eddie eased the gap open, his eyes scanning the silent dark until his gaze settled upon the mountain of blankets upon his bed. There, buried under three blankets of comfort, was you. It might have been hard to tell under any other circumstances, but even half asleep and exhausted out of his mind, Eddie knew he could recognise your silhouette anywhere. He softened instantaneously, body slackening slightly under the slow wave of adoration that overcame him. You were here to see him. Talk about a surprise, he hadn’t expected to see you today, and now he felt his ribs pressing in tightly together, chest constricting with a glad sort of giddiness. 

He was gentle in closing the door again, his smile bemused at his now grinning uncle. “And how’d my girl end up in there, hm?” 

He toed off his boots, movements suddenly precise and careful under the presence of your company. Even through the closed door, he had no desire to rouse you just yet. Not until he was ready, clean and showered and shed of all other obligations, able to dedicate himself to your company. 

“She came by at 5,” Wayne explained, turning down the quiet shout of the television set with a well worn remote, “thought you’d be home soon, wanted to surprise you. I told her she was welcome t’wait, thinkin’ you’d be round earlier. But y’weren’t, so we had some dinner.” 

Wayne paused, nudging his chin towards the fridge, which Eddie took to mean there was leftovers waiting for him inside. He began rustling through, finding what was left of a roast and vegetables wrapped up neatly in foil. It was a little more extravagant than he had expected, and Eddie chalked that up to your aid in the kitchen. He could see the container of biscuits on the counter, too, with little hearts and flowers piped onto the tops. Pinks and blues and reds and whites, this wasn’t a house for sweets and softness, though Eddie welcomed your charms in any way he could get them. He sat at the table to feast, unbothered to even reheat the feast. 

Wayne continued on. “Thought she might go lookin’ for y’, but we got a’talking. She’s a real sweet thing, y’know, made a real effort to chat. Even offered to sit down ‘n watch a game with me, thought I didn’t have the heart t’put her through it. Ended up watchin’ some Antiques Roadshow thinkin’ she’d like it better; you ever seen me watchin’ that before? I ain’t never had much care, but we had good fun.”

“No shit!” Eddie piped up, astounded by the softened edges of his Uncle. You’d charmed him, he thought, with your curious questions and kind smiles. For Wayne to sit down and talk to anyone was a miracle, one that only an angel could perform. His Angel. 

“We got guessin’ and everythin’.” Wayne added, wiping roughly at his smile. “Seemed tired, though, so I told her to crash in your room. She’s been out maybe half an hour.” 

Astounded was an understatement. Eddie had brought girls home before he met you, though none had bothered to exchange more than polite pleasantries with his Uncle. He’d never been serious about them, so he’d never thought much of it, and then came you. Three months into this new connection, a relationship born of spring flowers and whisky nights and loud music and soft touches. Eddie had never been serious until now, until you, and now he couldn’t picture being anything else but. 

He was glowing, beaming from ear to ear. “So you like her, then?” He was so hopeful in his question, a sincerity Wayne only ever saw reserved for the most heartfelt of Eddie’s dreamings. 

“I do.” Wayne announced, washing down his contentment with another swig of his beer. “I hope y’re serious ‘bout her, she’s real soft on you, and I think she’s a good one. Seems to make you happy enough, you ain’t mopin’ nearly so much these days.” 

Eddie rolled his eyes, groaning with faux annoyance, rolling foil into a tiny ball to toss across the room, missing Wayne by a good foot of space. “I don’t mope.” 

“I don’t mope my ass, kid, you mope plenty. Just not anymore.” He was laughing now, worn lines creasing at the corners of his eyes. “I said she should come back f’dinner another night, we can all eat together. She was tellin’ me ‘bout this story she was readin’, and I’ll be damned if I don’t know how it ends.” 

Eddie knew how this story ended; it ended with you. It began with you, too. It was all you, he couldn’t see any other ending for him. 

“Yeah, that sounds good, old man.” He was doing his best to stomach the meal, but his words were caught around hastily eaten mouthfuls half chewed and uneasy to swallow. He’d give himself heartburn if he wasn’t careful, and it would have been worth it. 

Eddie took a moment to pause, swallowing thickly, belching unceremoniously in a way he was glad you weren't there to witness. “I am serious, y’know, about her. Real serious. I got a good feeling.” 

“Yeah?” Wayne questioned, sinking back into the sofa. 

“Yeah. She could be the one; ain’t that somethin’? I always thought it was bull when people said you just know, but…” he laughed with astonishment, “I think I just know.” 

“Well shit,” Wayne exclaimed, clearing his throat, “that’s real good, Ed’s. You just be good and treat her nice. Be a gentleman.” 

Eddie wasn’t too sure he knew how to be a gentleman, but somehow, he knew you liked him all the same. He didn’t need to be anything but himself around you, and that was a one in a billion kind of feeling,

He was quick in his cleaning, fumbling around the kitchen to pack away a still soaking plate, his mind skating over the plastic drying rack by the sink entirely. “I’m bein’ good, I swear.” 

