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Don’t underestimate my desire to not wanna

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Oh I'm sooo glad someone reblogged this today !! I've been looking for it desperately for months because I keep missing it off my masterlist. Grateful to have it back !! :)

work it out | eddie munson

summary sometimes sex just doesn't work the way we think it should!!! Eddie does a good job of telling you it's okay. [1.5k]

contains vaginismus/difficulty with penetrative sex, r is embarrassed about it, Eddie is lovely (obviously). angsty fluff, comforting, suggestive content.

-

When you tell Eddie to stop, he moulds into something softer, hard edges shimmering, rounded and warm.

"Oh, honey," he coos, rough hands calm on your bare thighs. "Sorry, shit, here-"

You're ignoring the feeling of embarrassment, the way it prickles under your skin, flames of humiliation licking up your neck and behind your ears. There's a funny feeling in your gut, like there's a Catherine wheel in there, painting your insides with hot sparks of shame.

You squirm under him as he leans back to rest on his knees, his bed creaking low noises beneath the both of you. You're also ignoring the look on his face, hiding your eyes behind your clammy hands so you don't have to look at him.

This isn't how it was meant to go. You'd planned this all the way down to this moment, assured yourself that no matter how difficult you found it, he'd be able to do it. You'd never need to tell him; he'd never need to know.

"Here," he breathes. His hand finds yours, pulls them stiffly from your face. You can't hide from him, though you try, turning your head to the side and into the comforter. The tears are hot and heavy, and you're scrunching your face in protest.

"Here," he persists, pulling on your hands. The room's getting smaller, you can feel it; the walls are suddenly very close, the air thick and you feel more vulnerable than ever, laid naked on his bed, crying because your stupid, naïve plan failed. You let him move you, sitting up and looking down at your knees, far too afraid to look him in the eye.

You feel his fingers and the way he shifts, the bedding moulding around you as he does. Your eyes are still closed, willing the tears back in, surrendering yourself to him as he wordlessly moves off the bed. This is it, you think - the moment you suspected might happen if ever you got into this situation. He's going to leave you because you're broken.

Your breathing is dry and twisted, your heartbeat is loud in your ears, and you're staving off that inevitable headache that comes from crying, so you don't hear him moving around the room. In fact, you're sure you hear the door.

"Here you go," he says, soft though it makes you start. You open your eyes, an instinctual response, and find him standing by the bed, towering over you with a shirt on and a mound of fabric in one hand. You reach out and take it, every movement heavier than the last. You're sure, now, that he really is going to ask you to leave.

You unfurl the pile and find your underwear, though it's wrapped up in a shirt that isn't yours. And then you feel the warm pads of his fingers running down your legs, tentative as though you might bite, but you move with him, stretching them out in front of you. He takes your underwear from your hand and pulls them on; the feeling of being coddled like a child inflames the shame, makes you snap. Maybe you can bite.

"Hey," you say sharply, pulling your legs inwards and working the underwear up over your knees yourself. He flinches, only slightly, and backs away, as you pull the shirt down over your head.

The thick air is fizzy with guilt now. You can feel it coming off you like steam, this horrible mix of remorse, embarrassment, fondness. He's still here. He hasn't asked you to leave yet.

He sits beside you, facing you with one leg under himself, clearly unsure what to do with his hands. The silence is sticky, unwelcoming.

"What's going on, hm?" he says, poking the beast.

When you say nothing, breath loud and expression sour, he says, "You're gonna have to talk to me at some point."

This is not an outcome you had ever envisioned. In your head, there were two ways this could go: it would work, he'd never know any different, and you'd be fixed; or it wouldn't work, he'd realise you're not worth his time, and he'd leave.

You never thought there was a third option, one where it doesn't work but he stays anyway.

"I don't work," you manage, voice thick and wet with tears.

His face morphs into something like concern, perhaps confusion.

"What do you mean?" His words are deliberate, staccato, intentional so as not to upset you further.

"I don't work," you repeat, exasperated. "I'm... broken, or something. I thought it wouldn't matter, but-"

"What do you mean, broken?"

You sigh and look at him, at where he's leaning on one hand planted firmly on the bed, fingers gripping his sheets with white knuckles.

"Nothing goes in," you say in a quiet voice, low so you can hide from the truth. "It never has."

He's quiet for a moment, his eyes on the space between you, before he says, "Why did you never tell me?"

There's a bitterness in his tone that you know he's entitled to. This is important, you always knew that, and you've withheld it from him.

"I don't know, I just... It's embarrassing."

"But we could have prepared for this, I could have-" He stops himself and startles, some kind of realisation dawning. He looks up at you. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," you plead. "No, I'm okay, Eds. It hurt, I guess but it's not... It's not that simple."

"I don't-"

"It's not all... physical. Like, it hurts," you explain, using your hands in some crude kind of gesture to make your point. "But it's also in my head. It's like... I think it's going to hurt, like, I convince myself it will, so in my head, it does."

"But if you force it, surely..."

"Yeah," you sigh. "If I force it then yeah, it can hurt."

He's quiet again, contemplating this information. You watch as his expression changes, slight shifts in his brow or the scrunch of his nose.

"What did you think was gonna happen?" he finally asks.

"I, uh," you begin, a little lost for words. This was not in the plan. "I guess I thought I'd be- I dunno, I thought..."

For the first time since you stopped, he reaches out to touch you. His hand finds yours, pulls again, still just as tender as he was earlier. This time you follow him willingly, wriggling over his bed to sit right beside him, thigh-to-thigh.

"I thought it would just work," you say after a deep breath. "I thought I'd be wet enough, or something."

He laughs softly at the way you cringe at the word wet, the way your shoulders shift up and your face scrunches.

"It doesn't work like that," he says, smiling. "Even I know that."

"I know," you breathe, admitting defeat. "I was kidding myself."

"Hey," he says quickly, turning fully to face you, settling his hands on your neck with his thumbs on your jawline. "I didn't mean that, I just meant... I meant you should have said something."

The tears are back, running quick lines down your cheeks, so his thumbs wipe them as they come. You're sniffling, all wet hiccups and snot, but his face never falters. He still looks at you just the same.

"I thought you'd hate me," you whisper, glad for the relief of honesty.

"I could never hate you, sugar."

"But we can't have sex," you whine, sad about both the fact that you're sure you're not normal, and also that you can't give him what you think he deserves.

"Hey," he scolds, his voice still fond but strict. "Sex isn't just dick in vagina, you know that, right?"

"I know, but-"

"And I'm here for good. You're not gettin' rid of me, so we can work on this, yeah?"

You look him in the eye and find the face of a man who really does love you, even if he hasn't said it yet. Even if it has only been a couple of months.

"This is why you'd always stop me?" he asks.

"Yeah," you confirm. "I mean, I also just like you eating me out, but..."

He breathes a laugh, and then your name with some kind of sorrow. "You really should have said, I'd never have even tried, I'm sorry."

"No," you protest. "I'm sorry for not telling you."

You lean into him, let your body fall onto his. He pulls you in with firm arms around your shoulders and lifts you, gently, so you can sit in his lap with your legs either side of his own.

"Thank you," you murmur into his neck, your own arms around his chest, squeezing tighter when you feel him squeeze back.

He kisses the crown of your head and says, "'S'okay. You're fine just the way you are."

You sit like that for a while, slotted into his space just how you like it, knowing that you'll work this out between you, eventually, and that Eddie isn't leaving, not yet. Not ever.

"Also," you hear him say. His voice is a drawl, low and suspicious, so you sit up and look at him. You find that stupid smirk on his face and resist the urge to kiss him.

"What?" you pry.

"This is fine," he says, eyes raking up and down your body, "Because I happen to like eating you out just fine."

"Eddie!"

-

[pullhisteeth]

I know I said I wasn't doing this anymore but I'm back for one more because this week had me thinking about Eddie and new year and Eddie between ur thighs on new year 🤭 nsfw/smut under the cut. happy new year to you all xxx

your warm cheek slides against crisp bedsheets and you gaze out of the tall windows of the hotel room, the view dark and sparkling with preemptive fireworks. you're not really paying attention to them because on his knees at the end of the bed, with his firm hands wrapped around your thighs, is Eddie.

it's New Year's Eve and he insisted on spending it entirely alone, together. after a busy Christmas he whisked you away to the city, told you he'd saved up a tenner a week all year so he could afford the nicest room with the nicest view in the tallest, poshest hotel he could manage. it's beautiful - when you walked into the lobby you'd almost cried, faced with marble floors and doormen who were kinder than you thought you deserved. and there the two of you were, clothes in backpacks, fresh of the train to New York.

"where've you gone?"

you tear your drooping eyes away from the pretty view and lift your head to look down at him. his thumbs are stroking the soft insides of your thighs and his eyes are just as kind, looking up at you, smile lines showing. you hum, dropping your head back and your hand to the crown of his head. you weave between curls and tug gently.

"this 's nice," you tell him lazily. he kisses the dip where your leg meets your hip.

he says nothing, watching you as your head turns back to the window. he enjoys the sight of you so happy and the gentle pull of your fingers in his hair.

"how long?" you ask him quietly. he glances to the television over his shoulder, where two daytime television stars he doesn't know the names of chat at a low volume in front of Times Square. the little clock in the corner reads 23:57.

"three minutes, sweetheart."

you turn back to the ceiling and playfully tug at his hair again. "better get busy, baby," you say.

you feel a brush of hot air as he laughs against your thigh, before he kisses each leg and moves between them again. he's slow, gentle, lazy with it as he brings you back to the brink. you've been teetering on it for an hour or so now, stopping to chat or kiss or lose another bit of clothing, but he always ends up back on his knees for you. soon enough, both of you hear the television coverage get restless, the crowds in the city getting louder - there's half a minute to go, he's on a timer.

he knows just what to do because he knows you, better than anyone has before. he speeds up, his mouth joined by determined fingers. you're panting, hands impatient in his hair, back arching. distantly you hear the tinny sounds of the television speakers, thousands of people chanting: ten, nine, eight-

"c'mon, sweetheart," Eddie's saying into your cunt, "you're so close, I can feel it."

-seven, six, five-

"Eddie," you pant, "keep- keep going, like that-"

-four, three, two, one-

suddenly, the indigo sky outside explodes in bursts of red, green, gold and purple, and you hear a chorus of horns on the streets below. at the same moment, your stomach tenses and your eyes shut tight, a white-hot pleasure bursting in your gut. Eddie coaxes you through it like always, fingers and mouth moving til you calm down and tell him to stop.

"that's it, gorgeous, you did it, knew you could. good girl."

you're heaving, your thighs are shaking and damp, and Eddie's laughing softly. after an age of working you up to it he got what he wanted: his own firework show at the strike of midnight.

"get up here," you whisper. your voice is a wreck and you're sure your brain's working at half capacity.

the crowds on tv are still cheering. Eddie moves over you, careful hands sliding your bare legs together and up onto the bed. resting above you, he moves damp hair away from your eyes and dips his head to give you a kiss, and then another one.

"happy new year, Eddie," you whisper as you lift your head to kiss him again, arms winding around his neck. you kiss the corner of his mouth, and his jaw, and hide your face in the crook of his neck.

"happy new year, angel."

[pullhisteeth]

😭 so cute and funny

i adoreeee your sm!! would you write eddie x cheerleader!reader where they have their first time together? in his room in his trailer uwu? hurt/comfort 💕😭 and ofc she’s friends with the hellfire club and sits with them at their tableeee at the cafeteriaaa awwwgshsgsgsg

ty for requesting :D — a summary of the day after your first time with eddie munson (established relationship, brief hurt/comfort, cw for mentions of sex but no real smut | 0.9k)

bug's two year celebration ♡

You enter Hawkins High that morning with a subtle ache between your thighs. A distant panging from within you feel strangely proud of. A soreness that makes you feel brand new.

You spare a brief glance at Eddie from the corner of your eye. He hasn’t stopped smiling since he picked you up that morning (or since he dropped you off the evening before that). Your chest swells with a sparkling feeling. You bow your head to hide your smiling, but you can’t shake the feeling that everyone’s looking at you — that your deepest secrets have somehow made the headlines of the school paper.

“I feel like everyone’s staring,” you admit in a whisper when the two of you pause at your adjoining lockers. Your words are nearly drowned out by the droning of a thousand conversations. Your hands shake with the lock.

“Of course they are,” Eddie scoffs, leaning against the forest green metal (‘cause it’s not like he carries his books around anyway). He grins down at your timid form and shrugs. “Why wouldn’t they be? Look at us.”

He chuckles under his breath and waits for you to laugh with him. You never do. You just duck your head and reach into your locker for a history book, more content to hide within its confines. Eddie burns.

“I— I didn’t tell anyone if that’s what you’re worried about,” he murmurs, more seriously now, as he takes a small step closer to you. 

“No, I know!” you blurt, gaze averted. “I just… I just feel sorta weird.”

“Like… Bad weird?”

“No! It’s— It’s not like that…” You don’t know how to put your swirling feelings into words, so you trail off and regret mentioning anything at all. 

Eddie watches you shut down before him. His chest pinches as he reaches for you.

“Hey… There’s nothing to be worried about, okay?” he coos to you with a wavering, crooked smile. “No one knows shit except the two of us— And trust me, I’m gonna be thinking about it all day—”

His attempts to make you laugh work this time.

You smack his shoulder with a quiet giggle, and he laughs harder at himself.

“I’m serious!” he says, cradling his arm.

“You’re annoying,” you correct, still smiling.

“What do you want me to do, huh?” Eddie croons. “I need something to think about until next time…”

You meet his boyish grin with narrowed eyes. “That is very presumptuous of you, Eddie Munson.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he laughs.

You shrug without a word and shut your locker with a soft clang.

Eddie’s smile fades as you walk away from him. “Wait— What does that mean?” he shouts to you, but receives no answer as you disappear into the bustling crowd.

—————

Alone at the Hellfire cafeteria table, you read silently and wait for the rest of the club to take their seats. Jeff is first, ‘cause his mom always packs his lunch. Dustin and Mike are second, and Eddie is third. Your boy arrives with a sudden kiss to your cheek that startles you for a fleeting moment.

“Missed you,” he mumbles in your ear.

“It’s been three hours,” you laugh.

Eddie follows you when you flinch away from him. “Yeah, tell me about it,” he croons, ducking down to press a kiss to your neck. Until you shove him away, at least, face burning at the blatant PDA in front of the rest of your friends. You turn back to your book and try to ignore their unwavering eyes.

“You guys are gross,” Dustin grumbles through a mouthful of fries.

Eddie slumps down in his seat at the head of the table. His lips curl into a lopsided smirk as he tilts his head. “You’re just jealous, Dusty-Bun.”

“Um, excuse me, but I have Suzie, in case you forgot. And she’s hotter than Pheobe Cates— I have nothing to be jealous of,” Dustin rambles, then flashes you an apologetic glance. “No offense.”

“None taken,” you murmur.

“Oh. Right,” Eddie nods, slow and sarcastic. “You mean your very real, not fake at all girlfriend?”

“She’s real!”

“You guys are acting clingier than usual,” Mike observes in his usual monotone.

Gareth arrives at the table then. His tray clatters as he sits down across from you. “It’s ‘cause they had sex,” he tells the raven-haired boy with a nonchalant shrug.

You freeze, breath catching as your heart drops to your stomach. You turn to Eddie with wide, uncertain eyes. You couldn’t hide your shock if you wanted.

Eddie’s face houses a similar horror. “I didn’t tell him. I swear.”

“You didn’t have to tell me,” Gareth scoffs and takes a too-big bite of his burger. His eyes flit between the two of you as he talks through the wad in his cheek. “I can practically smell it on you guys. You’re like a couple of cats in heat.”

“Well, only one cat would be in heat, so technically…” Dustin trails off at the glare Eddie gives him. “Sorry. Not helping.”

“It’s not a bad thing!” Gareth chuckles at his best friend’s simmering anger, ketchup clinging to the corner of his mouth. He slaps the boy on his leather-clad shoulder and says, “It’s about time you get laid, man— I was starting to worry.”

“Says the virgin,” Eddie quips and steals a fry from his tray.

You swat his other shoulder.

“What?” he winces playfully.

“You were a virgin, too, asshole,” Gareth grumbles.

“Yeah. I remember it like it was yesterday,” Eddie says within a whimsical sigh.

“That’s because it was yesterday, idiot.”

[pullhisteeth]

♡ meet cute.

There’s this alcove out behind the school. It’s deserted and quiet, right around the corner from the outside door to the woodshop. You can normally count on it being empty, a shaded refuge when you need a break during the school day. A secret place to slip away to when things get to be too much.

Once, Daniel Adams was there throwing wood scraps in the dumpster just before the bell signalling the end of second period. But he didn’t disturb you, just went back inside without a second glance. Other than that, it always lacked a population. 

Until today. 

When you round the corner, you see the trade off clear as day; a small pouch of white powder transferred from a heavily ringed hand being swapped for a thick wad of cash. 

The guy receiving the pouch slips it into his jeans pocket before he sees you. Then his green eyes make contact with yours and he books it back down the alley before crashing through the door to the shop. Subtle.

The guy with the cash is left there alone, but seemingly unperturbed by his customers sudden exit. You imagine you might run away too, if you were buying ketamine right behind your school at 11am on a Tuesday. 

You recognize him before his curly head whips around to locate the source of alarm. What other guy at Hawkins High has chipped black nail polish and avoids barbershops? More importantly, who else sells drugs at your school? Eddie’s got that job dominated. 

“Shit.” Is all he says when he spots you there. His tone is flat, deadpan. 

You ignore him in favour of sitting cross-legged on the pavement, gravel crunching beneath your soles before you press your back against cold brick. 

You just want him to go away. To be alone. 

Staring down at your scuffed Chucks, you begin to pull at a loose thread at the bottom of your frayed pant leg, winding it around the tip of your index finger until it turns white, then unwinding it so the blood comes rushing back with warmth. 

When you hear his heavy footfalls, you think maybe your luck hasn’t run out and he might be leaving. But the crunching of gravel does not recede down the alleyway.

Black Doc Martens enter your vision. You stop pulling at the loose thread and stare at the boots for a second before your gaze meanders up to his face. 

“Please don’t tell anyone, alright?” Eddie’s tone is non-threatening and hopeful. 

“Wasn’t gonna.” You shrug, couldn’t care less about the drug habits of the people you go to school with. Or how they acquire said drugs. Who would you tell anyway? The cops? Fuck that. 

Despite the confirmation of your silence Eddie stays put, feet shuffling across gravel, rocks scraping beneath the thick soles. 

You avert your gaze, will your voice not to break when you say, “Will you please just go?” But it betrays you, cracking just slightly on the final syllable. As your teeth dig into your bottom lip, you hope he doesn’t notice. 

Eyes burning and staring intently at a triangle-shaped pebble, you hold your breath, think, don’t say it, don’t say it, please don’t say it. 

“Are you okay?” 

Fuck.

Unwillingly, your face crumples and you bury it in your hands, face warming from being watched as you break down. Tears stream down your face silently, thick and hot as they wet your palms and slide down your wrists. 

There’s the crunch of gravel again, but he isn’t walking away like you expected anyone might. Who’d want to stick around with a stranger having an emotional breakdown? 

But then you feel warmth at your side as he crouches down and leans against the wall beside you, nearly shoulder-to-shoulder. 

Any remaining energy you had has been spent on your short exchange with him, so you have none left to plead with him anymore. But as the tears keep coming and your shoulders keep shaking, you find that you don’t mind his presence so much. He doesn’t touch you or invade your space in any way, doesn’t ask why you’re crying or try to stop it. 

Eddie just sits with you. Stares out at the swaying trees in the forest beyond the school and silently sits. Even though your skin isn’t touching it’s like he’s holding your hand. 

While you never bought into any of the rumours you’d heard whispered about him in the corridors, you were never completely sure of his kindness. Though now you see he wears his eccentricities as armour. It seems Eddie is softer than the tough iron of his armor would suggest. 

His motives now are clear: he doesn’t want to leave you alone in the state you’re in. Which is more kindness than anyone at this school has ever shown you. 

In actuality, it’s the most attention anyone at this school has ever shown you. Unlike Eddie, you’re mostly just ignored, left alone. Eddie isn’t going to let that happen now. 

The pair of you are probably quite the sight. And not just because you’re openly sobbing next to him. The Freak and the Loner Girl. If you were seen together you’re sure your bored peers would have some more rumours to spread. 

When your tears dry up and you’re left with a snotty nose and dry eyes, you look out at the forest in silence with him. Staring out blanky at the shedding foliage, your breathing slows and the wind whistles. The wind kissing your cheeks is strangely comforting. Or maybe it’s just Eddie. 

In your periphery, you see him shift as he pulls his ringed hand out of the pocket of his jacket. Eddie–who you’ve only just noticed smells really good, like leather and fresh rain–shoves his hand beneath the leather to dig around in an inside pocket. 

For one silly, brief moment you think he might be about to offer you a small pouch of white powder. 

Then he pulls his hand out. It’s a tissue. 

Eddie Munson is offering you a tissue. 

The metalhead keeps tissues in his jacket. And drugs. But also tissues. 

Looking from the tissue to him, Eddie gives you a soft reassuring smile. You take it from him gingerly. “Thank you.” 

Eddie nods shortly. “Yeah.”

“You, um, you didn’t have to sit with me,” you say once you’ve wiped your nose clean, looking at him fully for the first time since you broke down. His eyes are so dark. You’ve never been close enough to notice until now. 

“I know.” A beat of silence follows his sweet sincerity where all you can hear is the sound of the trees gently whooshing in the wind. “But I’ve seen you around. You’re alone a lot.” 

“Oh.” He’s seen you around? 

“You don’t deserve to be, by the way,” he adds quickly. “Especially not…now.” 

You look away with a small smile and a soft breath through your nose. Though his delivery is a little awkward, the sentiment causes warmth to flood your chest. 

“Right,” you reply, chuckling a little as you meet his eyes again. When he smiles this time, a dimple pops into his cheek. Pretty eyes and dimples?

Smacking his thighs resolutely, Eddie pushes himself up off the pavement to stand in front of you, offers you his hand. You stare up at him, your own hands twitching in your lap, buzzing with anticipation. 

“C’mon,” Eddie prompts, nodding his head to the side. “Let’s go.” 

“Where?” 

“Anywhere you wanna go.” 

Drawing your lip into your mouth, you chew on it contemplatively. 

You don’t have to think long about your answer. Why on Earth would you stay here and wallow when this sweet, kind boy with melted chocolate for eyes is offering you his hand?

[pullhisteeth]

I know I said I wasn't doing this anymore but I'm back for one more because this week had me thinking about Eddie and new year and Eddie between ur thighs on new year 🤭 nsfw/smut under the cut. happy new year to you all xxx

your warm cheek slides against crisp bedsheets and you gaze out of the tall windows of the hotel room, the view dark and sparkling with preemptive fireworks. you're not really paying attention to them because on his knees at the end of the bed, with his firm hands wrapped around your thighs, is Eddie.

it's New Year's Eve and he insisted on spending it entirely alone, together. after a busy Christmas he whisked you away to the city, told you he'd saved up a tenner a week all year so he could afford the nicest room with the nicest view in the tallest, poshest hotel he could manage. it's beautiful - when you walked into the lobby you'd almost cried, faced with marble floors and doormen who were kinder than you thought you deserved. and there the two of you were, clothes in backpacks, fresh of the train to New York.

"where've you gone?"

you tear your drooping eyes away from the pretty view and lift your head to look down at him. his thumbs are stroking the soft insides of your thighs and his eyes are just as kind, looking up at you, smile lines showing. you hum, dropping your head back and your hand to the crown of his head. you weave between curls and tug gently.

"this 's nice," you tell him lazily. he kisses the dip where your leg meets your hip.

he says nothing, watching you as your head turns back to the window. he enjoys the sight of you so happy and the gentle pull of your fingers in his hair.

"how long?" you ask him quietly. he glances to the television over his shoulder, where two daytime television stars he doesn't know the names of chat at a low volume in front of Times Square. the little clock in the corner reads 23:57.

"three minutes, sweetheart."

you turn back to the ceiling and playfully tug at his hair again. "better get busy, baby," you say.

you feel a brush of hot air as he laughs against your thigh, before he kisses each leg and moves between them again. he's slow, gentle, lazy with it as he brings you back to the brink. you've been teetering on it for an hour or so now, stopping to chat or kiss or lose another bit of clothing, but he always ends up back on his knees for you. soon enough, both of you hear the television coverage get restless, the crowds in the city getting louder - there's half a minute to go, he's on a timer.

he knows just what to do because he knows you, better than anyone has before. he speeds up, his mouth joined by determined fingers. you're panting, hands impatient in his hair, back arching. distantly you hear the tinny sounds of the television speakers, thousands of people chanting: ten, nine, eight-

"c'mon, sweetheart," Eddie's saying into your cunt, "you're so close, I can feel it."

-seven, six, five-

"Eddie," you pant, "keep- keep going, like that-"

-four, three, two, one-

suddenly, the indigo sky outside explodes in bursts of red, green, gold and purple, and you hear a chorus of horns on the streets below. at the same moment, your stomach tenses and your eyes shut tight, a white-hot pleasure bursting in your gut. Eddie coaxes you through it like always, fingers and mouth moving til you calm down and tell him to stop.

"that's it, gorgeous, you did it, knew you could. good girl."

you're heaving, your thighs are shaking and damp, and Eddie's laughing softly. after an age of working you up to it he got what he wanted: his own firework show at the strike of midnight.

"get up here," you whisper. your voice is a wreck and you're sure your brain's working at half capacity.

the crowds on tv are still cheering. Eddie moves over you, careful hands sliding your bare legs together and up onto the bed. resting above you, he moves damp hair away from your eyes and dips his head to give you a kiss, and then another one.

"happy new year, Eddie," you whisper as you lift your head to kiss him again, arms winding around his neck. you kiss the corner of his mouth, and his jaw, and hide your face in the crook of his neck.

"happy new year, angel."

