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carolmunson · 1 year ago

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wake up slow | barista!steve harrington

entry for my fall frenzy requests this request comes in from @superblysubpar: 'there's a scenario with bookstore / library date AND a dialogue prompt that says "what are you reading?"' with steve harrington summary: it's 1990. you're on the opening shift at the bookstore you work at, only to be surprised at a newcomer claiming to be up for an interview for the open barista position in the cafe at the back. sort of put off to start, it's no surprise when things start to bloom over time, and i'm not talking about coffee grounds. tl;dr carol writes a mini romcom.

tw: minors dni, there's nothing too out of whack in this one but i still don't want minors in here. reader is a little sassy but also like, pretty normal overall.

That damn key jams every time it rains -- doesn't help that you left your umbrella at home. Doesn't help that the 'light mist' turned into a heavy downpour the closer you made it to the book store. Doesn't help that you had to park a street over because of street cleaning and had to walk a block in the rain. Now the damn key.

"Come on," you grumble, jiggling an wiggling to no avail. Insert, r-insert, slight tilt to the right, jiggle, pull out a little, turn a little left and then -- nothing. You take the key out only for it to fall to the ground with a fairy like tinkling.

"Come -- the fuck -- on," you nearly growl under your breath while your coat gets heavier and heavier with rain, hood soaking through and dripping water onto your face. You bend down to get the key with a sigh meant for people with back pain, coming back up again to see the coffee bar manager on the other side of the glass door. He chuckles, salt and pepper beared thick over his chin and cheeks. Ruddy skin beams red even in the cool grey light of the morning, 30 years a butcher who pivoted into coffee when he turned fifty and had a really good knack for it.

"Easy morning?"

"Does it look like one, Carl?" you ask, stepping in when he opens the door. He laughs again, a hearty belly laugh that might as well have transported him into a Santa suit in December. "What happened to you?" he asks, following you into the back room where you start putting your stuff in your cubby. You switch out your wet sneakers and socks for the platform loafers and knee highs in your bag. Now that the fall weathers hit, it's all corduroy and knit sweaters, circle skirts and tall socks. If you're going to be on your fifth year working at an idyllic bookstore, you might as well look the part.

"Weather app lied, street cleaning, forgot an umbrella," you shrug, "Just another manic Monday, y'know?" "I know," he nods, "Gimme one second." Carl comes back with a white paper cup and black lid that makes you smile from the inside out, "Is that what I think it is?" "Isn't it always?" he smiles, "I got it ready the second I saw you on the schedule. Caramel latte, hint of cinnamon. Since its -- ya know, fall officially, I put a little maple in there, too." "You spoil me," you sigh, taking the cup from him and letting the warmth radiate through your hands.

"I do," he nods, "But, that latte was the last of my regular milk so I need to run out and grab a few gallons before we open up. You okay to be hangin' out by yourself?"

You nod, of course you're okay to be hanging out by yourself. You take the first sip, letting the caramel flood your tongue. The maple is a good addition. You're about to tell Carl to add this to the seasonal menu but he's already out the break room door with his coat before you can. You hear the jingle of the bell and the lock of the door and eventually the silence settling into the store around you.

You start to re-organize the window display which should've been done last night but 'last night you' said that 'this morning you' could handle it. You wish you could punch last night you in the face, but this is what you get for taking an assistant manager position.

You stack the back to school reads next to your knees where you're sat on them. The dust billows when you move them, making you sneeze with each turn of your head. You rub at your eyes, realizing at that very moment that the mascara you put on this morning has now definitely smudged -- you can't even find the emotional capacity to check considering the store opens in forty five minutes. You wipe down the display shelves, letting the oak gleam under the spot lights. The color is a warm reminder of the cozy moments to come the way that they do this time of year. As you start separating the 'cozy reads' from your 'spooky reads' in the pile on the other side of your knees you hear a knocking at the door --that's not very like Carl to forget his key.

You look over your shoulder, not seeing Carl at all, and if it is, he had some kind of Seventeen Again magic happen to him in that time at the store. You stand up, wiping off your knees and straightening your skirt before getting to the door where the rapping continues against the glass. "We aren't open yet!" you call out.

"M'here for Carl!" you hear, muffled through the panes. "For the barista spot?" you yell back. The guy nods under his hood, the rain picking up in heavy sheets. You sigh, unlocking the door and letting him in. "Carl's not here, he ran out to get some more milk but um, you're welcome to wait in the break room if you want," you explain, wiping a palm over another display through the main hallway and wiping the dust off on your hip. "Thanks," he says, hood coming down to reveal a head full of thick chestnut hair. A gold ring shines on the the hand that runs through it, looks like a family crest type, right on his middle finger.

"I'm Steve," he says with a smile, hand now outstretched to take yours. You look at it and then at him, finally taking in the sight before you. Prominent straight nose, warm amber eyes, lips that definitely use chapstick regularly. He has a nice smile, the kind you read about in the romance novels in the back of the store, the kind people write about.

You take his hand and introduce yourself, he has a business major handshake and you only know that because you dated a handful of them back in college. You try to stifle a chuckle but it comes out airily out of your nose.

"Something funny?" he asks when you both let go. "No, no, sorry, I just thought of something from the other day," you shake your head, "Don't worry about it." He nods, taking off his coat and closing his umbrella following your lead to the back, "It's a cute place."

"Yeah, it's nice in the morning," you nod, "I normally close but -- doing a favor for a key holder today; so you have the pleasure of seeing the troll of the store in her natural habitat."

"What?"

"Nothing -- nevermind," you shake your head, cheeks burning with a wave of embarrassment when you look back and notice that he's genuinely very handsome. You get to the break room, pointing out the spare cubby where he can hang his coat and umbrella. He's in a sweater you swear you've seen on the Cosby Show -- dark green and patterned, a perfect combination of colors against his skin. It cuffs at the wrists, you can see a sliver of his white t-shirt underneath at the collar, a whisper of a gold chain tucked beneath it.

"Yeah um," you start, feeling your heart start to patter in your chest when he takes a seat at the table by the cabinets, "You can just wait here. I'll let Carl know when he comes back."

"Okay," he smiles, "Thanks."

You nod again, heading into the employee bathroom to collect yourself for a moment -- seeing your reflection. You forgot you had rubbed your eyes, masacra smudged in black smears nearly down to your cheeks. "I look insane," you whisper in horror, "Oh my fucking god."

You cover your face for a moment, trying to hide yourself from the embarrassment racking your chest. Definitely looking like the troll of the store, you silently scream into your palms, another dramatic whisper of, "I should just fucking kill myself."

Despite the humiliation, you know it's funny. This would happen to you. This hot guy would come in when your mascaras a mess and your hair is fucked up from the rain, when the weather is bad and your tights have a run, when your allergies are rampant from the dust. Of course he would!

You wet a paper towel and do your best to wipe off the smudges, happy to look a little less insane after a dab of tinted lip balm makes it onto your lips and cheeks.

When you re-emerge he's fiddling with his CD player and his over ear headphones, working on a knot in the wire. You go back over to the counter and take a sip of your forgotten latte.

"What do you drink?" he asks.

"Carl makes it special for me, it's not on the menu," you tell him over the black plastic top before taking another sip. He grins, a soft nod moving his hair with him -- so it's like that. "I didn't ask if it was on the menu. I asked what you drink," he says, leaning back in the chair. His eyes lingering on you sends a zip up your spine, wondering if he's giving you a once over or not.

"It's a caramel latte with maple and cinnamon," you tell him. His confidence both intruiges and enrages you, both making you want to tell him to get out but also learn more about this hot guy that wants to be a barista with a Wall Street handshake, "So why do you wanna work here?"

"Is this the start of my interview?" he laughs.

"No, I'm just wondering," you shrug.

"I'm back in school about twenty minutes away," he says, "Did it for a little when I was in high school -- coffee, I mean. Ice cream shop after that, video store after that. Went to school, took a break, back in it. My dad thinks having jobs like this builds y'know -- character and whatever."

"Jobs like this?" you ask, jaw tensing with annoyance.

"Like, y'know, jobs with the people," he tries to explain, pink building on his cheeks when he realizes he might've said something shitty, "They're not like bad jobs, that's not what I mean -- I mean like, y'know -- not suits kind of jobs. Regular shit."

"Regular shit," you nod, biting back what you wanna say. That gold crest ring should've been enough to tip you off, but your next question is the ace in the hole, "What're you back in school for?"

"Getting my MBA."

Of course.

"Nice," you lie, fake smiling into your next sip -- the latte going cold as your insides when you come to the conclusion that he's just some hot grade A asshole, "Well, good luck."

"Thanks," he calls out while you make your way back to the floor, "I really like your name, by the way! It suits you."

You try not to let that compliment change your mind.

He gets the job, but you don't see him a lot. He opens an then goes to classes at night, you close most of the time -- only catching him really in the first hour of your shift and the last hour of his. You're both too busy to be finding time to talk; him with his mid-shift clean and you with your hourly sales goals and mid-day schedule re-adjustments.

But he does wave when you come in. He calls out your name when you bustle past the coffee counter and weave through the tables to get to where you need to go. It's nice of him, you guess, but the stain of him explaining that the job he's doing is just for regular people taints it for you. Maybe he thinks you're just some menial worker bee that he only knows for now, since his daddy probably has a job lined up for him once he pays through his masters degree.

Job with a suit where the bookstore will be a distant memory for him, whereas you're on a two year track to becoming the manager and likely future owner when the owners get too old to manage it. Job with a suit where he'll pass by the store and shake his head at 'how stupid it was', a 'can you believe people work there?' head toss to a coworker while he get a coffee somewhere else. Meanwhile, it's your entire life, and so are all the stories inside.

A few weeks pass and the days get a little colder, the nights starting earlier as they go. You have an opening shift that chills your bones, hugging your wool coat tight to your body while you fiddle with the key at the door, groaning at the tinkling of it hitting the concrete again.

"Rough morning?"

You look up to the door opening, seeing a pair clean white Nike Air Force 1's singaling who it is.

"It is now," you mumble, grabbing the key and bustling inside.

"Surprised to see you here," he says, following you to the back, "You're not on the schedule." "Last minute switch up, Rochelle has a christening," you say, hanging your coat in the cubby and switching out your sneakers for platfoms again.

"Oh, nice," he grins, "So why is it a rough morning? 'Cause I'm here?"

"Sorta kinda," you shrug, "Did you alread--"

"I got sales report from yesterday on the check out desk, yes," he crosses his arms, leaning against the door frame.

"And th--"

"And the inventory report, and before you ask, yes I checked that all the milk is in stock and that we aren't low on beans. I've been here for a month, honey, I know what I'm doing," he mutters.

"Gross," you pull a face at him over your shoulder, "Don't call me honey."

He shrugs with a smirk, "Rochelle likes it."

"Can you go skulk to your caffeine den and leave me alone?" you snap, "I'm trying to open a store, here."

"Skulk, huh?"

"Too big of a word for you, Harrington?"

"You're on fire this morning," he smiles, that smile they write about.

"I kinda like it," he adds before turning out of the door and back into the warm light of the store towards the coffee bar. You swallow while you watch him leave -- I kinda like it ringing in your ears and floating down to your chest where is settles in, cozy and kind.

The reports are where he said the would be, neat and organized like he was the manager and Carl was his employee. You normally spent at least thirty minutes trying to figure out what Carl had written in chicken scratch on the forms, but Steve's sharp and elegant script was easy to read and perfectly spaced. Annoying.

Even his signature was handsome.

After you get the registers counted and ready you file the forms and mark the reports so they'll be ready for your manager when they get back in store. You check the list of what needs to be done, the chilly late October air swooping in from the cracks under the door. Your face sours while you make your way over to the coffee bar in the back, seeing Steve set up the pastry delivery in the cases on the side.

"Did you come back here to yell at me about something?" he asks, focused on the task at hand, "I got all morning."

"You didn't turn the heat on," you cross your arms, "That's like, the first thing you're supposed to do."

He scoffs quietly, shaking his head, popping back up to lean on glass of the case, "Did you read your morning report or just sit there and admire my handwriting?"

"Excuse me?" you bite back.

"Heats fucked," he shrugs, ducking back down to finishing his display, "They're sending someone to take a look at it later today."

"Whatever," you grumble, turning on your heel to go dust the front shelving and reshelf the returns from yesterday.

"Hey," he calls out, waiting for you to turn around before he continues. Your eyes catch his amber ones, sparkling with a mischief reserved for school boys who are mean to the girls they like, "You look nice today."

You look him over, sucking in your cheeks to kill the smile growing on your lips. His navy sweater hugs a bit across his chest and shoulders, giving way to billow slightly over his midsection and arms. Kahki chinos cut just at his ankles so his sneakers don't even look stupid paired with the outfit, socks just the right height to look cool and not forced. Awful.

"Yeah, you too Harrington," you agree quietly before walking away; and while you killed the smile, he was able to catch that crease in your eyes, the twitch in your shoulders. You thought that was nice, he wonders if he can make you do that again.

You head over to the back of the cafe during your break, no windows near your designated 'break chair'. It's close enough to the fireplace that it always feels like a rainy day even when it's nice outside. Now that Carl started his shift he got your drink ready to go the moment you walked over.

"Well la-di-da," Steve cocks his head when Carl walks over to greet the customer at the register, rag in his hands wiping up the pick up counter, "Expert service and you're not even gonna tip?"