“Bullshit.” Wayne teased, shaking his head. He braced himself on his knees, slowly rising to his feet with a groan. “I’m goin’ to bed. Tell her she’s welcome to stay whenever she likes, okay? Show her where the spare key is.” 

“I will.” Eddie nodded, barely able to fight his slow building excitement. He could feel himself getting restless, hands flexing just at the thought of holding you. “G’night, Wayne.” 

“G’night son.” He echoed back, disappearing into the quiet of his own room. 

Eddie made sure to lock up on his way, switching off the tv and lights as his own sort of wind down ritual. They’d be on all night if he wasn’t careful, and he’d spied the last bill long enough to have a mind for the electricity now. Besides, he needed to be calm when he woke you. He’d half frightened you to death last time he came barrelling in. 

Once again, he retreated towards his room, slipping into the dark like a shadow of the night, slowly shucking his way out of his overalls to kick to the side of the room. He didn’t mind staining his sheets with oil, but not you; you were something worth caring for. He knew he should have showered, but the sweat on his skin could hardly deter him from the need he had to be close to you, to ease away the troubles of his way with the balm of your skin against his, your whispers ringing in his head. 

He fumbled his way to the edge of the mattress, your sleeping body facing away from him to the back wall of the room. He peered a little closer into the darkness, a sliver of moonlight cascading across the bare curve of your shoulder, arm wrapped around something small, something fuzzy…

“Well shit, Ted, what’re you doing in here?” Eddie hadn’t thought to consider where the ragdoll cat had scampered off to. Teddy had been adopted only a few weeks after Eddie came to live with Wayne, his Uncle’s way of easing the boy into this entirely new world together. Teddy had been his childhood companion, and by the way he was burrowed into the pudge of your stomach, purring louder than a car engine, Eddie could see you’d won him over too. 

The cat barely stirred, rather giving him a grumbled sort of chirp at being disturbed, before wriggling his way further under the blankets. You, however, made the softest of whining noises that left Eddie’s heart near strangling in his chest. He lifted a ring clad hand to that moonlight shoulder, brushing callouses across the line of freckles that dusted your skin, watching as your eyes began to flutter open, head turning slightly to face him. 

“Eddie!” No one in the world had ever been so enthusiastic to see him before, not one. His name wasn’t the kind to roll off the tongue, to be begged for or shouted out or held tenderly on someone's lips. Never before, but the way your mouth wrapped around the letters seemed to change the word entirely. Nothing had ever sounded so tender, so wanting, so pleased. You were always pleased to see him, a feeling he never had to doubt when he could see it so plainly reflected in your irises. 

“Honey.” He cooed back, tugging up the corner of the bedsheets to slip beneath them, curving his body to fit the shape of your own, nudging his knee between your two just to feel your skin pressed against his own in every possible way. The hair on his body was just as wild as the hair on his head, but nothing felt like home to him more than the brush of your skin to the mess of his. “Fancy seeing you here.” 

You exhaled a lengthy yawn, muffling the sound into his pillow with a hum. Your hair, once styled, now seemed mussed and flattened under the weight of your head. His bed linens were already tattooing precious creases into sleep warmed skin. You were too beautiful for him to even comprehend. 

You turned in his arms, careful not to disrupt the grumbling cat beside you despite your eagerness. He felt arms press their way around him, your nose nuzzling at his chin. “Wayne let me in. I hope that’s okay.” 

Literally nothing else could have been more okay in his mind. It was perfect. This was perfect; coming home to you. “Come by anytime, baby. I’m just sorry I wasn’t back sooner. I made you wait.” 

You shook your head. “I didn’t mind. Wayne’s really cool. He kept me company.”

“So I heard.” His voice was edged with an air of amusement, his hand lifting to brush back the strands of hair falling across your face, leaving his palm to cup at the plush of your cheek, his eyes admiring even in the dark. “Antiques Roadshow?”

You let out a giggle. “We panicked! I was trying to make a good impression, and he suggested it so I thought why not. Honestly it was pretty fun, I could totally watch another episode.” 

“Mm.” His lips met the button of your nose dotingly, his voice slackening to a syrupy smoothness. “He’s impressed, I’m impressed; you’ve got us Munson men wrapped around your pretty little finger. Even Teddy’s on your side.” 

“I do not!” You chided, helpless against his onslaught of affection. He left you preening and giddy, a little lightheaded when he loved on you like this, and Eddie never had any intention of stopping. “Teddy just wanted a cuddle.”

“Him and me both.” Eddie asserted, snaking his other arm beneath the arch of your waist, wrapping around the small of your back to tug you in further, his smile resoundingly bright at the way you hummed happily. “We’re not too young to be asleep by 10, are we?” 

The way you eased into the very fabric of him, your bodies so close and so connected, wrapped tightly in the warmth of his room, was enough assurance to him that you were just as content here as he was. “No. I’m not leaving this spot. You just got home, and I’m all sleepy, and Ted’s gonna get mad if we move.” 

Ted chirped an affirmative sound, leaving Eddie to rasp a laugh. “Well we can’t make Teddy mad, can we. Gotta stay here all night with my girl.” 