[pullhisteeth]

love light gleams

rockstar!Eddie Munson x Reader Eddie and the band are stranded for Christmas. at least the pay phone's working.

foreword: haven’t heard from these cuties in awhile!! here’s my other fic of these two but not necessary to read beforehand. just a bit of schmoopy holiday fluff for the soul <3 (in the timeline, this is set in the early days of Corroded’s first tour where they’re just on the cusp of public notability/recognition)

cw: holiday fluff, alcohol/drinking, R is referred to with occasional she/her pronouns, R is related to Joyce (no specificity), Eddie gets a public boner™️, implied smut

wc: 3.1k

___

Goddamn Murphy and his law.

First, the tour bus breaks down in the middle of Where the Fuck Are We, Idaho, and Jeff maybe could’ve fixed it in time to get them over the next leg of the trip- if it weren’t for the giant snowstorm blizzard from hell. 

After much pulling of hair and frozen appendages, the band decided to call it quits and splurge some of the quickly dwindling Road Fund on a motel for the night; the idea of ones own room and a hot shower swiftly smothered by the front desk clerk. 

“Four rooms, the night before Christmas?” The man looked about as haggard as the rest of them, but Eddie couldn’t find it in his heart to feel too bad with the way the guy was chuckling mirthfully. “Got a better chance of seein’ Santa himself.”

Eddie grit his teeth and paid for a single. Without cussing. A feat that should land him on the Nice List, forever. 

When the group finally trudged into the lone spare room (spreading out as much as could be allowed, they were all sick of each other, at this point), Eddie used the phone to get ahold of their tour manager, who managed to top the evening off with the worst news of all.

“Christmas show at Garter’s is cancelled,” Eddie had announced to his sullen men after slamming the phone back on its hook. “Looks like we’re sitting ducks for the holidays.”

After dejected calls home and a few last desperate, futile attempts to charm airline employees over the phone, Corroded Coffin trooped through the bitter weather to hole up at the only bar in town.

Jeff, Gareth, and Jacob all settled into a booth with minimal complaints, gloved hands wrapping eagerly around mugs of hot toddies while Eddie simmered and stewed at the end of the bench, unable to sit still.

He should probably make the best of a bad situation, buy his boys another round and muster up some goodwill, but Eddie isn’t ready for an attitude adjustment quite yet.

He’s thinking of you, nearly two thousand miles east, cozy at home in Hawkins. In Eddie’s mind’s eye, you’re curled up by the fireplace in soft flannel-print pajamas (the pair he let you ‘borrow’ years ago), munching on sugar cookies and looking deliciously peaceful. 

Jeff throws him a bone, slides two quarters down the table to Eddie, saying- “Go call her, man. You’ll be annoying as hell until you do.”

Emerson chimes in, pointing towards the front doors a touch too gleefully- “Only pay phone’s out front.”

Eddie scoffs- figures, they’d try to get rid of him- but he can’t blame them too much, seeing as Jeff is right. 

Damn Murphy and his damn law. Eddie scoops up the change with an exaggerated flourish and stomps out, icy wind swallowing all the noise of the bar the second his boots hit snow. 

He follows the gravel trail that leads to the glass phone booth, the whole structure at a poorly-crafted slant that makes the door stick; Eddie shoves his shoulder against the iced-over seam four fucking times before it cracks and gives. 

Shoulder smarting, Eddie closes himself inside the booth, and with movements made clumsy by mittens and cold, loads the quarters and dials home. 

The trailer landline’s dial tone drones. With each ring, Eddie thunks a mittened hand against his forehead and watches the frost of his breath suspended in the air. 

You don’t answer. 

His shoulder stings, and he rubs at it, petulant, quarters clinking back down into the tray. He reloads them, grizzling all the while, and punches in Jonathan’s number, banking on the fact that you might be at your aunt’s place for Christmas Eve festivities.

No luck there, either. Eddie’s close to using the returned quarters as eye covers and laying down in the snow, letting hypothermia guide him to the afterlife- when suddenly, inexplicably, the phone on the hook rings.

The first time, Eddie thinks he imagined it. The second time, it jolts him into action, hardly daring to hope as he snatches the receiver up and speaks, breathless- “Hello?”

“Eddie!”

He doesn’t get caught up in the logistics, the why and hows just yet. Upon hearing your voice on the line, full and sweet after so many droning tones, Eddie slumps with relief against the booth’s angled window pane. 

“Sweetheart. Hi. Holy shit, are you a sound for sore ears. God, I fucking miss you.” Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose between clothed fingers, biting back tears of joy when your giggles like tinkling bells surround him.

“I miss you too. So much. Gareth called earlier to give me this number, said you’ve been a pest and might benefit from hearing my voice,” you tease, sounding like you’ve cupped the phone around your mouth to hide your words from others.

Eddie is basking in it, the simple act of you speaking doing wonders for his whole system, like a mug of cocoa for the soul. He makes a mental note to do something nice for Gareth, at a later date when he’s not sick of looking at his bandmates. 

“Bet he did,” Eddie concedes. “It’s been a total nightmare shitshow from hell over here, babe. I’m barely holding it together without my handler.”

“Poor thing.” You’re sympathetic but there’s still a playful edge to your voice when you ask, “Don’t you know it’s almost Christmas? Being a Scrooge only gets you so far.”

“Noted.” Normally, Eddie would be better at matching your energy, but he feels like all the wit got sucked out of him somewhere between here and the bar. “Keep talkin’. The tips of my ears aren’t quite warm yet. Wearing anything slutty on this holiday eve?”

You laugh, again (a balm, a blanket, et al cheesy romantic idioms), and Eddie can practically hear the eye roll this time- “Oh yeah, dressed real sexy for Aunt Joyce’s family supper. Light wash Levi’s and everything.”

Eddie makes various dramatic horny noises and you snicker. In the following lull, the noise from the party in Hawkins plays muted in the background. Glasses clinking, indistinct chatter from other people he loves, puffs of your breath quiet in comparison.

“Sounds noisy,” he says, and when you sigh, there’s a weary undertone that plucks a chord in Eddie’s heart.

“Yeah. It is. Gonna come rescue me? My knight in shining armor?”

“Jesus christ,” Eddie groans, hard plastic receiver pressing into his temple. “You know I would in a heartbeat, princess. Gareth told you all the flights are fucked?”

“Yeah. Guess we’re just shit outta luck, this year.”

“Two more weeks,” Eddie says, clawing at the only hopeful thread he’s got left. “Two more weeks of this horseshit and January third, baby, my ass is on a plane to you. If it kills me. Seriously.”

“It’s not gonna kill you.” Buttery soft and gentler than he thinks he deserves, you say, “However much you’re missin’ me, I’m feeling the same. I know it sucks to be apart right now, but I’m so proud of you. And the band. But mostly you. I’m probably too partial.”

Eddie grins and lets the praise wash over him, tucks it away for a dreary day (which’ll be tomorrow, at this rate). “Good thing somebody is. Keeps me sane in this godforsaken wasteland.”

He’s being dramatic and you both know it- but since Eddie’s much worse off in terms of post-call comfort, you let it slide. After drawn out, gushy goodbyes and promises to call sometime tomorrow, Eddie treks back reluctantly into the heat of the bar.

In the time it took to make the call, the place had filled out- mostly farmers and locals eager to celebrate the upcoming holiday with whiskey and gossip; Eddie squeezes through a sea of knit scarves and bobbled hats to get back to the table. 

Upon their Fearless Leader’s return, Jeff’s the only one with balls enough to look Eddie in the eye when he says, “There’s a fan of yours at the corner booth who wants a signature.”

“Gotta be shittin’ me.” Not yet seated, Eddie leans into his fists on the table, but he’s quick to swallow his irritation, even as he mutters expletives under his breath. Bona fide fans of the band are still rare enough to be exciting, and he really, really doesn’t want to be an asshole to anyone, especially not a fan, not on Christmas.

Plus, Eddie’s feeling softer, more charitable, since he got to speak with you. Unfortunately for his not-yet-curated rockstar persona, you make him a better person. Even from across the country.

To show his displeasure with the general situation, Eddie swipes a tall-necked beer from Gareth’s collection and downs a quarter of it on his way across the bar. There’s a line of booths along the back wall, partially hidden by the centralized bar; strings of Christmas lights and tinsel twinkle from the rafters along the path Eddie takes, while an old stereo system plays local holiday FM. 

Eddie winds his way between tables and the bustling bar, trying to come up with a game plan to make this interaction as friendly and speedy as possible- but when he rounds the corner and sees the booth, he freezes.

There you are. Sitting in a bar booth in the middle of Nowhere, Idaho, wearing your downy winter jacket and a smile bright as a homing beacon.

It’s like his brain is on a ten second delay, everything between his ears a high pitched ring as he takes you in while anything that isn’t you melts away into insignificance. 

“Hi,” you say, beaming, rising out of the booth, brimming with excitement.

Eddie almost trips over his own boot to close the distance, pulling you into his arms, wrapping them tight around your shoulders. He buries his face into the side of your neck, breathing deep, memorizing for the next time you’re not this close.

“What the fuck,” he murmurs, hoarse against your hair, and he feels the giddy laughter tremble through your whole frame. 

You’re clinging to him, too, a big handful of his flannel in your left hand, the outline of his skull in the other, thumb sweeping under all those curls, soothing. “Hi, baby. Hi. Couldn’t stand being away from you any longer.”

Eddie pulls away to kiss your cheek, then mirrors the action, then behind your ear and down down until you’re giggling, pushing at his forehead in protest- “Don’t you wanna know how I’m here?”

“Santa,” Eddie says, confident, squeezing your hips. “Or God. Who I will totally believe in and pledge my soul to for bringing you here.”

“I don’t think you can pledge something that’s already mine.” You punctuate this with a poke to his ribs, then a pull of his hand, and Eddie follows you into the booth, sitting close enough to keep a hand tracking a soft path over your thigh. 

It was Gareth’s idea, apparently- he called home a few days ago, confirmed that you were equally eager to pull off the surprise. The original plan was to meet at the band’s next tour stop, but when the Christmas Day gig got cancelled and a blizzard rolled in, your plans went hinky.

“It was Uncle Wayne, in the end.” You kiss the back of Eddie’s knuckles, and he feels a tender part of his heart thump in response. “He covered the extra cost of a last-minute ticket, figured out the bus route to this place for me, too. Said to tell you Merry Christmas.”

Eddie could cry from the wave of gratefulness that swells in his chest, shaking his head in disbelief. There’s a shimmering line of tears in your own eyes, and he can’t have that, so in lieu of words he leans in and kisses you.

Your lips slot perfect and familiar against his own, tasting the sweetness from an earlier candy cane. Eddie’s tongue traces the contours of the inside of your mouth, probably a bit too familiar for a public setting but fuck it, it’s Christmas and no one’s watching.

The two of you are mostly sequestered in the corner of the big room, the added bulk to Eddie’s frame from his jacket doing a perfect job of shielding you from view, happily backed against the wall with one leg draped over his thigh.

When Eddie finally pulls back, just enough to see you, your hand slips under the hem of his shirt, fingers warming against his ribs. There’s an inked sparrow you find by memory, one of your favorite places to touch and kiss.

Your thumb runs over the familiar spot, the signals of his skin decipherable to you alone. 

Eddie fills his lungs with air and tries to quell the stiff wave of arousal, and in the same breath, winces, remembering- “Well, sweet thing, I’d invite you back to my place but I’m sharing a one-room with a whole pack of miscreants.”

Eddie’s about to suggest raiding the motel’s blanket stock and sleeping in the van, just the two of you, when something like guilt pinches at your features. “Um. Yeah. About that. I may have bullied Gareth into getting me your manager’s number, and I also may have called him from the airport and chewed him out a bit.”

When Eddie’s brows shoot up in shock, delight, you wince, cutting him off before a word can get in edgewise- “It’s not right that he left you all stranded out here, on fucking Christmas, no less- you’re the ones funding that asshole’s cozy little vacation.” 

With the strength of your conviction, you tilt your chin up, eyes glittering and defiant- “I told him if he wasn’t gonna take care of you boys, I’d take care of him. Get right on a flight just to kick his ass.”

The hand still at Eddie’s ribs flexes with residual anger, your nails digging a quick flash of welcome pain that helps tether him to the present, mind almost completely fogged over with lust at the thought of you bitching out his piece of shit manager. 

“So…” Eddie starts, clears his throat, tries to tug at his pant leg subtly but catches the moment that sharp spark of your hostility melts into a smirk; you drum your fingers against him with a tilted head as he finds his voice- “So he’s gonna, what, promise to be less of an asshole in the new year, is that the deal?”

“Yeah. That and a couple of hotel rooms magically opened up for my favorite rockstar. Four of ‘em, enough for the boys to each have their own- if you don’t mind sharing with me, that is.”

Eddie wants to swallow the coy tilt of your mouth but settles for kissing you again, veins zipping with glee and good cheer; he pulls you in impossibly closer, tugging by the lapels of your coat, nose to nose while you giggle, smothering his affections- “Holy shit. Babe, you’re the rockstar. Replace me with a cardboard cutout and I don’t think anyone would know the difference. What in the fuck are we still doing here?”

Eddie moves to pull you both from the booth, overzealous in his excitement; you shift to keep your weight on the bench, Eddie plopping back down with a little oof while you chastise, “Hold on, I have to give the boys their room keys and I wanna wish them a merry Christmas! Plus, you should probably give yourself a second to- uh- settle down.”

You’re doing a poor job of concealing your amusement and Eddie groans, arms wrapping around his middle and hunching forward, head hitting the table with a dull thunk. “Fuck’s sake. I’m a short walk away from getting you alone in a warm room with a real bed and you’re telling me not to pop a stiffy at the thought? I’m but a mere mortal, have some compassion, jesus christ.”

“Nope, just me.” An escaped lock of dark hair gets caught between your fingertips, then tucked behind his ear. When you lean in to kiss the exposed spot shivers erupt down Eddie’s spine, even more when you whisper, “Can call me whatever you want once you get me in that room, though.”

After a few more minutes in which Eddie attempts to recall every unsexy thing that has ever happened in the span of his life, you’re both presentable enough to weave hand in hand back to Corroded’s table. 

There’s a flurry of exclamations and hugs, well wishes and present-distribution (because of course you packed everyone’s gifts, seeing as you’re some sort of angel or perhaps a fae being from Valinor, Eddie hasn’t decided yet). 

Eddie buys another round of drinks for the troupe, and tousles Gareth’s hair while the other two are distracted with Jake’s new Lego set. “Merry Christmas, kid. I owe you one.”

Gareth’s cheeks are rosy from the heater and the alcohol as he gives a nod of acknowledgement; they clink beers, and all is forgiven.

Once everyone is set up with the hotel address and their individual room keys, Eddie plucks at your elbow, patience stretching thin until the two of you are finally, finally borne out into the cold on a wave of goodbyes.

The snow is blindingly white, even in the low light of a winter’s eve; Eddie blinks, the image of your face tipped up to the sky burned into the black of his eyelids.

A perfectly-formed snowflake lands on the high point of your cheek, dissolving into your skin. Eddie kisses the spot and winds an arm around your low back, pleased when you bundle into his side.

“Our chariot awaits,” he declares, sweeping a grand arm at the endless snow and empty street, which makes you laugh again.

“Come on.” Your eye roll is fond as you pull Eddie’s steps in line with yours, setting off in the direction of a hot bath and silk sheets. “Let’s see if we can’t find us a little Christmas cheer.”

Eddie thinks he might be starting to like Idaho.

[pullhisteeth]

'tis the season (eddie munson x fem!reader)

summary: your sweet neighbour addresses a christmas card to both you and eddie — the only issue? she's never met eddie... so how does she know his name? eddie decides that 'tis the season for all your neighbours to know his name

cw: 18+!, christmas adjacent but you don't have to celebrate, smut, oral, fingering, pinv sex, idk mentions of dying of embarrassment, friends with benefits to more (slightly ambiguous ig) an: just a quick lil thing!!! if you liked it pls tell me or i'll pass away from lack of attention wc: 2.4k+

You didn’t think twice about it — a Christmas card that your next door neighbour dropped off to your apartment, addressed to both you and Eddie. 

You should have thought twice about it — because you’ve never introduced lovely Mrs. Mabel to Eddie, and Eddie doesn’t necessarily show up to your apartment during the day time.

What you and him do… it’s more of a night time thing. You call him — sometimes he calls you — and then he drives over. Sometimes you pretend you need something fixed, sometimes it’s a jar lid that's stuck, one time it was your bedside table that was jammed — but him coming over to introduce himself to your 70 year old neighbour is highly, highly unlikely. 

So when you got the card, maybe you should have thought twice about why his name was on it — but you didn’t. You were on your way out and Mrs. Mabel had left it taped to your door. You slid it into your purse, and then when you got home, you had put it down on your countertop with the thought of opening it after putting away the few groceries you had bought.

Then you just forgot about it for the night. A candle was lit, the lights were dimmed, and Eddie was speed dialed. 

When he showed up, you were pouring drinks for the two of you in your kitchen — that’s when he saw the card. 

“Oh?” he hummed, smiling as he slid his finger along the edge of the rustic brown coloured envelope, picking it up. “What's this?”

“Oh yeah!” you remembered. “Mrs. Mabel dropped that off earlier, I forgot to open it. It's a christmas card,” you beamed. 

“Well, good thing you waited. It’s addressed for both of us,” he winked. 

You didn’t understand the wink. 

You didn’t understand why he was so smug either, and you didn’t ask, you were too distracted by the kitschy card, with drawings of cats wearing Santa hats wishing you and Eddie a ‘Meowy Christmas’ and a ‘Purrfect New Year’. 

It was only after drinks were drunk, your bedroom was visited, and Eddie said something odd, that you started to question what exactly he meant. 

His skin was still dewy where you laid your head on his chest. Both of your breaths were labored. His hand was splayed across your back, feeling extra warm. 

“So… I take it that all your neighbours know my name?” He said it like he was teasing you. You didn’t understand why, but it seemed loaded.

“No? Why would they all know your name?”

“Hmmm,” he hummed, and you could hear the mischief in his smile. He was up to something, but your eyelids were heavy, and his hand started to rub up and down your spine, and with the way your body vibrated, you could not have cared less. Whatever he was getting at could wait. 

And it did wait — one whole week. Then you finally understood, and you really cared — because what the fuck. 

He came over earlier than usual. He hadn’t even called, he just showed up, and with flowers. Flowers. Eddie doesn’t give you flowers, he gives you orgasms. That’s what you thought this thing was between the two of you — nothing more than late night hookups. Not flowers. 

And then he dropped the bomb that he was making you dinner. Dinner. He was being so sweet, and he brought you flowers, and he was making you dinner. You can’t even remember a time where you had seen him before the sun set. Flowers. Dinner.

As he found his way through your kitchen, he made sure to get in every little touch and graze possible, even ones that were so obviously unnecessary. Like when you were washing vegetables at the sink. He pressed himself behind you, wrapping his arms around your body, caging you in against the sink, washing his hands in the most inconvenient position ever. It was incredibly inefficient, and it got the front of your shirt wet, but that was another thing. He peeled your shirt off you right in the kitchen. With a giggle — because this whole ordeal had left you undeniably smitten — you complained that the cotton of your shirt was cold and stuck to you, so his solution was to spin you around and lift it right up from your waist, up your chest, and over your head. 

As the fabric passed over your face, you shut your eyes, only to open them to Eddie pressing a kiss to your lips. The shirt was thrown to the floor, his hands found your cheeks, and you were walked backwards until your bum pressed to the countertop. His body pressed to yours, his belt buckle jutting in the bare skin of your belly, his shirt sticking to the lace of your bra. He kissed you stupid right in the middle of your kitchen. 

When you thought you were moving onto the next part of the night — forgoing dinner and heading straight to the bedroom — you were wrong. 

“What’ya doing?” he murmured against your mouth. You had reached around him, blindly finding and spinning the burner off. 

“Making sure my apartment doesn’t burn down.”

“It won’t. We’re right here.” He pressed a string of new kisses to your lips, and you could feel his smile through every single one. 

Your makeout session did not move to the bedroom. 

When the timer went off, he parted from you with a final peck to your lips, and ‘for good measure’, another one to your cheek. From there on out, you… you were useless. Just a pair of wobbly legs being ordered around by a thoughtless brain. You spilled things, and knocked things over, and clattered dishes, and eventually Eddie put you on watch duty — or as he put it, ‘sit there and look pretty’ duty. 

It didn’t get better either. He kept looking at you. Looking at you with dark eyes that you know too well. Dark eyes that felt deeper than anything you’ve felt before. Dark eyes that made your stomach swirl and your thighs clench. Dark eyes that you wanted in the bedroom, right now. 

You tried to get him in the bedroom. From your spot sitting on the countertop, you tried to hook a pointed foot around his thigh as he stirred honestly over a steaming pan. You tried to give him the same eyes back. You tried — oh god, you tried. 

And you know what he did? He set the table. Lit a candle, set out glasses, lined up forks and knives. Got you a new shirt to wear. Filled your plates, got you both napkins, pulled your chair out for you. 

You wanted him more than anything. 

And then you got him. 

The table was never cleared. Clothes were shed before either of you were past your bedroom door. Your hands were tugging at his boxers, and you wanted to show him how much you appreciated his kindness — how much you enjoyed the impromptu flowers and dinner. 

He had other plans. 

He laid you down and spread you out. Put his mouth to use — held both your hands as he did it too. It had your chest squeezing in a soft way, and your hips moving in a way you could not control. 

“Eddie,” you moaned, as he licked at your sensitive spot, pushing you just over the point of too much pleasure. You already came once but he decided that you deserved much more than that. 

“Am I making you feel good?”

“Mhm, so good, Eddie — fuck,” you gasped as your pleasure quickly became overstimulating. He rearranged your intertwined mess of hands, taking both of yours in one of his, freeing up the other to move down your body and meet his mouth at your core. 

Two fingers were pushed into your already convulsing cunt. You barely had a moment to come down, and he was barreling past that point, moving you onto your next orgasm. His fingers curled, and your whole body tensed.

“Eddie — E-Eddie,” you said, voice rising as your hips began to buck, thighs jerking.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Eddie,” you whined, like it was a real answer and not just his name. Like he should know what he's doing to you — and he does, but to your ignorance, this is exactly what he wants.

“I know — I know, feels good, huh?”

And it did. His fingers felt great, but him properly filling you up felt better. As soon as he sunk his length into you, you were a goner. 

With your legs folded, ankles sitting over his shoulders, blankets gathered where you fisted them in your hands, and your toes curled tightly, Eddie fucked you. Sincerely, amorously, hard.

Every snap of his hips to yours, every crude, wet noise, every creak of the bed, was hidden well beneath the way you panted and whined — and Eddie just goaded you on.

“Yeah? Right there? That's where it feels good?”

“Yes, right — right there,” you answered devotedly.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Tell me how you want it,” he grunted, bringing a soft hand to your cheek and running it upwards, pushing back the baby hairs on your forehead. 

“Harder,” you answered, meeting his gaze. 

“Harder…?’ He smiled, trailing off to prompt you. Just as he did, he let his hips find yours with extra vigour, grinding upwards into you, his cock pressing right against your g-spot with the perfect angle to get a full-body reaction from you. He continued, rolling his hips in a quick rhythm, giving you exactly what you asked for, harder. 

“Eddie,” you gasped, body being pressed up the mattress with the sheer force of his thrust. 

“You like saying my name don’t you? Hm? Sounds so pretty when you say it.”

You should have put it together right there. But you didn’t. You just got louder.

“Eddie — fuck — Eddie!”

“I know. I got you, baby,” he replied, eyes never leaving your face as he purposefully did exactly what he needed to do to get his intended reaction from you. 

“Eddie! Eddie! Eddie!”

One final press of his pelvis to your sensitive clit, one final graze of his cock to that special spot inside of you, one final gasp of his name, and you were coming. Coming harder than you had tonight, harder than you ever had in your whole life. 

You wished you could have stayed in that moment forever. 

Pleasure coursing through you, spreading everywhere from your ten fingers to your ten toes, your mind blank apart from the pure adoration you had for the man who laid overtop of you, cumming inside of you at that very moment. The man who surprised you and brought you flowers and cooked you dinner. 

Oh, and not to mention how, in that moment, you were so blissfully ignorant to a spectacularly embarrassing fact. So naive, so ignorant. So stupid. 

Eddie was a sweetheart. Continued to be a sweetheart, actually. After giving the two of you time to settle, he eventually got up, helped clean you up, cleaned himself up, and then got back into bed with you to cuddle. Cuddling has been a normal thing for the two of you, but his smile as he cozied up close to you, with the way his lips rounded at the corners, and his dimples were so deeply set, it was not the normal, bliss-filled, post-orgasm smile. It was different, it was mischievous, and a touch unsettling. 

“What?” you eventually caved, smiling back at him as he gave you a dramatic side eye paired with a raised brow — he's been waiting for you to ask him what's on his mind. 

He grinned at you, canines poking out with all his glee. He dropped his head to your fluffed pillow, tugged you in closer, and looked at you like he was about to spill some hot, gossipy pillowtalk. 

“Think all your neighbours know my name now?”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, weaving together in the centre, because what does that have to do with anything? ‘What?’ sat on the tip of your tongue, but just as he wiggled his brow, giving you a pointed look, waiting for you to put it all together, it finally hit you. It hit you like a brick to the head. A brick to the head off of a three story building. Beyond painful. 

The reason Mrs. Mabel, dear, sweet, elderly, Mrs. Mabel knew Eddie’s name to write it on your Christmas card: thin walls, his talent, your loud mouth. 

“No,” you gasped, jaw dropping.

“No?” He scrunched his forehead upwards, eyes widening, leaning in even closer to you to absorb the full extent of your shock. “Because I think they do,” he smirked, voice rising with amusement. Finding your waist under the blankets, he curled his fingers into your flesh. You squirmed, grabbing his hand and holding him still. This is serious. 

“Eddie,” you frowned, squeezing his hands before pushing them out from under the blankets and away. He let you, watching you through bright eyes, loving every minute of your humiliation. 

“Yes, sweetheart, that is my name,” he practically sang. 

“That’s so embarrassing.” You let your body shrink into the mattress, turning to hide your face in the pillow. You whined out a long groan, ridding your body of every ounce of breath in your lungs. If you were a lucky person, you would have suffocated. Died right there and rid yourself of all your mortal shame. 