"Here's a tip: leave me alone when I'm on break," you bite. Why did he have to be so handsome? Slight pink on his cheeks from the heat of the espresso and coffee machines, the lights overhead. The heat finally works again and it's almost working too well from the small bead of sweat forming above his brow. He runs a big hand through his hair again, the same way he did when you first met him. You try to ingore the way his bicep bulges in his sleeve when his arm stretches.

His tongue runs over his teeth, settling between them for a second before looking straight at you, "Good one."

"That's what you get when you read books," you say sarcastically, "You should try it sometime."

"You should teach me," he leans over the counter, resting his chin on his palm, "Bet you're a great teacher."

You bite your tongue, pulling in your lips and squinting your eyes to keep the smile from brewing a second time. You pick up your mug and sip your latte while he crosses his arms over his chest. "Nothing this time?" he asks, waiting for you second blow. You shake your head no, occupying your mouth with the rim.

"No?" He asks, you shake your head again, somehow glued to the spot under his stare. He slings the rag over his shoulder, still looking at you. "Well I don't wanna keep you standing here," he teases, offering you a wink that is so soul crushingly charming you could just die, "Enjoy your break."

You've never turned around so quickly in your entire life.

The following week you take another opening shift, happy to settle into the quiet of the cafe now that the morning rush of moms, dads, students, and aspiring writers have cleared out. The fire crackles just right, the leather warmed up to your body heat while the book sucks you in further an further. Thirty minutes pass when you hear a shift infront of you, the subtle squeak of leather being sat in with a soft crunch.

"What're you reading?"

You peer over the top of the spine to see Steve sat in the chair across from you, legs open wide while he leans his forearms on his knees. His long fingers slide together, gold ring shining in the light again to remind you of who he is and where he comes from. As handsome as he is today in his black henley and white t-shirt combo you'll never quite forget the fact that some MBA bro is perched in front of you like a puppy with nowhere to go.

"Sound out the cover, that should tell you," you boredly mumble before tucking back into the chair. His fingers peak over the spine, pushing the book down from the top. He pulls the leather chintz closer to yours with ease -- of course he does.

"Or you could tell me," he says with a softness you weren't ready to hear. Your chest gets warm again, creeping up your neck to your cheeks.

"It's Pride and Prejudice."

"S'that your favorite book or something?" he asks, elbow driving into his thigh so he can rest his chin on his fist.

"One of them," you shrug, "I always read it this time of year, kind of fits the mood of the season."

"Hm," he nods, like he's really listening, "What's it about?"

"Basically," you start, thinking of a way to describe it in two sentences or less, "It's like -- hm -- it's about two people, a love story. One guy is some super rich asshole and he's a jerk because the girl isn't as rich and him. And the girl isn't from the same social standing so she's a jerk because she already assumes that he's a super rich asshole. Like...I don't know, idiots in love who are too stubborn to love each other."

"Hm," he nods again, grin splitting his face, "Interesting."

"What's your favorite book?" you ask, wanting to wipe that smug grin right off his face. His dumb handsome face with that perfect sloped nose, and eyes that look like they're looking directly into you.

"I don't have one," he shrugs.

"You have to have one," you balk, "Like, even if it's one you read in school or something." "Hmm," he sits back up, leaning back in the chair with his hands resting just under his chest.

"You have to know how to read to run a business," you shrug.

"I know how to read, honey," he laughs, "I just don't have a favorite book."

"At least try," you ecourage, albiet annoyed. He taps his fingers on his diaphragm, one knee bouncing while he thinks about it. His shirt rides up just a smidge in the back, revealing a sliver of skin you didn't think you'd ever see.

"Shel Silverstein," he says finally, "Where the Sidewalk Ends."

"You didn't strike me as a poetry guy," you say, closing your book over your finger to hold your place.

"My mom went through this poetry phase -- and I'm my mother's son, so I had a poetry phase with her," he shrugs, "We wore that book out, think we had to get a second copy cause the first one was just like -- destroyed."

"Well that's...you know," you lean your head from side to side, "That's nice. It's cute."

"You'd know, right?" he smiles, that god damn smile Shel would write about in a new book. You'd bring back book burning just to throw it in the flames after it was published. He gets up, disappearing behind you for a moment and reappearing with your favorite green mug. He gingerly places it on the side table next to you.

"Compliments of the chef," he says, presenting it like a Michelin star meal.

You look at it, a perfect pour -- the cream rosetta leaf striking against the warm brown espresso. You can smell the caramel and maple already wafting off it, cinnamon sprinkled delicately on top.

"Um, thanks," you say quietly, taking the mug to your lips. He looks down at you eagerly when you take a sip, waiting for your reaction.

"Did you do something to it?" you ask before you take one.

"No I'm just -- damn, come on. I'm excited to see you try it," he sighs, "I worked hard on it."

"Fine, fine," you murmur, letting the latte flood onto your tongue. Its -- regrettably -- one of the best iterations of you've had in a while. The perfect creaminess without being too milky, enough caramel and maple without being too sweet, the espresso's bitterness cuts the sugar in just the right way to make it smooth. He knows he did it right by the way you go for a second sip without saying anything.

"I did good?" he quirks a brow.

"You did good," you nod.

"Good," he smiles, tapping the top of your chair, "'Cause Carl's putting it on the menu starting in November."

"How come?" you ask into your third sip, the steam billowing over your cheeks.

Steve lets his eyes flicker over your face slowly, offering a half shrug, "I told him to."

November brings the first pre-season snow, not that it mattered now that your favorite drink was a regular menu item now. Caramel and maple always in stock, espresso machine always on first thing in the morning.

You open twice a week now, seeing Steve more often than not. Dropping your key became less common now that he was normally at the door when you'd get there, ready to let you in.

"Another great day, right?" he'd tease.

Now that the holidays were in full swing the bookstore was busier than ever -- sales, bundles, events. You even started carrying children's coloring books and crayons in the kid's section; a whole set up just for kids to sit and color while their parent's browsed.

The stress was getting to you, constantly checking and rechecking the end of day sales versus last year, wanting to make sure everything was on a steady incline with a nice cushion for the next. It helped that the cafe seemed to be absolutely climbing in numbers since September. More and more people wanted to spend time over there, and the more time they spent the more time they looked at books or started reading. It wasn't shocking to see people checking out at the counter with a second coffee and a new book or two in hand.

You don't want it to be true, but you're sure the new barista had a play in what makes so many people stick around. You'd see the way Steve would flirt when he took orders, how he's listen to them intently, make every customer feel like they were the only person in the room.

At least that's how he'd make you feel when he caught your gaze from over the shelving, helping find books for new patrons from the college nearby. You both started to wave at each other at each passing glance, each look caught by surprise, each accidental yearning stare.

Mid-November greets you with a bitter chill, the very early morning doesn't even have the decency to greet with you the rising sun. It'll be atleast another half hour until then.

For the first time in a long time you don't drop the key, pushing into the store with ease. You waste no time turning the heat on, making sure the radiators bled a bit before hand. You rub your hands together while they settle in, putting your coat away in the cubby and switching out your shoes in the break room.

Opening on a Saturday morning isn't common for you, but it's the first event you've planned by yourself. A very simple read-along story telling with some kids from the neighborhood and their parents. You collected three solid winter time reads: The Mitten, The Snowy Day, and A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving. A solid hour of reading while the parents could peruse, or sit and watch while their kids tuned into a book instead of cartoons on Nick Jr.

Once you've given yourself the onceover for the morning you feel more confident about the upcoming next few hours. Your knit tights fit snugly over your legs, a touch sheered out with the stretch over your thighs but the pleats in your plaid maroon skirt cover that just fine, hitting just above your knees -- still covered, still sensible. Still cute enough to snag a single dad if one were to show up.

Your feet stay tucked in a pair of worn in platform mary-janes stolen from your sister's New York City closet when you went to visit her over the summer. The chunky knit sweater over the whole ensemble completes you, a spitting image of a 'caught on the street' look you saw in a Seventeen magazine that you still get delivered to you despite being well past the age group.

You thrifted the sweater with Steve in mind, it looked like something he'd wear.

Anyway.

As you set up the 'reading rug' in the cafe area you hear the familar unlocking of the door. The sun finally starting to seep in in golden shards through the panes, leaving squares of light on the wood floors and carpets below.

"Hey Carl!" you call out, "I got everything up and running for you."

You hear the keys jingle but not his smoker's cough, not his heavy steps finding their way to the cafe area. Instead you look up to see Steve with his hands on his hips, watching you struggle to move the leather chintz to the back wall as your reading chair.

"Redecorating?" he asks, looking around the cafe. Under his shearling lined aviator jacket is an open hunter green flannel you wouldn't expect to see him in, his white t-shirt underneath hugs tights to his chest and stomach. You unfortunately noticed how great of a view that is for you.

"Um," you started, looking around the room and the dissaray you seem to have made without realizing, "Why are you here?"

"Same reason your here," he says, stepping forward to shoo you away from the chair, "I'm on the payroll."

"You don't work weekends," you say, crossing your arms over your chest while he lifts the chair over the rug with a soft grunt.

"I do today," he says with a slight strain, "Where do you want this?"

"Uh," you start, "Just right in the center against the wall so everyone can see me."

"Oh, so you're reading to the kids this morning?" he laughs to himself after putting the chair down. He wipes his hands off on each other, shrugging off the jacket and holding it in one arm, "Bitter Betty is gonna entertain the young minds of Main Street?"

"Bitter Betty, huh?" you challenge, following him into the back room, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what that's supposed to mean," he shakes his head.

"I am very sweet," you tell him, a serious edge to your voice, "There are so many customer reviews saying how sweet I am."

"Sure," he nods, putting his coat away in his cubby, "I bet there are; since y'know, you're selling them something."

"I'm not just nice when I'm selling something," you say softly, arms coming protectively across your chest. A frustration bubbles in your chest while you look at him, following him back out into the cafe so you can keep getting the place ready before the families start to show up, "You think you know everything."

"I don't," he shakes his head, smiling while he checks over the machines and gets the first pot of coffee started.

"Yeah, you do. You walked in here two months ago and swear you know everything," you huff, getting the cafe back to a place of organized coziness.

"Okay," he chuckles, "Whatever you say, boss."

"You're infuriating," you mumble under your breath.

"Got that caramel latte coming right up for you, by the way," he says warmly.

Your head turns to see him watching you, he smiles, "Maybe you're a little nicer after you've had a coffee."

You smile back, unable to stop it this time.

"So that's a yes, right?" he cocks his head, fingers drumming on the counter while he watches you. That Harringtom charm pumping out at full speed.

"Y-yeah," you nod, "Whatever. You gonna go chop down a tree, Harrington? What's with the flannel?"

He looks down at his shirt and then back up at you with a soft shake of his head, "I better hurry up and get that started for you."

The kids look up at you with starry eyes, their parents smiling along with their coffees, lattes, espressos, and pastries. The Mitten was a hit and The Snowy Day is so far showing up to be a great follow up.

You take your time to really point out the pictures and adding on to the story since all three of them are pretty short. However, you're finding that kids between two and five are pretty easy to entertain if you do enough counting and make enough sound effects. Maybe you should've been a kindergarten teacher -- or maybe not. Maybe you should just keep doing book events.

You're halfway through when you show the illustrations to the group again, listening to them ooh and ahh at all the snow.

"Did um -- Miss -- did you know -- it snowed? It snowed at my house," one of the older kids announces, arm straight up in the air.

"It snowed last week, Michael, that's right," his mom pipes up, "Daddy had to shovel outside."

"Has everyone else seen snow? Raise your hand if you've seen this much snow!" you announce in your perfect parentese, watching while the older kids and parents raise their hands. The two year olds don't really get it so they just sit there and laugh.

You look up at all the hands, an enthusiastic 'Wow!' coming out of your mouth -- but you barely hear it. Behind the hands are a set of warm amber eyes looking at you from the coffee bar, soft and gentle. Enthralled even. You swallow and lick your lips quickly before smiling, catching his smile back as you look back at the book to start again.

After each couple of pages you catch each other, the pink on his cheeks rising when he looks away -- pretending to be occupied with something else. Cleaning, organizing, resetting the espresso machine. He can tell you're flustered by the way you clear your throat whenever you start to read again.

After The Snowy Day you take a ten minute break so that the parents can take their kids to the bathroom or re-up their beverages. The tip jar is full to bursting because nobody knows how to make a single mom feel like Steve Harrington does; and husbands will pay anything to get him to leave their wives alone.

You reset your chair, making sure the books you're reading are on display for purchasing on the shelving close by in your Winter Children's Bundle for a discounted price. As the ten minutes closes up you feel a soft tap on your shoulder.

"Here," you turn around to Steve with a green mug in his hands, "It's just regular coffee this time, but -- figured you could use it."

You take it body first, reaching around for the handle only to feel his fingers brush against yours at the hand of. The soft touch isn't electric like it is in the books, it's like that but better. Warm like an oven, the gooey parts of you rising in a slow bake when you see him look down and turn away -- running that same hand through his hair on his way back to the counter.

"Thanks," you say over the chatter of parents and kids coming back to sit.

"Can I have something ready for you for your break?" he asks back.

"Surprise me," you shrug, sitting back on your chintz chair and taking the final book onto your lap. The kids cheer when they see Snoopy on the cover, a well loved favorite cartoon to finish off their morning. With the crack of the spine you can already smell the sales coming once this little event is over.