You chuckled softly in turn, your voice quieting under the weight of exhaustion. “I was meant to keep you company, but I’m so sleepy.” Another yawn parted your plush lips, leaving Eddie with no choice but to press his own to the corner once they came back together again. 

“You are keepin’ me company. Think I’ll sleep a bunch better with you keepin’ me warm. I’ll take you on a date tomorrow, hm? After a big sleep in?” 

“You’re so sexy when you talk like that.” You mumbled, your lashes fluttering shut to rest against your cheeks. “I’d kiss you stupid if I could move.” 

Besotted was not a strong enough word for what Eddie felt in that moment, but he was overwhelmed with the urge to litter a smattering of kisses from the edge of your cheekbone to the corners of your forehead, each one softer than the last, lulling you into that sweet place of slumber you were already drifting towards. 

“Kiss me stupid tomorrow. Sleep, sweetheart.” You didn’t need to be told twice. Within moments, Eddie watched the light in your flicker to a dim, pale glow, your breathing evening out to something unhurried. Peaceful. It didn’t matter to him that he had only had those brief moments with you tonight. Five minutes with you was enough to chase away all the strife of a day otherwise written off in his mind. And that was what his life had been missing, after all. Someone who made going to sleep at 10pm look like the greatest moment of his life. He wanted to keep you to himself, a greedy kind of possessiveness stirring in his gut, for as long as he was able, knowing full well that less than twelve hours from now, Wayne would without a doubt be waiting to make you both breakfast on his morning off. 

Like he said, you had all the Munson boys charmed.

[munsster]

Do you plan on continuing the winter in Hawkins series? It is so adorable and cute.

i do!! and thank you nonnie!!! it grew on me so fast and the newest chapter is almost finished 🤭👀

[munsster]

no post this friday!!! life’s only getting busier, so i’ll try to plan out fics during the weekends from now on☝️🙂‍↕️

love you all x

[munsster]

take me to church

A/N: i am down ASTRONOMICALLY for big men who are also whiny babies (gif creds: @mulderscully)

Pairing: Hugh “Ransom” Drysdale x Fem!Reader

Summary: The Drysdale heir gets on his knees for his darling goddess. 3.0k words

Warnings: smut mdni, switch!ransom, switch!reader, degrading, worship, slapping, pet names (princess, puppy, sweetheart, honey, baby, angel), gentle slapping, religious references (mainly catholic), overuse of italics xoxo

"You should know your place by now, Drysdale."

"I'm sorry—"

"Don't whine, you sound like a baby," you groan. Just a moment ago, you had slammed his bedroom door shut tight, and all six feet of him had whipped around with the meanest scowl on his face. He's big, sure, but you've got leverage on his heart. It kills him the way you snap into place between his ribs with, god, the prettiest laugh he's ever heard. He'd never admit it, though. Least of all to you.

And he knows he's nothing but an insect under your heel, yours to shatter and reconstruct. He gets a rush in your presence. He has never been so intimidated by someone with such a sweet smile. Such a gentle soul but the worst sadist he's ever held close. Worse than himself.

"You think you stand a chance, don't you?"

You're like a roman candle with how unpredictably fiery you are. Yesterday, it was being stuck in traffic down the ninety-five. Tomorrow, it'll probably be some coworker's silly mistake. Tonight, you simply came home angry. That's it. You need a release, and there he is. Dark hair ungelled and messy but pushed back and flawless still, standing like a statue and at your mercy. You're set off, the wild look in your eye setting him off.

"I'm all yours, princess, tell me what you want," he coos so sweetly you could melt, but you never ever would. It'd boost his ego and splinter his edges. He'd get worse. And what you give him is discipline. Patience for his inner child. Medicine for his deepest wounds.

"On your knees, puppy."

He does. Without one single thought. Every iota devoted to your demands. With a thud, he's at your feet, lamenting his own devotion when your hands preen through his hair.

You're his heaven and hell and all the bits in between. He's a shrine to your love, a glimmering reflection in the pool of your heart. And he's grown oh-so-narcissistic these past few months.

"What to do with my poor boy," you whisper because he pouts, not a single change to his expression, but he sinks in on his own body, deflating at the core. You coddle him. "Oh, I know."

He hates your mystery. Because it's no secret what you're up to. It's no longer mystery with a grin like that. He shifts and settles his big hands onto your thighs, pushing up to hold your waist tentatively.

"Please, sweetheart, anything."

"Hugh, you know exactly how I feel about begging." You hold his chin and lean close. So close blood pumps through his ears and drowns out his panic. Yeah, his cock is hard, but it's no rival to his blown pupils and needy hands that tug the waistband of your slacks.

"Keep going," you say against the corner of his mouth, nipping his bottom lip and sucking until he whines and digs his fingertips into your skin. The heat of your palm blows over his cheek as you strike him. Gently, though. Just a kiss of your fingers on his skin, and he blushes. No way in hell would you hit him—harm him without permission. He has to admit though: he'd like the sting if it was your doing. For it would be his unraveling and a blessing all the same.

"Princess, sweetheart, come on, I can give you everything," he huffs, grasping desperately for you, at anything within his insatiable reach, "Just say the word, please, honey, you gotta understand: I worship you."