“Nobody complained, I think they’re fine with it.” His hand became a heavy weight of your waist, coaxing you out from the pillow while rubbing your back.

“I’m not fine with it,” you said abruptly, nearly giving yourself whiplash as you turned your neck to look at Eddie. “Mrs. Mabel… she… she — ”

Eddie finished your sentence — “She gave us a Christmas card. She’s not upset,” he smiled, leaning in once again, this time to press a kiss to your forehead. 

He's wrong. You know it, but you don't have the will to fight it. So instead you rolled your eyes, sighing as you laid your head back down to your pillow. 

“You’re so annoying.”

“Oh really?” Eddie teased, his mischievous tone contradicting the gentle way he pulled the blanket up for you, covering your shoulders and tucking it under your chin. “I don’t recall me being annoying a few minutes ago?” He took a deep inhale. “Eddie! Eddie! Eddie —” he began to chant, voice pitched up mockingly, volume way too loud. 

“Shush,” you scolded him, jumping forward, fighting to free your arms from the blanket to smack both of your hands over his mouth. His voice vibrated behind your palms, and his laughter stuck to your skin as you forcibly shut him up. 

Your neighbours clearly already knew his name, but if they didn’t, they definitely do now.

thank you for reading! happy holidays <333333

[pullhisteeth]

in case it wasn’t clear. this blog and this bitch do NOT support the industrial military complex.

[pullhisteeth]

yee fucking haw holy shit

christmas affairs | steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: your christmas turns into a chaotic mess when your boss can’t fly back home and you end up stuck in New York City with him.

millionaireboss!steve harrington x assistant!fem!reader | friend-ish to lovers | no use of y/n | no mentions of specific race, hair type or body type.

word count: 26.7k

warnings: this one shot and the content i write are +18, minors do NOT interact. heavy slowburn, lots of pining & yearning. | slight age gap between reader and steve but is not specified | ANGST, tw: loss of a parent (reader’s) | SMUT, spitting, unprotected p in v, oral (f & m receiving).

author’s note: hi cuties ! ♡ i’m so sorry it took me so long to post this but it’s a LONG one so it took me ages to finish it and ages to edit it. this was the first idea that popped into my mind when i started writing down ideas for the christmas library, so i’m so so happy to finally share it with you ! enjoy and lmk what you think x

[banners: @adornedwithlight & @cafekitsune]

‘So, all the presents you pre-approved have already been sent to your father’s home.’ You said distractedly while looking at the list of tasks on the iPad. ‘All wrapped. All carefully tagged for each member of your family.’

‘Right.’ Steve said sitting next to you. You didn’t notice the way he observed you from his seat, eyes focused on how your hands typed quickly on the keyboard as you mumbled nonsense to yourself.

You only lifted your head briefly when the sound of the wind outside became too loud. Your boss’ eyes followed your confused stare until your eyes fell on him. The subtle, shy smile on his mouth made you frown. The way his brown eyes lifted, adorned by young wrinkles, made you feel equally flushed and annoyed. Mr Harrington had this thing sometimes; he would simply look at you and not say anything until you lifted your eyebrows or asked him directly.

‘What is it?’ You said going back to the list on the iPad. ‘Just fifteen minutes until you can start boarding the jet.’

You saw him shake his head from the corner of your eye, still looking at you.

‘Are you excited to go back home?’

‘Absolutely.’ You said going back to the list. ‘Thrilled.’

He let out a snorty laugh to your indifference, and to your surprise, you smiled softly.

‘Who’s waiting for you there?’ He pressed, moving softly towards you. The smell of his expensive pine cologne engulfed you; it had a subtle note of smoke underneath. Somehow that scent always managed to make you feel equally stressed and relieved. ‘Cousins? Grandparents? You have a stepdad, right?’

‘I do.’ You said locking the iPad before looking back at his expectant brown eyes that rarely intimidated you this much. ‘It’s just him and my mom.’

He nodded softly, looking down at his freshly polished shoes. You wondered if he knew the reason they were so shiny was that you had remembered his staff to polish them twice this week. If he knew the reason he was wearing his favourite suit was because you had selected this one for him that morning. That you were the one that had bought the navy cashmere scarf he was wearing, just because you knew his confidence would boost considerably that way. He hadn’t put gel on his hair today, making the few premature grey hairs above his ear more visible.

You resorted to look back at your work phone to stop staring at him.

As his Personal Assistant, you had a vague idea of what was waiting for Mr Harrington back home, the heir of one of the wealthiest corporations in the country. The disapproving stare of his father, siblings that expected he’d make a mistake so they could take over. He had never told you that he didn’t even want to do any of it, but he didn’t need to. Having worked for two years with Steve, you could see it very clearly by yourself.

That could be the reason why he was asking so many questions about you, things he knew already. Just so he could focus on something else.

‘Do you hang out with any school friends?’ He asked then, you lifted your eyes to find his lit up with cheeky interest. He was too unaware to notice, though, that you’d never give him more information than necessary. ‘Got a boyfriend to catch up with over there?’

You were very aware that he knew the answer to that question, having played this game so many times before.

‘I’ve got something better than a boyfriend.’ You said, to what his eyebrows lifted with more curiosity. You opened your mouth to say something, when your personal phone started buzzing inside your pocket. Standing up, he followed your movements with his eyes as you looked back at him with unusual humour in yours. ‘I’ve got two boyfriends.’

You heard his subtle, chesty laugh behind you as you walked in the toilets’ direction.

‘Hey, mom.’

‘Hey, sweetie.’ She said when you walked inside the ladies’ with two other people behind you. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m good.’ You replied softly, feeling the anxiety rushing to your chest. You rested your back against the wall, avoiding your reflection on the mirror. ‘Just… busy, you know? I’m at the airport right now.’

‘Hopefully to come visit your mother?’ She pressed.

‘Mom.’

‘Gosh! I just can’t believe that obnoxious man won’t let you spend Christmas with your family!’

‘It’s just…’ You started to say, but your eyes fell on the woman who washed her hands on the sink next to you, trying to hide the fact she was staring through the corner of her eye. You rarely got recognised, but it could happen. Lots of people wanted to get close to Mr Harrington, sometimes you were the quickest way to do that. ‘We’re just very busy this time of the year.’

‘No one should be working on Christmas.’ She argued.

You bit your lip as the woman dried her hands with some tissues. She smiled at you, and you had to be polite enough to return the gesture.

‘I-I was there for Thanksgiving.’ You said once she left the room.

‘Just for three days.’ Your mother complained. ‘Three days.’

‘I know, mom. And I’m sorry.’ You sighed, looking at the ceiling, pondering about what to do. The winter wind outside echoed against the walls of the private airport, and you wondered if it had started snowing yet. ‘Listen, I— I might have an interview scheduled in the next few days.’

‘You’re going to quit?’ She asked after a while.

‘Maybe.’ You swallowed hard. ‘I don’t know. If I get a good offer, I might.’

‘Oh, thank God!’ You rolled your eyes, ‘I just hate to see you working for that spoiled man. And his father! I can tell he’s vile, too. The stories you’ve told me—’

‘Mom— Mom, those are confidential, okay?’ You said quickly. ‘It’s not gossip that you can share on your knitting club, you hear me?’

‘I crochet.’

You rolled your eyes again, checking your watch. ‘Listen, I’ve got a plane to catch, okay? I love you. Hopefully I’ll see you for New Year’s Eve.’

‘Hopefully? You know very well I need you here by the 30th.’

‘I’ll try.’ You said before hanging up.

Outside, you found Steve standing next to his and your hand-luggage. You smiled softly, checking your list once again, and making sure that everything was in order.

‘I know the journey’s super quick, but I made sure to pack some books for you. They should be in the jet already— What?’

‘Nothing.’ He laughed softly when you looked back at him, his eyes took over your frown for a second before he shook his head. ‘Do you have everything? For your family?’

‘Me?’ You asked, before letting out a silly laugh. ‘Of course I do.’

‘Good.’ He said, licking his lips. Almost hesitating. ‘Good. Well, uhm…’

His eyes saw the way yours got lost behind him, probably checking that he was in the right gate.

‘…Try to disconnect a little, okay? Get some rest, maybe turn off every single device you own for a few hours.’

‘What?’ You said looking back at him. ‘Don’t be silly, Mr. Harrington. We’ve got work to do.’

He always laughed when you employed a formal tone with him, and it never failed to make you roll your eyes.

‘I got work to do.’ He said then. ‘You just have to enjoy your Christmas.’

‘Right.’ You said sarcastically under your breath before standing up straight, you opened your mouth to say something, but the noise of the wind against the airport’s rooftop forced you to close it.

Steve observed you in the few seconds it took for the weather to calm down, playing with something inside his pockets. You smiled uncomfortably at him before your eyes fell on the few other people that were around. Cleaning staff, security, a few pilots that walked towards other gates.

‘Why are you being so awkward today?’ You finally said, looking back at him.

‘Me?’ He laughed in that cocky way that irritated you, making you lift your eyebrows in disbelief. ‘I’m just figuring out a way to wish you a Merry Christmas.’

‘Well, Merry Christmas, then.’ You said as politely as you could, ignoring the heat that rushed to your cheeks.  ‘I’ll see you in a few days. I’ll try my best not to call you, but please keep an eye on your emails— What’s so funny?’

He was smiling, amused probably by your irritability or your nerves. He shook his head softly, looking at you with unbearable condescendence.

The speakers called for him then, announcing that his jet was ready to board and wishing him a good journey. This was it. Yet he stood a few seconds in front of you, almost hesitating. Your eyes lingered on his weird posture, on the way he kept playing with his pockets, on the tap of his shoe on the floor.

‘Merry Christmas.’ He simply said with a shy smile.

You didn’t leave until you saw him walk through the gate.

It had been a couple of hours since you had said goodbye to your boss, when you received a call from the recruiter. She had said something about New York’s weather and having to drive back home from Christmas, and now you were having your interview today.

It was fine. You were prepared, and most importantly, you were done with Mr Harrington. The experience you had acquired this last couple of years was invaluable, really. He was generous, and apart from his usual forgetfulness and chaotic private life, he was a good boss. But it had been weeks, maybe months really, of feeling that you needed to leave this job.

If you only knew why you felt this way.

‘I’m so sorry about this.’ Robin said as she walked down the corridor in her red suit.

You stood up from the seat on the reception to her office, shaking your head softly.

‘I just need to leave before the weather gets worse, you know?’ She spoke. ‘The news are showing the forecast’s terrible, and we all need to be home for Christmas, right?’

‘Right.’ You said shyly as you followed her inside.

Maybe not you, though.

‘Please have a seat.’ She said as you walked inside her luxurious office, though you had seen prettier and bigger. Steve’s was probably the size of the whole floor.

You did as she said, your eyes getting briefly lost on the snowy skyscrapers behind her as she sat in front of you.

‘Right.’ She said enthusiastically putting her glasses on, ‘Let’s get to the point. I know you’re familiar with my clients’ work. Not much to say, she’s easy to work with. Believe it or not, most authors are. At least they’re easier than millionaires.’

You laughed softly.

‘Well, I love Miss Wheeler’s work and have followed her since I was in college. It’d be nice to maybe use my skills for the area I specialised back then.’

‘Well, I have to say, your CV is impressive.’ She said going through the piece of paper with your name on top. ‘You could work for the president if you wanted to.’

You smiled softly at her flattery, yet there was something inside you that felt different. Something that felt wrong.

‘It says you’ve been Harrington’s publicist for most of this year too?’

‘Oh. Yeah.’ You sat straighter on the chair. ‘That’s temporary, though. His PR representative… Hannah, she’s currently on maternity leave.’

‘She’s been on leave for six months?’ Her eyes observed you under her glasses with incredulity.

‘Uh, well— Yes.’ You said shyly. ‘St— Mr Harrington, he offered her paid leave for the first year.’

Robin sat back, letting out a defeated laugh. You felt insecure somehow, observing the way she removed her glasses to chew at the temple’s tip.

‘But I can’t offer you that.’

‘Well, you don’t have to.’ You straightened your back even more. ‘I mean, I’m not even planning to—’

‘But you might.’ She left the CV on her desk, biting her lip as you felt your confidence melt. ‘There might be stuff he’s giving you that my client won’t be able to offer. Nancy can be generous but she’s still an author. An Editorial PA earns considerably less than an Executive PA.’ She laughed. ‘Much less. For some it’s like an entry level job, and you’re past that at this point.’

‘But I want this job.’ You argued. It came out so small you didn’t even believe it.

‘Why?’ She asked perplexed.

‘Because I’m…’ What? Because you were what?  Steve had always treated you with respect and trust. He was the reason why you were able to buy your first apartment, the reason why you were almost done paying your student loans. Then what was it? What was it about him that made this job so unbearable? ‘I’m unhappy.’ 

‘Unhappy?’ She repeated. ‘How? Is he a creep or something?’

‘No!’ You rushed to say. ‘No, of course not. Mr Harrington is good— he’s uhm, he’s kind. He’s been very kind to me. I’m just, perhaps… A bit bored.’

You tried hard to believe your own lie, but the truth was that every day with Steve was different. He was always somewhere, doing something new and unique. He was very smart too, it was hard to keep up sometimes, but it challenged you. This, him, was everything but boring. The thought made the heat rush to your cheeks, and as if you had evoked him, your phone started buzzing on your pocket.

‘Boring?’ Repeated Robin as you took the device out to confirm it was Steve. You did something you had rarely done and sent his call to voicemail. Robin’s laugh made you look back at her. ‘Well, I’m afraid to tell you I wouldn’t call working with Miss Wheeler fun. In fact, it will be very monotonous.’

‘I’m sure I’ll enjoy it.’ You pressed. ‘Listen, just because I want a change it doesn't mean I’m capricious…’

‘It’s not that.’ She said leaning in on over the desk. Her eyes were full of kindness, and still, you hadn’t felt this childish in a long time. ‘Listen, you’re overqualified. And Nancy can’t afford you.’

You sat still on your seat, processing her words for a few seconds before nodding.

‘I mean you could apply to work with the FBI.’ She said. You tried to conceal your annoyance the best way you could. ‘Or as I said, with the President.’

You were pretty sure your frown turned worse with every suggestion, so all you could do was try to smile politely. Robin sat down more comfortably, looking back at you with interest.

‘I can check with my contacts if there’s any kind of offer that’s appropriate for your level of knowledge and experience. Someone who could afford you.’

‘You mean other corporate executives.’

‘Possibly, but not necessarily.’

You repressed a sigh, considering your alternatives.

‘I just…’ You started to say, but you seemed unsure of what to say, looking through the window at all those snowy skyscrapers you had learned the names of in the last couple of years working for your boss. You looked back at her with honesty overflowing form your eyes. ‘I have a deep hatred for those kind of men.’

‘You don’t seem to hate Mr Harrington.’

Precisely, you thought. You didn’t. You couldn’t.

It had been a few hours since you had left Robin’s office, and the sense of failure hadn’t left your body. It was odd, you considered, sitting down against the window of your hotel room wearing your silk robe over your pyjama dress. It had been a long while since the last time you hadn’t gotten something that you wanted.

The city looked silent from the window of the Plaza Hotel, a thick layer of snow falling over the buildings, the streets, and the people. You drank the last drops of wine from the glass, surprised at the weight of the bottle once you stretched your arm to refill it. Somehow you had managed to drink a whole bottle by yourself before dinner time.

Once you found the courage to stand up, the room around you moved slightly before you could find your balance, realising you underestimated how drunk you were. You needed some room service, maybe a bath and an early night. And then you’d fix your broken heart tomorrow.

But when you walked to get the telephone to order food, the screen of your work phone showed three missed calls from Steve. He had even called you once on your personal number, the screen had shown you had a pending voicemail.

Your heart beat hard against your chest for some reason, immediately returning the call. You’d listen to the voicemail later, the only thing you were focused on now was the sound of your pulse in your ears as the dialler beeped.

‘I’m so sorry.’ You said as soon as he picked up the phone. ‘I’m genuinely, genuinely sorry.’

His laugh on the other side of the line made you even more embarrassed.

‘It’s fine.’ He said softly, you could hear the heavy noise of the wind on the line. ‘Listen, we had to fly back to the city. The wind was too much, apparently there’s going to be a snowstorm tonight, so… I need a hotel room.’

You shut your eyes, nodding and hating New York City like you never had in your life.

‘Sure.’ You spoke. ‘Right. I’ll sort it out, just give me a few minutes.’

‘Thanks.’ You heard him laugh awkwardly as you searched for your laptop in between your luggage. ‘I’m sorry, too. Like, I was really gonna try hard not to disturb you during the holidays. Did you make it home safely?’

The softness of his tone would’ve had a different effect on you if it wasn’t for the fact all the hotels in the city were booked. You felt your anxiety rise on your chest, the stress starting to beat your temples, thinking about what to do.

‘Are you there?’

‘Yeah.’ You said. ‘I, uh… I-I missed my plane too. I’m staying at the Plaza. I’m gonna try to get you a room here. Otherwise, I will, uhm, maybe have a look at that penthouse we went to see during Thanksgiving?’

‘Right!’ He said as you put him on speaker. ‘I should’ve really bought it, huh?’

You laughed softly as you took your robe off and replaced it with your trench coat.

‘I told you; you need your own place in the city.’ You said looking at yourself in the mirror. If you fixed the buttons and the belt nicely, no one would notice you were wearing just a slip dress underneath.

He sighed in resignation while you fixed your makeup and hair in the hallway mirror.

‘I should listen to you more often.’ He said.

‘Can’t argue with that logic.’ You said walking towards the bathroom to use some mouthwash.

Steve stayed silent for a while as you spit on the sink, it was so quiet you thought for a second that he had hung up.

‘Maybe I should ask my dad—’

‘That won’t be necessary.’ You interrupted him. ‘I’ll get you a room here. At the Plaza.’

‘It’s gonna be impossible.’

‘Not for me.’

He laughed softly, almost tenderly. It was unbearable.

‘I’ll call you as soon as I have a room.’ You said before hanging up.

‘That’s not true.’ You said calmly as you stood in front of the reception counter. ‘I happen to know the person who manages Mr Munson, and I know for sure, that he’s not gonna be staying at the hotel tonight.’

The reception was busy with important guests walking around in their evening gowns and smoking suits. There was jazzy Christmas music coming from somewhere and the cold wind sneaked in from the revolving door every time someone walked inside. You felt overwhelmed, still a bit affected by the alcohol, but there was no way you’d take no for an answer.

‘I can’t confirm or deny confidential information, Ma’am.’ The manager said from behind the counter. He was a tall man with the moustache of a 1940’s detective, almost caricaturesque in the least convenient way.

‘It’s confidential for you.’ You said carefully. ‘Not for me. I know Eddie Munson’s not going to be here tonight because he couldn’t fly to New York. I know that his booking is cancelled. And I know you have a Vanderbilt King Suite available for my client.’

‘As I said, we can’t deny or confirm that information.’ He said with a polite smile that hid everything but politeness behind it. ‘It’s Christmas Eve, Ma’am. There’s no rooms.’

‘Listen.’ You said, feeling defeated. ‘You’re trying to do your job, and so am I. My boss is about to get here in fifteen minutes. He’s a public figure, he needs privacy and security. His family has been staying at the Plaza for generations. I need to get him a room, and you need to provide a service that meets the standards of the hotel. However, I’m willing to make adjustments if that’s needed. He doesn’t need a butler, for example.’

‘Ma’am.’ The way he looked at you made you clench your jaw. It happened sometimes, in restaurants, hotels or venues, when people realised you were just an employee to someone else, and any respect they could have felt for you disappeared as soon as their impression from you changed. ‘I’m sorry. But we have no rooms.’

You swallowed hard before taking your purse and walking out of the lobby. The cold wind burned your cheeks when you stood over the red carpet of the luxurious entrance wondering what to do, as the valet received the well-dressed guests that were arriving. You were so irritated, and so behind work now that instead of relaxing like you were meant to, you were about to cry.

Until you saw Steve’s silhouette getting out of a taxi. He saw you immediately too, it was impossible not to, as you were standing above the steps, almost like waiting for him.

You saw him thank the valet for taking his luggage inside and you felt a sense of defeat once he stared climbing the stairs.

‘Any luck with the room?’ He said fixing his coat as he stood in front of you. Your eyes lingered on the navy scarf a bit too long, and you blinked away your tears so he wouldn’t notice how frustrated you really were.

‘I’m working on it.’ You smiled, trying to hide the fact that you didn’t know what to do.

‘Cool. Should we have some dinner first?’ He asked as soon as you crossed the golden revolving doors.

‘Dinner?’ You frowned. ‘No, I— I’m going to sort this out first. You go ahead and eat something at the restaurant.’

‘You can’t work if you haven’t eaten.’ He said blocking your way before you could walk in the direction of the elevator. He looked down at you with his tired brown eyes and a soft smile. You felt his fingers subtly brushing yours. ‘C’mon.’

‘I definitely can.’ You walked around him in the elevator’s direction.

Steve stayed on his place as he saw you walk inside the open elevator and ask the bellboy for your floor, before he quickly decided to follow you.

‘You’re so stubborn.’ He said under his breath.  

‘That’s why you hired me.’ You reminded him, hugging yourself over your coat. You could see from the corner of your eye, how he was fighting the smile that threatened to take over his face.

And yet that stubbornness was so useless sometimes. The beautiful penthouse Steve had thought of acquiring last month had been sold to a famous tennis player a week ago. You tried to get literally anything, from standard hotel rooms to smaller apartments that would fit your standards, but everything was either booked, unavailable or unhabitable. And the snowstorm was so merciless you couldn’t even consider renting a house outside of the city.

You sighed deeply, fighting the need to rub your eyes as they stung from looking at the screen, when you suddenly closed the laptop.

‘Right.’ You sighed before standing up. He was laying on the bed, reading one of the books you had packed for his trip. The sight was actually calming, you always liked seeing him wearing glasses. ‘I think I can make a couple of calls and see if any of my friends would let me crash at theirs. You can keep the room.’

‘What? No. I’m not kicking you out.’

‘Well, you need a place to sleep—’ You started.

‘So do you.’ He laughed sarcastically before sitting up. ‘What am I? The spoiled asshole that can’t fend for himself?’

You frowned briefly, before letting out an offended snort. You had never had an attitude with each other, not even in your most stressful days at work. Not even when he made your life more chaotic by his mistakes.

‘When did I ever say that?’

He just shook his head briefly, taking his phone out of his pocket.

‘Who are you calling?’ You crossed your arms over your chest uncomfortably, feeling that you had failed him, but being too proud to admit it.

‘My dad’s secretary.’

You swallowed hard, nodding once before you tried to find what to do with yourself. It didn’t help that he was observing your moves the whole time, that was worse than being ignored.

Out of habit, you picked your personal phone to scroll on social media, but the first thing you saw was his missed voicemail from earlier. So, you locked it again.

‘She’s not picking up.’ He said frustrated before putting the phone back inside his pocket.

You both stayed in silence for a few seconds, your bare toes played with the carpet in attempt to calm your nerves.

‘I don’t—’

‘M sorry for snapping on you like that.’ He said. ‘I’m just— I’m sorry, what were you gonna say?’

‘I don’t think is a good idea to keep searching tonight.’ You said, still looking at your feet, too prideful to accept his apology. ’You won’t get anywhere in this weather.’

You lifted your gaze to look back at him, his piercing eyes were looking at you deeply. As if they were trying to decipher something.

‘We can share tonight.’ You finally said, softly and as indifferent as possible. As professional as possible.

He stayed quiet for a while, until you saw the way he swallowed hard at your proposal. It flattered you that the idea could make him feel nervous, but the possibility itself was absurd.

‘I won’t let anyone see us.’ You assured him immediately. ‘You know, rumours and… privacy. I’m still your publicist.’

He let out a choky laugh, quite awkward and low, before nodding.

‘Yeah. Okay, I guess we’ll have to.’ He sighed, looking at you from where he sat on the bed. All trace from stress and tension had left him. You envied that, how he always seemed to let things go easily. ‘Let’s eat something, okay?’

‘You can go ahead and—’

‘No.’ He stood up, taking a step towards you with a boyish smile on her face. ‘How many times do I have to remind you that you need to eat?’

You looked back at him patiently, a cheekiness you were trying hard to hide taking over your face.

‘I meant, you can wait for me downstairs.’ You said slowly, trying hard to repress the smile that mirrored his. ‘I need to change.’

‘You look great.’ He shrugged.

You took a deep breath, looking to your side before your eyes fell on him again.

‘I’m not wearing much under this coat.’ You clarified.

‘Oh.’ He said then. Almost clumsily, he took a step back. It was really tender, the way his cheeks had turned a shade of pink, how he swallowed hard at the mental image of whatever he was thinking about. ‘Right.’

‘Right.’ You repeated, silence taking over while you moved to grab some clean clothes from the small wardrobe next to the room’s door. ‘Can I ask you a favour?’

‘Huh?’

‘Can you try not to make this any weirder than it already is?’

You looked behind your shoulder to find the man standing up in the same place you had left him, hands in his pockets, cheeks flushed and nothing but shyness behind his eyes.

‘We already need to share a bed and spend Christmas together.’ You said, resting your back against the wardrobe. You didn’t seem annoyed by the idea, and neither did he. Still, there were unsaid rules to respect and boundaries to enforce. ‘Let’s keep it professional.’

‘Of course.’ He said after a while, running his fingers through his hair. The warm light of the room mixed with the reflection of the snow outside. He was still blushing, the forbidden grey hairs in between his brown locks turning messy with the movement. You felt very warm in his presence too. ‘Yeah, I would’ve never—’

‘I know, Steve.’ You smiled softly. You couldn’t hear the rest of that sentence; you wouldn’t be able to face him if he finished it.

A few seconds of silence opened between you two before you moved to change in the bathroom.

‘I still think we can have a nice Christmas, though.’ He said before you could close the door behind you.

You nodded softly.

‘I think we can try.’

As much as you tried not to, you always felt out of place. It didn’t help that since you had dived into the luxurious world of the wealthy two years ago, you were more conscious of social cues, more educated on protocol, and therefore more self-aware of your humble upbringing.