You work through your break, ringing up and helping customer after customer on easily one of the busiest Saturday's you've seen in a while. It normally doesn't get busy like this at least for another couple of weeks.

The stress of working through lunch barely matters though because your event was a bigger success than you could've hoped for -- logging in the notes for Rochelle that you should probably start doing this throughout the season just for good measure.

It's starting to get dark by the time your shift ends and the store closes -- early on Saturdays at a tight 4 PM. You let your sales girl go a little early, wanting to take the time to close up the store properly since you were the one who made it such a mess this morning. As you start to put the chairs back that had been moved from the cafe to the children's section you hear him, fingers tapping on the counter.

"You didn't come by for your break," he says, "And I put a lot of effort into that drink."

"Sorry, we can't all be flirting through our shifts like you can, Harrington," you snark with a grin, flipping the last chair over onto it's accompanied table.

"You don't have to clean up the coffee part of the store," he says, coming around with another mug in hand, "That's my job, y'know."

"I know," you say, "But I kind of fucked it up this morning so -- just doing my part."

"Well, here," he says, mug outstretched in his large hand, gold ring gleaming back at you, "For doing your part, I guess."

"You guess, huh?" you laugh lazily, taking it -- he places his fingers in a way that you have no choice but to touch them. You wonder if he did it on purpose, "What do you call this one?"

"'Surprise me'," he replies in a mocking drawl, flipping the rag over his shoulder again and leaning against the counter's edge. The first sip is unfortunately one of the most even temperatured hot drinks you've put past your lips.

"You're good at this," you blurt out, almost offended.

"Well don't look so upset about it."

"I am upset about it," you nod back over the lip of the mug, taking another sip. Mocha -- something. It's like hot chocolate and espresso but better, still caramel, still cinnamon, like a hug from your past but caffienated like your present.

"Consider me surprised," you nod, licking your lips again, "It's good -- it's um -- yeah. It's really good."

"Thanks," he smirks, "A few of the mom's thought so, too."

You let out a sigh through your teeth, rolling your eyes. He expected that, taking a step forward when your gaze comes back to center. You can smell the left over wraiths of his cologne and Old Spice deodorant, count the moles on his neck adorned with his hidden gold chain, see the hair on his forearms from his rolled up sleeves.

"You know something," he says quietly, "If I didn't know any better -- I'd think you like me."

"Like you?" you balk, eyes widening, "You wish."

He clicks his tongue when you get so defensive because it just proves him right. He crosses his arms with another step forward, head cocking to the side slightly while he sizes you up. Why did his creator need to make his forearms so beefy? So perfectly sculpted that you can't look at them without losing your train of thought? Stupid.

"I don't think I have to wish, honey," he says softly, Doc Martins creaking on the wooden floors, "I think...uh, I think I must allow you to tell me how ardently you admire and like me."

Your mouth falls open, staring at him with eyes as glassy at the kids who watched you read this morning.

"You -- no -- you read it?"

"Maybe," he says, another step forward, his arms bumping against your chest.

"Maybe?" you ask back, brow quirking.

"Yeah, maybe I did," he runs a hand through his hair, falling back away from his face to show off his sturdy brow bone, watching you with admiration down the slope of his nose.

He reaches down and takes the mug out of your hand with smooth finesse, arm long enough to reach back and place it on the counter behind him. When he leans back in place he's closer than before, toe to toe, nearly nose to nose.

"Maybe I bought it the day you told me about it," he shrugs, "Maybe I thought it was pretty close to something I had goin' on with a girl I know."

"A girl you know?" you challenge. You know exactly who he means, but it might be fun to hear him say it. "Yeah, sometimes I only see her like, an hour a day. But sometimes I get to watch her read on her break, sometimes I get to close with her on Saturdays," he explains warmly, the timbre of his voice deep against the crackling of the fire in the back corner of the cafe.

"This is the only Saturday you've closed with me," you counter, head tilting up slightly, close enough that the tip of your nose brushes his.

"Who said I was talking about you, honey?" he murmurs back, mischief in his eyes that are half hidden by his eyelids. You feel a puff of his breath over your top lip, still minty fresh like he just brushed his teeth.

"We both know you're talking about me," you smirk, self satisfied while his gaze flickers to your lips and back to your eyes. He steps at an angle, making you step back so you're against the pick up counter.

"So sure of yourself," he he scoffs quietly, leaning over you and getting into your space. Each hand coming to the side of you to lean on the granite, caging you in, "I like that in a pretty girl."

"Most do," you shrug matter of factly.

"Yeah," he nods, "Think that's what I like about you."

"Maybe that's what I like about you, too," you nearly whisper out.

"Maybe?" he asks, lower lip ghosting over yours. "Mayb--"

The hand he uses to run through his hair finds itself flat over the back of yours, sliding down to over your cheek and jaw where he keeps you angled just right. He closes the millimeters between you, warm lips catching yours in a kiss that feels like passion but a power play you want to match.

Your hands find their way to his shoulders, heads moving in soft tilts when you change angles. When you find yourself sat on the edge of the counter he uses the leverage to pull you close to him, hips between the fullness of your thighs.

His tongue skates over yours when it slides into your mouth, free hand ridding up the soft material of your tights, tips of his fingers inching under the hem of your skirt in an innocent tease.

Even the way he breathes through it is sexy, leaving you with a lingering guess of what he can do when he presses his lips against your neck. Tongue flitting and striping while he nearly nips a bruise onto your skin. You let out a gentle gasp, enough to admit defeat to him -- much to your chagrin. Steve comes back up to your lips to meet you with a few final deep kisses before you break apart.

He steps back once, the deep golden light of the sun setting cracks through the panes of the back window in the cafe, adoring him in a glow that shines of his hair and eyes. The kind of glow they write about, the kind of glow you read about.

You both take deep breaths, eyes hungry for each other -- unsure if you should go for more. He lingers, coming forward again to rest his hands on your thighs.

"I didn't read it," he confesses. "Pfffft. Why am I not surprised?" you huff, exasperated.

"But! But, but, but," he argues back, pecking you feverishly, "I had to go to like, five different places to find the movie from 1980 so -- I did actually put some effort into it."

"I love that one," you say back.

"I get points for that, right?" he asks expectantly.

"Yeah, fine. You're luck you're cute," you explain, "But you do definitely have to read it, at some point. If you wanna keep making out with me in the cafe after closing."

"Oh, absolutely," he grins, hand reaching to pull you in by the back of the neck for a final searing kiss, "You'll have to teach me, remember?"

You of course start closing together every single Saturday.

masterlist | fall frenzy | ko-fi

#steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things #barista!steve harrington #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington imagine

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chakkll · 1 year ago

Text

Lucky Day

Mike Schmidt x gender neutral!reader

Fandom: Five Nights at Freddy’s

Synopsis: A certain exhausted customer hasn’t failed to order a coffee every morning ever since the cafe opened up two months ago. Today, however, he seems much more stressed than usual.

Warnings: pre-movie, fluff

Word count: 1k

“Mama! Look, look, I even got the receipt!”

You smile as the little girl who just ordered a hot chocolate skitters over to her mother with a proud smile.

Warm sunlight shines through the windows of the cafe, illuminating the dark oak tables lined by the walls decorated with paintings and drawings by little kids.

You’ve loved working here, even though the place hasn’t been open very long. The atmosphere never fails to calm you.

The line is empty once again, so you turn to your coworker and friend, Candace, about to start a small conversation until you hear the front door’s bell jingle.

You look over to the door, readying your work smile, until you see who it is.

There he is. Right on schedule.

A genuine smile creeps onto your face.

Ever since the cafe you work at—Cora’s Coffee—opened two months ago, the same worn-out yet handsome customer hasn’t failed to show up every morning at 9am for a coffee.

And in Mike walks, this time sporting dark circles under his eyes.

He walks past the little girl clutching the receipt next to her mother and right up to you.

“Hey,” he breathes.

“Black coffee, a quarter cup of half and half, and one spoonful of sugar?”

Mike blinks, staring at you blankly until the ghost of a smile appears on his face.

“Yep.”

But his response doesn’t matter, because you’re already writing down the order and handing it to Candace.

“You look tired,” You observe as you put his order into the cash register. Mike sighs and offers a weak shrug.

“Up late job hunting.” Is all he says in response, causing you to glance up to him.

Somehow he looks even more sleep deprived than normal. …Still handsome, though.

You can feel your cheeks warm slightly at the thought, but you brush it off.

“Job hunting? I thought you were just hired somewhere?” You frown.

“Yeah, so did I.”

You sigh softly as Mike takes out a 10 dollar bill to pay, but you wave him off. He stares at you in confusion.

“On the house.”

Mike blinks, staring at you quizzically. “…Won’t your boss be upset?”

You shrug. “She can take it off my pay.”

Mike’s stare doesn’t let up, and it’s starting to make you a little self-conscious.

“What? Never heard of a little act of kindness?” You huff as you hide your face behind the cash register, acting like you’re busy to try and hide the small blush on your cheeks.

You can hear a small chuckle, causing your eyes to widen. You look up from behind the cash register to see a small smile gracing Mike’s lips.

“Thanks.”

You shrug, causing him to chuckle once again.

“…You remind me of my sister.” You hear Mike mutter softly. Looking up, you see a sad glint in his eye. His smile is gone.

“Your sister?” Mike looks at you, and you can tell he’s a little surprised you heard him.

“…Yeah,” When you don’t say anything, he sighs and continues. “She’s younger than me. 10 years old.”

You blink. “I remind you of a 10 year old? Gee, thanks.” Mike snorts.

“I don’t mean it in a bad way. You’re just… I don’t know, you remind me of her.”

You smile. Just as you’re about to say something, you feel someone elbow your side. It’s Candace, handing you Mike’s coffee.

You frown in confusion, as it’s not your job to give customers their drinks. Candace motions for you to read the cap of the cup.

You read it, and clearly written on the cap is:

look on the bottom of the cup for a surprise!

Candace’s handwriting.

You glance at her suspiciously before looking to Mike. “Excuse me for a moment.”

Mike shrugs and you step farther behind the counter, peering at the coffee cup curiously. You glance up at Candace who’s taking a customer’s order, but she shoots you a cheeky smile.

You sigh and carefully raise the coffee cup above your head. On the very bottom of the cup reads:

Hey! In case you wanna hang out, here’s my number: xxx-xxx-xxxx

- (Name) :)

Your jaw clenches in embarrassment.

“Candace—“

You look up, only to see that where Candace was standing is now your other coworker, Benjamin. He seems just as confused as you.

You grumble and screw the top back on.

Glancing up at Mike, you just now realize how long he’s been waiting for his coffee—this and chatting with you probably took up a lot of his time, as he’s almost always in and out.

You purse your lips as you glance down to the cup of coffee and back up at Mike. He chews on his fingernail, uninterested, as the sunlight now shines on him. The tips of his dark curls shine a nice golden brown.

Feeling bad that you’ve made him wait so long, you decide to replace the cap of the cup with a different one that has no writing on it.

Screwing the cap on, you walk back to your place at the cash register.

“Mike!”

Mike looks up and walks over. He takes the cup from your hands.

“I can pay.”

“Nope.”

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

Mike sighs, shaking his head with a small smile on his face.

“Thanks again.”

You smile and wave as he turns to the door. He sends you a wave over his shoulder, and with a jingle, he’s gone.

Two hours later…

You yawn, stretching your arms over your head as you walk out of the cafe. The bell bids you goodbye with a cheerful chime, and you walk down the street to a cheerful beat. You reach into your back pocket and pull out your phone.

Opening the settings, you turn off Do Not Disturb, only to see you’ve gotten seventeen texts.

You open up Messages, seeing most of the notifications were from a group chat with a few of your friends.

However, you have one text from an unknown number.

You curiously click on the text, only for it to read:

<9:36am>

hey, this is mike. i’m free on weekends if the offer to hang out is still available?

Your eyes widen and you read over the text at least three more times before you’ve finally processed it.

Mike Schmidt wants to hang out with you?

This must be your lucky day.

#fanfic #imagine #fanfiction #fnaf #fnaf movie #mike schmidt #mike schmidt x y/n #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt x reader #fluff #strangers to lovers #barista #coffee #cute #short but sweet

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kangaroosmile · 4 months ago

Text

Orange Juice - Seungmin

-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-

description: Five times you interact and hear about Felix´s new barista Seungmin.

One time Seungmin takes the matter into his own hands and something new blooms between you.

pairing: Kim Seungmin × gnreader

genre: strangers to lovers, 5 +1, Seumgin is a barista, soft

word count: ~4,4 k

You can find more of my stories under Stray Kids Masterlist

-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡- ♡-

When you walked into Caflix you were seeing a new face and you nearly walked out again. You already have had a really long and exhausting day and your social battery had nearly run out. You came to see Felix because he could always make your days better but now it seemed that he wasn't in the café. With a heavy sigh you decided to still get something to drink and hope Felix was there.

In front of the new employee, you stopped. He seemed a bit taller than you with wide shoulders and an energy that screamed puppy.

“Welcome, what can I get you?” For a second you stared at him. You haven't expected such a honeyed voice.

“An orange juice, please”, you ordered with a light smile. The new employee froze and looked up at you with an eyebrow raised.

“This café doesn't have orange juice on the menu”, he explained with careful words and you nearly started to cry.