"Oh, I understand plenty, pet. Why don't you prove it?"

He stands from the floor like a ghost fulfilling his final purpose in your hands. His body is so ardently belonging it's sickening. To be yours is a rite amongst the holy and yet you bring the sin out of him. All seven, splayed out like a deck of cards across his thieving brain.

"You Boston boys think you're so scary. All that east coast charm just pourin' outta you. You couldn't scare a newborn. What makes you so special, huh?"

"You."

Your breath seizes. Every nerve alight with his warm hands crawling over your torso and his cheeks pink. Your boy has never been so forward. Not like this. Not ever. His eyes gleam like he's never witnessed such beauty and wickedness up close. Like he's never seen a mirror.

You stare at him, incredulous of his charisma, his grace. He is sure of one thing though: whatever you are will kill him, but wouldn't that be the best poison?

"You have no idea," Ransom whispers. He tosses your shirt aside and unbuttons your pants. And you let him. Sincerely, you are taken aback and breathing in awe. He is filled to the bones with your light, blood replaced by lust. He needs nothing else besides your soul. Your wicked hands.

Then he kisses you. Like he could lose you to the abyss if he let go for even one moment. With saliva spun from his tongue and delving into yours, but soft and kind and to feel the familiarity of your warmth. He becomes pliant, knowing with clear certainty he is a lonely boat and you are a raging sea only lying in wait to rip him to shreds.

And yet he sails willingly. Blissfully.

"You know," you mumble against his fervent mouth. "You'd be so handsome if you weren't desperate." Though, he doesn't stop to listen. He's too dissatisfied. He needs the taste of you and the half-glass of wine you downed in the kitchen. It tingles in his mouth, bitter and recherché, the best he could find. For his goddess, he'd pay with his life.

If you truly meant the things you said to him out of frustration, he would still promise you every ounce of starlight in the sky. If you truly meant every insult, he would still beg and pine and bleed to be called yours. He'll be a disgrace as long as he is your disgrace.

And he knows you're lying when you tell him things like that. As if someone so lovely as you would consider some lowlife like him if he weren't the finest looking asshole in northern Massachusetts. Worship is an exchange of grace. It's not a one way street, no. It's an intersection. God must love his mortals or they would not be his.

"Hugh."

He pulls back and squints. You call him that when: one, you're pissed off, or two, you're about to fuck the living daylights out of him and leave him destitute and longing for days. Either way, he wins.

"My angel... my beloved... my one. What can I do for you?"

Each endearment peppered with kisses along your throat. He sweetens it up because he's smitten and wants what you give him every time: pain.

"If only I could use you like the poor beggar you are," you say, condescending in that way he goes mad for. And he grins.

"Please?"

Say no more, you tug his hair without any sense of remorse and no gauge for his pain. Anyway, his tolerance is boundless when he's with you. He tilts his head back, neck bare and Adam's apple bobbing as he gulps. Out of fear or pleasure, he can't tell. But he gives you that cheshire smirk, and it all dissolves down into his affinity for your touch.

You trace the column of his throat and press your tongue to his jaw, sucking at the skin to mark him. And he wishes you would do it all over and everyday. He is nothing if not yours. When you leave little bruises, he gets to be told even when you're away.

"You're incorrigible," you pant against his warm skin that pulses with cold blood. "Look at you, so so needy. Trust-fund-fuck-toy, little no good dolly, hmm? Need someone to tell you what to do so you don't rot away."

Something like a growl blooms in his chest, though it feels like a purr when he goes slack and leans into your touch. You're always taken aback by his antics, but you've never let on about it until now. With eyes wide, you're spoon feeding him abuse, and he's taking it without the airplane noises. He slips easily into your submission, and you're stunned. Even now, after all you've put him through.

"Ransom," you whisper into the little indentation at the base of his neck. He hums. Your fingers comb through his hair, and he shivers with delight. We create false gods to pass time and worship them all the same. He is yours, and you are his, and it will be that way until the end of time.

"On the bed. Now."

He jitters with excitement, only still under your scrutiny, and manages to drop his sweatpants into a crumpled pile at his feet. You dare not look down. You don't have to. You know he's not wearing his usual briefs: crisp white and snug around the muscle of his thighs. You know because he hisses when the cold, autumn air sidles along his cock. Doesn't matter. He'll warm up nicely once he gets inside you.

For now, he sloppily kisses the bow of your lips and slumps to the bed, breathing heavy with his back to the headboard. He's loud and yet untouched. You'd think he ran a marathon. Or six.

"Join me," he grumbles, scratching his knee before slowly dragging his blunt nails up and up and—then his fingers are wrapped around his cock. Nothing in comparison to any ounce of what you've given him before. The best sex of his life stands clad in panties with her arms crossed. Brooding over his weak body. "Princess?"

"Shut up. Let me get a good look at you, pretty boy." You hold his chin between thumb and forefinger. Between head and heart, he lies steadfast and boyish in the wake of your warmth. His strength is drained by your every touch. You render him incapable, but he's the one built far above and toned like the shaft of a power drill. You can fit your fingers perfectly into his divots, and all is restored. Turn his house into a home so long as you keep looking at him like he's a work of art.