You walked into the hotel’s restaurant searching for your boss and trying not to check if people were judging you, with your minimalistic red lip and your simple black turtleneck. It was nothing compared to the fancy dresses the other guests were wearing or their designer shoes.

The restaurant was beautifully decorated with warm Christmas lights and velvet bows of a deep red shade, waiters dressed in white suits walked around with silver trays while an elegant old woman played a jazz piece on the piano. You could appreciate the magical atmosphere, the hopeful air of Christmas Eve that filled you with a deep sense of nostalgia. Often, especially during the holidays, you would ask yourself what it must have been like to grow up like this, to grow up like he did. Surrounded by all this luxury and comfort. And that just made you miss home even more.

Hugging your iPad closer to your chest, your eyes finally landed on him. He was talking enthusiastically to the manager. You lowered your gaze as soon as he made eye contact with you, fitting perfectly in the room full of vain guests. Your boss nodded at you, feeling once again embarrassed by the fact you had been arguing with the man he was talking to just a few hours ago, and still, you hadn’t succeeded at getting Steve a room.

You walked towards his table noticing how everyone around was engrossed in their own conversations. You had learned very early that if you didn’t try to impress anyone, if you didn’t try to pretend you were at the same level as them, they wouldn’t even notice that you didn’t fit in. They wouldn’t feel entitled enough to remind you that you would never fit in.

‘There she is.’ Said Steve as soon as you made it to the table.

‘How are you tonight, ma’am?’ The manager said, pulling the chair out for you.

You looked from Steve to the man for a few seconds before sitting down.

‘I’m okay.’ You whispered softly, sitting more comfortably, and skimming through the menu to avoid Steve’s eyes.

‘I’m deeply sorry about our misunderstanding earlier.’ He said, standing in front of the table.

‘There was no misunderstanding at all.’ You said taking the wine list. ‘As I said, you were doing your job and so was I.’

You closed the menu and looked back at him with an attempt of a polite smile.

‘I’ll have the Malbec.’ You simply said. ‘And olives for starters, please.’

‘Sure, ma’am.’ He said in the same tone, not without smiling to Steve before leaving.

You resorted to have a look at the main courses again, just to distract yourself.

‘I hate it when you do that.’ You said after a while.

‘Do what?’ You didn’t need to look at him to know he was smiling.

‘Force people to apologise to me.’

You finally looked back at him. He shrugged, looking at you with that soft smile of his that made it all a bit more difficult.

‘You deserved an apology. And I didn’t force him.’

You shook your head as you unlocked the iPad, you had to update Steve’s calendar and therefore yours had to be arranged too. If you managed to squeeze some work here and there, you’d might be able to visit your mother on New Year’s Eve.

‘Next time I’ll book an extra room just in case, like I did that time in São Paulo.’

‘God, I miss Brazil.’ You heard him say under his breath.

The fond smile that lifted your lips was impossible to conceal. Your eyes seemed lost in the menu, but they were lost in distant memories. You had been working for Mr Harrington just for a couple of months, in which you had indulged your perfectionism to always be one step ahead, perhaps to prove yourself to him. Yet you had miscalculated the days you were supposed to be in South America, and you ended up having an extra twenty-four hours to explore the gorgeous city. That’s when you really started to get to know each other.

‘It was a nice time.’ You agreed.

‘I think that’s something I wanna do more often next year.’ He said as you kept fixing his schedule. ‘Just… travel, see some new places. I only went to Europe twice this year and I can’t stand the fact I only got to see Amsterdam and Zürich through the Taxi’s window; you know?’

‘Maybe sometime in February?’ You said distractedly, tapping the keyboard on the screen. ‘Since January’s going to be insanely busy for you.’

The odd silence after your comment made you lift your eyes. Steve was looking at you with a confused stare on his face and his lips partly open, as if your words had caught him off guard. The heat rushed to your cheeks then, though you weren’t sure why. You were so confused yourself that you were about to double check on the iPad if what you said was true, when the waiter came back with your drinks.

‘Are you ready to order?’

‘Sure.’ He said then.

The tension dissipated as you both ordered, and he behaved as his usual self with questions and little jokes that flattered the waiter. It was noticeable that a few people had clearly recognised him now, as you scanned the room with your eyes, but though curious, they didn’t seem like the kind that would disturb him.

‘Thank you.’ You heard yourself say when you returned the menu.

‘Any bets tonight?’ He asked playfully as he took a sip of his wine.

‘Mhmm.’ Your pondered as you played with a few drops that slid down your wine glass. ‘M sure the pretty one by the fireplace would love a picture with you.’

From the corner of your eye, Steve cautiously looked for the girl you were talking about. She was very young, with that innocent look in her eyes that you had once too. She was more than pretty, with a delicacy in her manners that could only be the result of a fine education somewhere in Europe. You noticed her very early, as soon as you sat down, and her hopeful gaze had turned into a longing stare towards your boss as soon as she recognised him.

‘Green dress?’ You murmured when you realised he still hadn’t noticed. ‘Uhm, she’s wearing a ponytail.’

‘Oh.’ He said. ‘Oh no. God no, she looks nineteen.’

‘She looks at you every three seconds.’ You hid your smile behind your glass before taking another sip. ‘Oh, she’s looking now.’

Steve imitated you and took a sip of his wine, looking the opposite way in a poor attempt not to entertain the girl’s attention.

‘Ah, this one likes you too. Brunette, blue shirt, sitting at the bar. She would totally send you a drink.’

The woman you spoke about had a more feline air than the girl, her movements were slow and yet confident. She was probably known inside some social circle you could never conceive or imagine. Playfully, she ordered a drink before looking behind her shoulder and giving your boss an intentional smile. An invitation.

‘Jesus.’ He whispered to himself.  ‘She could be my mother.’

Your eyes fell on him then, sitting more comfortably on his chair, you couldn’t help but laugh softly at the familiar pink shade tinting his cheeks.

‘She seems used to being admired.’ You murmured, taking another look at her.

‘I guess.’ He said, playing with his napkin. ‘A lot of people are. I’ve never been good at it.’

‘You do have a weird relationship with praise.’

It took you a couple of seconds to realise you had said it out loud. Your heart immediately raised its pace, feeling the embarrassment washing over you.

‘Wow—’

‘I’m so sorry.’ You sat back, looking at him with the outmost terror overflowing your eyes. ‘I’m— that was so unprofessional of me.’

‘No.’ He laughed, it didn’t even seem like it had offended him. He visibly relaxed against his chair, as if this was a casual conversation and not a professional dinner. ‘I’m genuinely curious about why you say that.’

You sat silently, trying to find a way to put your thoughts in order, or to find a better apology.

‘It’s not my place to make any judgments about your character.’

He shrugged, that careless smile that equally irritated and intimidated you was taking over his face again.

‘You clearly have already.’

You took a deep breath, following the wet rings your wine glass had imprinted on the fancy tablecloth.

‘Well…’ You shrugged. ‘Listen, it was just a silly assumption. I’ve just seen…’ You looked back at him shyly. ‘An interesting number of congratulation cards in the trash since I started working for you.’

‘Hmm.’ He was looking down at his napkin before his cheeky brown eyes fell back on you. ‘You don’t miss anything, do you?’

‘It’s none of my business, anyways.’ You said looking down at your glass again.

‘I mean, I guess it’s not.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t mind it. You are a bit right though, but you’re also a bit wrong. I just don’t enjoy this… artificial flattery that surrounds business.’

You nodded then, encouraging him to keep going if he wanted to. He observed you, studied you, licking his lips as he contemplated the possibility of saying more. 

‘Here we are.’ The waiter said when he made it to the table with your order.

Discreetly, you put the iPad and your phones aside to make space for the food, dying to know what else he had to say, but relieved at the possibility of him dropping the subject.

You both said your thanks and started eating as soon as he left, only the sound of your cutlery against the plates and the soft jazz in the background filling the void.

‘That’s one of the reasons why I hired you, you know.’ He suddenly said.

‘Sorry?’ You said cleaning your mouth with your napkin.

‘You’re good at reading other people’s character.’ He clarified. ‘You’re also very discreet, which works for you, but it rarely favours anyone else.’

It was uncertain for you if that had been a compliment or not. He was smiling and so were you, wondering if you should press him on the subject.

‘What do you mean?’ You finally said.

‘You just know.’ He said, taking another sip of his drink. ‘I don’t know how you do it. If I introduce you to someone; a new business partner, a potential client, I don’t know, a lawyer… I just know that things aren’t going to go well if you don’t seem receptive.’

You processed his words slowly, a bit impressed at this facet of yourself you weren’t really aware of. Of course you were protective of Steve’s relations, but that’s why he hired you. It was part of your job to preserve his reputation and legacy, whatever that was.

‘That’s what you pay me for.’ You joked nervously, taking another sip of your wine.

‘Uh-uh.’ He said smiling once again. It felt weird now, as if he had caught you falling back into a bad habit. ‘No, at first I thought: Well, she’s just starting, maybe she’s intimidated by these people or something. And then it became a pattern, you know? A reporter would walk in, and you’d get quiet or tense, and then a few weeks later that interview would become a problem. Or someone would come in, proposing a new investment, and you’d stop doing whatever to keep listening to their pitch. And then months later I’d find out they were bankrupt or selling again.’

You smiled to yourself, feeling rather proud that he was able to see that. You let him stare at you for a few seconds before you reached for your wine again.

‘You do meet a lot of stupid men.’ You admitted, trying to drop the subject.

‘It’s not just men.’ He said then, and this time you weren’t going to look at him as you rearranged your fork and knife neatly over your empty plate. ‘I mean Cecelia was—’  

‘Please.’ You murmured awkwardly, feeling the heat rushing to your cheeks. ‘Steve.’

‘I should’ve just, followed my gut, you know.' He said. ‘But what my gut said was that if you two didn’t get along then it would never work.’

You shook your head softly. The names of different guys you had dated in the last couple of years came to your mind: Eliott, Dan, Victor, Theo. There were some others, always complaining about the number of hours you put into work, always insensitive about your sacrifices, and always, always annoyingly noisy about your relationship with Steve.

‘Not every woman you date is going to like me. I mean…’ You let out a scoff-like laugh, it was impossible not to feel a bit uncomfortable at the turn the conversation had taken. ‘We spend way too much time together.’

Your words hung out in the air as you stayed in silence, and you were unable to look back at him. You did so briefly and failed, he seemed to be lost in his thoughts, biting the inside of his cheek.

Slowly, the restaurant started to take shape around you two. Most of the guests had already gone into their rooms, only the lonely, quiet people who sat at the bar were chatting softly. Taking a deep breath, you smiled at your boss, and Steve tried to return the gesture before he asked the waiter to add the bill to the room.

The wine had only made you more tired and sleepy. You both made it to the room in silence, moving slowly and used to each other’s quietness after a long day.

In the room, you took your pyjama and robe and excused yourself to change in the bathroom. Taking a deep breath, you tried to ignore the subtle shake of your hands as you removed your make up and washed your teeth. Things were about to become so awkward between you and him, and you didn’t know how to stop it.

The screen of your personal phone lit up as soon as you turned the tap off. Almost as if it was a reflex, you looked behind your shoulder, knowing very well there was no way Steve would even think about opening the bathroom’s door.

You locked it anyways, completely lost in your thoughts as you sat on the floor to read Robin’s email. Judging by the few spelling errors, you assumed she had written it on a rush to leave the city.

The job offers listed were equally interesting and disappointing. You didn’t know Eddie Munson was in search of a Personal Assistant, and though the idea sounded attractive, it was also incredibly non-practical. You knew his habits and character by the brief interactions you had had with him in the past, and you knew for certain that the rockstar lifestyle would never be your thing.

You rolled your eyes at the sight of Billy Hargrove’s name, having known him for the last couple of years and certain that you could never work for a man like him. For starters, Steve despised him. You knew he was a terrible boss as well, by the way his PAs seemed to come and go so quickly.

And then lastly, there was Jonathan Byers, whose movies had been continuously acclaimed by the most elitist film festivals in the last five years. Taking a deep breath, you thought about it, you considered it. A movie director that was respected and discreet, someone private enough that wouldn’t compromise your own integrity. He travelled as much as Steve, but he dealt with other kind of pressures that would certainly be less demanding for you. You could do it. Most importantly, you wanted to.

You leaned the back your head against the bathroom door for a second, feeling your heartbeat increasing, until you finally got the courage to reply to the email and stating you were interested in Mr Byer’s offer.

When you went out, Steve was calmly reading on the bed once again. Only the lamps on the bedside table were on, but he was still wearing his shirt and suit trousers. The sight of his glasses, of his undone cufflinks, and his messy hair filled you with bitterness, maybe envy. Deep down, there was also something else, a strange kind of sadness that no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t really get rid of. You felt so young, hugging the robe against your body to avoid showing off the silk underneath, but he was too engrossed in his novel to notice your shyness.

You sat on your side on the bed, silently getting rid of your jewellery as you heard him close the bathroom’s door behind him. Absentmindedly, you wondered if it had been you who had made things weird as you turned your lamp off and got inside the covers.

The sight next to you was beautiful, the snowy city quiet behind the thick glass of the hotel’s window. You had been working for him for two years, but it felt much more than that, like a lifetime. Maybe it was a thing about your age and experience, but you had never gotten so attached to a job. And you should’ve never had on the first place, that’s why you had to leave before it was too late.

A smell of body wash and toothpaste filled the air when you heard him turn the light off behind him. You were too warm under all those layers but there was no way you were going to sleep next to him wearing just your slip.

He sighed before turning the light off, and you had to bite your lip to fight the need to ask him if he was okay, if he needed something, but you stayed quiet as he made himself comfortable in the tense darkness.

‘Goodnight.’ You heard him whisper tiredly.

You swallowed hard, too nervous to say anything, pretending to be too exhausted to even reply. After a few minutes, you laid back in the dark, trying to relax and failing at it.

‘Earplugs.’ You whispered then.

‘Uh?’

‘Your earplugs.’ You repeated in the dark. ‘I’m sorry, I forgot them—’

You were about to sit up when you felt his hand touch your forearm softly under the covers. The tender texture of his thumb brushing your wrist soothingly kept you from moving at all.

‘Don’t worry.’ He murmured in the same tired tone. Something inside you, something pure told you that his eyelids were peacefully close. ‘I only need them when I sleep alone.’

‘Oh.’ You said before nodding. Your eyes were slowly getting used to the darkness, but you didn’t dare to look back at him. ‘Right, I did not know that.’

‘S fine.’ He laughed softly, a sweet sound that came out of his chest. He moved, his hand wrapped around your arm delicately, rubbing the space between your elbow and wrist underneath the robe. ‘It helps me to hear someone else’s breathing. It’s weird.’

‘S not weird.’ You whispered sweetly.

‘This okay?’ He asked in the same tone as he kept stroking your arm. ‘Calms me down.’

‘Hm.’ Was all you could say, hearing your heart beating hard against your chest. Nerves mixing up with something else, feeling like you already missed this, missed him like this. ‘S okay.’

‘You’ve got goosebumps.’ He whispered before moving closer to you, feeling all the warmth he radiated in the space between your bodies. ‘Are you cold?’

You shook your head.

‘M fine.’

You both stayed silent for a few seconds as you got used to each other’s presence, each other’s bodies. You knew he was awake, and he knew you were as well. There was certain peace to it though, there was something so indescribably soothing about this shared moment.

‘M sorry you can’t be at home for Christmas.’ He finally said.

You shrugged, finally getting the courage to look at him. He was already looking at you, and for once you didn’t see him as someone who had a professional relationship with. For once, you saw him as just Steve.

‘It’s… fine.’ You said, lost in your thoughts and in his touch.

You wondered if there was really a way in which you could separate this different side of him from the man you saw every day at work. From the man in the finance magazines and newspapers, from the strategic businessman sitting at the end of the table in the meeting room, and the lonely man you sometimes saw looking at the city through his office’s window.

‘Hmm, it’s not fine.’ A subtle smile slowly took over his mouth, and you felt your own lips lifting too. ‘I’ve got some stuff planned to make it up to you.’

‘What?’ You whispered surprised. ‘No, I mean— it’s fine. I’m fine with having a quiet Christmas.’

His soft laugh made you frown before he spoke again.

‘You didn’t even let me cover your plane tickets so you could fly home.’ You looked down in embarrassment, feeling guilty for lying to him. ‘The least you can do is let me try to make it up for the money you lost, and the fact you’re stuck with me during the holidays.’

You wanted to tell him right there, that you had never bought tickets to go home, that you had lied to him and everyone else, because your plan had always been to spend Christmas inside this hotel room applying for jobs, and working, and waiting for his call.

‘Steve…’ You whispered his name in the dark. It wasn’t your intention to make it sound so needy, to make it sound so sad. Maybe it was time to tell him that you had just accepted a job offer, that you couldn’t do this anymore.

‘Please.’ His hand was still brushing your arms softly, his skin was still warm, maybe warmer than before. ‘I haven’t had a nice Christmas in years.’

‘Now, that’s manipulative.’ You joked, and he let out a boyish laugh that made your smile wider. You stayed like that for a few seconds, soothed by the sound of each other’s breathing. Maybe his idea wasn’t so bad, and this would be a nice way to say goodbye. Maybe, for once, you could enjoy his company and the moments you shared together without feeling guilty. ‘I guess I haven’t had a good one in a while either.’

The light woke you up, so you moved to your side where it was less bright and comfier. The rest of your senses started to awaken as well, it was very warm underneath the covers, you suddenly realised your shoulders felt cold, and there was a familiar scent in the air; woody, like pine and cinnamon. It made you calm, but also a bit nervous and tense, because it belonged to him.

Steve was already awake when you opened your eyes, sitting next to you with a different book between his hands. He had changed his pyjamas for a casual outfit that still looked classy on him. His hand was running through his hair, his glasses on top of his nose and eyebrows frowning in concentration. You stretched, at first lazily, and then out of sudden you were sitting up.

‘What time is it?’

‘Good morning.’ He closed the book to look back at you, his eyes studied your face and then the rest of your body as you looked back at him, staring like an idiot. Instinctively, your fingers searched for the robe to find that it had loosened throughout the night. Steve cleared his throat as you fixed it again. ‘It’s uh, eleven.’

‘Eleven?’

He observed you amused as you searched blindly for your phones on the bedside table, but there was no sign of your work phone as you ignored the few text messages you mom had sent to your personal one.

‘What the fuck.’ You said under your breath.

‘I heard your alarms,’ He said then, ‘But I thought it’d be nice to let you sleep.’

You sat quietly for a seconds before scoffing softly.

‘Steve, I’ve got so much work to do.’ You said, breathing softly to try not to lose it. ‘I swear, you’ve no idea. I’m so behind.’

‘You’re not working today.’

‘Of course I am.’ You stood up, securing your robe again as you looked around the room for your work suitcase. ‘I need to update your calendar for the first two weeks of January. Then change your mailbox address of your office in Boston because the moving’s next week, and send someone to get your clothes at the drycleaners back at your parents’ because you’re not there now, so…’

‘You’re not working today.’

‘I have to find time to send Hannah a Christmas present for the baby under your name because I was supposed to do that yesterday, and… Where the fuck is my laptop?’

‘In the safe, with the iPad and the phone I got for you.’

You turned around to look back at him, you felt betrayed and still you couldn’t help but bite your lip when he looked back at you with a rising eyebrow and boyish cheekiness behind his brown pupils.

‘Steve.’

His challenging eyes didn’t leave yours as he stood up from his place in the bed.

‘This is not gonna be a discussion.’ His hands found your shoulders and he leaned a little to have a better look at you. ‘It’s Christmas Day.’

It was too early to feel this flushed, and the way his thumbs were starting to massage you over your robe was only making it worse. You looked back at him, feeling stressed and unsure of how to react to his carelessness.

‘Your life’s going to be a disaster if I don’t.’ You murmured.

‘S very sweet for you to think that my life’s not already a disaster.’ He pinched your chin out of nowhere, and you felt like a shy teenager when your cheeks turned warmer. ‘But we have a lunch reservation in an hour, and you need to get ready.’

His phrasing stayed with you as you styled your hair after your shower, and as you finished your make up. Your eyes stayed on him as he wrapped the navy scarf around his neck while you walked together down the hotel’s corridor. You hadn’t stopped to consider for a second that maybe New York City’s weather had conspired in Steve’s favour and maybe it had kept him from facing things you didn’t even know about.

‘How’s your coffee?’ He asked as you looked at the snowy city through the café’s window.

You nodded as your eyes looked back at the expensive piece of porcelain that you had stained with your red lipstick after your first sip.

‘Delicious.’ You said. ‘Thank you for bringing me here, it’s really pretty.’

The café was as beautiful and as luxurious as any other place that he attended regularly, with long columns and marbled floors. All the little Christmas details had made the lunch a bit more special too: the green and gold serviettes, the pinecone shaped butter, the mini eggnog mousse they gifted you and Steve after the meal.

‘Dad used to bring me here all the time when I was a kid.’ He said before taking a sip from his own cup. ‘I always ask for the same table because this is where we used to sit.’

‘That’s so sweet.’ You heard yourself say. ‘Does it still look the same?’

‘Yeah,’ He leaned in slightly to have a look through the window. ‘It’s outside that always looks different. I used to sit where you are and make sketches of the street sometimes. Have I ever told you I wanted to be an architect at some point?’

You shook your head softly, thinking of a younger version of Steve, with glasses and suits too big for him, who used to sit where you sat now. He was here, as well, looking through the window, staring curiously at the world outside.

‘Come here. Look.’

You leaned in subtly as well, taking in the busy image of the white-coloured street where taxis and bikes coexisted with birds and trees.

‘There used to be a square where that building is now, and a carousel where I wasn’t allowed to go on.’ He chuckled to himself. ‘I loved that thing. I drew that same view so many times I can probably still do it by memory.’

‘I haven’t seen you draw in a while.’ You whispered to yourself before sitting back. You lowered your eyes as you grabbed your spoon and dip it in the mousse once again. ‘You used to do that a lot when you first hired me.’

‘Hmm. Yeah.’ He considered your words, sitting back as he tried to read you while you finished your dessert. ‘Well, you used to leave those little notepads in my office the first months after I hired you and I didn’t know what else to do with them. I thought it was adorable.’

You shut your eyes briefly then, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks as you took another sip of your coffee.

‘I thought you needed to… write notes.’ You bit your lip as you tried not to laugh at your own naivety. ‘And— I don’t know, important stuff.’

‘Because you thought I was an important man.’ He said resting his crossed arms on the table to get closer to you.

‘Only for the first month.’ You joked before looking back at the window. 

‘Oh, wow.’ He laughed, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sound of it.

He always acted like a teenager in the rare instances where you had friendly exchanges like these, but you were careful not to cross any lines or get too funny. It was hard though, because it was nice and even if you knew it wasn’t true, sometimes it was good to feel like you were friends.

‘What is it?’ He said when he saw the way you were putting a strand of hair behind your ear as you looked to your side.

‘Can we…’ You nervously played with the tablecloth underneath your coffee cup. ‘Uhm, can we talk about work?’

The way he licked his lips with amusement worried you. You were both two days behind work now and the idea of knowing there was a concerning number of emails accumulating in your phone was making you anxious.

‘Listen,’ It took you by surprise when his hands found yours over the tablecloth, it wasn’t until then that you realised you were cold, just because he was so irresistibly warm. You were too overwhelmed to even know if he realised. ‘You’re an amazing assistant. You’re smart, very capable. Incredibly stubborn. You have a weird relationship with authority but somehow that—’

‘What!’ You exclaimed offended. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You hate following orders.’ He said carefully before squeezing your hands.

‘I don’t!’ You argued, attempting to sit back, but his hands held yours over the table, and he seemed to be enjoying this little argument way too much.

‘You do.’ He laughed like a little kid. ‘You fucking do. Like now, I told you to relax because it’s Christmas and you’re not doing as you’re told.’

‘You’re unbearable.’ You said finally sitting back and feeling your cheeks hotter than ever. ‘Like, I swear. You think everything is a joke.’

‘Right.’ He took a sip of his coffee while you crossed your arms over your chest, feeling your hands turn cold at the absence of his touch. ‘Okay, let’s make a deal.’

‘What kind of deal?’

‘A business deal, who do you think I am?’ He joked.

You scoffed softly, feeling even more flushed than before and wondering where all this confidence was coming from, he had never dared to employ so many double-meaning jokes with you. He had also never dared to touch you like he had been doing or smile at you like he was smiling now.

‘We’ll get to do one work thing— Listen, I’m your boss, so I’m trying to help you out here, okay?’ He said when you were about to roll your eyes. ‘We’ll get to do one thing for work, if you do one thing I have planned for you.’

‘Are we seventeen?’ You scoffed. ‘Absolutely not, Steve.’

‘Come on.’ He insisted. ‘For once, I get to plan your day rather than the other way around. I like it.’

‘So what? You want to be my PA today or something?’

He shrugged, sitting more comfortably in the little booth.

‘It’s my Christmas wish and only you can make it real.’ He said sarcastically.

You took a deep breath. From your place, he looked like the conceited teenager he’d probably had been once, the private-school little shit that you read about in magazines. He’d never get a no for an answer, but you probably could never say no to him either.

‘Do I get my iPad back?’ You asked, biting your lip.

You observed him quietly as he searched for something inside his pocket. He seemed to hesitate for a second, as if he was realising something, and you looked at him with inquisitive eyes.

‘What is it?’ You asked. 

He took a deep breath before placing your work phone on the table.

‘You get this for now.’ He said. ‘Merry Christmas.’

‘All I’m saying is let’s leave the calendar for after New Year’s.’ He argued.

‘The calendar is for January.’ You said hugging yourself as you walked next to him. ‘January is literally right after New Year’s. It needs to be updated now.’

‘I don’t want it updated yet.’ He simply said.

You took a deep breath, walking right behind him as you checked your email and added more things to the list of things you had to do. You had also completely forgotten to call your mother, but the idea of doing it in front of him didn’t make you comfortable.

‘Well, okay.’ You stopped in the busy sidewalk. ‘I guess if we can find a quiet place I can change the address—’

‘I already did that this morning.’

‘What?’

‘While you were getting ready.’ He said. ‘You already called the drycleaners, so we get to do something I planned. Something actually fun.’