“Felix always has some orange juice in the back and he lets me have some of it.” He looked at you a moment longer before he cleared his throat.

“I will have to ask him, please wait a second.” As he walked into the employee only area you turned around and bowed towards the other people waiting behind you.

“I'm sorry for taking so long.” As you turned again, Felix and the new employee walked out. The slight frown on Felix’ face disappeared as soon as he saw you.

“Seungmin, please get orange juice. I will take the next few orders”, said Felix towards the young man that was apparently called Seungmin. This name suited him somehow. “I will make some time for you soon”, Felix then said towards you with a wide smile and a soft wink. You showed him a heart with your fingers. Your attention was drawn towards Seungmin again, who was walking out of the employee only area with a box of orange juice. He got a fresh glass and filled it up with the juice.

“Would you like a straw?”, he asked, now sounding much more reserved than before.

“Please.” With a quick nod he turned and took a straw.

“I'm sorry for letting you wait”, he apologised and bowed slightly but you just shook your head.

“There is no need to apologise. You couldn't have known that Felix and I are friends.” Seungmin let out a sigh.

“Still… this orange juice will be on the house.”

“Don't just say such things, Seungmin-ah!”, scolded Felix the taller man in front of you and you started to laugh as Felix softly slapped him on the shoulder.

“Hyung”, Seungmin said, which sounded very close to a whine to you, as a pout formed on his lips.

“Don't give me that pout. It will get you nowhere”, the older man sighed but then a light smile appeared on his lips. “I will stop by later”, he said, talking to you. You nodded and started to walk to one of your favourite spots. Luckily it was empty and so you sat down with your orange juice.

Time passed and soon Felix slit in next to you.

“What do you think about him?” You looked up from your book and raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Seungmin”, Felix answered, as if it had been obvious.

“He was a bit clumsy but he will probably get better at his job”, you explained as you observed Seungmin behind the counter. “He looks like a puppy.” This had Felix laughing and when he calmed himself down a bit he nodded.

“He is cute, isn't he?” Now you looked at him with confusion in your eyes.

“You… have a boyfriend.” Felix's eyes widened and then he shook his head.

“Not for me oh dear God. No I meant…”, he explained but you stopped him.

“Felix you know I'm not looking for someone right now.” At that Felix let out a little sigh but nodded.

“But you know, you are right. He is cute”, you admitted with a crooked smile. Felix softly slapped your shoulder and started to laugh.

“I knew it. But like you never know. I also thought that before Changbin and now he is my boyfriend.” He looked back at Seungmin and stood up. “I think I will need to get going again. Seems like Seungmin is a bit lost.” With a grin you nodded.

It was saturday and surprisingly you didn't have anything to do today and the only right thing to do was to sit down in a cafe, drink some matcha latte and read a good book. That's why you were standing in front of the Caflix Café waiting for it to open up but you had calculated the time you would need from your apartment to the café wrong and now it hasn't even opened yet. Honestly it was quite embarrassing that you had to wait outside. It looked like you were so desperate.

When Felix opened the café at 9 o'clock sharp he had a surprised expression on his face.

“Let's not talk about it. I'm already embarrassed that I was already waiting here”, you muttered. Felix let out a chuckle and nodded.

“Alright… but now get in.” You followed Felix into the café. “Do you want orange juice or can I get you something else?”

“I would take the matcha latte with soy milk and the bagel with avocado and hummus, please.” When he heard this, Felix started to prepare your matcha latte. “How come you are here today? Usually you only come during the week and then also not that early.”

“Just wanted to see you.”

“You are such a liar”, Felix laughed, his eyes shining bright as he did.

“I'm free today and decided I need a few hours in a cafe for my sanity”, you explained while shrugging your shoulders. “And who would I be if I don't go and see my favourite barista.” With a wide smile Felix leaned a bit over the counter.

“Good to know that I'm your favourite barista”, he giggled. “Gonna tell Seungmin.” For a moment you stared at him with a raised eyebrow.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Instead of answering Felix placed your matcha latte and the bagel on a small tray in front of you.

“It's on the house today.” When he turned, still a smile on his lips, you knew, you wouldn't get an answer from him anymore. With a slight unsatisfied feeling, you turned and sat down next to the window, bathing in the warm sun. You really wished Felix would have explained what he had meant. With a sigh you took a sip of your matcha latte and took out the book you were currently reading. Reading for a month now and it wasn't even that big. But work had kept you so engaged that you didn't have the energy to read anything other than work related papers. At first you had a bit of trouble getting back into reading but soon you were turning page after page, taking a sip from your matcha latte and taking a bite of the bagel from time to time. You got so focused on the book that you didn't notice how time passed.

“Oh what are you reading?” A voice pulled you out of your reading trance. You blinked a few times before forcing yourself to look up to the person who was standing next to you, trying to look at the cover of your book. To your surprise Felix`s new employee, Seungmin, was standing there, a curious look on his face.

“Has nobody told you before to not interrupt somebody who is deeply into a book?”, you asked, half serious, half joking.

“Well… I myself love to read”, Seungmin started with a light stutter but his confidence grew with every word. “And you seemed so invested that I needed to know.” You slowly closed the book, letting him read the title. “Oh I have read that one as well. Took me on a rollercoaster of emotions.” You started to nod in understanding.

“Oh I'm feeling the same so far. I nearly started to cry earlier”, you explained with a light laugh. You looked at each other for another moment and you were not sure whether Seungmin expected you to say more.

“Seungmin, stop flirting and get back to work!”, another employee shouted, you remembered Felix mentioned his name was Minho, from behind the counter. If glances could kill, Minho would have probably been dead by now. Without another word, Seungmin turned and walked back to the counter.

“I was not flirting.” He didn't say it loudly but the cafe wasn't that packed so you still heard him. Still his ears had turned slightly red. With a strange feeling in your chest and a soft smile, you turned around again and continued your reading.

You were walking fast. Faster than you normally did and that really was something. But only because it was raining cats and dogs and you did forget your umbrella at home in the morning. Well you didn't forget it. The forecast didn't say anything about rain in the afternoon. With a sigh, you slipped into the Cafe Caflix. You haven't planned on taking a stop in the Cafe but it was laying on your way home and you really would like something warm now. Seungmin stood behind the counter. You were not sure whether you imagined it but his eyes seemed to light up when he saw you which made your chest feel warm.

“Nice to see you. What can I get you?”

“Something warming please”, you muttered and it seemed that he just now noticed your wet hair and clothes.

“Oh no! Didn't you have an umbrella with you?”, he asked while he already started to prepare something hot. “Sit, sit. I will bring you something.” If you were honest he looked rather cute, as he rushed to prepare your drink. You remembered his words and walked over to a table, placed your bag on the other empty chair and and sat down.

You pelt your cardigan off your shoulders just as you heard someone stopping next to you. It was Seungmin with a big steaming cup in one hand and something that looked very certainly like a zip up hoodie in the other.

“Honestly my favourite drink is an iced americano but that's probably not it right now”, he started to explain, placing the cup in front of you. “So I made you a latte macciato with caramel but a bit less sweet.”

“Is that supposed to be a heart?”, you asked, looking at the latte art Seungmin must have tried to make. You looked back at Seungmin whose ears were slowly turning beet red.

“Felix Hyung told me to practice but I'm still not good”, he muttered as he rubbed his neck. Slightly avoiding your glance.

“Well I recognised it, haven't I?”, you replied with a smile on your face. Suddenly his eyes lit up.

“Yeah that's true.” You couldn't hold back and started to giggle lightly. You met eyes with Seungmin who started to grin.

“Here is my zip up hoodie. You can have it for now and get out Of your wet shirt”, he explained after a moment of silence between you two. He held the hoodie towards you. “Of course only if you want.” A sudden shiver made you aware of how cold you felt so you slowly took the hoodie out of Seungmins hand.

“Thank you. That's very sweet of you.”

“Well… yeah… can't let you catch a cold… right?”, he said, laughing slightly at his own words. “I probably should go back.” And with these words he walked back towards the counter with big steps.

You got up and went to the toilet to change into Seungmins hoodie. The soft fabric welcomed you like a warm hug and you let out a sigh. Soon you noticed a smell. Not a bad one at all. For a second you asked yourself whether you would smell the same while hugging Seungmin. But as soon as this thought crossed your mind, you shook your head and stepped out of the toilet.

Just as you sat down again your eyes met Seungmin's. There was something in his eyes you couldn't identify but you started to feel warm all over. But then you noticed that Seungmin must feel the same. His cheeks were getting red and he took a big sip of his cup.

“Looking good”, you heard and looked up, seeing Felix with a tray of empty dishes. He had an amused smile on his lips.

“It's from Seungmin.” Now Felix was laughing.

“Oh believe me, I know. It's his favourite one and he wears it almost everyday. Just not when it's in the washer.” You looked down at the hoodie and started to play with one of the strings.

“That's… really sweet”, you muttered more to you than you Felix, which he noticed and left you to continue working.

“Well you know”, Felix started, playing with the glass in front of him. The cafe was nearly empty at the moment so Felix slit into the chair in front of you with his own iced americano. You raised and eyebrow waiting for what Felix had to say. Somehow, and you couldn't say way, you know it would be about a certain employee of Felix. An employee that had his day off today. Which you obviously only knew because Felix had told you this earlier.

“Seungmin is usually quite composed and always has a biting but never really hurtful comeback.” For a moment Felix looked out of the window, watching people walk by. “So it's really something new to see him like this when he is around you.” You huffed, shaking your head.

“And what do you want to tell me with this, Felix?” Said man looked at you again, a soft smile on lips.

“Well honestly I don't know completely… just think about it. I mean he even gave you his favourite hoodie.” The hoodie you still had at home because you always forgot to take it with you.

“He doesn't talk about it much but man I haven't seen Seungmin blush this much since his last crush.” Crush? Could it really be that Seungmin liked you and wasn't just friendly? Felix knew Seungmin for quite a while, that he had told you. So he must know Seungmin well, right? But could Felix really be right with this?

You felt your cheeks warm up as you kept thinking about it.

“You know I'm just saying. Like… maybe just think about it”, Felix muttered and stood up. “I will have to keep working. Maybe I can come around later again.” You sended him a smile and nodded. But your mind was somewhere else. What were your feelings about Seungmin?

Work had kept you from going to the café for almost a week. But finally you were able to go again. When you entered you saw Felix and Minho working at full speed. The café was packed. You waved at Felix when he met your eyes and sat down at your favourite spot, which was surprisingly still empty. You could wait until it was less crowded. After a while most people had left the cafe and you finally got up to order your orange juice.

“So what can I get for you today?” Felix asked, slightly leaning against the counter. He looked exhausted but there was still a smile on his face.

“Orange juice please.”

“As you wish” he replied and shortly left to get the orange juice from the employees only area. When he returned he held his phone in his hand and had a worried look on his face.

“Here is your orange juice”, he told you, placing it in front of you. You paid for it and just as you turned Felix started to talk again.

“Could you do me a favour?” You looked back and noticed that Felix still had this worried look on his face.

“Sure what is it?”

“Seungmin just wrote me that he can't make it today because he has a cold”, Felix explained while Minho started to groan behind him.

“His family is out of town and neither Minho nor I can go and get him medicine right now.”

“Seungmin catched a cold?” you asked, feeling concerned. You heard Minho mutter something that sounded very much like “god these two are so disgusting.” Confused, you shook your head and turned your attention back to Felix.

“Just send me his address and whether he had requested anything in particular and I will go.” At this Felix nodded and tipped something into his phone. Soon your phone made a notification sound.

“Thank you again. You will get free drinks for a week.” With a light laugh you shook your head.

“Stop giving away drinks on the house Felix. You scrolled Seungmin for this and now you are doing it yourself.” Felix let out a huff.

“Well I guess I will have to allow Seungmin to give away free drinks to you from now on”, he muttered as he shook his head. For a moment you stared at him before you chose to ignore what this implication might have ment.

“I will get going.” Felix nodded at your words and waved goodbye as you walked out of the cafe, the orange juice long forgotten. On your way to Seungmins apartment, you stopped at the pharmacy to get medicine and at the grocery store. Not even half an hour later you were standing in front of Seungmin apartment complex. It took a while until you heard the buzzer announcing that you could go in. Stepping into the elevator, you shortly texted Felix, letting him know that you were now at Sungmin's place. You didn't get an immediate response but that was what you had expected. You stepped out of the elevator and looked around, trying to figure out which door was Seungmins.

“What are you doing here?”, you heard Seungmin`s voice. You immediately noticed that it was not as honeyed as when you first heard it. His voice sounded weak, nasal and rough. When you turned, you saw him leaning against his door frame, red nose, flushed cheeks and a blanket over his shoulders.

“I was at the cafe when you texted him and he asked me to bring you a few things”, you explained and held up the bag in your hand full with things you bought for Seungmin. “I will make you sick as well.” Somehow you knew he would say that, but you didn't come unprepared. You opened your backpack and took out your mask.

“I have a mask”, you stated but then you stopped in your tracks. “I mean, we don't know each other that well so if you don't want me in your apartment that's alright. You can take the bag and I will leave again.” Seungmin seemed to think about it for a moment. His eyes were looking at you but still it seemed that he wasn't really looking at you. Then, without another word, he turned and walked back into his apartment, leaving the door open. You placed the mask over your mouth and nose and stepped in. You noticed that, just as Seungmin always seemed put together at work, his apartment seemed the same. It was a small apartment but it looked comfy to you. Seungmin had laid down on his sofa, which was placed next to the window. Meanwhile you placed the bag on the small kitchen counter.