"Ransom, what're you thinking about?"

And then again, you hold him so so gently, he'd think he was precious. Beyond value, even. What is value anyway. His gauge will always be whether you want him or not. His value is subjective to you. Forever and always, he may be a dreadful Catholic, but he’s well-versed in your scripture.

"What do I ever think about? Other than your sweet pussy," he mumbles and cups his palm between your legs, fingertips slow and circuitous around your covered clit. "Come on, princess, I know you want it. I can tell she needs me. Give in."

You've gotten good at being angry with Ransom, so good it's hard to remember his softness. The assailant of his soul often outsmarts the gentleman. But once in a while, he shines through the cracks beside his eyes when he smiles. So genuine, it's hard to deny. Not now, though.

Now, he reads troublemaker loud and clear.

You straddle his hips, and he gargles down a throat-clawing moan. Oh, you're horrible. A fist around his cock, you tug the crotch of your underwear to the side and slick his tip between your folds. You manhandle and taunt him, and yet he's never been this hard. He's gonna need painkillers for the headache you rattle him with.

"Who needs who again?"

He could cum. In fact, he would burst if he wasn't clenching his fingers through the sheets: tight enough to draw blood between the linen and from the heel of his palm. He's withholding because of your withholding. He won't last like this. And he's going fucking crazy.

"God—fuckin' damnit—gorgeous, baby, you're killin' me. Huh—fuck—'s that what you want?" He groans, head thrown back against the headboard.

"Be careful, Hugh. I can be a lot less nice if you want," you grumble with teeth scraping the edge of his jaw when you kiss his skin. And he wants. Oh, he wants you—with every fiber of his wicked being—to be mean. But he'd also die every which way to be your good boy. He slips his fingertips beneath the underwire of your bra, weaseling his palm to cup your supple breast.

"I'm being careful," he says, "so careful. Wouldn't wanna hurt my babygirl." You grab his jaw hard as he pinches the bud of your nipple with a grin.

"You're the worst, Drysdale."

"You love me."

"I love using you."

He stills. Then lifts his head. Of course. Of course. He suspected it, sure, but never has he wanted you to take back what you said like he does now. His body aches for you nonetheless. He shatters into pieces for you. Of course you love it. But not him.

"Take it back," he mutters.

"Hmm? I can't hear you—"

Ransom wraps his arms flush around your waist to hold you against him like a crime. Your smirk melts away hot and fast at the frown on his pretty face.

"You love me. Say it, princess, you love me." A sinner in every degree, he's begging. His repentance is you. If only you'd forgive his wounded pride. You press the pad of your forefinger to his chin and look down on him like a god. Like he's a sacrifice.

"Oh, Hugh. You don't know the first thing about love."

"But you do. And you love me. Please, love me," he huffs. You lick his wet bottom lip like a cat, stray and rabid and curling into his warmth with the sun long gone.

"I'll show you love, pretty boy. Like you've never felt it before."

And you sink onto him; he nearly loses all control beneath you, squirming and grabbing at anything he can reach. Needy as babies often are, only he is fully grown and you both know it. Though his whining might prove otherwise. 

"Jesus—Jesus Christ, that's—that's—keep going." His hips jerk up off of the mattress with every pulse of your walls clamping around his shaft. His body is so limp and yet so tense, he could explode. He wants nothing more than to make you his: to fill you so deeply he's there for months. Nine, maybe.

You mewl. Holy shit, the prettiest noise he has every heard, you mewl. Like a newborn fawn, ever fair and fragile, only graced by sweat and heavy breaths. His eyes snap open to see your back arched, palming at his wrists with your eyes fluttered closed. He licks his lips, then kissing your navel wetly, he watches you coyly through his lashes.

Your fingers scratch at his scalp while he bounces you on his pulsing cock. Every vein, every subtle undulation, you feel slipping out of you just to slip back in. Yanking his hair, he pants, and you purr again at his body's rough reaction. His hips jolt, and you grin with your lip content between your teeth.

His hands are so big, and you're so soft, and there's nothing he can do but worship and sanctify your hallowed and celestial body. Ethereal. You are of literature, written as an angel, halo and all. A blade of light piercing a thick blanket of clouds, shedding calm on his broken heart. And he's a pagan of your beauty. 

At this point, he accepts it. He wouldn't mind being nothing more than a doll to you. Because you still chose him. He's still your doll, once all is said and done. And his pulse steadies from a raging pounding to a heavy beat in his ears, rushing through his bloodstream like narcotics.

"Feel so good, princess, all tight 'n warm for me. All mine," he groans. Eyes shut, you breathe in the soft slapping of damp skin, and he savors the way you drip down his inner thigh. "My little vice, all wrapped 'round my cock. So good to me, aren't you? Atta girl."

You crane your neck forward and clench your jaw. Your thrusts grow slow and deep and reaching as the warmth drains from your head and you clench his shoulder with eager fingers.

"C'mon, we both know how bad she want it. Fuckin'—can feel you squeezing me, angel." He pats your thigh, and the vein on his neck goes red hot about to burst.