He started walking again and you put the phone on inside your pocket as you caught up with him.

‘Being a PA is not about planning fun stuff, you know?’ You said.

‘No shit.’ He said sarcastically. ‘No wonder why I hired you.’

You let out an offended laugh-scoff before punching his side with your elbow.

‘That was very mean.’

‘What kind of boss would I be if I wasn’t a little mean every now and then?’ He said as you followed him inside a shop.

You were about to say something when you realised where you were.

‘…I have an appointment at four.’

‘Of course, Mr Harrington.’ Said the pretty Salesgirl before she offered to take your coat.

‘Do you prefer Dom Pérignon or Grand Siècle?’ She asked you then.

‘Uhm, well I’m work—’

‘We’ll have the Siècle, please.’ Said Steve said instead.

The pretty girl nodded once and got lost behind a corridor as you entwined your hands in front of you and looked around you like a lost deer.

‘Why did you bring me here?’ You murmured shyly at Steve.

‘We’ve got plans tonight.’ He said shrugged. ‘And it’s Christmas. You need a dress.’

‘But this is like…’ You looked around you, detailing the beautiful High-Couture sample gowns that the mannequins modelled. They were all breath-taking pieces, but you couldn’t imagine yourself wearing anything like this. When you turned to look at him, his eyes were already on you. ‘Where are we going?’

‘It’s a surprise.’ He said sweetly, studying your worried semblance as he took a few steps towards you. ‘Don’t worry, you don’t need to wear anything too fancy. I called them beforehand and let them know that you often wear deep shades and lots of black. Thought I have to say, red would look so elegant on you I asked them to add a few specific pieces I thought you’d might like.’ He shrugged, swallowing as he looked away from you. ‘But you don’t need to try them if you don’t want to.’ 

You blinked a couple of times as you tried to find words to thank him, feeling equally flattered and impressed, but still not sure if this was a good idea or not.

Where were you supposed to draw the line? You thought as you stood in your underwear in front of all the different dresses that had been picked for you. If only you hadn’t left your work phone inside your trench coat, you’d have some way of calming your nerves right now. You weren’t sure if this was a good idea at all, if indulging yourself in this friendship with your boss was the safest thing to do.

It was all coming to and end though, you thought as you placed the thin strips of the red dress over your shoulders. In a few days you’d have to sit down with him inside his big office and break him the news, so why were you still worried about being unprofessional?

You took a deep breath, downing the champagne the salesgirl had given you to put your doubts aside. Once the dress was all zipped up, you looked at yourself in the mirror. It was so pretty you couldn’t help but smile, with a midi skirt that ended just below your knees. You stroked the front fabric to find out it had pockets, and that somehow convinced you.

It was like feeling like a child again. You opened the door of the changing room and shyly walked the little corridor that took you back to the room where he waited for you.

‘I told you I’d do everything that was on my hands, and I couldn’t.’ You heard him say.

You walked into the room frowning, feeling as you had so many times before on instances where he was having a work call that turned into a personal one. Or in hard moments when he dealt with relationships outside work, and you didn’t know if he needed an assistant or a friend.

‘Well, I don’t think I’m on a position where I care at this point.’ He said gravely as he took a few thoughtful steps. ‘Why don’t you ask…’

As soon as he turned back his eyes locked with yours, standing above the little steps that led to the room.

‘Dad, I’ll call you later.’ He hung up while his eyes were still on you, and you shyly walked down the steps to meet him in the middle of the little room.

‘Is everything okay?’ You tentatively asked.

‘Everything is perfect.’ He said with an idiotic smile as his eyes looked from the dress to you. ‘You look so beautiful.’

You looked at him, then, ignoring the compliment as you searched for answers in his eyes. He knew that you were trying to read him and succeeding at it.

‘Steve.’

‘Everything’s fine.’ He insisted as he took a step towards you. He looked down at you with a sided smile, his brown eyes overflowing with a happiness that anyone could’ve described as delusional.

As much as you wished to be able to show your emotions as freely as he did, you were still worried about his father’s call, about the state of things back in the office once this little fantasy of his was over. You were about to open your mouth to speak when the touch of his hands on yours stopped you. He looked into your eyes with an intense honesty that you had never seen before.

‘Miss.’ The voice of the Salesgirl made you turn around immediately. If she had seen something, she didn’t say anything, she only walked down the steps towards you, carrying your coat carefully. ‘It’s your phone.’

You smiled at her softly before searching inside your pockets, hearing the distant buzzing and thinking that it was probably your mother. As soon as you took the devices the blood left your face at the sight of the name on your work phone.

‘Would you excuse us for a second?’

The pretty salesgirl nodded discreetly before she walked out of the room. Steve stood with his hands on his hips, looking down at the marble floor and avoiding your eyes as only the sound of the buzzing phone could be heard.

‘Don’t pick up.’ He finally said without looking at you.

‘It’s your father.’

‘Don’t. Pick up.’ He finally lifted his eyes to look back at you.

‘I work for him, Steve. I can’t just—’

‘You work for me.’ He said taking a step towards you. All the softness that overflowed from his brown pupils was gone, in exchange for a coldness that you had only seen him employ with other people, but never with you.

Steve walked away towards the window as you nodded once. The insisting phone still buzzed on your hand as he looked out, isolating himself in that way you often witnessed at his office, and just as all those times before, you stayed silent. He had hurt you, but deep down you also knew you’d never be petty enough to betray him by picking up that call.

Things turned even more awkward when the phone stopped buzzing, the uncomfortable silence falling between you like snow on Christmas day. You waited for one, two, three seconds, and when he didn’t say anything, you climbed the little stairs and walked towards the changing rooms.

The air was cold as ice when you walked out of the shop wearing your clothes and trench coat. You needed to think. You needed to think about what had happened today and last night, and what had been happening in the last two years since the day you started working for Steve Harrington.

It wasn’t hard to make a decision when you crossed the street and got inside the first shop that caught your eye, your heart beating hard with anxiety as you did. As soon as you walked in, the first notes of Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer started playing as if they came from a musical box.

The toy shop had a giant, carrousel-like column in the middle, where pretty dolls were displayed inside their boxes, new and perfumed and magical. Christmas trees of all sizes had been placed around the shop, surrounded by train sets that looked exactly as if they came from those movies you used to watch as a child.

It wasn’t as busy as you thought it would be, tourists walked around taking pictures and videos of the picturesque shop while you browsed in silence and smiled to yourself every now and then. The place gave you a weird sense of nostalgia as your fingers stroked the hand painted roof of the biggest house doll you’d ever seen. You thought of past Christmases back home, the smell of your mother’s food mixing with the scent of wrapping paper, learning how ride a bike on the snowy pavement, the fading memory of your dad’s face…

Blinking away your tears, you found a sunny spot to sit outside, next to the river, hearing the seagulls and the distant melody of the carol singers. Taking a deep breath, you took the phone to your ear and called your mother.

‘About time.’ She complained right before laughing.

‘I’m sorry.’ You shut your eyes before messing your neatly brushed hair. ‘Merry Christmas. I miss you.’

‘Merry Christmas, sweetie.’ She said. ‘When are you coming?’

‘Uhm,’ You bit your lip. ‘I’ll try to get tickets for tomorrow. Or the day after. Or whenever. I’ll be there before the 30th.’

‘Does the evil boss know his?’ She joked.

You swallowed hard, feeling the salty taste of tears in the back of your throat.

‘I’m working on it.’ You sniffed quietly. ‘But don’t you worry about it. How’re things? Was Santa generous this year?’

‘Very generous.’ She said. ‘I got a new perfume, a nice purse…’

‘…And?’ You smiled to yourself. ‘A nice cashmere scarf I hope?’

‘I loved it very much.’ She said. ‘Thank you, sweets.’

‘You’re welcome, mom.’ You said looking at the city beyond the body of water in front of you. ‘I know it’s silly, I guess it just— I don’t know. It’s a nice tradition.’

‘Oh, honey! I know, It’s not silly. It makes me happy too, you know that.’

You laughed weakly, feeling in the verge of tears again, when you felt a body sitting on the bench next to you.

‘Uh, mom, I gotta go.’ You said looking back at him before your eyes focused on the river once again.

‘What?’

‘Sorry, it’s just… work.’ You sighed. ‘I’ll explain later.’

‘In person.’

You made a pause, taking a deep breath.

‘Sure.’ You finally said. ‘Merry Christmas. Love you.’

‘Love you too, honey.’

Steve leaned forwards to have a better look at you as soon as you hung up, and you hated that. You had so many reasons to cry right now and you didn’t want to face any of them, so all you could do was hug yourself while the air froze your cheeks.

‘I am so, so sorry.’ He finally said.

‘How did you find me, anyways?’ You looked back at him.

‘Uh,’ He shook his head, and you could’ve sworn he had blushed a little. ‘Your phone. Your work phone. I can access its location in case you lose it. You know, confidential information and all of that.’

‘That’s quite invasive.’ You tried to joke, but it came out much more passive aggressive than you intended.

‘I know, but it comes in handy when I behave like a complete asshole.’ He said. ‘I’m sorry.’

You looked down, playing with one of the buttons on your coat and thinking about what to say. Maybe the best thing to do was to quit right then. Offer Steve an honest explanation, hand him the phone back and pack. He could keep your room, your check, your heart. Anything he wanted. You just wanted to be alone.

‘Sometimes…’ He swallowed. ‘Sometimes it’s hard to separate work from personal attachments. Especially when there’s not a lot of people around that I can trust.’

Your eyes kept looking at your skirt, your legs, your shoes… anywhere that wasn’t him. It was too hard to look up, to sit here and hear him call this a personal attachment, a business relation, everything except what it was.

‘I keep doing this thing…’ He said. ‘Where I put you in these… complicated, and awkward situations because I desperately need a friend…’

You couldn’t help but look at him then, feeling a mix of compassion and pity and fear and sadness for him.

‘…And it’s so unfair to you.��� He said softly, anxiously looking for a sign of forgiveness on your face. ‘I’m so sorry.’

It took you a while to find the words, to get the courage to look back at this lonely man. It took everything in you to tell him right then, that he wasn’t lonely at all, and that you had always been right here, and as long as you could, you would.

You shook you head softly. ‘I know things with your dad are complicated—’

‘It’s not only about my dad.’ He said moving closer to you. You looked back at him as the freezing breeze blew a few stands of your hair. The sight was overwhelming: his softly frostbitten pink cheeks, his cosy scarf, the scent of his woody pine cologne filling you with longing. You couldn’t help but arch your eyebrows subtly when one of his hands extended over the bench to touch your face, but he seemed to abandon the thought quickly, placing it behind you. ‘You were there when Cece left, too.’

‘Steve—’

‘When she moved out, when she—’

‘Steve.’

‘…Lost the baby.’

You took a deep breath, taking your hands to the bridge of your nose and fighting the need of screaming at him.

‘You know, I don’t need this today.’ You said facing him.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ The touch of his thumb on your cheek caught you completely by surprise, and suddenly you weren’t so angry anymore. ‘I could’ve handled it; I should’ve been there instead of you.’

It was getting harder to keep your tears to yourself, but you still managed to. You had to. You were sure she must’ve told him everything before she left, how she hung on to you after months of ignoring you while she was engaged to him, how she begged you not to say a word until she was ready. And you did. You did, because the idea of seeing him suffer shattered your heart.

And it did anyways. It hurt when he asked you to call the interior designer to get rid of the baby blue wallpaper, when you secretly donated the packs of diapers he had piled inside the closet. It hurt to see him show up to work the next few days as if nothing had happened, to pick up those calls from his therapist every week for a month, asking why he hadn’t shown up. It hurt to find out Cece was pregnant again through the press a year after, not a millionaire businessman this time, but a senator of some kind. It hurt that she called you and thanked you for supporting her through it all.

‘You seemed so happy.’  Your voice almost broke at the end of the sentence, looking back at his eyes helplessly. ‘And Cecelia… she didn’t want you there. I— I had to respect that.’

His mouth turned into a line then, you could see he didn’t like what you were saying, but his touch was still soft as his eyes moved from your eyes to your lips while he considered your words. His bitter frown didn’t change even when his soft palm moved to your neck, and his eyes looked back at yours again.

‘I can’t need you this much.’ He murmured then. ‘It’s not fair to you.’

Your hand caught his on your neck and you gave him a sad smile before looking down at the way your knees instinctively touched his. You wished you could tell him it was perfectly fine, that not only being needed was an intrinsic part of you, but that being needed by him was all you thought about every day.

‘Don’t say that.’ You whispered, squeezing his hand. ‘I’m your friend. You know that.’

‘I’m still sorry.’ He whispered with a sad smile. His thumb drew a line from your chin to your jaw as you looked at each other, sharing a silence full of bittersweet understanding. A few snowflakes that fell from a above sat on your lashes and you both finally laughed together. A thin layer of snow was painting the river white, yet you still felt warm, sitting on this bench next to him.

‘I’ll tell you what.’ You said sitting straight, your hands instinctively started playing with the hem of his navy scarf and you smiled softly at him. The gesture seemed to have lifted his spirit, by the way his lips lifted subtly, and his brown eyes were full of dreamy tenderness. ‘I just saw the biggest, pinkest house doll ever inside that toy shop over there. If you get that for Hannah’s daughter, I’m willing to forget this and actually try to have a fun Christmas with you.’

‘She’s not even one.’ He laughed softly.

‘She’ll love it.’

He nodded once, studying your face while he smiled softly.

‘Consider it done.’

‘We’re going to be late.’ You said in the car, checking the time on your phone.

‘You don’t even know where we’re going.’ Steve said, rolling his eyes at you. The gesture almost made you smile, so used to be the one that always rolled her eyes at him.

‘You said we needed to leave by seven.’ You said annoyed, hugging yourself over your coat. Yet you could still feel the warmth of his shoulder resting against yours.

‘That was just so you could be ready by six.’ He murmured, the warmth of his breath on your scalp made you realise how close you were from each other. You could feel his chin hovering over your head as he looked through the window, the Christmas lights making the snowy streets colourful, the people walking, the distant sound of sirens.

You felt nostalgic, or maybe just deeply comfortable in the back of the car, stillness within the chaos of traffic. Maybe it was something else, you thought as you felt your body getting warmer, you were safe. The thought kind of terrified you, but at the same time, you thought as you leaned in and rested your head against him, it wasn’t so bad to indulge yourself in his company, was it? After all, it was Christmas.

‘Are you okay?’ He murmured.

You leaned even closer to him then, and he heard you swallow hard as your hand wrapped around his bicep. His body couldn’t simply not react to all that warmth, to all that tenderness, and he finally gave in and placed his chin softly on your head.

‘I’m just feeling a bit homesick.’ You confessed in the dark of the backseat.

‘Hmm.’ The back of his finger stroked your cheeks softly to get your attention. You lifted your eyes shyly, giving him a subtle smile before you sat more comfortably. ‘You wanna go back to the hotel?

‘No.’ You smiled at him, sitting back. ‘No, I just— Sorry, it’s just… Christmas, it always— it makes me kind of crazy.’

You laughed awkwardly, feeling more flushed every second you didn’t move away from him.

‘What do you miss?’ He asked then.

You almost choked as you sat better; your cheeks turned even hotter before you could speak again.

‘From home?’ You placed your cheek against the seat and looked back at him as he nodded. ‘I don’t know. I guess more than missing something specific, what I really miss is being a child.’ You looked away, still feeling his eyes on you as you smiled sadly. ‘Sometimes, when I wake up too stressed or overwhelmed, I stay in bed with my eyes closed and I take a deep breath. And you know, just for a second, I feel like I can smell my bedroom again. Isn’t that weird?’

‘It is weird.’ He murmured as you looked back at him. ‘It’s also very cool that you have such a good memory. I always feel like I don’t remember anything about my childhood.’

‘You remembered the carousel back at the café.’ You reminded him.

‘Yeah, but I don’t have memories there. I just remember not being allowed to get on it.’

‘Hmm.’ You considered it for a few seconds before looking back at him. ‘What about your childhood home?’

He shrugged, looking something unspecific in the distance.

‘I don’t know. I guess it smells like my dad’s office.’ He admitted. ‘That’s why I’m always so paranoid about having candles and plants all over my place.’ You laughed then, thinking it was odd but kind of funny too. ‘Even if I spend most of my time travelling, I can’t bear coming back to a house that smells untouched. Like a hotel.’

And yet he still did, you thought as you looked through the window beyond his shoulder. His maids were always telling you how boring it was to work for Mr Harrington, because all they did was clean dust. There was no mess or things to clean inside his home. There was nothing.

‘We’re here, sir.’ The voice of the driver made you sit down properly, looking through the window next to you this time.

The city lights reflected on the river like little candles with dancing, twinkling flames. You were surprised you hadn’t thought about this possibility, but when the driver opened the door for you, you didn’t know exactly how to feel about the luxurious yacht that sat next to the private pier in front of you.

‘So,’ Steve Said once he had made it out of the car. ‘What do you think?’

‘It’s nice.’ You simply said.

‘We’ll watch the fireworks from the river.’ He said enthusiastically.

‘That’s nice.’ You repeated shyly. ‘It’s quite, uhm, big.’

‘I know, I had completely forgotten I had it.’ He said taking your hand before he pulled you towards the pier.

You let out a laugh of disbelief as you followed him, feeling his warm fingers entwining with yours.

‘How could you forget you have a yacht?’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I never use it. I used to party in these a lot when I was in college, but I don’t really have time for that anymore.’

You took a deep, patient breath while you climbed the stairs towards the upper deck. Your eyes looked around for other people, lingering on the lights of the yacht and the dark waters underneath. You could imagine what you’d find inside, but that didn’t mean it would surprise you less.

‘Give me your coat.’ He said once you walked in behind him.

Inside, the yacht hid a luxurious lounge with leather couches, an extensive bar and a pool table. You let him take your trench coat as your eyes lingered on the other side, where there was a giant TV screen and a couple of armchairs. Somehow the heat rushed to your cheeks at the sight of it all, before a loud pop behind you made you jump.

You looked back to find Steve pouring champagne in two glasses from the other side of the room. He was still wearing his coat, but yours was laying on the chair behind him, and you suddenly felt flushed as his eyes lingered briefly on your uncovered shoulders.

‘This is obscene.’ You said once you stood in front of him.

He laughed then, loudly and childishly while he offered you the glass of the bubbly alcohol. You took it carefully, feeling warm under his stare.

‘You have no other option but enjoying yourself tonight.’ He said with a smile before clicking his glass with yours.

You took a sip of your drink before rolling your eyes and he smiled back at you. He seemed to be enjoying your shyness, your inadequacy, way too much. 

‘I didn’t want the crew to stay during Christmas, but they did leave some food so we’re having a proper holiday dinner upstairs in the dining hall. And then I also asked them to leave a swimsuit for you, in case you wanted to try the jacuzzi.’

You let out a nervous laugh, before looking to your side. Steve frowned softly as he placed his glass on the bar’s mahogany surface.

‘What is it?’ He said, taking his coat off.

‘Nothing.’ You shrugged.

‘You want to go back to the hotel?’ He asked.

‘No.’ you said, feeling a bit helpless, a bit lost. ‘No, it’s not that. This is very nice, Steve.’

‘But?’ He asked, searching for some sort of validation in your eyes.

You shrugged, looking around you before your eyes landed back on him.

‘I just can’t stop thinking about the fact that you had a place to stay the whole time.’ You said softly.

Realisation fell on Steve’s eyes, and something else, something deeper that sadness took over them. He was angry. If it was at you, or at himself, you wouldn’t know. His fingers held the glass he had placed on the bar, pondering with a frown. As if you had caught him doing something bad, something improper.

‘I guess I just didn’t want to be alone on Christmas.’ He played with a few drops that fell from his glass before looking back at you. He swallowed hard. You opened your mouth to say something, regretting your words immediately, but Steve kept talking. ‘Listen, honestly, I didn’t even remember I had this place until this morning. I know maybe spending Christmas with me is not the most appealing idea in the world but—’

‘Steve, it’s not like that.’

‘… I just want you to have a good time.’ His eyes were full of honesty as he looked at you, but a part of you felt he had grown cold at your words. ‘Whether that is here, or back at the hotel, or anywhere. It’s kind of my fault that you’re stuck here, anyways. I shouldn’t have made you work on Christmas Eve.’

You took a deep breath, looking away and feeling the guilt rising on your chest. He had tried to give you a decent Christmas. He had bought you this lovely dress, he had requested a proper Christmas dinner, and all you had been doing all day was lie to him.

‘I’m sorry.’ You finally said, taking a step towards him. ‘It’s not your fault, I’ve spent the whole day being stubborn. I guess I didn’t want us to get behind with work, and— if I’m honest with you, I’ve always had a complicated relationship with Christmas. It’s not your fault.’

You looked at each other for a few seconds before you bit your lip, trying to repress your embarrassment.

‘Okay.’ He finally said, considering your words. ‘What if… instead of going all the way up to the dining hall we just have dinner here in front of the TV, huh? We can watch a Christmas movie or a horror movie or like, a documentary…’

You let out a snorty laugh then, nodding as you smiled at him.

‘Okay.’ You said then. ‘Sounds good.’

‘Great.’ He said with a smile.

It took little time for you two to get used to the comfort of the understanding silence as you brought the food downstairs. As the evening started, you slowly stopped caring too much about the yacht and its excessive luxuries. This was Steve’s life, after all, but there was also no reason why you had to stick to those unwritten rules you followed in professional instances tonight. A few minutes after your third glass of champagne you were taking your shoes off and walking around barefoot as you filled your plate with turkey and stuffing, and potatoes.

Steve followed you by getting rid of his jacket and shoes and you both forgot the armchairs and sat down on the floor to watch The Parent Trap.

‘I can’t believe you’ve never seen this masterpiece.’ You said once the ending credits rolled. You dipped your finger on the cup of gravy before taking it to your mouth. ‘This is on my top five of comfort movies.’

‘I can see why.’ He cleaned his mouth with a napkin before sitting back against the bottom of the armchair. ‘I guess that’s what I get for growing up with no sisters.’

‘You’ve got, what? Five brothers? And none of them were really into cheesy movies?’

He laughed.

‘Apparently not. They all have their own thing.’ He shrugged.

‘Hmm.’ You said putting your plate aside. ‘Like what?’

‘Well, you know Nick. He was always very into music. And then Trevor’s always been into fencing, he always wanted to do it on an Olympic level, but he’s never been that good.’ He joked, placing his elbows on his knees as his eyes got lost on the patterns of the carpet. ‘Jake’s an aircraft engineer, so he thinks he’s the smart one. And then the twins surf, but Dan is better at that than Richie. I don’t know, they all have a thing.’

‘What’s your thing?’ You asked then.

‘Huh?’

‘What’s your thing?’ You repeated.

He shrugged.

‘I don’t think I have one.’ He admitted.

Steve and you stayed quiet as you thought about his words. He rarely spoke about his family to you, but you had learned things about them in discreet silence. It was widely known that Nick Harrington had a substance problem; Steve himself had driven him to rehab many times. You had only learned this because you had to help Hannah handle the scandal that one time the press leaked the address of his rehab centre.  

You knew that Trevor and Jake didn’t get along with Steve, by the way he absently signed the birthday cards you posted to their addresses every year. You always made sure to date them on the inside, above the empty, cold Happy Birthday printed on the card. You knew that the twins were spoiled and ungrateful, because they never cared to learn your name or address you nicely every time they called Steve for money when their father refused to indulge yet another one of their fleeting business endeavours.

‘How come?’ You asked softly as he took the remote control. Steve stayed quiet for a while, switching to a jazz playlist on Spotify.

You thought for a second he wasn’t going to give you an answer, until he entwined his hands behind his neck as he rested his back against the armchair.

‘I don’t know.’ He said as his hands fell slowly on his knees, losing himself in his thoughts before he looked at you. ‘I don’t think I was given the chance to.’

He stayed in silence for a second as your eyes lingered on his face, as if no one had ever asked him this question before. Then he laughed softly, bitterly, and you frowned.

‘Isn’t that funny?’ He said. ‘The guy with all the opportunities wasn’t given one.’

You lifted your eyebrows as you looked down to your knees, processing his words.

‘S fine.’ He shrugged before standing up. ‘I don’t want to think too much about it right now.’

Your eyes followed him as he moved to the bar, grabbing a bottle of wine before walking towards you and extending his hand.

‘C’mon.’ He said with a soft smile. You didn’t know how he did it, or why he didn’t really care about the sad conversation you almost had. ‘I wanna show you the place.’

You grabbed his hand while holding the two empty wine glasses on the other, and he took you on a tour of the yacht. You had already seen the dining hall, big and impersonal but decorated by a giant red rug that felt soft and cozy under your feet. The staff had managed to place an improvised but prettily decorated tree on the further conner, and a few Christmas lights around the place.

It wasn’t until he took you towards the helm that you realised how comfortable you had felt holding his hand the whole time. The area consisted of three luxurious screens that surrounded the captain’s seat, along with the steering wheel and the engine controls.

‘You wanna drive it for a while?’ He joked in the dark as you looked at the weather and pressure data on the screen.

‘Absolutely not.’ You said immediately. He laughed at it, rubbing his thumb against your hand softly as he took you out of the little room. ‘Do you know how to?’

‘Nah.’ He said as he took you through another room, much more luxurious than the one downstairs where you had eaten. There were more L-shaped couches, and a piano at the end. Beyond that, you could see through the windows that there were lounge chairs outside, probably a pool too. ‘…Could’ve learned at some point, but I never liked boats that much.’

You let out a sarcastic laugh as your eyes lingered on the jacuzzi on the other side of the room. Then, walking past him, you took the wine bottle while he looked at you with an amused stare.

‘What?’

You filled your glass before placing the bottle next to his on the crystal table in the middle of the room. Once again, you kneeled next to the table, looking at him still standing up on the other side of it.

‘You know, I’ve heard things about your times in private school.’ You said with a childish smile that he seemed to find funny as he lifted his eyebrows. ‘I used to think they were just rumours, but I can only imagine the kind of things young Steve Harrington could be up to in one of these.’