“I brought the things you texted Felix”, you explained as you took the medicine out of the bag and placed it on the small coffee table in front of Seungmin. You heard Seungmin whisper something against his blanket, his eyes closed.

“Have you already eaten anything? I myself alway have trouble getting anything down when I`m ill.” Seungmin let out a hum which you interpreted as a yes. “I will make you a quick porridge for you and then I will let you be.” When he didn't answer, you just started to work on the porridge for Seungmin.

“Smells good”, you heard Seungmin mutter, just as the porridge was ready to eat. You hummed as you opened a few doors searching for a bowl. When you found one, you filled it up and walked over to Seungmin, who had sat up and looked at you.

“Thank you”, he muttered as you placed the bowl in front of him. You smiled at him.

“You eat. I will clean up and then I will get going. Don´t wanna bother you while you are ill.” While he ate, you started to clean up the things you used to make the porridge. From time to time you could feel his eyes on you but your focus remained on cleaning up. Just right before you were finished, you heard slow footsteps and looked towards Seungmin who was now standing next to you, empty bowl holding towards you.

“Thank you”, he mumbled once again. You smiled at him.

“No problem. I made more porridge so you can eat it later or tomorrow.” He stared at you for a moment before he leaned in and embraced you into a hug. You stood there, frozen, for a second before you returned the hug, softly rubbing his upper back up and down.

When Seungmin backed away again, his eyes were half closed and he looked like he would fall asleep any second.

“Go back to sleep. You need that”, you whispered and softly turned him towards his sofa again. Without any protest he laid down and closed his eyes.

“Get well soon. We will see eachother in the cafe again”, you muttered. When he didn't answer, you turned and left Seungmins apartment quietly.

On the way down, you texted Felix, a light smile on your face.

A few days later, Seungmin was standing behind the counter in Felix´s cafe again. When he noticed you, he gave you a small wave, cheeks flushed. When you finally were able to order, you stepped closer.

“Good to see you up and healthy again, Seungmin”, you greeted him with a wide smile which he returned.

“Was all because of you. The porridge was incredible and the next day I already felt so much better. Oh wait here a second. I will get you your orange juice.” And with these words, he shortly left you standing alone.

You placed his zip up hoodie on the counter and waited for him to come back.

“So there is your orange juice. It's on the house today because you helped when I was ill”, he explained, after looking around. You started to giggle.

“If you are looking for Felix, he probably has nothing against it anymore. He said so himself.” Seungmin hummed and nodded. Then he seemed to notice his zip up hoodie. “Felix texted me earlier, telling me you would come to work again today.”

Slowly Seungmin grabbed it and placed it under the counter.

“Have you come only to give it to me?”

“Maybe?”, you said with a light smile as you leaned against the counter. “Maybe I just wanted to see my favourite barista.” Seungmin raised an eyebrow.

“So you wanted to see Felix?”

“Things can change, can't they?”, you asked, taking your glass of orange juice. You walked over to your favourite spot and sat down. It didn't take long until the chair next to you got pulled back and Seungmin sat down next to you. Immediately he started to play with the flowers in the middle of the table. Was he nervous? Should you be nervous?

“I want to ask you something but please remember that you can alway say no”, he started and looked at you. When you nodded, he let out a sigh and also nodded along.

“When we first met I was fascinated by you. Like who orders orange juice in a cafe that has soooo many amazing coffee and tea options.” He got interrupted by your laugh and for a second he just stared at you with big round eyes.

“Oh I can imagine how outraged you must have felt.”

“Well yeah but then I noticed that you were really beautiful and not even that, you were also reading Human Acts by Han Kang and that impressed me”, he started to ramble. “And my heart made that stupid thing when I saw you in my hoodie.” His ears were turning red now and he cleaned his throat. “And when you came over when I was sick… it really warmed my heart… well I'm talking too much, don't I?”

“Yes you do”, Minho, who was just walking by with a full tray of dirty dishes.

“Hyung, shut up!”, Seungmin hissed, which made you laugh.

“Don't listen to him, Seungmin. I like to hear you talk.”

“Yeah… well… were was I?”, he stuttered. “You are maybe wondering why I'm telling you this, right? Well I think I like you and I would like to get to know you more. So would you go on a date with me?” He looked at you, with hope in his eyes. At least you assumed it was hope. You cleaned your throat and sat up straighter.

“When we first met Felix asked me what I thought about you and I told him I was not looking for a relationship at the moment”, you explained and immediately noticed who Seungmin sank into himself. It was not much but you still noticed it. “And he told me that you never know what could happen, even if you are not looking for someone.” Carefully you placed your hand on his fidgeting one. “And I think he was right? So yes I would like to go on a date with you.” A wide smile appeared on Seungmins lips that even reached his eyes. They seemed like they were shining which made you giggle.

You were so excited about what will be happening in the future. But one thing you knew, when you looked at Seungmin. The future would be good.

#stray kids #skz #kpop #seungmin x reader #kim seungmin #5 +1 #seungmin imagine #seungmin #soft #seungmin au #seungmin is a barista #strangers to lovers

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keeksandgigz · 1 year ago

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painkiller (part three of lessons in alchemy)

barista!eddie munson x fem!barista!reader AU

summary: After a rocky start, you and Eddie seem to be turning over a new leaf, but a small misunderstanding is sure to change that. You help set up the cafe for the Halloween party, which you end up going to after much begging by Colette, you try to make Eddie jealous and a healthy dose of liquid courage helps things get sentimental.

cw: 4k words, jealous!eddie, swearing, allusion to smut, reader being essentially a sensitive baby, some miscommunication, eddie being a softie for reader, no y/n, no physical description of reader, boys being silly, mention of throwing up/ retching, drinking (everyone is of age), it gets a little bit fluffy towards the end

read part 1 here, part 2 here

if you wanna be added to my taglist the form is here

"You guys fucked??" Colette's voice booms in the car.

"Jesus Christ, Colette, the whole freeway didn't need to know that. And no, we didn't fuck" you take the exit that brings you into Daisy Street, the one towards the cafe.

"Then what? Steve keeps talking about how you guys look at each other like you wanna run to the back and fuck like bunnies" she nudges at you and you roll your eyes.

"Remind me to ask Steve to drive you to work next time, since you guys are such good friends" you smile at her.

"Yeah, whatever, so what happened?" she nibbles at her bagel.

You take a deep breath in. There are no secrets between you and Colette. "Well, he... spanked me" you hear her gasp, without giving her time to start talking you keep going; "Then he took me to his office and fingered me, but he didn't let me um...finish because I wouldn't apologize to him. Then he drove me home" you say, all in one breath.

"You kinky bitch" she laughs, a hearty laugh. After she comes down from her fit, she continues, almost like a phantom hand slapped some sense into her. "But what an asshole! Because you wouldn't apologize to him? And he drove you home?"

"I swear he's so confusing. He wouldn't let me take the bus." You just got your car back after two days without it because of a leak. You pull up into the parking lot.

"Shit, he's outside" you whisper. He's sitting on the curb, cigarette in hand, scrolling through his phone. Something tells you he isn't there to make drinks today. His hair is down and he's wearing chunky rings in both hands. You’re lucky I didn’t have my rings on. With the way you’ve been running your mouth you would’ve more than deserved it.

As much of an asshole as he is, you've been replaying the night before on a loop for the whole morning. You swallow.

"Too late to turn back and make a run for it" Colette quips as you park the car as further as possible from him.

"So what, do I just go in like 'Hey fancy seeing you here, remember when your fingers were in me last night?' or do I just ignore him?" you groan as you open your car door, grabbing your bag and jacket.

"Maybe wait for him to speak to you? I dunno. He should apologize, that was fucked" Colette says, closing the car door.

You both walk towards the cafe's front door. Eddie catches your eye immediately. Fuck it, your shift wouldn't start until two- thirty.

"Col, I'll meet you inside. Thanksgiving menu is launching soon, Steve'll have your head if you don't walk in right this second" you joke, she just nudges your shoulder and winks at you, as she disappears inside the cafe.

"Y'know" Eddie speaks, taking a long drag out of his cigarette "you shouldn't gossip about me when I can hear you from around the corner. I take it she knows?" he exhales a cloud of smoke, making you take a ragged breath at the way the smoke falls from his lips.

"Maybe you shouldn't overhear my conversations. Ever thought about that? And so what if she knows? Steve probably knows too" you spit.

"I usually don't tell Steve about the girls I fuck. Last night wasn't even a fuck, really. I just showed you what was so incredibly obvious to the naked eye, sweetheart" he puts the cigarette to his lips again.

"Which is?" you don't have patience for the slow drawl of his voice, sounding like he's just woken up. The way his fingers wrap around the cigarette, his lips puckering up as he sucks into the filter. You shiver.

"That we wanna fuck each other. Don't tell me that you're not looking at me and not thinking about what I did to you last night" Gotcha. He smiles around the cigarette.

"You really do think too highly of yourself" you sit on the curb, keeping a distance between you two.

"I've been thinking about last night the whole morning" he blurts out, putting his cigarette out on the sole of his boots “It was good, but you were kind of a bitch about me not letting you cum. Maybe you should rethink about apologizing” he smirks towards you.

“Well, I don't think last night should have happened at all" you shrug, pretending like the way he's playing with his chain bracelet isn't affecting you. He turns towards you.

"Is that so?" he says, voice a bit lower, gravelly. You inhale, then nod.

He takes out a stack of black papers from a folder in his messenger bag, you take the chance to change the subject.

"What's that?" you ask, trying to peek over the the wall of black posters.

"The posters for the Halloween party next week. My friend Nancy just designed and printed them out for me. I scheduled you on Friday to come in and help with decorating, I'll pay you extra, since it's not in your job description. I'll talk to Jim about it" it's a lie, he just wants to spend more time with you.

"Am I required to come to this thing?" you interject, taking one of the posters in your hands, it's very well designed.

"Well, no. But the staff is invited anyway and I'm gonna be at the bar making free drinks, once a year we turn our bad boy coffee bar into a, y'know bar bar" he says, a movement of his ringed hand follows it.

"Oh, so you're a bartender too? What concoction are you gonna brew for this party, Mr. Alchemist?" you ask, chin propped on your hands. A flirtatious lilt to the way you talk, you bat your eyelashes.

"Guess you gotta come to find out" he winks and stands up, opening the side door to his van.

"Where are you going?" you ask, squinting to look at his face, the sun in your eyes.

"These posters aren't gonna hang themselves around town, are they? I just came here to hang one on the bulletin board and one on the door. Wanna come?"

You're not sure how to feel. He's suddenly being nice to you? And you wanna say yes so badly for some reason, maybe because you're tired of fighting with him and he seems like an actually cool person to be around?

"My shift starts in five minutes" you say, standing up and dusting off your butt.

He shrugs his shoulders "Consider this your shift? You're still technically helping me with the cafe" his tone is bordering a whine, can this man be that desperate to want you to come with him?

You really are pondering your options, it doesn't feel normal that you'd want to go with him instead of a chill shift without Eddie Munson's hovering eyes.

"You coming or not? And the pun was intended" he chuckles to himself as you hit him in the arm.

"You're an asshole" Alright, fuck it.

"You win" you grumble, jumping on the passenger seat of his van. The same van you were in the night before, cursing the man because he had left you unsatisfied.

In the back of the van there are stacks of boxes full of prints. You reach for the black poster he was holding earlier.

"What's 'Corroded Coffin'?"

"The band I'm in" he says, a creeping smile on his lips. Nonchalant, like he hadn't dropped a heavy piece of Eddie lore.

"'Kay so, you're a barista, a bartender, a business owner and you're in a band?!" eyes wide in disbelief as a smug expression appears on the boy's lips.

"The four b's, baby" he laughs "Me, Jeff, Gareth and another dude have been in this band since high school, tried to strike out but uhhhh different plans I guess" his shoulders rise and fall in a shrug.

"Lemme guess, you're the drummer?" you ask, finding yourself oddly at ease as he drives the car around town.

He shakes his head, his ratty curls moving around his face "Lead guitar and singer" lips pulled taut in a thin smile, face scrunched up.

"Shut the fuck up, I hate you! That's why you're so fucking slappable" he laughs at your comment as he thrums his ringed fingers along with Love me like a Reptile on the steering wheel. You gulp.

"That's why you're so good with your fingers, then?" it escapes you before you can even register what your brain is computing, but he's turning on his indicators to pull over, because he's quite literally doubled over with laughter.

"Jesus I did a number on you, didn't I sweetheart?" he says in the midst of his fit, and you can feel yourself getting hot, embarrassed, like he's making fun of you.

You really thought that things between you two had smoothed over, but the way he's laughing at you has your cheeks growing in anger, the cockiness exuding from him doesn't spur you on or stoke whatever fire you're kindling, rather it makes you feel humiliated.

You grab your bag and coat, immediately opening the latch to the door of his van. Eddie stops laughing immediately.

"Wait, what are you doing?" he asks, head jerking towards you.

“If you’re gonna be an asshole about it, then you can hang your fucking posters by yourself. I’m going back to the store to do what I am actually paid for. Fuck you, Eddie” and he barely has time to reply before you slam the door of his van and you book it back towards the cafe.

The shift feels uneventful, until Colette and Steve take you to the kitchen to sample the menu for the party.