Then you go weak in his palms. It's your turn to be used while he lets you wring his cock for dear life. He glides you in slow up down, up down strokes and spills into you, plugging you tight as you keep him struggling for air.

You nudge the tip of your nose against the soft part of neck beneath his chin. The softest part of Ransom Drysdale—besides the spot reserved in his little heart for you, his dove. You press, and he swallows and syncs to your every movement. From the bat of your eyelashes to the ample exhales of your parted lips.

"I love you, Ransom."

He goes dizzy.

"What?"

"I love you."

You lift your head, dead serious with fingers ticking along his expanding chest. He grins, dopey and elfish and needy. And shifts his hip. You gasp at the blood flowing hard into his cock once more.

"Say it again," he grumbles.

"I love you."

"Yeah. Yeah, you do. Now you're gonna scream it till the neighbors do, too." You're sure of one thing and one thing alone. Ransom Drysdale has always been true to his word. That's how you end up with his hand around your throat and your fingers in his mouth.

masterlist

[munsster]

BREAKING THE ICE

where the game ends, the heart begins

a Billy Hargrove x Reader Hockey AU where Billy finds himself quickly falling for the broody anti-fan always eyeing him from the stands. And you just might find yourself falling, too.

This series is nonsequential, meaning while the chapters follow a loose narrative, they can all be read as separate works!

Coming Soon…

[munsster]

joe keery at the vanity fair oscars party 💜💖✨

tiktok | instagram | prints | twitter | quinn

[munsster]

Just need to say something

[munsster]

JOE KEERY attends the 2024 Vanity Fair Oscar Party in Beverly Hills, California - March 10, 2024

[munsster]

the benefits

A/N: so…. i’m obsessed with chef luca from the bear. do i have a billion one shots planned for him? yes yes i do. am i well? naur

Pairing: FWB!Luca (The Bear) x Fem!Reader

Summary: You start to think your ‘agreement’ is more than either of you signed up for. Luca doesn’t seem to mind. 2.5k words

Warnings: friends w benefits angst, smut, kissing, cursing, pet names (sweetheart, princess)

You and Luca have been sleeping together for months now. It's one of those things that everyone kind of suspects, but no one knows for sure. It's also one of those things that started out of necessity more than anything. Honestly, it's better for everyone that you're both getting laid on the regular. You both agreed it's nice not having to be on the market or fully commit to the time and energy a traditional relationship requires. Especially when both of your schedules make keeping relationships impossible.

Except for this one. That's why it's gone on for so long. Partly because it's nice to be intimate without permanent attachement and partly because neither of you have any real reason to call it off.

Until now.

His thighs are spread wide beneath you on your soft sheets, his arm snug around your lower back as you sigh against his temple and run your fingers through his hair. It's nice to be able to unwind like this. In someone's arms. Someone you're sure at least knows your name.

Lately, you've been touchy about the way your heart races around him in a way it didn't use to. All you can do is hope he doesn't notice it with your chests pressed together and damp with sweat. It's gotten so easy to be with him. Like this. In sync and knowing each others intricacies. You move naturally against each other.

He knows exactly when to rub your clit to make your jaw unhinge and you know the way he likes his back scratched. He knows the strokes that make you twitch and you know his oral preferences. He also knows you at least like the look of him from how you stare so often. You were subtle about it at first, but it makes him smile the way you've gotten a little complacent about it. You downright ogle him nowadays.

Tonight, you're two warm bodies in late fall, gentle rain pattering against the glass. You're molded into his embarace, and your hands grasp for his shoulders with the needy buck of your hips. He sighs and slips his hands up your thighs to grind up into you. Of all the things he has held, he’s sure you are the softest.

Your brows knit, expression tense when you pull away just enough to look at his face. God, he’s so handsome it’s distracting.

“Hi,” he whispers. He’s flushed and a little coy, and it has you buzzing above him. Your heart stutters when he leans in to kiss you, tugging you ever closer with his big, wandering hands. Your fingernails dig into his shoulder and you gasp sweetly in his ear. “I gotcha, sweetheart.”

You wish Luca would be a little more indifferent. It gets hard to walk away each night when he takes his time with you, always laying with you and holding your hand and bringing you a glass of water and kissing your sweaty temple.

“You know you can stay for as long as you like,” you coo, slipping into a shirt and a pair of boxers he somehow forgot once. He grins over at you, shamelessly staring at your ass.

“You say that every time I come over and fuck you.”

“Why d’you have to say it like that?” you roll your eyes, “You make it sound so crude.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, princess,” he teases, pulling you back to the bed by your hip, pecking the corner of your mouth. “Would you prefer I call it making love?”

“God, you’re right, that’s worse.” You giggle, patting his chest. Then you look up at him with those glassy eyes, and he melts. “But you know you can stay if you want? What’s mine is yours.”

Of course, he knows. You let him stay every time, and every time, he sits with you and you talk until you’re groggy and starving. Tonight’s no exception when you both wander into your tiny kitchen, hand-in-hand digginng through the freezer and fishing out a frozen pizza.

With the way he looks at you and spends the night tells you that this is probably turning into something more than originally agreed upon. And that scares the shit out of you.