He rolled his eyes then, walking around the table to sit on the couch like an important man. His brown eyes piercing, almost mischievous, as he rested his back against the cushion with his legs open. The couch was so big he wasn’t even taking all the space, but this was Steve, he was used to having it all.

‘So…?’ You pressed, taking another sip of your drink. ‘Am I wrong?’

He shrugged. ‘You’re not wrong.’

‘So, it’s true.’ You said almost pleased. ‘King Steve.’

‘Oh, Jesus.’ He looked away, shaking his head as you giggled. He took a deep breath, looking back at you as if you were a trouble kid and he didn’t know what to do with you. He leaned in a little bit, placing his elbows on his knees before entwinning his hands. ‘Listen, of course it got out of hand sometimes. You can’t raise a kid telling him he’s got all the money and power in the world and expect him to be a decent teenager. I never said I wasn’t spoiled.’

‘You never said you were indecent either.’ You said softly, looking back at him as you took a long sip of your wine.

His eyes lingered on your face as you swallowed, lifting your delicate hand to clean the drop that fell down your mouth.

‘Some of us have secrets.’ He said after a while. He extended a hand to fill his on glass as you considered his words. ‘You, for example, have many.’

You lifted your eyes to look back at him, thinking that maybe he had figured you out. You thought maybe someone he knew had told him all about your plans to quit, after all Steve knew everyone. You could’ve said something there, act offended or tell the truth. But instead, you just took the bottle back to fill your glass.

‘I’m not interesting enough to have secrets.’ You smiled softly, eyes focused on the pouring liquid as you avoided his stare.

‘I don’t agree.’

‘I know you don’t.’ You simply said with a smile before taking your glass with you as you stood up.

You knew his eyes were on you as you walked around the room, placing the glass on the edge of the jacuzzi before your hand ventured to stroke the still water inside. The sudden bubbling of the water startled you as the lights of the thing turned on, and you heard Steve’s soft laugh behind you.

‘I thought it’d be warm.’ You said foolishly as the heat rushed to your cheeks. Only then you realised how drunk you were, feeling that your skin was more than just warm, your lips were a bit dry, your thoughts all over the place.

The water did turn warm a few seconds later, and you dared to touch its surface again, this time diving your hand a little bit as you rested your chest against the edge of the jacuzzi. It was very quiet, your eyes lingered on the soft waves that the bubbles below created, taking in the colours of the exploding fireworks on the water before you looked up to the window.

You lifted your eyes to look at the sky when Steve turned the lights of the room off, his slow steps echoing through the room until he stood beside you. Only then you wondered how you were supposed to go back home this week.

Resting your chin on the extended arm that stroked the water, you saw Steve placing his crossed arms over the edge of the jacuzzi. He stayed quiet as if you had commanded him to, as if he knew that you needed him to stay like this. As if this silence was his present to you, it felt like that in a way.

‘One Christmas,’ You said then, ‘When I was seven, mom and I woke up and dad wasn’t home. She called him after a couple of hours, and he said he was buying fireworks for that night, and like, that wasn’t weird, really.’ You paused to take in the beautiful explosions in the distant sky, the silhouette of the skyscrapers being illuminated by the colours, the warmth exuded by the attentive body next to you. ‘So, we waited for him to have breakfast together, but he didn’t show up. He also skipped lunch, and we didn’t see him until the evening when he came home and set his fireworks outside. He spent the whole night lighting them up while ignoring us.’ You made a thoughtful, bitter pause before looking down at the water again. ‘He was mad. He had found out he had cancer. I think he didn’t really know how to tell us.’

You felt him swallow hard next to you, and only then you stood straight. Your eyes looked back at him as you rested your fingers on the edge of the jacuzzi. His stare was still on the water as he tried to find his words, but you knew what he was thinking: What can you say to that?

‘Sometimes keeping a secret is just delaying the truth, I suppose.’ He said then. It surprised you that he had come to that conclusion so quickly and effectively, while all you had done was overshare the sad little story of your dad’s diagnosis.

‘I guess so.’ You murmured unsure, before looking down at the water. You both stayed silent for a while, looking at the water as if the jacuzzi was a well that hid all the answers to the drunken questions in your head.

Delaying the truth. Was that what you had been doing these last two years?

‘I need to fly home tomorrow.’ You said, taking a step back, looking at your feet before you started climbing the steps to get inside.

Steve’s eyes lingered on you as you started undoing the zip of your dress. With his lips partly open he offered you a hand that you took as you made it to the border.

‘Mom and I always visit his grave on the 30th.’

‘I can get you tickets.’ He said as you let his hand go, taking a step back as you started undoing the straps of your dress. Something shifted then, the silence was cruel and definite, as if time had turned slower when the dress gently slid down your body and you kicked it to the side.

You couldn’t look back at him as you stepped inside the water, feeling like it wasn’t warm enough to sooth your flushed skin. And yet you kept telling yourself that it wouldn’t happen, that he’d kept it professional and polite between you two, but maybe you didn’t want him to. He had been touching you all day, you had slept in the same bed, for fuck’s sake.

Maybe all you wanted was to challenge him, to see if he dared to. Because if he didn’t do anything here, as you looked behind your shoulder to find him resting his arms over the edge again, then that could only mean that this had always been a one-sided thing.

‘You don’t get to share secrets like this.’ He whispered, shamelessly looking from your face to your body under water before he looked back at you. ‘It’s not fair.’

You turned back fully then, looking into his eyes and knowing he was dying to take a peek at your breasts under that lacy black bra you were wearing tonight. But he didn’t, instead he looked down at his hands as you walked slowly towards the edge, tendered by the red tint on his cheeks. This was so bad. It was so, so bad. Deep down you knew he was weak right now, that there were rules you were breaking, roles that you weren’t adhering to.

‘I know it’s not fair.’ You said searching for his eyes. ‘A lot of things aren’t.’

He looked up again, his eyes studied your face this time. Little drops of water had fell on your cheeks, but your make up was still shimmery under the lights of the jacuzzi.

‘What do you want me to do?’ He leaned in then. Straightforward surrender, maybe the only logical solution. Your faces were only inches away from each other as he challenged you. ‘If you tell me you want me to leave, I’ll leave. If you want me to join you there, I will. If I need to get you out of the water myself, take you upstairs, and make love to you in my bed, I will.’

Your hands played with the water that surrounded you as you looked back at him with partly open lips, wondering if Cecelia, Giovanna, Conny, Harriet or the rest whose names you had never cared enough to learn had been here before. But that didn’t matter, did it? They didn’t have what you had. They weren’t forbidden like you. They were nothing.

‘This is wrong.’ You whispered it as a fact, knowing very well that you didn’t mind, that it was just a cliché that needed to leave your mouth before things could really go deliciously wrong.

‘I don’t think you care.’ He said then.

‘Do you?’ You lifted your eyebrows then, placing your hands on the edge of the jacuzzi as you looked back at him with anxiety written all over your pretty face. ‘Care?’

Steve smiled then, blinking a couple of times as sweet sincerity took over his features slowly, unbearably gentlemanly and patient. His hands found yours over the edge, entwining your hands when his forehead brushed yours and you looked down at the buttons of his shirt, hiding from him.

‘Why don’t you get out and find out?’ He whispered then.

You nodded softly, the silence tense and sweet before you pushed yourself up as he took a small step back and you shyly sat down on the edge of the jacuzzi. He didn’t stay far for too long, catching himself biting his lips at the wet, half-naked image of you splashing water everywhere. His hands found yours on either side of your thighs as he took another tentative step forward, and almost instinctively you opened your legs for him, finding his brown locks with your wet fingers.

His own hands tested your comfort, landing on your hips as you looked down at him with a shy smile.

‘Hi.’ You whispered.

‘Hi.’ He said in the same tone.

You smiled softly, this time more cheekily, as your fingers wandered down, sneaking into his partly opened shirt just because you wanted to feel his burning skin, his chest hair, those corners that you had once forced yourself not to look at.

Unconsciously, you fisted his shirt when he dared to lean in subtly, following your head as your noses brushed, poking yours playfully to break the tension a little. Oddly, knowing that he was enjoying himself in his own time gave you a sense of confidence, you even dared to smile a little before you pulled him in.

You tasted his smile before his lips, maybe he found funny that your urgency seemed almost young and inexperienced, but you knew what you were doing. It took him a few seconds to breathe deeply under your mouth, to gain control by squeezing your waist and lean in even closer to you as your tongue demanded for space in his mouth.

A soft noise left his throat, and you chased his lips to swallow it, begging him to give you another one, please. But now his hands were cupping your face, and you felt more and more like a feather in his arms. It got much worse when he lifted you from your butt with sudden confidence, swallowing the sweet whimper of surprise you let out while he led you to the closest couch.

He let his body fall as you comfortably sat on his lap, making a mess out of his locks as his hands repositioned your thighs closer to him and his needy mouth search for your neck to kiss and bite.

There were so many different instances in which you had imagined the texture of Steve’s tongue before, but you would’ve never thought he’d be so gentle with his teeth as he played with your body. Then, as if he’d reminded this was the first time he had you this close, he chased your mouth for a soft, almost innocent kiss before looking back at you.

‘You okay?’ He asked with a nod.

‘M fine.’ You stroked his face: his beautiful boyishly blushed cheeks, before you leaned in to bite his lip playfully.

The silence was tense as you looked at each other with a cheekiness you would’ve never thought you discovered in each other. You knew now you were driving him crazy, and he knew you were dying to prove yourself. Still holding your challenging stare, his soft hands started to pull down the fabric of your bra.

You were waiting for the moment that his eyes fell on your bare chest, but he was amusing himself by staring at you with his heavy eyelids and cheeky sided smile. Steve was too busy looking at the safest places of you: your eyes, your lips. Yet the boldness of his face slowly died when his hands finally cupped your breasts, and you let out a shaky breath when his thumbs brushed your freezing cold nipples.

He nodded encouragingly as your hands climbed to his shoulders under his shirt and he kept massaging your breasts while your nose brushed against his. While your breaths turned heavier, and your hips started moving softly.

Steve’s eyes were still open, eyelids heavy and pupils glossy while his lips brushed against yours and he swallowed the air your exhaled. His hands wandered down your back, finding a way to sneak under the side straps of your thong, and suddenly the tiny piece of fabric didn’t feel as discreet as you’d thought it was. He gave your ass a good, loving squeeze that left you breathless, and he seemed to enjoy that, by the way he was smiling when he pushed you against his body until your mouth was on his again.

It all turned much slower but much more sensual after that. You skin was hot and full of goosebumps as he held you by your waist to lay your back against the couch. You were dazed, and so overwhelmed as he left a trace of wet kisses between your breasts down to your ribs.

Then, with the patience of a child holding a bird, he placed his cheek against your belly button and looked back at you. His lips were puffy, his cheeks preciously pink. You dared to do something you’d always dreamed of doing and dived your fingers inside those dark brown locks of hair, slowly stroking the hidden grey strands next to his ear.

You could’ve both simply fallen asleep like that, if it wasn’t for the fact that he was stroking your thighs so softly, and your pussy got warmer and wetter the more you felt his weight on top of yours. You held your breath when he pulled your underwear aside, and his finger finally dared to brush those nerves, a thin thread of wetness connecting your pussy with his finger as you kept stroking his hair and he simply looked down to that deliciously sensitive slit in between your legs.

You should’ve been blushing by the way he seemed fascinated by how your pussy pulsed every second he teased you, by how your wetness leaked out, staining his couch in the most sweetly obscene way. He could lick that, yeah, starting from the bottom and then all the way up to your clit. He’d do that for you until you moaned his name, or the word please, he wanted you arching your back, fisting the cushion underneath you. He had thought about this so often that somehow it was hard to know if it was really happening or if this was just another one of his fantasies, another one of those dreams that tended to leave him with insomnia, sweaty and hot in his lonely bed.

There just seemed to be so many endless ways to taste you for the first time and he couldn’t decide which one, so he just went for the easiest one, rubbing his face against your perfumed skin as he slowly left a trail of wet pecks until his mouth was finally kissing your pretty needy pussy.

Steve sighed before you even could, diving his head in between your legs and eating you selfishly as his hands squeezed your thighs. He licked slowly and sensually, from the entrance of your cunt up to your clit before sucking gently, as if he had all the time in the world.

‘…taste so fucking good.’ He said to himself before leaning back. You held your breath as he looked at your shamelessly open and wet pussy while he removed your thong fully, before pushing you knee softly outwards to spit on you. His saliva was warm, and you were so sensitive, the gesture made you release a little moan before his finger dived inside you and you were arching your back again.

His free hand wandered up your hip, admiring your squirming body, the way your chest ascended when you took a deep breath and then softly descended when you released it in the shape of a sweet longing sigh. He grabbed one of your breasts then, this time more firmly, as if he was entitled to, and your own hand squeezed his over it.

‘Fuck.’ You moaned when his finger managed to stroke a particularly nice spot. He had rarely heard you swear before and now he wanted to hear you do it all the time, because your voice made it all sound sweet and harmless. ‘There.’

‘Hmm?’ He asked sweetly, keeping the same sexy rhythm, touching the same damn spot. ‘There?’

‘Ha.’ You moaned almost painfully. ‘Mhm. Yeah. There.’

You were shutting your eyes now, trying not to think too much about how you looked as the wetness leaked out of your pussy the closer you got, feeling it drip down your thighs and ass. Steve’s lips were puffy and wet when he kissed the side of your knee, his hair was stroking your leg unintentionally, his other hand wasn’t pressing your breast anymore, just merely letting you hold it as your breaths turned faster.

‘I don’t wanna cum like this.’ You begged then, opening your eyes to look back at him with arched eyebrows and sweaty cheeks. His eyes were still on you, mesmerised and heavy as he kept his rhythm, not stopping yet.

‘I don’t understand.’ He whispered before kissing your knee again. ‘You look beautiful. I wanna see you like this.’

‘I—’ You sighed heavily, feeling on the edge every second that he kept touching you there. ‘I want you inside me.’

‘You’ll have me.’ He murmured lovingly, still fascinated by the obscenely sweet image of your agonizing body. ‘Soon, baby. So soon. Cum for me first. Cum like this.’

You let out a moany breath again, nails scratching the cushion on your side as he rested his cheek against your knee, drunk by the greed of being the one who could do this to you. You swallowed hard as your hips started to convulse with the rest of your body, and then he felt it, the contractions of your inner walls, your puffy clit pulsing right there under his eyes, glistening with the mix of your wetness and his spit. Your open mouth, noiseless as you held your breath and your breasts pointy and exposed for him before your back landed on the couch again.

‘Shit.’ Your voice sounded so soft and defeated as you closed your eyes lazily, feeling his body hovering over you. Your hands instinctively dived inside his hair when his lips kissed your neck and ear.

‘You were perfect.’ He whispered as you felt the fabric of his pants rub against your sensitive clit by accident, and you were rolling your eyes at how something so subtle was arousing your again.

‘Mhm.’ Your moaned when your blind mouth could finally find his and this time you were messier and dirtier than before, licking his lower lip and wrapping your sweaty legs around his waist. ‘Fuck me.’

He moved you both onto your side, your wet back now against the cushion of the couch as he melted into your body and his arms wrapped around your waist.

‘You’re half asleep.’ He laughed softly, squeezing your naked frame.

‘I don’t care.’ You looked back at him, tasting the wine in the back of your throat and knowing that all your make up was probably ruined by now. You must’ve looked so pathetic, sweaty cheeks, smudged eyeliner, and fucked-out face. It didn’t matter. ‘I’m in love with you.’

He leaned back softly then, studying your face before his hand brushed your cheekbone softly. You were looking at him, pleading that he wouldn’t let you humiliate yourself like this, all vulnerable and naked in his arms.

Steve softly arranged your bodies more cosily on the couch, he lifted himself briefly before placing your head against his chest, stroking your precious hair, smelling your perfumed scalp as your legs remained entwined. And all you were begging was for him not to be too cruel, too patronising, when he’d inevitably break your heart tonight.

‘Are you cold?’ He asked after a while, brushing his fingers against your bare back that was full of goosebumps.

‘Aren’t you going to?’ You were unable to be patient anymore, but you couldn’t face him, otherwise it’d be too embarrassing. And then you had to use that awful wording he used before, belittling yourself even more. ‘Aren’t you going to make love to me?’

Something came out of his chest then, and you frowned. It couldn’t be a laugh, though, there was nothing funny about this.

‘Of course, I am.’ He said then. ‘Just not now.’

‘When, then.’ You said more angrily than you intended to as you leaned back to finally confront him. God, you were drunk. You were a mess of emotions and alcohol, your throat was dry, your ears still buzzing by the long-forgotten orgasm.

It was as if his limbs were instinctively connecting to you, fingertips hovering on your face as they traced a line from your cheek to your chin.

‘I’m tryin’ to find the courage first.’ He explained very seriously. ‘To tell you that I love you.’

You blinked softly, stubbornly, as you frowned. You weren’t unhappy but somehow mad, that you were both this stupid. He stroked your cheek again, his nose looked blindly for yours, and it was if you didn’t want him to kiss you out of sudden. Rejection would’ve hurt less.

‘Come here.’ He said searching for your mouth.

‘Steve.’

‘Come here.’ He said more insistingly this time, pulling your jaw towards him and what else could you do but to give in? He had promised he’d made love to you, and he intended to, by the way his body was turning unbearably hot under all of those layers. He kissed you more purposely then, as your legs wrapped around him again and you unbuttoned the rest of his shirt, softly scratching any bit of skin you could find in the process.

His intentions were patient, but his body wasn’t. You could feel him getting harder as he went in for your neck, your jaw, your temple. At some point he grew too desperate, and the sound of his belt was followed by a clean pull of his boxers and pants, all falling down on the end of the couch.

Now your fingers were able to discover more, to stroke much more skin: the hairs on his stomach, the faded stretch marks under his hips, he had round, firm butt cheeks that you would’ve loved to tease him for, if this wasn’t a sad scenario, if things between you were different.

Your nails left half-moons on his shoulder when his dick first pushed a little through your entrance. Eyes-shut, open mouth and breath held in your chest as he didn’t dare to push himself fully.

‘Easy.’ He whispered on your open mouth, his top lip against yours as he cooed you into it. ‘Slow. Take your time.’

You nodded enthusiastically, because this time you didn’t want to be stubborn, and you really wanted to enjoy this, him. He let himself partly out before pushing a bit deeper, and you seemed to release your breath out, feeling a bit more relieved. One of your hands dived inside his hair as you pulled him closer to you, and he let you guide him as your walls progressively opened for him.

‘You’re so tight.’ He laughed to himself, and you swallowed it before he kissed your shy smile. ‘Goddamn it, your pussy feels so good, baby. You hear that?’

It was the obscene noise of your wetness, of his dick sliding inside you repeatedly in a slow pace.

‘Mhmm.’ You moaned softly as your nose brushed against his, and your hands stroked his cheeks lovingly. ‘Show me?’

The grip on your waist turned tighter then, holding onto you to pull his hard cock in and out of you while your arms wrapped around his neck, and he was finally making love to you, but you were just hugging him, you were saying goodbye to everything he had meant to you.

The thought didn’t let you live, but you were still letting out throaty moans every time he thrusted into you in this sensual rhythm and his cock made you feel blissfully full. You could’ve tried to move your hips a little, but you didn’t want to ruin the perfect synchronicity, and he was so thick you could feel yourself getting wetter while one of his hands held your thigh and your hands stroked his hair lovingly.

‘Where can I?’ He asked urgently. ‘Where?’

You leaned back to have a look at his pretty fucked face, those reddened cheeks, puffy lips, glossy brown eyes that drove you insane. You couldn’t help but leave soft kisses all around his cheekbone, his nose, his jaw.

‘Where do you want to?’ You purred. ‘Huh? Where do you wanna cum?’

He let out a choky breath resting his forehead on yours. You frowned as he slowed his rhythm, letting out an awkward laugh.

‘I don’t know—’ He shook his head. ‘Don’t know if you’re on the pill, or…’

You shook your head then, putting a strand of hair behind his ear. ‘I can take something tomorrow.’

He shook his head then, smiling softly with his eyes closed.

‘Tempting,’ He breathed heavily. ‘But no.’

‘Steve…’

‘Where else?’ He said, frowning painfully as he squeezed your waist and his rhythm fastened once again. ‘Where else can I cum, baby, c’mon on. Please.’

You looked at him with perverse adoration then, wondering how many times you had imagined this scenario before, and how pleased you were by his sweet desperation.

‘Mouth?’ You asked tentatively.

‘Mouth?’ He repeated. His eyes opened in disbelief, panting heavily as you looked at him expectantly. ‘Your mouth?’

You laughed softly. ‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah?’ He asked again.

‘Yeah.’ You moaned sensually as you searched for his mouth, leaving a sloppy kiss on his lips. ‘Want it inside me. Wanna taste you. Swallow you.’

He sighed heavily before nodding, and you could’ve sworn he had rolled his eyes at your irresistible descriptions.

‘Okay.’ He kissed your temple then; you could see that he wasn’t making much sense anymore and that meant he was probably really close. ‘Lay back for me.’

You did as he said, letting him roll you carefully in the little space until he was hovering on top of you. It was exciting in a completely different way: your eyes could linger on the way his muscles flexed as he supported himself in one arm, on the back of his fingers brushing against your cheek as he adjusted himself inside you again.

Because you weren’t searching for an orgasm now, it was much easier to get lost in the details that would’ve escaped from you if you had been drunk by frantic desire. You discovered he had a nice pretty mole on his chest, hidden by all the hair next to his nipple. The image of his dick getting lost inside you would haunt your nights for years as he squeezed your hip. He had this thing too, where he always licked the skin of your neck before nibbling on it, almost preparing it for its teeth. It was sweet, you thought to yourself as you smiled. He had been as gentle as you had always imagined.

‘M so close.’ He said under his breath, placing his head on your breastbone as he prepared his manoeuvre to cause you the minimal distress.

‘Okay.’ You said softly, kissing his scalp as you tried to encourage him. ‘That’s fine. ‘M ready.’

He let out a humming noise, a repressed whine that turned into a moan as he got closer and closer and you kept stroking his hair, as you kissed the protuberant vein on his temple.

‘Open your mouth.’ He instructed when he pulled out and you did as he said. ‘Open your pretty mouth, goddamn it.’

And you did, yes you did. It was a bit messy, but only a few drops fell on your chest before his dick found a warm place to cum inside your mouth. He didn’t try to push it in, or to do anything else, and you trusted him enough to know he wouldn’t. Steve simply stayed there, mesmerized as you sucked the sensitive tip with the right pressure, as he saw the movement of your throat swallow his hot, bittersweet release. You made out with it, with him until there was nothing else. Until he was clean and soft again.

His eyes lingered on your puffy, glossy lips when he pulled it out of you; his hand stroked your mouth and cheek as you both breathed heavily, and he thought about what had just happened. What you had trusted him enough to do.

Your expectant eyes looked back at him from below, waiting for something, anything to happen as you leaned in against his palm.

‘Bed?’ You finally asked.

He nodded, exhausted, feeling that there was so much he wanted to say but he didn’t know where to start.

You weren’t going to ask any questions or let out any more embarrassing confessions. In silence, you moved in the darkness of the room as you headed for the stairs fully naked, leaving the room intact with the smell of sex and the shame of sadness.

A little scratching noise woke you up a few hours later. When you opened your eyes, it took you a while to remember where you were, as all you could see was the curious face of a seagull poking the window of top of you. Behind the silly animal there was a white sky, a few remains of snow melted on the corners of the glass, and all you could do was take a deep breath as you gathered the strength to move.

Next to you, Steve slept peacefully. Your eyes lingered on all the moles that adorned his back, and the messy locks of hair that rested against the pillow. You remembered he had fallen asleep with his head on your shoulder, and how you stayed at least an hour looking up at the early morning sky through the window before you were able to fall asleep.

You still didn’t know what to do. The events from last night replayed in the back of your head and all you wanted was to pretend that none of it had happened, but inside the yacht it was impossible, considering that everywhere you looked took you back to the texture of his mouth, or the heat of his skin against yours.

Eventually, you slowly climbed down the bed before tiptoeing towards the toilet, where you found a bathrobe to cover your body with before walking down the steps to the second floor. You tried to repress a smile when your eyes wandered around the crime scene: his clothes still on the couch, your underwear on the rug, and the red fabric of the dress scattered on the floor like shameful evidence.

Trying to put aside your embarrassment, you picked all your stuff and got rid of the bathrobe, dressing up as your eyes got lost in the desolated deck outside. The underwear was still damp from the jacuzzi, but it’d have to do. The dress hadn’t suffered any damage; you flattened the skirt, thinking about your shoes and trench coat that were somewhere downstairs.

You took a deep breath, sitting down on the couch where you had let him do whatever he wanted with you last night, eyes lingering on the half-empty wine glasses, on the expensive bottle still resting on the glass table as you pondered. You needed some time to think.

You could think back home. You could book the tickets, leave tonight, and have a few days away from this jungle of a city to think things through, to make a decision. But it was obvious that all the possibilities of staying in this job had disappeared after what you had done last night.

After a while, you resorted to go down to the first floor to get your phone. Maybe call your mother and for once not worry at all about emails or calendars, but it seemed that the more stairs you climbed down in this place the more lucid and terrified you felt about the events of the last few hours.

It was as if you were an intruder in Steve’s paradise of luxury, there was no fucking way there would be space for you in this world of his beyond the job of an assistant. In the back of your mind you had flirted with the possibility, of course, many times. Of maybe becoming something else, as you both had confessed last night, but there was no way this thing between you would survive.

The coat was still resting on the chair next to the bar, and you put it on quickly before your hands dived deep into the pockets to find your phones. And you did find them, but the feeling of something else made you frown as your fingers encountered the velvet square box inside.

Your heart beat hard against your chest as you squeezed the little box in your palm, thinking that if you’d squeeze it hard enough maybe it would become less real. Maybe it would disappear, but no. It was small, and hard to the touch, and very real.

Just then, your phone started buzzing and only when you sniffed softly you realised that you had tears in your eyes. You hoped to God that it was your mother, but instead your personal phone just showed a random number, and it took you a few seconds to make the decision to pick up the call.

‘Hello?’

‘Is this Miss—?’

‘Yeah.’ You said weakly. ‘This is she.’