The boy fixes the glasses on his nose as he shows you strawberry brain jellies, spider falafels, mini spiderweb pizzas, and the sketch of a big Halloween cake.

“That was Steve’s idea, actually. It’s blueberry and cream cheese filling on one tier and then I think custard on the second one. You’re gonna die, Steve’s custard is actually to die for” and he blushes at that, a quick brush of his face as his eyes twinkle at the compliment.

Steve and Colette have been spending a lot of time together after all, you chuckle to yourself as you reach for the spoons with the cream filling samples. Colette was not wrong, that custard is an incredible explosion of lemon and milk and vanilla, you're astounded that Steve and Colette were able to pull this off in such a short time.

There isn't much you can tell them, as their culinary talent greatly exceeds yours, wondering why they didn't ask Eddie to do the tasting, who seemed nowhere to be found for the rest of your shift.

On Friday, he seems to be quite busy with various movers and decoration people to even pay attention to you as Jeff stands on a ladder with you yelling "higher!" every time he tries to hang a string of lights.

"Well, I'm a barista, not a fucking architect" he yells from atop of the ladder, as Gareth rolls out a bunch of boxes sitting in a cart.

"What's that?" you ask, still making Jeff mess with the purple string lights “to the right, man!”

You hear him groan.

"Our twelve- foot skeleton" he replies, taking the plastic parts out "good thing our ceilings are tall" he snickers as Jeff finishes setting up the lights and comes down.

"Why the fuck do you have a twelve- foot skeleton?" you lean against the ladder, watching him take the bone parts out of the boxes and setting up the first few bits.

"Eddie thought it would be hilarious if we got one our first year of doing these Halloween parties. We usually get the skeleton something stupid to wear, this year it's a giant clown nose" he laughs as you move the ladder towards him to help facilitate the building of this fucking monster of a decoration.

By the time night rolls, the coffee machines have been removed for the party and replaced with liquors, spirits, glasses and shakers.

Finally Eddie comes out of his office, hair mussed out of his messy bun, eyes puffy and tired as his eyes widen at the decorated party room around him.

Red, orange and purple lights hang around the perimeter of the walls, along with orange tulle fabric and various decorations on the theme of bats, skeletons and pumpkins. The twelve- foot skeleton stood tall in that stupid clown nose, at which he laughed at. He shot you a pained look before leaning on the bar counter.

“Wow you guys, you’ve really outdone yourselves this year” he mutters, taking a close look around at all the decorations.

“It was the girls, really, they’ve just been bossing us around the whole day” Gareth responds “we’ve just been their lackeys” he laughs.

“Regardless of that, I just wanted to thank you all for the splendid job, we should be expecting around 150 people in here tomorrow night, hope you guys are ready to party. Now get the fuck out of here” Eddie says as he motions for you and everyone else to leave as the guys protest “go get some rest, it’s literally midnight”

There’s a clamor of voices as you vacate the cafe, discussing costumes for the party, how fucked up everyone’s gonna get- Eddie being the last to leave and lock the door.

Before heading to his van, though he surpasses you, walking to your car.

“I trust you’ll be there tomorrow? You must be fun at parties, right?” he snickers, you roll your eyes.

“Sorry, Ed, previous engagement I have to attend to. Devastated to be missing the party of the decade, I’ll send a postcard” you unabashedly lie, there’s no reason you should be going to that party.

You give him a sour smile and head towards your car, as he stands stunned in the middle of the parking lot.

Without much ceremonies, you and Colette get in the car.

“Are you actually not going tomorrow?” your friend is outraged, a betrayed tone tinging her words.

“I dunno, I really don’t wanna see Eddie’s stupid face, plus I don’t have a costume” you shrug, entering the freeway.

You could do what you’ve always done since college- a sexy cat, make Eddie sizzle a bit, an unspoken revenge towards that unsatisfactory night where he refused to push you off the edge.

You don’t know what this is, whatever game you both are playing, a never ending tug of war of power and stupid fucking remarks at the expense of one another- why can’t you just sleep with him and get it over with?

“I’ll get you a fucking costume, babe! Just please come, Steve is being really weird to me and trying to ask me out, I’ll buy you lunch, dinner- anything” she begs, and you don’t see why Steve asking her out should be an issue, he’s handsome and the way he looks at her and the way she talks about him seems to be special, something you’ve never had in a person.

“Colette, I honestly do not see the problem in Steve trying to ask you out. You like him!” you bang your hands on the steering wheel in frustration, why can’t anything ever be easy?

“I like him in the sense that I want to fuck him, not go out with him. Besides, Gin isn’t going and Chrissy has a midterm Monday so she’s gonna have to dip early. Do you really wanna leave me in the middle of a pool of nerdy men?” she’s whining and pleading with you, it almost makes you fold. Almost.

“C’mon, I wouldn’t dream of doing that to you” she bats her big eyes, and she’s right, she wouldn’t do that to you because she knows that men put you off, being surrounded by them even so.

“Alright, fine, and you don’t have to get me a costume. Sexy cat is the way to go” you grin at her as she gets out of the car blowing you a kiss.

“I love love love you, I’ll see you tomorrow” Colette runs inside after that.

You can’t say no to her.

And that’s why you find yourself in the midst of countless amounts of people, a third martini and a couple shots in and Colette is nowhere to be found.

Eddie, on the other hand, is at the bar. Tight, black, form fitting shirt, his face looking pale and pasty as a rivulet of what looked like fake blood dripped out of his mouth. You could only see it when he smiled, but he had glued fake fangs on his incisors- a vampire, how original.

You approach him at the bar, mind already loosened and buzzed, as he’s pouring a drink out.

“Was expecting something more original than a vampire from you” you scream over the music. A smile creeps on his lips, and you have to admit, the fangs are really doing it for you.

“I was expecting nothing less from you, though.Thought you weren’t coming?” he leans against the bar counter, his arms flexing from the exertion of shaking drinks for the past hour and a half. You stare, and he’s sure you are.

“Didn’t wanna come, Colette begged me to save her from Steve asking her out, so now I’m here” you take one last swig out of your martini glass “that’s really good, actually, can I have another one?”

Eddie shakes his head “Steve’s asking Colette out? When was this?”

You shrug “apparently it’s been going on for a while. Honestly, I don’t know how she does it, I would not be able to resist Steve’s cute little puppy eyes” and here it is. The drunken ramble.

“Honestly I don’t know how you all do it, I’d be ogling at Steve and not getting any work done, actually. Have you seen his arms?” you giggle, maybe at an attempt to make Eddie jealous, maybe because those were your actual thoughts.

Either way, that made Eddie’s stomach turn in a way that he wasn’t liking. How you were staring at Steve, in his Marty McFly costume, the tight pants and the coiffed hair- biting your lip like you weren’t talking about his best friend.

He chalked it up to drunkenness, the intoxication vivid on your blushy cheeks, as jealousy bubbled in the back of his mind, a small version of himself in his head wishing you’d talk about him like that.

“Yeah, I’m not making you any more martinis” he says, a dry chuckle escaping him.

“Boo, first you don’t make me cum and then you take the martinis away from me? You’re an absolute bore, Eddie Munson” and you fake yawn with that, a silly laugh follows it.

“Sweetheart, you might not want to talk about that in a room full of people” he leans against the counter, and his fangs are looking really good in the glistening purple party lights.

“Are you suggesting we go somewhere private to talk about it?” you wiggle your eyebrows, which makes Eddie’s eyes roll.

Taking care of your drunk self for the rest of the night is the last thing he wants to do.

“No, I’m suggesting you go home. You’re drunk” he yells, shaking another drink and pouring it into a cup.

“I’m actually fine, thank you. I’m gonna go talk to Steve” pettily you stand up, turning away from him and booking it towards Steve, who is trying to talk to Colette.

You don’t make it far, though as you go back to the bar wobbling, stomach churning with bile threatening to leave your mouth.

“Eddie, I don’t feel so good” and he damns himself for how fast he comes around the bar to drag you to the employee bathroom.

You’re kneeled on the black tile, dress hiking up your thighs as Eddie holds your hair as you fight for your life bent over the toilet.

Eddie’s hand is running up and down your spine, the thin shirt making you feel every ridge and callus, as he feels your back flex and relax with every retch.

“It’s okay, let it out” he says, every time you tense up. You’re sobbing in between.

Cries of “I’m sorry, Eddie” and “It’s okay, I got it, you can go” echo in the tiled room, but he stays. His hand firmly planted on your back, caressing, a stoic expression on his face when you emerge, finally done and a bit more clear- headed.

“You good to stand up?” he asks, you nod meekly as he hooks his arms around yours, holding you up to walk to the sink. He opens the cabinet and takes out a little bottle of mouthwash, still holding an arm around you to help you stand.

“Wash your mouth, then take some of this” you watch him bewildered as he opens the faucet, and you lean over the sink, the fresh water is a relief against the acidity your taste buds have had to endure, not caring that it would wipe some of your makeup off.

“‘M sorry, Eddie” you mumble in a whine, between gurgling the tap water and spitting it out.

“It’s okay, I’ll drive you home after this” he says, as he turns off the faucet and feeds you the blue liquid, watching you rinse and gargle it, spitting it out.

“I’m okay now” you sigh, defeat in your voice as you escape from his grasp to sit down on the tiled floor.

Concern tinges his face as he runs to sit next to you “Do you have to throw up again?” you shake your head.

He looks at you, eyes glossy and a bit teary, your nose and cheeks reddened from the alcohol, or from the exertion of throwing up, your lips swollen. God, he really wants to kiss you.

“Thank you, Eddie” it’s a whisper, ashamed as you look at him. Fangs and all, with the bright white fluorescents hitting him, hair mussed up and sweaty and a look in his eyes that makes you soften a bit.

“Yeah, it’s- uh- no problem” he mumbles, he sees you shiver. He wants to put an arm around you, give you his jacket that he left in his office, but he wouldn’t dare leave you for fear of you leaving him and not coming back.

So you just hold yourself flush against him, he’s still warm from the crowded room of bodies and smells like a smoky cologne, leathery with a hint of coffee. The fluorescent lights buzz and it’s the only sound in the bathroom and he tries to fight the urge to not put an arm around you, but when he does, you look at him. Big brown eyes staring into yours, bewildered and a little relieved, you haven’t run away yet.

The makeup around your eyes is a bit smudged from the sobbing, stray glitter under your bottom eyelashes, he silently puts his thumb on it, getting black make-up and glitter all over his finger as his hand rests on your cheek. You blink.

The breath in his chest is trapped, waiting with bated breath for you to come to your senses, leave him angry on the bathroom floor, like you did a few days before.

Instead you stay, as you move in and kiss him.

taglist: @reidsbtch, @vintagehellfire, @fckyeahlames, @lavendermunson, @sunnythefriendlyghost, @onegirlmanytales, @aphrogeneias, @cryingglightningg, @munsonsuccubus, @strangereads, @gothvamp1973, @boomitsallie1, @thottywizard, @ali-r3n, @reysorigins, @yunirgo, @stqrgirl3, @neville-is-my-husband, @keikoraven, @minorlystuck13, @seexyyprincess, @sunnythespookyghost, @capricornrisingsstuff, @mandyjo8719, @xxhellfirebunnyxx, @hellfirenacht, @str4ngergirlw0rld, @strangerstilinski,

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #barista!eddie munson #barista!eddie munson x barista!reader #stranger things au #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson au #eddie munson series

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ghostlyfleur · 1 year ago

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♡ writer!steve falls for the shy!barista

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1lostsoul0fishbowl · 3 months ago

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The fantastic and insanely talented @maikaartwork has done it again, y’all— they created the most gorgeous illustration for my upcoming coffeeshop fic!!!

☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️

“All right, lords and ladies, here we are.” Gareth somehow had all three coffee mugs in their saucers and a plate piled with cookies balanced neatly in his hands, managing to place each one on the counter without spilling a drop. “Toasted almond biscotti for three, two Americanos for the happy couple, and a very pretty mocha for a very pretty girl.” He winked at El— winked! with the most impossibly adorable little click of his tongue and everything!— and instantly her face flamed hot with a dizzying combination of embarrassment and delight, her heart seeming to stutter in her chest. Hastily looking away, she reached for her drink with a slightly shaky hand. It smelled amazing, and it really was pretty; he’d drawn a tulip on the surface with the milky foam. The flower almost looked sort of like a heart.

This magical boy thought she was pretty? Very pretty?

El looked from the flower back up to Gareth’s face, gazing at him in wonder. She honestly wouldn’t have been the slightest bit shocked if cartoon hearts and sparkles were shining at him from her eyes. That thought made her want to both laugh like a maniac and burst into a quivery heap of messy tears— neither of which were an appealing option, standing here in the middle of a busy coffee shop in front of the loveliest boy she’d ever met. Chewing her lip, she breathed in deeply to get ahold of herself and managed to say, “Thank you.”

He nodded regally, the theatrical persona returning. “Most welcome, milady. It’s truly been a pleasure to serve you, Eliza-Jane, and I do hope you’ll visit me again—” a little chuckle broke through his dramatic intonation— “next time the Beast of the Caffeine Fix needs slaying.” She couldn’t help giggling along with him, and his entire face lit up at the sound. For a fleeting moment he actually looked proud of himself, like he was glad he’d been able to make her laugh. El had the sudden, slightly ridiculous thought that she’d remember the look on his face right then for the rest of her life.

☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️

#el hopper #gareth emerson #gareth stranger things #greatmage #el x gareth #coffee shop au #college au #barista!gareth #losty writes #eleverson artwork

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munsonsfairy · 1 year ago

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loser!barista!eddie munson 🍪☕️✨

from one loser to another <3 he is so me coded

⟡ wears his hair in a bun with a black scrunchie and looks so hot too!! the shirts he wears to work always show his tattooed arms!!

⟡ has numerous pins of bands and dnd on his apron. he always gets excited when someone points one out.

⟡ wears his airpods while making orders. he forgets you’re there so he’ll head bang and sing the songs with all his heart. when he turns around and sees you laughing, he tries to laugh it off.

⟡ has to give himself a pep talk before taking your order when he first sees you. you can see the wheels turning in his head when you walk up to the register.

⟡ tries to be funny and says, “you have such a nice grip,” when holding your cup. smacks his face when he realizes what he said. then, goes to the restroom to scream.

⟡ when he pours the coffee into the cup, you can’t help but drool every time you see his biceps flex. he always catches you and winks when you look up to grab your cup.

⟡ always gives you the freshest pastries. they’re so warm and full of love because of course he made this batch just for you. (after muchhhhh convincing from his manager)!!!!

⟡ loves to stare at you when you’re reading your book or doing homework. you’re so deep in your own world he can’t help but admire you. the times you do catch him, he looks away so fast but you can see his cheeks blushing.

⟡ an older couple who sits at the bar, tease him when they see eddie staring. they try everyday to get him to make a move.

⟡ knows your order by heart and has it ready when he sees your car pull in. there’s always a chocolate chip cookie sitting with your cup.

⟡ one time wrote, “hot stuff (;” on your cup making you laugh so hard. what you didn’t know is eddie spent most of the night trying to come up with the perfect joke and went to the back and fist pumped the air.

⟡ he thought he wasn’t enough to ask you out but after a pep talk from the older couple who are usuals and numerous dap pen hits, he finally did it.

“hey um… w-would you like to go see scream 6? we could get dinner before too!”

⟡ constantly fidgeting with his rings and rubbing the back of his neck when asks you. he noticed he was putting his hair in his mouth and got embarrassed. he’s such a loser but you find it soooo cute.

a/n: let me know if i should do a blurb of the date hehe <3 also kinda made this for @changemunson my favorite barista in townnnn <3

inspo:

@cowgirlcherrie loser!sbf!ellie williams

@ellabsbb barista!ellie williams

#eddie munson #barista!eddie munson #eddie munson moodboard #eddie munson stranger things #modern eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson au #eddie munson edit #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst

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deceptive-daydreams · 2 years ago

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The Under-Ground

Chapter One - Welcome to The Under-Ground

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 |

Modern!Barista!Eddie AU - In which you work at the local Hawkins coffee shop where you thought you'd be able to escape the horrors that were high school a few years after graduating. Until one of those horrors lands a job in the closing shift with you...and you have to train him.

Enemies to Lovers, Modern!Barista!Eddie AU, Eddie x Fem Reader

5K Words

Warnings - Eddie is an asshole, eventual smut, I don't think there's anything else but please let me know if I missed anything

Author's Note: I finished this sooner than I thought I would...pls let me know what you think, I am having so much fun writing this so far and I can't wait to keep going

Masterlist

Next ->

The chill Autumn air infiltrated the apartment and left you shivering, the wool blanket atop your comforter did little to aid you in getting warm. That’s what five hundred dollars a month got you in small town Hawkins, it's what you could afford. Old striped wallpaper that alternated a faded baby blue and pale yellow that seemed to have been glued to the wall since the 70’s barely clung to the walls, a majority of it peeling and begging to be torn off. The stained white linoleum throughout the kitchen had seen better days and the carpet in the living room and bedroom was dingy, so dingy that no vacuum could possibly come close to cleaning it. The lock on the door was on the verge of breaking and almost didn’t work–almost. And of course the heater was definitely broken, the creepy landlord would take his sweet time to fix it, leaving you with a freezing apartment as the seasons changed and Hawkins welcomed the fall. A broke college student by day and a barista by night, these are the cards you were dealt for now.

Classes at the community college had finished for the day, rotating to the night courses. A few papers were due next week, one for your business class on the effects of product promotion in business growth that happened to be stressing you out extra. Your fingers tapped away at your laptop from your mattress nestled in the corner on the floor of your tiny bedroom. 4:30PM, the time in the corner of the screen read, just half an hour before your shift at The Under-Ground. With a groan, you click save on the document and shut the laptop which was certain to be opened later tonight after your shift only to continue the torturous essay. Begrudgingly you began your pre-work ritual of grabbing whatever snack or meal you had in the fridge, scarfing it down, and then tidying your appearance a bit while listening to your daily playlist named “Eh” on Spotify. Today’s vibe was set by Dreams by Fleetwood Mac.

The rusty bathroom faucet sputtered water before allowing a full stream to flow into the sink. You splashed some water on your face to feel more alive although it may have been a mistake in hindsight since the apartment was already cold and rather than feeling refreshed, you felt like a wet dog. Dabbing your face with a towel hanging from over the rod where the tie dye shower curtain hung as well, you collected any leftover mascara from the previous night beneath your waterline and around your eyelids. Moving to the compact closet in the bedroom, a simple outfit of jeans and a maroon knitted sweater you’d ‘claimed’ from the lost and found at the college were chosen and paired with your only signature docs. Lastly, your apron was tied around your waist in a neat knot.

Grabbing your keys from the laminate countertop and shoving your laptop in your bag, you make your way through the damaged and scratched up wooden door that was the entrance to your apartment, the number seven nailed to the front of it. “God dammit.” you jam your key in and out of the lock, twisting and repeating until it finally clicks in place. The door leads right outside into the biting air and you scurry down the concrete stairs while avoiding touching the nasty railing, Mrs. Harrison’s chubby cat, Raphael is perched right at the bottom like he always is. His large green irises stare up at you, giving the appearance that he was just a fluffy ball of black fur with eyes. “Ralphy” you mumble your nickname for him affectionately as you steal a pat from his head on your way out of the apartments, a small meow chiming through the air.

The Under-Ground wasn’t a far walk but it sure did seem that way the colder it got. You’d been working there since the Spring and so far had no issues with weather but you knew it would bite you at some point. The walk through downtown Hawkins is crisp and cloudy, leaves blowing delicately from the trees and laying perfectly in the street, colors varying from red, orange, and brown. It was mid September. Patrons wander about the streets attending to their daily errands. Teenagers mess around at the entrance of The Hideout, no doubt attempting to use their fake IDs only to be turned away by the bouncer, Stan.

Joyce Byers cleans the storefront window of Melvald’s, taking care to not miss a single streak. Her face lights up as her son, Will approaches the store. Max Mayfield skateboards past you down the sidewalk at lightning speed, the only reason you know it's her is a flash of her flaming red hair as well as Lucas Sinclair trying to keep up with her on his own board, a nervous expression written on his features as he carefully maneuvers. Nancy Wheeler hurriedly gets into her car, wrapping up her workday at The Hawkins Post while Jonathan Byers gives her cheek a kiss and heads over toward Will and Joyce.

The Under-Ground comes into view as you round the corner, the brick building vacant of customers at the moment from what you can tell through the windows. The evening rush hasn’t picked up yet, usually kicking in at around six when the college students like yourself would make themselves at home and study over lattes and espresso shots. The bell chimes above the door as you pull it open, the smell of coffee beans and pastries flooding your nose and some upbeat jazz playing through the speakers. Robin sits atop the counter much to the boss, Ronnie's dismay but he’s not around to scold her. Her dirty blonde bob is freshly trimmed, bangs laying just right across her forehead while she has a lollipop sticking out her mouth and she skims through a magazine lazily. One leg is hitched up onto the counter with her bright yellow converse on display, knee to her chest. She’s wearing jeans with a few holes and a vintage tee. Her bright blue eyes glance up and land on you, face lighting up as she greets you. “Hey, Robin!” you greet back, making your way behind the counter to clock in on the computer.

“You’re lucky, it’s been dead for hours.” she says while setting aside the magazine. “Think it’s gonna rain too so it’ll probably stay that way.” she continues.

“Good, I can probably catch up on some homework then.” you hum, punching in your employee number.

“Oh and some new guy is supposed to close with you tonight, I think you’re training him.” she mentions.

“So, no catching up on homework then.” you sigh. Training someone new wasn't necessarily difficult however it was draining since you already knew how to do everything like the back of your hand. Dumbing it all down always took a minute since you had to slow down and give them time to catch on.

“Did Ronnie say who?” you ask, turning to face Robin. Hawkins was small which meant that everyone knew everyone. Which was unfortunate sometimes since that also meant everyone knew everyone's business.

Robin hops off the counter, hair bouncing as she does. “Nope, I just know that it's some dude.” she crunches down on her lollipop and discards the stick in the garbage a few feet away.

With a sigh, you head to the back room to put your bag in your locker only to find Steve lounging at the lunch table, his feet crossed on top of it while scrolling through his phone and two legs of the chair he occupies off the ground as he balances. Today he sports some red corduroy pants and an ivory crewneck sweater finished off with converse, just like Robin’s, only black. “What’s up?” he greets, not once looking up from his phone.

“Scrolling through Tinder again, Stevie?” you mock while setting your bag in your locker for safe keeping, hooking the lock around the metal and clicking it into place.

“Actually, it’s Grindr.” he says matter of factly.

“My bad, you find anyone cute?” you ask, peering over his shoulder, his aftershave smelling subtle and pleasant.

He lands on a cute blonde guy with green eyes, most likely from a town over. “Not really.” he exhales, running a hand through his voluminous hair.

“Well what about him? He’s pretty cute.” you encourage.

“Dude, it says he likes to do Karaoke for fun.” he glances behind at you with a raised brow. You shrug, unaware of why that would deter him.

“If that's not a red flag, I don’t know what is.” he states, shutting his phone off and shoving it in his pocket while standing, making his way to the vending machine. “What happened to me, Socks? I used to pull 'em left and right and now no guy or girl will give me the time of day.” Socks was your nickname given by Steve and Robin after the dreadful incident where a pipe burst from one of the sinks and you happened to be standing in front of it, the bottom half of your pants along with your socks becoming soaked. The rest of the evening you worked your shift without shoes, only in your sopping wet socks with your jeans rolled up. It had been an ongoing joke since, although you always reminded them how horrible it is to go around in wet shoes, the squeaky sound they would make against the floor and the squishiness of the soles. They always disagreed, insisting that it would be worse to work in only socks and how they’d just opt to continue wearing the drenched shoes.

“Steve, I think Grindr and Tinder and all the dating apps might be giving you unrealistic expectations.” you tell him truthfully.

“Okay, but who the hell else am I gonna find in Hawkins? Been there, done that, this is my only option." He inserts a dollar into the vending machine and punches in his selection, shortly after a bag of pretzels falls.

“Pretzels, Steve? Really?” you taunt. “How bland of you.” you deadpan. He pulls open the packaging and tosses a pretzel in his mouth all while giving you his signature pout. “Maybe that's your issue, you dumb yourself down for these people you don’t even know.” you continue.

“Wow.” he raises his arms in disbelief, a hint of humor evident. “That…” he flings a pretzel at you, hitting your chest. “...was mean.” he sasses. “But probably true.” he finishes. “Don’t you have a job or something?” his head tilts toward the door.

“Yeah, and so do you.” you shoot back, grabbing his apron from where it hung over one of the breakroom chairs and throwing it at him.

Exiting the room, you hear Steve chime in one more time. “I’m off in like fifteen!” Your shifts always overlapped with Steve and Robin’s, them usually taking the morning to afternoon shift and you taking over closing. Ronnie would always hang out in the back office so you didn’t have to close alone but that was pretty much the extent of his labor. The beans needed to be ground for the next day, chairs stacked on the tables, bathroom tidied, ingredients prepped, counters wiped down, etc. And you were always the one to do it, not that you minded so much. Ronnie never micromanaged and you had gotten good at closing so it became somewhat of a meditation time. The town winded down and the dim lighting provided a relaxing glow, almost as if you were in a spa. You could at least pretend anyway.

Robin was making herself a latte, carefully pouring the milk over the coffee in an attempt to make a design. She’d been practicing for weeks with no success. “Dammit! Another wasted latte!” she slams the small pitcher of cream onto the counter.

“That for me?” you question over her shoulder, spotting the blob of white draped over the coffee. You ended up drinking them most of the time, always looking forward to your daily latte handcrafted by Robin.

Letting a breath out, she hangs her head in defeat. “It is now.”

Steve saunters out from the back, stopping in his tracks right next to Robin. “Another one? Seriously?” he mutters before continuing to the espresso machine to make probably his fourth drink of the day.

“When is the new guy scheduled to come in?” you ask as you pour yourself an iced coffee. Everyone was allowed one free drink a day however it was never enforced unless the owner, Ronnie’s mom was around. She owned The Under-Ground while her husband owned The Hideout.

“5:30, I think?” Robin answers. The clock on the register currently reads 5:20. Steve glances at you, trying to hide a smirk as he quickly looks in the other direction.

“What?” you demand. Shaking his head he continues pouring an espresso shot into paper to go cup. A tug on his sleeve doesn’t get him to budge. “Steve, why did you give me that look?!” you hound him.