So before a shift one morning, you’re double knotting your apron beside him in comfortable silence, taking a deep breath when he grabs something from his locker.

“I’ve been meaning to—” but you look at him and he’s just mumbled, “So, I was wondering—"

You both stop dead in your tracks like deer in headlights and chuckle nervously.

“You first,” Luca says, shutting his locker.

“I was going to say I’ve been meaning to tell you I think… we should stop seeing each other.” It’s a tough pill to swallow but it’s even worse to spit out, leaving a chalky taste in your mouth.

And honestly, he’s dumbfounded by the seriousness of your tone and the look on your face. He’d felt really good about the whole deal up until now.

“Oh, yeah,” he says, trying not to come off as sarcastic as he feels, “That’s… what I was thinking, too.”

“Oh!” you chirp, “Okay! Well, then, I guess it’s settled.” You turn to walk away, but stop when he doesn’t follow. The day is still new, and the sky is dark blue outside. It sends a shiver down your spine to glance back at him. “I had fun. I just think—”

But he nods, tilting his head and biting back a sulky pout.

“Yeah. I get it.”

You smile sympathetically and head towards the cold, industrial kitchen. Once you’re gone, he runs both hands through his hair with a huff of frustration. Mainly because you’re so fucking pretty it makes him feel like he’s back in school. But also because it’s five in the fucking morning and how could he have been so stupid as to think you’d actually want something more with him. Now. After he promised to keep it casual.

He’s snippy the rest of the day, uncharacteristically short with the rest of the staff. You even had to take over his scheduled training session because the trainee looked like he was about to piss himself, and you weren’t in the mood for clean up.

In fact, Luca was about to snap before your hand curled over his shoulder and you whispered, take a break. He abandons his work station and heads back to the lockers, unaware of the way you watch him leave. The way you worry because he’s acting out and it’s confusing.

“He’s usually really sweet,” you promise the rookie, sectioning off the rest of the dough with a weary glance down the hall.

After stewing in his snark for hours, you decide to confront him, jabbing his arm with an accusatory finger. You’re only hindered by his tousled hair and the way the sunset paints him so handsome.

“What’s wrong?” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest.

He looks at you and hesitates. Where he’d usually offer to take you home or to the nearest supply closet, he falters and the conversation fumbles to the floor through his fingers. Instead, he stares, tugging the tie of his apron loose and hooking it on the inside of his locker.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he sighs. He doesn’t have to see you to know you’re looking at him incredulously. He turns with his hands perched coolly on his hips. “Must’ve forgot my morning coffee or something. I’ll see you on Monday.”

He brushes past you and you want to grab him and shake him and tell him to knock it off.

“Wait,” you say. He curses the glimmer of hope and the clench in this ribs. But it’s like he can feel you realizing you’re the one that called it off in the first place. Your face falls. “Nevermind. Have a good night!”

He doesn’t. He can’t. Even when you ring him, your silly picture flooding the screen and filling the dark room with light. He shuts off his phone and sets it face down on the nightstand. He spends the next few hours staring at the ceiling before he eventually passes out.

You frown at the text reading call cancelled, setting your plate in the empty sink. The apartment is lonely that night, free from the usual laughter and hushed conversation. You’re left alone to your glass of water in the dim moonlight.

Although it’s your day off, it feels more tumultuous than the average workday. You wake up alone, make breakfast for one, take a walk by yourself, lounge on the couch and watch trash television unaccompanied. Not having Luca around is a bit of a wrench in your daily routine. You know it’s probably for the better because neither of you have free time to spare anyway.

Right?

Oh, but he looks swell on Monday morning. A little tired, but he smiles sweetly at you when he opens his locker. You’re untying your shoes trying to get your heart to stop pounding like that. All he said was hello.

Still, you sigh and say, “I never realized how much time we really spent together.” It sounds more desperate than it did in your head. You frown, shoving your sneakers into your locker.

“Yeah.” He chuckles dryly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Kinda funny how the whole reason we got together was because it was less time consuming than dating,” you say.

He shuts his locker and leans against it. “Ironic, isn’t it?”

You slip into your work clogs and follow him into the kitchen, waving at his rookie and giving Luca one last smile before parting for your station. You manage to focus on something other than how his hands used to feel and scribble some new ideas into your notebook while you’re at it.

You feel like you’re dancing around each other, a hiccup here and there but mostly cordial greetings and staying out of the way. Which only works because you know each other well enough that any accidents are purposeful.

At family dinner, you sit next to him and conversation surrounds you in a low hum. You seem to be the only two not speaking when you lean in and whisper:

“I miss you.”

He takes a deep breath in. He misses you like he’s been drowning and you’re a breath of fresh air. But he can’t say that because he swore to keep his distance. It’s heartbreaking how close he wants to be to you, but he knows it’s for the better and it’s his fault for getting so attached. He thinks, maybe it was silly to even start in the first place. But then he looks at you and you’re still just as pretty as when he last checked.

“Yeah,” he nods, “Yeah, me, too.”

Your eyes flick up to his, and you pause mid chew to find he’s already staring. You swallow hard and push your chair out in a flurry.