‘Oh. I’m Jonathan Byers?’ The name filled you with anxiety in a completely different way, looking around the room as you cleaned your face. ‘Sorry, is this a bad time?’

‘No.’ you said immediately. ‘No, Mr Byers, it’s fine. How are you?’

‘I’m okay.’ He said carefully. Your breath still felt trapped inside your throat as he kept talking. ‘I was hoping we could schedule an in-person interview soon? I just wanted to speak to you first before I make you an official offer.’

‘Of course.’ You said, trying to process his words. ‘I just, uh, got caught in some extra work. Is it possible to postpone it after New Year’s?’

A tense silence set on the line as you held your breath before he released an awkward laugh.

‘I thought you needed to leave your current job? That’s what Robin said.’

‘A-And she was right.’ You said, feeling your scalp warm and sweaty. ‘I do.’

Your fingers wrapped around the velvety box inside your pocket once again, holding onto it as if it was an amulet. The words stayed on your throat as you repeated them in your head: I do. I do. I do.

‘What about this afternoon?’ You suddenly said. Looking for a clock anywhere around you. ‘I need to book a flight back home, but I’m staying at the Plaza and if it’s not too far from you, we could meet there.’

‘Right.’ He said then, thinking about it for a second before he took a deep breath of relief.  ‘I have a new production starting on the 15th and…’

You nodded as he spoke, looking behind your shoulder when you thought that maybe you had heard something behind you, but there was nothing. Steve was still sleeping peacefully upstairs as Mr Byers kept talking on the phone and you took your work phone out of the coat to place it on the mahogany surface of the bar.

‘Sure.’ You said to whatever Jonathan was saying before you swallowed hard, finally getting the courage to pull out the tiny little box from its hiding place. A frown took over your face as your thumb stroked the perfect red surface of its lid, licking your lips as you tasted salty tears on your throat. ‘Of course.’

‘…Looking forward to meeting you.’ He finally said.

‘Thank you, Mr Byers.’ You said softly.

Your eyes were still holding the phone against your ear when he hung up. The temptation of opening it was taking all over your body, but you weren’t sure if you would be able to leave this place if you confirmed your suspects, if after all it ended up being true.

So, you did the brave thing, which was also the coward thing to do, and placed it on top of the phone where he had called you so many times before the last couple of years. All through different time zones, during the holidays, or from the office. Whenever he needed you, as an assistant, a friend, or just someone to talk to.

You stood there, looking at the sad little image, knowing that you had to leave soon if you wanted to be on time to get your things ready, check out from the hotel and meet Mr Byers. But you were trying to find a better way to do this. There had to be a much better way to leave without breaking his heart in such a cruel way. You just didn’t know how.

Carefully, you let out a defeated sigh, tying the strips of your coat around you before you searched for a pen, something you could write him an extensive and sincere apologetic letter. But there was not much that you could say or write, was there?

Sighing, you grabbed a napkin from the bar, feeling that time was melting the more you delayed your leaving, the more you searched for words. It was only then that you wondered, really wondered, if there was anything you could offer the man you were in love with.

Give me some time, was all you could write on that miserable piece of paper

The flight back home was short, or at least it felt that way because you couldn’t remember much of it. The whole time you had been looking at your personal phone, now your only phone, wondering if you’d have a missed call from Mr Harrington once you landed.

There was still an unheard voicemail from him that you didn’t know if you had the courage to listen to. You had to start drafting an official resignation letter now that you had a new job, and in the next few days you had to start organizing Mr Byer’s schedule for January while leaving everything in order for Steve’s new assistant.

While your mother drove home, you wondered if there could be anyone who paid attention to the little things as much as you did. Would this new person know in which order to organise his meetings so he could be more efficient? Would they remember to get him some earplugs for his long flights? You bit your smile as you remembered how sometimes you used to tell him that his Friday afternoon meeting had been cancelled when really it was scheduled on Monday, just so he could have an hour or two for himself when things were too heavy. But you knew very well now that most of those things had nothing to do with the role and everything to do with the way you cared about him.

‘Are you listening, honey?’ Your mother said that night when you jumped on the table, thinking that maybe you had heard the buzz on your phone when really it had been your stepdad’s. ‘I said Mrs Vandermann’s now too old to manage the Christmas dinner for the homeless shelter so I thought I might volunteer next year.’

‘Right.’ You nodded. ‘Yeah, sorry, mom. I’m still a bit tired. That’s nice.’

‘Oh, ‘s that awful boss of yours.’ She said standing up from the table, she squeezed your shoulder before getting lost in the kitchen as she kept talking. ‘I’m so happy you won’t be working for him anymore. Ask Allan, he’s everything I’ve been complaining about for the last few days.’

Your stepdad didn’t really say much as he quickly scrolled down the news in his phone. You fought the need to roll your eyes at some of the headlines on those sensationalist websites he used to read, but you weren’t going to start a discussion after skipping Christmas, not now that your mother seemed so happy.

‘There you go, you two.’ She said placing two plates with fruitcake in front of you, before clapping enthusiastically. ‘Oh, I’m so happy we finally get to be together as a family.’

Oh, a family. The thought didn’t leave your head as you finished your dessert, and your absent eyes got lost in the worn face of your father in the pictures. You wondered if you’d tell him about Steve if he was still here, sitting on the place where your stepfather was playing Candy Crush while he complained about the news with your mother. Or maybe they would’ve eventually ended up getting divorced, like most of your friends’ parents who had fallen in love in High School and stayed in town.

That night you lay on your childhood bed, among young adult novels you probably needed to give to charity and boyband posters that the sun had bleached until you couldn’t recognise the face of your favourite member anymore. You had seen him once or twice in events where Steve had been invited to, quietly observing him in the distance, wondering what had your teenage self seen in that man. Then Steve had playfully squeezed your shoulder, mockingly asking you if you wanted to be introduced.

You remembered those things fondly as you played with a worn teddy bear your grandparents had brought to the hospital the day you were born. The thing was missing an eye, and some stitches had given up with time, but you still placed your cheek against its fluffy head in the darkness of your room, hearing the snores of your stepdad in the distance.

Give me some time. That had been your request, and in exchange you had received not only time, but also space and silence. Checking your phone for the thousandth time, your eyes lingered once again on the voicemail notification from two days ago.

You took a deep, terrifying breath before taking the phone to your ear. The dial beeped a couple of times before the robotic voice of the operator told you what you already knew: that you had a missed voicemail from Mr Steve Harrington.

‘Hey.’ He had said, only the sound of his voice had you shutting your eyes hard as you moved to your side on the bed. ‘I, uh. I hope you have a happy holiday. I also hope you rest. Like, really rest. Seriously. Or you won’t get your bonus this month.’

The sound of his laugh almost made you tear up. You both had really ruined something precious, huh? Something innocent and harmless that had your broken heart beating fast now.

‘I just wanted to thank you for your support. These last few months, you, uh, you’ve been incredible. And you’re much more confident, and talented and smarter than the girl I met two years ago in my office. I always knew you’d be great at this job… Maybe too great. I—, well. I was calling for two things, actually. First, I wanted to say I forgot to give you your Christmas present at the airport.’ He made a long pause, sighing softly. ‘Actually, I didn’t exactly forget. I… I want to talk to you in person. I don’t want you to think anything weird about this, and I understand if you think I overstepped, but I just recommended you for a job. With someone else.’ He had stayed silent for a while again, maybe searching for the right words. ‘Someone better. It’s a long story. I just don’t know if I want to… be this person anymore. This… busy businessman, disappointing firstborn. Hated brother. I, uh… It doesn’t matter. It’s got nothing to do with you. I know you won’t agree. Because you see the good in me.’  You sobbed in the pause he took, thinking of all the things that had happened in the last couple of days. ‘Because you’re good. You’re the best, actually. And I hope you have the Merriest Christmas.’

A night of insomnia followed a couple of days of walking around absently, forgetting silly things like where the glasses were or where the shortcut you used to walk through whenever you went to the supermarket was.

‘Here.’ Even your stepdad was a bit worried, surprising you with a humming cup of tea a night while your eyes stayed on the TV without really watching anything. ‘You look a bit sick.’

‘Thank you.’

You did feel sick, worse than that, you felt ashamed. You were going through your resignation letter again, checking for spelling errors or unclear sentences, but it was all very simple: you thanked him for the opportunity and set your last day of work as the 31st of December.

All those ideas you had of leaving things ready for the next person had vanished after you listened to that voicemail. Steve had legal decisions to make, he had to decide which one of his siblings to transfer the business to, if he wasn’t thinking about selling or leasing. He had to call in emergency meetings with partners and employees, he had to inform the press eventually. This was new territory that you could’ve navigated with him if only you hadn’t fucked things up. If you hadn’t left that phone and the little box on top of it. If you were still deserving of it.  

Taking a sobby breath, you pressed sent before closing your laptop. You still needed to start catching up with Mr Byer’s calendar and book plane tickets to go back to the city. But there was too much in your head and still nothing at all. It was 29th of December. Tomorrow it’d be a hard, long day, one of those that reminded you that you had never been good at forgetting.

Steve parked in front of the little cottage, trying to imagine a childhood version of yourself in this very porch, walking around in a Halloween costume or waiting for your mom on the first day of school. He tried to imagine you filling the car with boxes when you were leaving for college, and he tried to imagine you on a day like this, years ago, when your father passed away.

He knew that what he was doing was invasive and probably crossing the lines of rudeness, but after receiving that impersonal and abrupt email he needed to come see you. You didn’t get to reject him just like that after two years of hiding his feelings for you, of dodging the accusations of his girlfriends, of fighting the need of touching you in events where it had seemed imprudent and even indiscreet. Two years of night calls that started as business updates and ended in whispered small talk, while you were in New York and he was working in San Francisco, or you were in Boston while he called from London.

You just didn’t get to end things like this.

His eyes lingered on the Christmas wreath hanging from the door before he dared to ring the bell. It was cold, despite the fact he had gloves he still hid his hands inside his coat, wondering what he’d do as soon as he saw your face. If he’d be brave enough to tell you everything or if he’d just melt and cup your face in his hands.

But it wasn’t you who opened the door, exactly. Someone like you, but older. Steve would’ve hoped that your mother might have been as welcoming and sweet as you, but her eyes hid an unexpected indignation that he could’ve never predicted.

‘Hi, Mrs—’ He said your last name, not sure if your mother still went by it. ‘I’m St—’

‘I know who you are.’ She said, still looking quite irritated. They both stood in silence for a few seconds as she studied his face, until her eyes fell on the navy scarf he was wearing. Steve couldn’t miss the way her semblance shifted just subtly, as if she had realised something. ‘How can I help you, Mr Harrington?’

‘Please, call me Steve.’ He said softly, almost as an apology. ‘I know today is a mourning day for your family, but I was hoping I could speak to your daughter.’

She took a deep breath, considering his words for a few seconds, before she closed the door behind her.

‘Listen, Steve.’ She took a slow pause. ‘You’ve already ruined my family’s Christmas by keeping my daughter working absurd hours.’ She said crossing her arms over her chest. ‘She’s been miserable the last few days, missing her father I suppose, as she always does during this time of the year. I need you to respect that.’

Steve frowned, trying to process your mother’s words as he stood on his place, staring at her like an idiot.

‘Mrs —’ Steve repeated her name, but he didn’t really know what to say.

‘Coming here, on the day of her father’s death, trying to get her to work for you again…’ She shook her head, feeling bad for the lonely man that stood on this threshold asking for you. ‘Even for a powerful, educated man like you, there are limits, honey. You should be home with your family.’

Steve stayed in silence for a few seconds, trying to understand where this all was coming from. His mouth was open, but the words seemed inaccessible to him as he tried to solve this puzzle in his head.

‘Is this what she told you?’ He murmured. And your mother must’ve seen the outmost hurt that his brown eyes exposed so sincerely, because suddenly she felt flushed and a bit foolish at what she had just said.

‘W-Well…’ She said unsure, her eyes falling on the scarf once again before looking back at his face. She then released a long sigh, fighting the need of rolling her eyes as she surrendered. ‘Come on in, I’ll make some coffee.’

Steve’s eyes looked for you, and you were everywhere, in pictures that hung from the wall or were placed above the chimney. His eyes lingered on framed drawings from the first grade, on a poetry contest certificate with your name that must’ve been ten years old placed on a bookshelf.

‘She’s on the basement playing chess with Allan.’ Your mother said, bringing a tray with two cups of coffee into the living room. ‘Those two never agree on anything but they’re insanely competitive.’

Steve smiled to himself at your mother’s words.

‘I’ll let her know you’re here.’ She said after a while.

‘It was a pleasure to meet you.’ He said then. ‘Thanks for letting me in.’

Your mother stood on her place on the other side of the living room table, hesitating, until she got the courage to speak.

‘He used to wear those all the time.’ She seemed a bit moved, by the way her eyes shone momentarily as she looked at Steve’s scarf. ‘My husband. I guess that’s why I let you in. That child, she’s always been good at keeping things from me, but I would’ve never thought...’ She sighed as she shook her head.

Steve stayed still as she looked away thoughtfully. He kept silent, trying to remember where he had gotten the warm piece of fabric that he wore every winter, but he was unable to. It had always been there, on the hotel bed next to his pressed suit, inside his suitcase, hanging from the coat rack in his office.

The sound of steps made them both lift their gaze.

‘Fucking cheater.’ You said under your breath once you made it to the top floor. You were about to walk towards the kitchen when your eyes fell on the scene happening in the living room from its entrance.

Only then, Steve realised he had never seen you wear jeans before. It certainly made you look much younger, the thin layer of skin that peaked between the hem and your cardigan, the way your wrists got lost in those wool sleeves. It was so endearing and warm, and God, he was supposed to be mad at you, but he had missed you too much for that.

‘We’ll talk later.’ Your mother whispered on a passive aggressive tone as she walked past you, getting lost on the hallway behind you.

The heat rushed to your cheeks, you didn’t know if it was because of her disappointment or by the way you hadn’t been able to take your eyes off him sitting inside your mother’s living room. He looked so out of place, inside your childhood home where there was barely space for the Christmas tree.

‘Hey.’ He finally said. There was coffee on the table. She had let him in, and she had made coffee for him. There were some pictures somewhere here, of you taking a bath when you were five years old. You needed to get rid of them as soon as possible, before he saw them.

‘Hi.’ You said then, stepping inside the living room with your hands in your back pockets.

Outside, something moved. You both looked out through the window into the snowy landscape, before a little white bunny hopped away back into the forest.

‘I’ve got your email.’ He said then. Steve stood up as your eyes fell back on him. Forgetting the coffee, and everything else he had prepared to say.

You nodded.

‘I’m sorry that I can’t keep working for you.’ You said after a while.

‘It was either you quitted, or I fired you.’ He sadly admitted. ‘Jonathan said he was impressed by your interview… I told him you don’t disappoint.’

‘Hm.’ You smiled softly, playing with the sleeves of your cardigan. ‘Thanks for the recommendation. He never mentioned it, but I know— I know now.’

He swallowed hard, looking away towards the window, before his eyes got lost in the untouched cups of coffee.

‘I wanted you to be safe.’

You nodded once again; your hands fell on the armchair that stood in between you when you took a step forwards.

‘Thank you, Steve.’ You said sincerely. ‘For everything you’ve done for me.’

He shook his head softly, a soft sad smile taking over his mouth as he studied your face.

‘I should be the one thanking you.’

The awkward silence in between you was filled by the distant noise of your stepdad watching the TV, and your mother’s steps in the kitchen.

‘Would you like to go for a walk?’ You asked then, unsure of what to say. All your life, you had never brought a boy home and suddenly he was here, and you didn’t know what to do. ‘This is a small town, but most people keep to themselves.’

‘A walk sounds nice.’ He cleared his throat.

He guessed you were right; it was a small town but also a desolated one. You walked together around the house towards the forest, hearing the noise of the wind and the sound of your steps over the snow.

‘It’s very quiet in here.’ He said after a while. ‘I like it.’

‘Yeah.’ You said softly as you walked towards a distant bench on the other side of the park. ‘I couldn’t stand it as a child. I needed to leave.’

He stayed silent for a while; you could feel his eyes on you as you kept walking towards the bench, the silence progressively turned worst the longer it lingered between you.

‘Is that why you lied to your mom?’

You looked back at him with an offended frown. ‘What are you exactly accusing me of? Not wanting to come back to my depressing hometown during the holidays?’

He stopped in his tracks there, feeling that his patience was running out as he looked at you. You, who had left. You, who had broken his heart.

‘I’m trying tounderstandwhy you would tell your family that I forced you to work on Christmas.’

‘But you do understand, Steve.’ You said looking back at him, feeling the blood rushing to your cheeks. ‘For the same reason you didn’t spend Christmas with yours, because I can’t stand being here. You never really planned on getting on that jet, did you?’

He looked back at you with a blank face, swallowing hard before you resumed your walk and he tried to catch up with you.

‘How do you know that.’

‘Uh, well—’ You turned back, feeling the tears rushing to your eyes. ‘Maybe the fact that you were planning on giving me a ring?’

His eyes turned soft at the mention of his present, his eyebrows arching as he pictured the circlet inside the little box. One he had chosen carefully with months in advance, one day of September in which you had called in sick. That never happened, it was a sign. The little box had been inside his pocket when he was at the airport, he had played with it back in the café, while you sipped your coffee absently. It had felt like a weight inside his pocket the whole time until he sneaked it inside your coat.

‘Listen, it’s not like that.’ He said softly, taking a step towards you. ‘It’s not that type of ring.’

‘Not that type of ring.’ You sobbed, feeling the cold wind burning your cheeks as you looked back at him, pathetically admitting your defeat. ‘What does it mean, Steve!’

‘Sweetheart,’ He took a step towards you, his gloved hands finally cupped your face as you looked back at him with the outmost desperation. ‘It means whatever we want it to mean, I— I was going to explain it all to you later that same day.’ He blinked softly, swallowing hard. Yet his voice was still hoarse and full of despair when he spoke again. ‘I just didn’t think you would leave me like that.’

You released a sobby breath, looking away into the forest because his hurt stare was too much to handle.

‘I’ve been preparing my resignation since the summer,’ He explained as his thumbs stroked your cheeks, catching your tears as your hands finally held onto his wrists. ‘My plan was always to tell you, but… You know, I needed to speak to my family first. And the more I delayed telling them the more I delayed telling you, that I wanted a life with you.’

You released an exhausted breath as you let him guide your wet face into his chest. You hid your face there, before your arms wrapped around his neck and his around your waist. Lazily, you moved when you felt he was searching for your skin with his mouth, tiny little pecks warming the skin of your jaw and ear.

‘I love you.’ He whispered.

‘I love you too.’ You said stroking the back of his neck. You could’ve spent hours like this, with no witnesses around, only the snow and the wind surrounding you.

‘What are you doing?’ He laughed against your skin as your hand blindly searched for something on the side of his coat.

‘Nothing.’ You admitted leaning back softly when he started helping you.

He smiled to himself, taking the little box out of his pocket. You stood there looking at the way his eyes went from happy to serious to terrified.

‘You don’t have to take it now.’ He said softly, stroking your cheek as his eyes looked everywhere in you face except your eyes. ‘I can save it for you. It’s yours anyways.’

You shook your head softly then, sniffing a little as you placed your hands on top of his scarf, fixing it even if it wasn’t needed.

‘If it’s mine, I want it.’ You whispered. ‘Can I have it?’

Steve’s soft stare lighted up at your words, and he finally opened the little box in between your bodies. You bit your trembling lip at the sight of the delicate gold circlet, with the simplest, tiniest diamond on top of it. It was whatever you wanted it to be, but you both knew exactly what it meant.

You offered him your shaky hand, looking back at him, your eyes full of terror and adoration as he took it out of the little cushion.

‘Am I allowed to—’

‘If you kneel, I swear I’ll kill you.’ You laughed in between tears.

He laughed again, licking his lips as he slid the ring down your finger. Then his lips clashed against yours, he tasted sweet, he tasted certain while his squeezing embrace hurt your ribs. You tasted his tears and his joy as he leaned back to look at you, all teary and happy.

You both sighed when his forehead rested on yours, finally able to feel the sweet relief sitting on your shoulders, taking over your chest. Your hands climbed to pull him from his scarf as he looked down at you, shaking his head.

‘You’re insane.’ You whispered.

‘I know.’

‘We should keep this to ourselves.’ You whispered again, though no one could hear you here though, not even the forest was awake enough. And the city was far, so very far.

‘I know.’ His finger stroked your cheek as a foolish, childish smile started forming in his mouth. ‘Good thing we’re good at keeping secrets, huh?’

🏷️: @keerysfolklore @starrgurl46

I do no consent for people to plagiarise, translate, copy or repost any of my written works anywhere. I do not consent people to use any of my written work for AI purposes.

[pullhisteeth]

shes a maga loving PoS

no idea how true this is but I don't listen to her music at all LMAO 🫶 it was a fleeting thought that was mortifyingly parasocial. i don't know anything about her really!

[pullhisteeth]

had a thought today that is too parasocial but.......

I have no idea how serious that thing between joe quinn and doja cat is but if it's anything..... and she makes music about it...... she may inadvertently confirm or deny what he's like....... yknow............ or what he likes....

[pullhisteeth]

eddie munson would absolutely rail you to led zeppelin's 'i can't quit you, baby'

[pullhisteeth]

𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Spencer gets a bad bout of amnesia. Or, your boyfriend forgets he’s your boyfriend, but he still has a crush on you. [3k]

c: fem, bombshell!reader, head injury, hospitals, amnesia, fluff, spencer can’t believe he bagged you, requested here 

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

Spencer wakes to an empty room. 

He lays on a pillow too flat, neck twinging, the back of his eyes throbbing when he moves.

He struggles to breathe through his nose and lets his mouth open for a few achy breaths, his mouth dry like he’s been sucking on cotton balls. 

Spencer’s alarmed, without a clue what it is he’s done. He wonders where Gideon is, if the older man has come to see him yet. He hopes somebody told his mom he’s okay. 

Maybe Hotch will come. He and Hotch have grown closer while Gideon was on his mandated recovery time; Gideon spends far less time in the office, sticking to lectures, seminars and consults, while Hotch, Morgan and Spencer handle the away cases. Spencer might go as far as to say Hotch likes him. And Morgan can tolerate him now, less grudging when Spencer offers a random fact or statistic to further the case. 

A stab of pain at the back of his head makes itself known sharply.

Spencer doesn’t want to move, but he needs to assess things. He frowns at his arms, naked as they are. His silver watch is missing. A t-shirt that he doesn’t remember buying stretches over his chest. What state are they in, and who dressed him? 

He’s scowling at the window with it’s wide-open blinds and all the sun when the door opens. 

You’re looking at the bags on your arm as you come in. Spencer startles in his blankets —what are you doing here? Agent L/N, Morgan’s friend and a candidate for the open position on the BAU team. You’re from the Sex Crimes Unit, like Greenaway. 

Spencer flusters every time he sees you, not just because of how kind you’d been the first time you met, or even the easy flirtation you send his way when you cross paths. It’s because you’re the prettiest woman he’s ever seen. He’s not talking about the golden ratio or statistical beauty, you’re just stunning. You stop him in his tracks whenever you steal into the office. It’s better when you notice he’s awake and light up like he’s the winning numbers for tonight’s lottery pull. Everything about you illuminates. 

“Hey, babe!” you say, not not yelling as you drop your bags in the seat by the bed and reach for him.

He doesn’t think to move away as you take his face into your hands.

“I’m so glad you’re finally awake, you almost slept for the full twenty four hours.” Your hands are soft. They smell like neroli. When you stroke his cheek and lean down to give him a chaste peck, he almost passes out there and then. “It's a good thing, obviously,” you say, and then kiss him again distractedly. Spencer squeezes his eyes closed. “You heal more when you’re asleep. Or so I’ve heard.” 

You pull away, Spencer blinking for his life. You have such a nice mouth, but Spencer’s never thought about what it might feel like on his. He doesn’t have the audacity: in what world would you ever kiss him? That’s the joke, right, when you flirt with him in the office?

“How are you feeling?” you ask, losing some of your pep. “How’s your head, handsome? You know, there are easier ways to get a haircut.” 

“They cut my hair?” he croaks. 

“Shaved it at the back to stitch you up. Not much, don’t worry. They were pushing for a buzz cut but I put my foot down on that one,” you joke. You nudge his legs aside without worrying about sitting on him as you get comfortable. “It’s not much. You can’t tell.”

“I…” 

“You feeling okay?” you ask softly. Your nice mouth purses. Your eyebrows pinch. They’re cute eyebrows. 

“You look different than the last time I saw you.” 

He doesn’t mean to say it aloud. He’s noticing things now. You’re wearing less powder under your eyes than you used to. You seem to have gained a little weight, and you look good. You didn’t look bad before, but this is different. Your hair isn’t too different, nor your brows, but you’ve begun lining your lips in a new way. Your blush is a subtler hue. Spencer doesn’t claim to know everything about you, but he can say that you look neatly the same each time you visit. Why the sudden change?

“It’s hard to sleep when your favourite person in the world gets his head cut open,” you say, taking his hand where he’d left it loose in the blankets. 

Your fingers slip into his with ease. 

“Can I tell you something?” he asks, attempting to swallow his nerves. 

“Of course you can.” 

He licks his lips. “Uh, I think I’m confused. I don’t– I don’t remember what happened, and…” 

“Oh, right. They told me this might happen.” You draw yourself up with a breath. He’s fascinated by the movement, an air of heat around him as you begin rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb. “You got hit in the back of the head with a cinder block, honey. Went down like a lead balloon.” You turn your face to show your cheek. “We’re even now on good scares, yeah?” 

You have a scar on your face he’d missed, carefully concealed but yet not invisible. Your hand in his feels so alien he holds it wrong, fingers twined but palms apart. 

“What happened to you?” he asks. 

Your brow crinkles. You go very still. “My cheek?” you ask. 

“What…” 

“Spencer, what’s the last thing you can remember, honey?” you ask, all the horror in the world to be found in your eyes.��

“Uh…” He feels sick to his stomach.

“Spencer?” 

Without having to be told, you slip off of the bed with two taps of your shoes and reach for the bedpan, thrusting it into his lap. 

His mouth fills with spit. “I’m fine,” he says. 

“No, I don’t think so. Let me get a doctor.” 

“Wait,” he says, clutching the bedpan and pushing his wave of nausea as far down as he can. “Please don’t go.” 

“My face was months ago, honey. I got hit in the face with a hammer by a UnSub, you don’t remember?” you ask incredulously. 

“Why do you keep calling me honey?” he asks. He knows the answer, but it’s not computing. 

Your face drains of any happiness. “I’m going to get a doctor,” you say, shoulders rigidly tight as you exit the room, leaving Spencer in your wake wishing he’d just pretended he knew who you were, just until you kissed him again. 

—

“And he really can’t remember you at all?” Morgan asks. 

You’re a little less startled than you had been, and you’re trying not to punish poor Spencer, but realising your boyfriend forgot years of flirting, and yearning, and friendship —years of kissing in secret and otherwise, years of holding hands, and staying at each other’s places to get that extra time together, even if it was just getting to sleep in the same bed between cases— was a slap. 

“He remembers me,” you say, leg crossed over the other, arm over the railing of Spencer’s bed to hold his hand. “He just doesn’t remember a thing after Gideon came back, after Boston.” 

“I remember when you had hair,” Spencer says to Derek. 

Derek glares at him, “This Spencer doesn’t get to sass me.” 

“But I do eventually?” 

“How come you’re holding hands if he doesn’t know who you are?” Derek asks pointedly. 

You shrug. “We talked about it, didn’t we?” you ask Spencer, who perks up every time you talk, which isn’t unlike your usual Spencer. Whenever he catches himself doing it he flusters. Every time you call him baby he loses his mind. “He doesn’t remember me, but he wants to. And I remember him.” 

“This must be pretty weird for you, kid,” Derek says. 

“Sort of,” Spencer says. 

It’s funny. Now you know Spencer thinks he’s twenty three again, you can’t not notice his shyness and his awkward tries at casualness. You’d forgotten what he was like back then. 

“Wait, does that mean you don’t remember Emily?” Derek asks. 

Spencer frowns. “Uh, no?” 

You sit up in your chair. “Emily’s one of your best friends, honey. She joined the BAU when Greenaway left.”

“Not you?” he asks. 

You dramatise your pain as Derek laughs. “Not me. I didn’t transfer for a long time, unfairly. It’s okay, though, you’ll remember Emily eventually.” 

When you realised Spencer wasn’t as okay as you’d thought, you gathered a gaggle of agitated doctors to assess him. He knew his name and birthday. He was wrong about the date, the president, and the state. You’re in Arizona where he’d thought Indiana. Your bag talks to the heat: Spencer’s fan, his sunblock, his antihistamines. He couldn’t believe it when he asked where his stuff was and you passed him your handbag. 

You’re trying to drive home to him that you’re not just dating, you're common-law partners, Spence. He adores you. You’d spend life in his lap if you could afford it. 

“How’d she get you to believe her?” Derek asks Spencer. 

“Uh.” 

“I kissed him a couple of times before he came clean about the amnesia,” you say. “So I didn’t have to explain.” 

“I didn’t mean to lie,” Spencer says. 

He’s looking less haggard now you’ve brushed his hair. It was sweet to watch his shoulders relax. He shuddered when you tucked a strand behind his ears, and didn’t flinch when you asked if you could kiss his cheek. It’s hard to have him vulnerable here and not be allowed to lick his wounds for him. You feel better the better he feels. You’ve fluffed his pillow, wrapped him tighter in blankets. When he got up to pee and you offered to help, he gave a resolute No Thank You, which in hindsight is hilarious but at the time made you wanna squeeze your eyes out. 

“It’s okay,” you say softly, “I don’t mind kissing him, even if he doesn’t remember me. Just so long as he doesn’t mind it back.”

Spencer manages to squeeze your hand. It’s a soft one, but it’s real. “I don’t mind.” 

“You dog,” Derek says. 

“Stop, stop. He’s not doing anything wrong, is he?” you ask. “I’m the evil one, forcing kisses on him when he doesn’t know me.” 

“I do know you,” Spencer says. 

“What’s it like to have a crush on your own girlfriend?” Derek asks, unwilling to quit his teasing where he’s crossing his arms in the chair opposite, his cup of coffee drained on the side table. 

Spencer swallows. “Uh, nerve-wracking.” 

“Believe it or not, that’s not so different to now,” Derek says. 

Spencer looks to you for confirmation, which you love. You slide your chair closer to him and clasp his wrist with your free hand. “Sometimes you're still a little shy, but it’s not so bad. Full of myself I may be, Spencer Reid, but you do love me. It’s easy with us.” 

“Do we really live together?” he asks. “You said common-law.” 

“Not technically. I stay at your place four nights a week. You stay with me for the weekends.” 

“Every week?” he asks.

“Yeah.” 

“We’re never apart?” he asks. 

His face is turning pink. You could kiss every bit of colour on his cheeks. 

“Derek, would you get Spencer something to eat from the cafeteria? Please?” you ask, levelling your friend with a pleading gaze. 

Derek gathers himself up. “Sure. We gotta feed the string bean something, don’t we?” he asks. 

Alone again, you draw lines up and down Spencer’s arm with your nails. You’re going to be indulgent in yourself, and ask him everything you’d ever wanted to know. And then a little extra, too. 

“You’re not as skinny anymore, have you noticed? You’re quite lean.” You stand to sit where you’d put yourself before he confessed. Your hand falls to his knee. “Solid, sometimes. You and Derek go for walks occasionally.” 

“We do?” 

“Mm-hm. And me and you do yoga in the living room when we can summon the energy. We tried couples Pilates, but Pilates is hard.” 

“We did?”

You smile warmly. “It’s nice to be in love with someone who loves in the same way.” 

“How do you love?” 

His ears are bitten-red. “Oh, you know. I’m too affectionate. It’s hard not to be with you. Everyone used to think we were… I don’t know, playing a game.” You slide your hand up his thigh, leaning on him to watch his pupils blow. “But I love you for far more than your constant propensity to blush. You get me flowers every time you see my favourites, and you never let me go to sleep without a kiss. Usually here.” You poke the skin beside your eye. “But sometimes you’ll surprise me and kiss my nose.” You're going lax with love, remembering things he’s done, and does every day.  “On a Saturday morning we make tea and I put my hands in your t-shirt. You do the crosswords for fun. Sometimes we time them.” 

“That’s not how you love, that’s what you love,” Spencer says. 

“Oh, you want a play by play of things?” He ducks his chin, but he smiles when you laugh. 

“I just can’t believe this is happening.”

You try to think of things you don’t think about anymore. “You love my sugar lip gloss, so I always wear it.” 

He reaches out tentatively. Shy as a wren in a hedgerow. You let him curl a hand over your elbow, feel the crook of it with his index finger. 

“I buy you stamps, and t-shirts for bed, and stupid stuff you wouldn’t get yourself. We’re… it’s like, it doesn’t feel like gift giving anymore because we’re always getting stuff for each other. You’re just as sweet, you know? When I first started sleeping over you bought me this huge pack of socks ‘cos yours are all odd,” you laugh. “I knew I loved you already, but…”

It’s a little sad, actually. He can’t remember all the stuff that makes you the couple you are. It’s not what you’d meant to get into. 

“Can I ask you something?” you ask. 

“Anything.” 

He’s slept-in and breathless, like he ran laps in his dreams. 

“What do you think of me now? I always wondered if you liked me back then, or if I just caught you off guard.” 

“Who wouldn’t like you?” 

“But did you?” 

He looks away hurriedly, his hand dropping from your elbow. “I guess so. But it’s not– not real. I have a crush on you.” His mumbling is sweet. “I have no idea why I’m telling you that.” 

“I had a crush on you, too, back then. It wasn’t anything serious, but it wasn’t a joke. And the more time we spent together, the more I thought we could fall in love,” —you take his hand and put it back on your arm— “and we did.” 

You toy with his fingers. Without looking, ashamed of your own self-indulgence, you ask another question. “What do you think of me now?” 

“I can’t remember,” he says sorrily. 

“What do you think?” 

“You feel like a dream.” He shakes his head. “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world. I don’t really get how this is real.” 

You shouldn’t be surprised that he’d say it, you practically begged for it, but you can’t stop yourself from sitting up to kiss his forehead gently. “It’s real. Promise. And for the record, you’re handsome. They stopped saying ‘aged like fine wine’ a while ago. Now they just say ‘aged like Spencer Reid’.”

He gives a choky laugh. 

The door opens again. You lift your head expecting Derek and find a weather worm Hotch in the doorway. “Reid, you’re awake,” he says, not bothering with a smile. “Morgan said you have amnesia?” He directs it at both of you. 

Spencer’s looking at Hotch in clear shock. 

“He hasn’t aged that badly,” you chastise teasingly. 

“Hotch, you’re– I thought you would’ve– You’re still–?”

Hotch squints. “You didn’t think I had the stamina for it?” 

Spencer squirms under his gaze. “No, sir, it’s not that–”

“Sir,” Hotch says, and then he smiles. “I forgot when you both used to respect me.” 

“I have the utmost respect for you, sir,” you say through your own smile. 

“Has she been kind to you, Reid?” 

“Uh, yes? Is she not usually?” 

Hotch presses his lips together rather than answer. There’s a sympathy in his expression you resent.

—

It’s a thankfully quick bout of amnesia. The memories start to draw in like a dusting of powdered sugar, his head finely silted, one particle at a time. He finds that the more you talk, the quicker his memory is jogged. You tell him about your first kiss —I tried to kiss your cheek but you moved, it was the funniest thing— and your second. You spin stories of cases, the worst ones and the best, all the times you held hands without people knowing, the times you’d been caught. He can’t imagine it, goes hot with the memory, picturing kissing you as you’d described and the mortification of being walked in on. 

You tell him about your vacation to Nevada a few months ago and he thinks about how you’d fallen asleep on the plane. Your nose in his arm, your unhappy sigh at the tight leg space. 

Remembering you is more than half of remembering himself.

Your hands —his hands. Your smile —his laugh. The way you fold his hands in your lap —the urge to catch your chin for a kiss. 

He doesn’t know how to deal with it, and then suddenly he feels like Spencer. Your partner, your love, his proudest title for years. You’re standing at the end of the hospital bed in pajamas folding your clothes, allowed to stay the night while he’s so urgently confused and upset, you can’t make him stay here alone, please, I know you guys have those little cots for the kids ward, and he just knows you completely. 

Hours of diligent if embezzled storytelling gives it all back to him. 

“I like the lipgloss because you used to wear that perfume that smelled like sugar donuts,” he says, scratching a hand through limp hair. “And every time I crossed the square by the station–”

You let out a surprising squeal of joy. “Spencer!” you say, racing to take his hands, “Yes! The donut truck!” 

You go in for a kiss he gladly returns. “Oh, you remember,” you say, softening as he takes your neck into his hand. “I was getting worried.” 

“Some of it’s still hazy, but not so much you.” 

You wrap your arms around him for a hug, careful of his sore head. “I missed you, Spencer. I still loved you when you couldn’t remember me, but I missed you. Do you remember you?” 

He traces the scar on your lower cheek with his thumb. He’s genuinely relieved to be able to say he does. He’s not scared of what you think of him anymore, ‘cos he knows that everything he feels for you is mutual. “I remember you telling me my bad feeling was just a case of the heebies.” 

You bend into his touch. “Honey, I’m sorry. How was I supposed to know you’d get your skull whacked with a cinder block? It was a bakery. I thought the worst that could happen was getting a face full of red velvet or something.” You kiss his nose quickly. “I’m so glad you’re you. Now I can sleep in the bed with you, and not that collapsible camping cot.” 

He shushes you. “Don’t give us away. They’re not gonna let you stay if they think I’m fine.” 

You giggle excitedly, arms around him again for another squeeze. “I missed you so much. You’re so devious now.” 

He rubs your back. “I missed you too. And I still have a crush on you, I swear.”

“Thank you, honey, that means a lot to me.” 

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

thanks for reading!

[pullhisteeth]

eddie munson - fic recs

Other Fic Recs

Masterlist

works by @uglypastels

(series, pirate au) not wholly evil ➾ 'Do not worry; we shall release you straight back into your father's arms– for a reasonable price, that is,' he looked around at his men, who all once again erupted in a jolly sea of laughter, matching his much softer depiction of humour. 'But for now….' He bend in a bow, dramatically removed his hat as his unbrushed locks grazed the floor. When he rose back up, his grin had spread to the widest corners of his mouth, and his dark eyes were filled with menacing mischief, freezing your core at the thought of what he could possibly be holding back in his mind. 'Welcome aboard the Hellfire.'  (its so hot with angst, fluff, smut and everything else that makes this one of the best things I've ever read, ever)

(series, regency au) ridlington park ➾ A lady from one of the most fortunate families of the ton is in search of a suitor—much to her own dismay—and so she does everything in her power to ruin her family’s attempts at an engagement. But what happens when the one who truly charms her turns out to be the one person she can never marry? (ABSOLUTELY GORGEOUS HOLY SHIT)

works by @iliaclwrites

everybody’s talking up a storm ➾ the one where the boys don’t know that eddie munson is dating the pretty assistant librarian that always helps them out.  

If you’d taken an arrow and run it through me ➾ five times you and Eddie pretended not to know each other + one time you didn’t

works by @inknopewetrust

the hideout ➾ eddie munson made it big. now, when he returns to Hawkins for a hometown concert with his band, he is reminded of the girl he’s been in love with for the past 6 years when steve harrington calls.(my ultimate favorite fic ever)

oh baby  | part 2 | part 3 ➾ you and eddie raise a baby… however, you’re not a couple and the baby isn’t real. 

works by @luveline

steve’s little sister going on a date w eddie 

(series) june baby ➾ single mom!reader

love bites ➾ vampire! eddie

works by @littlexdeaths

(series) eras of us ➾ multiple lives, over multiple years— but only one destined love (AAAAAAAAH)

pushing up daises ➾ kas! eddie (so hot and sad and ansgty aaaah)

it’s a recipe for disaster ➾ older brother’s best friend! eddie

works by @rebelfell

(mini series) this summer is the apocalypse ➾ older harrington!reader

unforgiven, I'm a villain ➾ outlaw!eddie (hot, way way way too hot)

works by @rip-quizilla

eat me ➾ older rockstar! eddie x pop star!reader, two years after your hiatus from the music industry, you're back and all grown up now. After collaborating with early 2000's metal sensation Corroded Coffin for several songs off your new album, you debut the new tracks live in a surprise performance with the band during their tour- and the tension between you and frontman Eddie Munson is so thick, you're barely able to keep your pants on throughout the set. (i could read this fic over and over and over and over again, it's so fucking hot im crying)

you could kill be (and you should) ➾ vampire!eddie x vampire slayer! reader, you’ve come to Hawkins to haunt vampires, but what happens when you befriend Eddie Munson? (EXCUSE ME? HOW DARE YOU PLAY WITH MY FEELINGS LIKE THAT? Ok this fic is so hot, and insane. And the ending just leaves you sobbing and wanting more!!!)

other works by amazing writers 

(series) celebrity skin by @cacoetheswriting ➾ rockstar!eddie munson x popstar!fem!reader, as corroded coffin frontman, eddie munson regards himself as perhaps the most important person in the 90s music scene. that is until he meets you — america's favourite starlet. things evolve pretty quickly from there.

(series) freaky friday by @jo-harrington ➾ Eddie thinks that Steve has everything in life handed to him on a silver platter (including his new girlfriend who Eddie has a crush on). And Steve just can't believe that the kids look up to Eddie the Freak, or that he lives his life without giving a single fuck. (ABSOLUTELY AMAZING)

(series) too much in common by @munsonhoneybaby ➾ henderson!reader

(series of blurbs) hopper's daughter! reader by @reysdriver

(series) rockstar eddie by @enam3l

(series, knight au) not very noble by @allthingsjoeq ➾ your kingdom is placed under threat of liquidation, the villagers crying out for help as each day they enter greater poverty. As their princess you have been chosen to amend the broken monarchy, creating a truce between the neighbouring royals, and fulfilling a marriage decided by the King. a certain knight is asked to bring deliver you.

i slept with someone from corroded coffin and all I got was this stupid song written about me by @taintedcigs ➾ fooling around with a famous rockstar who's a notorious playboy sounds perfect on paper, until you catch feelings for him. that's why you decide to end things, to not get your feelings get hurt, and its all going perfectly, until eddie releases a song, written all about you. (absolutely insane of a fic it’s so good 🥹🥹)

saturn return by @pullhisteeth ➾ knight! eddie, you're from royalty, and the illicit crush you're harbouring on your sworn protector is threatened when your father, the king, reaches the end of his tether and finally begins the search for your husband.

nothing else matters by @munsons-maiden ➾ It’s been two weeks since you and Eddie decided to stop sneaking around and start behaving like every other couple at Hawkins High. Only that you’re not. And after overhearing a group of cheerleaders’ especially cruel gossip about your relationship, Eddie’s insecurities, nourished by all those years of bullying, hit home despite all of his attempts not to let people’s vile words get to him. This time though…he feels like they might be right. Because why would a girl like you ever fall for a guy like him? And when Eddie realizes he made a mistake…he can only hope it’s not too late to fix what he broke. Based on this request: Maybe one where reader is a cheerleader and popular but only wants to be  with eddie but he is insecure because he’s the school freak and  overhears mean gossip? (absolutely gorgeous)

you calling me a liar? by @sailortongue ➾ eddie tells the boys that he has a girlfriend, but they don't believe him. eddie vows to make them eat their words

eddie x henderson!reader by @eddie-munsons-girlfriend

The end of a nightmare by @scarlet-star-witch ➾ eddie wakes up in the hospital after fighting in the upside down

cherry wine by @unsolved-duvall ➾ eddie giving you your first time (honestly this is so sweet and just I thought I my heart was going to burst I’m still crying)

prom queen by @eddie-van-munson ➾ eddie and the reader have been secretly together since Jason forced them into "Seven Minutes in Heaven" as a prank, but now, as Eddie watches Jason and his goons flirt with you, he finds himself not caring who knows you're his.

m’y two favorite girls by @djarintreble ➾ dad!eddie

damn prejudice by @itsoutrageouss ➾ reader accidentally sits at the hellfire table, chaos ensues

domestic bliss by @ddejavvu ➾ eddie keeps you company during your nightly skincare routine, and it leads to the most domestically intimate moment that you've ever shared with him.

clingy by @h4rring1on ➾ you love being around eddie 24/7 but things start to stop being like that once eddie’s friends started being annoyed because of it

parallels by @thefreakymunson ➾ eddie transfers to a different school and meets his soulmate

go your own way by @seidenbros ➾ bauman!reader

steve’s ex by @sunflowergirl522 (this is so sweet im crying, obsessed with the dynamic)

inked by @corroded-hellfire ➾ dad!eddie, he loves the doodles from his favorite girls so much that he gets them permanently etched on his skin.

teach me by @urfavstargirl1 ➾ best friend!eddie teaches inexperienced!reader how to kiss… among other things

wildflowers @m0llygunn ➾ doing it in the back of his van while it's raining

Gareth’s sister!reader part 2 by @lovebugism

[pullhisteeth]

oh!

𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 | 𝐞.𝐦.

This piece contains brief allusions to smut.

Pairing Eddie Munson x Female Reader [friends -> lovers] 

Summary It’s the morning after your first time with Eddie, and the two of you navigate the quiet intimacy of it all [fluff, 1.4k]. 

A/N This is the third installment to the little friends to lovers universe I created. They all work as standalone fics, but I clearly can’t get enough and keep adding onto their story. 

PART ONE | PART TWO 

∘°∘♡∘°∘

Eddie wakes up alone. It's a reality not unlike every other day of his life. Except, the sheets gathered at his waist aren’t black and no heavy metal posters adorn the walls. Everything is neat and airy and bright, softly screaming of you. The only anomaly in the room is his leather jacket hanging on the back of your desk chair. When he reaches out to run his hand over the empty space on the bed beside him, he’s unsure if it’s warm from your body heat or the pale streaks of sunlight streaming in through the flowy white curtains. 

After rolling onto his back, he stretches his arms with a satisfied groan as his muscles pull. That’s when the sound of your footsteps emerge from the hallway, growing closer and closer. As you push your bedroom door open, you catch him quickly shutting his eyes as if getting caught. The faint smile that pulls on his lips exposes his wakefulness. 

He’d been asleep when you first stirred. After a few minutes of combing through his hair and relishing the steady sound of his breaths, you’d slipped out of bed to check the voicemail box. But not before padding to your dresser to put on some clothes. There was a pleasant ache in the muscles of your thighs as you moved, your whole body alight with the memory of him. 

Last night, you’d been too preoccupied with the dizzying proximity of Eddie hovering over you to answer the phone when it rang. 

As you press the playback button, it comes as no surprise when your dad’s voice crackles to life to bid you goodnight and remind you to make sure the front door is locked. For their own sanity, you call your parents back to apologize and assure them that everything had been okay the previous night. 

Back in your room, the mattress dips as you crawl into bed, forcing Eddie to fight a smile. He continues to feign sleep as you settle beside him with a content sigh. Once you’re tucked beneath the sheets, you place your hand on his chest as if swearing an oath to a truth larger than yourselves. 

The tattoos on his skin are so bold and intricate that you can’t help but trace over them. Your featherlight touch makes him open his eyes and turn his head to look at you, blinking slowly. His hair is roused and his eyes are a little puffy and red from sleep. 

There’s a flutter in your stomach upon noticing the faint lines on his cheek. In the few years of your friendship, you’d never had the pleasure of waking up to each other. The intimacy of it all makes it feel like you're buzzing. 

“Sorry for leaving,” you murmur. “You didn’t feel any of that earlier?” 

“Any of what?” His brows furrow, voice a little rough from sleep. 

Before getting out of bed, you’d kissed him as well. Not once, but three times over his face. Admitting to such a tender thing feels harder than just having done it. 

Instead, you shake your head in a shy dismissal. Not the kind of shyness that’s brutal and consuming, but the type that cradles vulnerability gently. After baring yourselves to each other last night, you suppose there's nothing more to be shy about. It’s just that the way Eddie looks at you makes it seem like you’re worth being figured out. Like it’s worth knowing about all the little things you do. 

Everybody talks about the pain of being overlooked, but few consider how terrifying and wonderful it feels to be seen. 

He’s quiet for a moment, searching your eyes. “Tell me what I missed, angel.” It’d probably be better to show him.

When you scoot closer, he instinctively turns to face you, placing a gentle hand on your hip. The fabric of your pajama shorts is too soft to be straight-up cotton, he thinks to himself. Before he knows it, warmth blooms beneath his skin as you lean in to kiss his forehead, the tip of his nose, then the corner of his mouth. 

A hum vibrates in his throat as he runs his hand further down your leg, stopping as his palm reaches the bare skin of your thigh. All of this—your nearness, being kissed, touching you—seems like a luxury that should’ve expired after last night. At the risk of seeming pessimist, he isn’t unaware of how many good things in his life are fleeting. Except this. Except you. What the two have found feels more set in stone than anything else ever has. 

As you pull away, he smiles at you as easily as breathing. 

“How’d you sleep?” he asks. 

“Good. Really good,” you say. 

He begins to stroke your thigh. “Me too. I think you have that effect.” Even now, his body is pleasantly heavy with a bone-deep sense of refreshment. Like he was bearing the weight of being a new person in this morning light, with you. 

You open your mouth to say something, but stop yourself. 

“What’s up?” he insists because he somehow catches everything. 

“Nothing,” you huff a weak laugh. “I just feel…” you trail off, and Eddie keeps looking at you with those Bambi eyes. 

His chest shakes with a chuckle when you whine and tuck your face into your pillow. Even though you can’t see it, his gaze turns painfully soft. You peek at him just as he’s reaching out to touch your cheek. 

“You make me nervous.” It’s a quiet admission. “In the best possible way.”

Eddie doesn’t frown or insist you shouldn’t be, he just offers a small smile and strokes his thumb across the apple of your cheek. You press into his touch like you need it to survive. One thing he’ll never get over is how eternally fortunate you make him feel. He’ll spend the rest of his life either relishing the fact that you chose him or forever remembering these small moments. 

Your nerves don’t worry him and neither do his own. It’s how he knew all this meant something. The longer he thinks about it, the more he realizes “nervous” might not even be the right word. Surely, there was another way to describe the feeling of caring about someone and their thoughts so deeply that you didn’t want to risk disrupting a single thing. A care so great it rang true within the innermost parts of you. 

“We should probably get the day started before we end up stuck here,” he says. “I don’t know if you had any plans, but I can go if you want me out of your hair—” 

You take his hand from where he’s still stroking your cheek, and kiss over his knuckles. “Absolutely not,” you say into his skin. 

Eddie waits for you to continue. 

“Will you stay for breakfast?” you ask. “I make really good scrambled eggs.” He’d stay for breakfast even if you couldn’t. 

His eyes sparkle in amusement. “I’ll be the judge of that.” You can’t help the laughter that rises up your throat when he pushes you onto your back and props himself over you. 

Your attempts to stop him from nibbling down your neck are all in vain, and you halfheartedly push at his shoulders as your chest squeezes and flutters. When he pulls away, you’re still hiccuping over your giggles, and you pray you don’t look as silly as you feel. Eddie, however, gazes down at you with the most tender depth in his eyes.

“You’ve got the most killer smile ever, you know that?” he asks. 

You reach up to tuck his hair behind his ears, trying to distract yourself from the warmth rising to your cheeks. 

“Evidently not. It hasn’t killed you.”

With a dramatic inhale, Eddie grips his chest, rolling over to fall onto his back, feigning death. 

You prop your forearms on his chest. “Please don’t die, I need you around.” 

That makes him grin and tap your chin with a gentle knuckle. “Say that again, I didn’t quite hear you.” 

You roll your eyes with a shake of your head. “I need you around, Eddie Munson.” 

He grows a bit more sober. “I think I need you more.” 

You could get used to this feeling of needing and being needed. 

-

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. I promise I see and appreciate them all. 

PART ONE | PART TWO 

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[pullhisteeth]

christ alive