“I… I’ll be right back,” you huff.

He watches you storm out of the room before following you after a beat, pushing through the doors to find you halfway down the hall. He grabs your elbow, and you whip around with a gasp.

“Luc, you scared the shit out of me!”

“Why’d you do it?” The question is blazing. Unyielding, though he lets go of your arm. You feel cornered, yet there are endless places to turn.

“What?”

“Why’d you call us off? It was going well, wasn’t it?” He sounds so concerned, you might even mistake it for worry like he’s making sure he didn’t hurt you or push you away.

“Luca…” you huff, “It was, but—”

“I’m sorry, but I think I deserve a real explanation is all,” he says. He’s on fire and he can see the way it all conflicts in your shifting expression. You never did have a great poker face.

“I felt like… we had to call it off sooner or later. I figured sooner was probably better for us.”

“But why now?”

Your jaw ticks, and maybe you don’t have a straight answer. Truth is, you should’ve recognized your attachment before it got out of hand. It was just so easy with him.

“We promised we wouldn’t date. Our whole agreement was based against the idea of dating because it would conflict with our schedules.”

“I already know all of this—”

“I know. I know, but… we crossed a line. The sex was nice. Really nice, and it was fun and you’re great,” you say.

“You, too.”

“Thank you! But it felt so intimate”—you inhale sharply, almost catching your breath when he steps closer out of concern—“And I was so terrified that I was getting too attached and you didn’t feel the same way, and eventually, I’d be left stranded so I wanted to get ahead of it and let go before I couldn’t anymore.”

You look up at him. And he shatters at the sight of tears pricking in your eyes. But he can’t bring himself to reach for you like he would’ve just a few days ago.

“But it was really nice to have someone without pressure and expectations. And it was scary how well we got to know each other in such a short time,” you hum, swiping a tear from your cheek with a lopsided grin. You expect him to be angry. You expect a fight and shouting by the way he’s breathing, slow and controlled like he’s gearing up for it.

“Sounds like we’re in the same boat,” he says softly. Your eyes dart to his face, and he looks serious but so calm and sincere.

“What?”

“The day you broke it off, I was going to ask you on a real date,” he says, chuckling at the growing irony, “I’d felt something shift, too, and I was so fucking nervous you’d laugh in my face, but I figured I should at least try. Too bad you beat me to the punch.”

“You’re shitting me,” you say, shaking your head.

“I promise I’m not.”

“Guess I found the difference between me and you.” You laugh dryly, sniffling. “What do we do?”

Luca tries not to smile at the offer. What should you do. He could think of a dozen things on the spot, but he can wait until after service to suggest anything like that. Instead, he reaches for you hand, folding his fingers between yours.

“Dinner Sunday?” he hums.

“Yes,” you chirp, squeezing his hand. “Though, I have to warn you, I don’t put out on the first date.”

He grins so wide his cheeks ache, and you kiss him. Everything falls back into order with your hand on his waist and your body easing against his. Just how it was before. And he’s still so gentle holding your face when he pulls away. His eyes widen at the sound of your joyous laugh.

“Someone could hear you!” he whispers, cupping his hand over your mouth. You smile and hold his wrist. He cocks a brow, waiting for you to speak staring up at him like he’s made of honey.

“Luca?”

He nods.

“I’m sorry for all the confusion and my nerves and my worrying. If I had known—”

“How could you have known? You have nothing to apologize for,” he assures you, slipping his hands around the waist of your uniform. “Besides, it takes two to f—”

“Don’t!”

“What?” he teases, “I was gonna say tango.”

masterlist

[munsster]

Tiddies out!

[munsster]

old man richie who doesn’t quite get all the things his young girlfriend does.

like diy eyelash clusters? he walks into the bathroom one day and you’re holding an eyelid open, little black lashes pinched between tweezers as you meticulously place them on your lash line. the sight makes him grimace, keeping his distance and standing near the wall.

“the fuck you doin’?” richie asks, “isn’t a professional ‘sposed to do that?”

you glance at him through the mirror while picking up another cluster. “well, yeah. but this is cheaper and quicker, tons of women do it themselves now.”

richie makes a noise of acknowledgment, coming closer to peer at the supplies you’ve got laid out across the counter. his gaze flickers back up to you, watching the glue get applied to the bulb, before you’re holding your eye open again.

“does it hurt?” he asks.

you try not to grin, not wanting to mess this up. “why would it hurt?”

“i don’t fuckin’ know, that’s why i asked.” richie would grouse, already backing off because seeing your eyes like that is kinda creepy.

he wouldn’t understand stanley cups either.

like, they’re so expensive! and it’s a cup, sweetheart, we’ve got plenty in the house.

richie shows his adamant disapproval when one shows up a week later, going on about how a plastic drink bottle would do the same job, and you’d still have all your money. “straight up robbery,” is what he calls it.

but after sex? take your eyes off him and he’s drinking out of your goddamn stanley. you’ll scold him and whine, because “richie! you’re drinking all my freaking water!” but he adamantly insists that your water tastes better than the water on his bedside.

which, it does, of course, in all it’s crisp cold glory.