“Nothing!” he raises his hands in defense, a shit eating grin on his face.

“Steve.” you narrow your eyes at him, brows knit in frustration.

“Yeah, Steve. What do you know that I don’t?” Robin steps towards him while crossing her arms in offense.

“Nothing!” He lies, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Steve.” Robin glares at him.

“Y’know, this is already getting to me.” he points to his cup. “I gotta run to the bathroom.” he rushes to the back once again, holding his stomach and pretending to grimace in pain.

“What’s up with him?” you look at Robin, the two of you left standing there without any idea. She shrugs, handing you the botched latte she just made.

Pushing aside your theories, you begin setting up for your shift, restocking the cups and making sure there’s enough whip cream in the canister. The Under-Ground had a very cozy vibe, dark mahogany woods decorating the interior, little twinkly lights draped above the windows, and a snug book nook tucked away in the back corner with large shelves that took up the whole wall. Accompanying it are a few tables and chairs, their wood matching the counter and on top of each table sits various houseplants that you’d have to remind yourself to water.

Robin tops off the pastries as she always does at the end of her shift, adding some chocolate croissants, blueberry muffins, brownies, and a brand new lemon loaf to the case. She finishes off by wiping off the glass with a rag and then ensures the display of gift cards and bags of coffee beans on the counter is dusted off and pristine.

You busy yourself by restocking the to-go sandwiches in the open cooler at the front of the counter, making a note to also grab a few more parfaits from the back since those were running low as well. A few books are scattered among one of the tables so you take it upon yourself to collect them and tuck them neatly back on the book shelf. Other than that, nothing else is left to do and you should be ready to start training the new hire without any distractions. You reward yourself by sipping on the latte, the bitter taste gracing your tongue and warmth coating your throat. Robin disappears to the back briefly, coming back out with her bag while shoving her apron into it, ready to clock out the second it hits 5:30.

The roaring of an engine suddenly echoes in the streets, an obnoxious sputtering filling your ears as you glance up and out of the front window. It comes to a screeching halt as a motorcycle pulls up into one of the parking spots horizontally rather than vertically like the rest of the vehicles. Jackass, you think to yourself as the owner kicks the kickstand down. He wears a standard black motorcycle helmet, a leather jacket, ripped black jeans, and some combat boots, a walking stereotype for some kind of punk ass kid.

Jim Hopper catches him, his cop car parked a few spaces away while he does his crossword in the driver’s seat. You can’t quite make out what's being said but as Hopper exits his car in a hurry, you can tell they have most likely had run-ins like this before. The jackass looks up in aggravation as he still straddles the bike, the sky reflected in the visor of his helmet. Hopper appears to be telling him off but not giving him a ticket when he most definitely should. Jackass reparks the bike correctly, gesturing to it as if he’d performed a magic trick, Hopper with a hand on his hip and a scowl on his face. He points a finger at him, muttering one last thing before retreating back to his own car, eyes never leaving the guy.

Steve emerges from the back again, carefully. “Shit.” he mumbles.

Your gaze moves from the scene outside to behind you at Steve who is also now looking out the window. This provokes you to look back outside. Just as you’re about to ask, the jackass removes his helmet, revealing a head of wild brunette curls, his hand adorned in chunky rings as he grips the helmet. Rolling your eyes, you turn your attention back to inputting some inventory in the computer. Out of the corner of your eye you can see that he’s making his way toward the door. “Are you kidding me?” you say under your breath.

“Thought trendy coffee wasn’t his style.” you say to no one in particular. Steve inhales as if waiting for some kind of impact.

“Oh…” Robin says in some kind of realization.

The bell above the door rings as he swings it open, striding across the shop and in front of the counter, his eyes are a dark abyss as he looks from you to Robin and then to Steve.

“Munson.” Steve acknowledges him.

“Harrington.” he says back, a tinge of disgust rolling off his tongue. Robin’s eyes are wide as they shift between you two.

“What do you want, Eddie?” you bite, voice full of malice as you glare up at him.

Bringing his hand to his chest, his face contorting into a mock pout, he sets the helmet on the counter. “Ouch. That make you feel better, sweetheart?” Sarcasm drips from his tone.

You scoff about to tell him to leave but he just continues. “Make you feel all big and bad? Get it out of your system yet?” he taunts, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Oh no.” Robin says quietly, leaning over you to clock out and then subtly making her way around the counter.

“Why don’t you get the hell out of here and find someone else to dick around with?” you snap, grabbing his helmet and forcing it into his hands.

A cocky look takes over his features. “Well what if I’m a paying customer?”

“I have the right to refuse service so, I’m refusing.” you can feel anger coursing through your veins, blood running hot.

“That’s unfortunate.” he frowns, moving to make his way behind the counter. “For you.” his stare burns into you, two black holes nearly swallowing you up.

“I don’t have time-” you begin but are cut off when he reaches over you and starts typing away at the computer, clocking in. His cheap cologne and cigarette smoke flood your nose.

Steve looks at you apologetically as Eddie passes him on his way to the back. A silence lingers as you process that you’ll be forced to work with the one person in this town you can’t stand. Eddie Munson was the new hire and of course he had to be scheduled on the closing shift with you. Life couldn’t get any worse than this, a shitty apartment, and now a shitty job that you used to love combined with mountains of homework. Your eternal hell. Work was supposed to be a place you could briefly escape. Sure it was still work but you didn’t mind.

“Steve!” both you and Robin scold him at the same time. He squeezes his eyes shut in preparation for more yelling.

“You knew Ronnie hired him and you just didn’t tell me!” you seethe. “You could have warned me! I could have switched shifts or something-or, or–or tell Ronnie he’s a criminal or something! So he wouldn’t get hired!” your eyes are bulging out of your head as you reprimand the poor guy.

“Okay, see, the way you're reacting right now doesn’t give me any confidence that you would have reacted any differently if I told you earlier.” Steve explains while clocking out.

“So you think springing it on her like that was any better!” Robin says loudly. Steve contemplates for a moment.

“Look, Socks. I’m sorry.” he apologizes sincerely.

“Socks?” Eddie stands in the doorway that leads to the back, now free of his leather jacket and wearing a black Metallica tee. “What kinda fucked up thing did you do for a nickname like that?” he asks, a smug grin on his face.

“Oh, kill me now.” you drag your hands down your face in agony. Steve and Robin slowly make their way toward the front door, looking at you sympathetically.

“See you tomorrow?” Robin awkwardly points finger guns at you before they speed up and shuffle out the door.

You sigh heavily, dropping your arms limply to your sides. Turning around, Eddie is about to speak up again but you cut him off.

“I don’t wanna hear it. You don’t talk unless it's about work. I’ll train you today and then I’ll ask Ronnie to move you to mornings or something.” you tell him in one breath.

He laughs before replying. “You’d like that wouldn’t you? Hate to be the bearer of bad news but you’re stuck with me, doll.” he chuckles lowly. “I only work nights.” he says with that stupid grin.

“Who did I piss off for this to happen?” you mumble to yourself, rubbing at your temples. “Put this on.” you shove an apron at his chest.

He grunts at the impact. “No.” he simply says, refusing to grab it from you. His expression is blank.

Scoffing, you shove it against him even harder. “This is work. We work here. Stop acting like a damn child.” you say sternly.

Now taking the apron in his hand, you think he’s finally come to his senses until he bunches it up and tosses it onto one of the counters, eliciting a groan from you. You were foolish to think he would play nice.

–

Trying to train Eddie was as useful as training a fly. He didn’t listen and would purposely mess things up claiming he didn’t know any better and he almost charged one of your only customers that night double the actual cost. It was like watching a toddler, you couldn’t take your eyes away from him or all hell would break loose. The cherry on top was all the snide comments he would make which led to more bickering.

When it came to closing time at 9:00, you were exhausted and could practically feel the eyebags hanging off your face. There was not enough espresso in the world to keep up with Eddie’s antics. You were counting the money from the register, making sure all was accounted for, Eddie watching as he was supposed to be learning when really he was zoned out.

“Alright, Socks, are we done here?” he says with a bored tone.

You glance between him and the cash, still counting under your breath while ignoring him. Poking your arm, he tries again. “Socks. I got things to do.” he continues. “Hey, I’m talking to you–”

“--Oh my god, just go.” you break, finally completing your counting and setting the money back in the drawer neatly.

“Fuck yeah.” he whispers, rushing to the back to collect his things. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you only hope he quits before you have to work another shift with him. Eddie wasn’t just an asshole, he was the asshole who was partially responsible for your shitty high school experience. You know it's dumb, there’s no reason to let something keep a hold on you for so long but it just does. It makes you cringe, it's like the equivalent to peaking in high school but opposite, and yet you can’t seem to look past it.

Nothing but the twinkly lights and the dim overhead lights lit up the shop, a moment of peace taking over you while the town outside laid itself to rest. Shutting off the music and untying your apron to drape it over your arm, you do one more scan to make sure everything is set for tomorrow. Satisfied, you head to the back to retrieve your bag. Eddie passes you, almost running you over on his way out, his stupid helmet in hand.

“See ya tomorrow, Socks.” he salutes as he clocks out, shortly after you hear the bell chime signaling that he had left. He was overusing that nickname but you knew it would only please him to call it out. You had to keep your cool until he figured out he didn’t fit in here and quit. Exhaling, you unlock your locker, grabbing your bag and tossing your apron in before exiting and heading for the door.

The door is locked and double checked as you step out onto the sidewalk only to find that it was still raining. Just my luck. Eddie’s dumb motorcycle roars to life again a few feet away from you, a nuisance to the tranquil town around you. Rolling your eyes, you begin your damp journey home. It’s not until you’re in front of the movie theater that you hear that damn bike behind you. You think he’s going to speed past you, maybe splash some water on you while he’s at it but the engine rumbles as if right next to you–which it was.

“Are you lost?” you spit, continuing to walk.

He rides beside you slowly, irritating you to your core. “Need a ride home?” he asks, slightly muffled by his helmet.

You huff before responding. “No. I don’t need anything from you. Get the hell out of here.” You keep your gaze straight ahead as you walk, him still following behind.

“Sweetheart–”

“--Do NOT call me that. Ever. Again.” you scold, taking a moment to point your finger at him, your face displaying disdain toward him.

“Look, I may be an asshole but it's raining. I can give you a ride.” he coaxes but it doesn’t work. You keep on, the rain drops collecting on your eyelashes.

“Get bent, Eddie.” you say, now walking faster, hoping to evade him.

He lifts the visor on the helmet, now showing his eyes as he keeps up with you. “Get on the damn bike.”

“Fuck you.” you snap at him.

Desperate, you start jogging across the crosswalk and that's when he gives up. Glancing behind you, he flips the visor down and revs the bike before speeding off. You weren’t stupid and you weren’t going to play into his little sadist games. Life was already steamrolling you and you did not need some jackass to factor into it. After a few minutes of walking, you finally rounded the corner and the faded powder blue apartments came into view, street lights illuminating the way. The streets were sleek with rain and oil, giving off reflections of the traffic lights and buildings. You were careful to scurry your way across the parking lot to avoid any of the creeps that hung around late at night. It wasn’t exactly the best area, being notorious for drug deals and any other illegal side hustles.

Raphael’s spot on the stairs was vacant due to the downpour which you frowned at, you always looked forward to seeing him upon coming home. A few skeezy looking men stood nearby however they seemed to be involved in their own drama as they argued and took no interest in you. Gratefully, you continued quietly up the stairs and hurriedly unlocked the door, jamming the key in the lock until it gave out to you.

Slipping into your nightly routine, you begin to unwind as much as you can. A quick shower awaited you since the hot water was limited and you couldn’t wait to munch on one of the sandwiches you snagged from work. In your defense Ronnie had ordered way too many for the week and the back fridge was overflowing with them. The local deli they came from, Anderson’s had some fairly good quality meats and cheeses so for that you were thankful as they pretty much kept you fed. Tonight’s would be turkey and swiss with mayo on sourdough, your favorite. The lights flickered on as you hit the switch, another quirk that came with the run down apartment. The living room and entryway were now bathed in a warm and quite dim glow, or in other words if you wanted to read a book, it’d be quite difficult to see. Shivering from being drenched in rain, you set your bag on the kitchen counter adjacent to the entryway and start taking off your damp clothes, peering into your room to toss them into the hamper and slipping into the bathroom. It was a tight space, not a whole lot of room to do much but it was home.

Turning the faucet to ‘hot’, you wait for the water to get warm enough to bear, the fluorescent lighting of the bathroom still bothered you no matter how long you lived there. You stood on the bath mat feeling the water with your finger until it was to your satisfaction, stepping in and feeling welcomed by the sudden warmth you’d been waiting for all day. In that moment you feel relief from the pressures of the world, the deadlines, bills, loans, essays, all of it. Everything melts away for approximately three minutes and that's when the water starts to turn cold again, returning you back to the dreadful reality you wish you could neglect.

But to your dismay, the cycle just starts all over again, keeping you hostage.

~end~

Next ->

Masterlist

tags - @mmunson86 @haylaansmi

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #eddie x you #eddie x fem reader #eddie x female reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson angst #barista!eddie #eddie munson fic #eddie fic #eddie munson smut #stranger things fic #eddie munson fluff #the under ground

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ash-is-dying · 1 year ago

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Mr. Perfectly Fine Masterlist

A/N: New series masterlist! No promises on consistent updates but i’ll give it my absolute best shot.

Preview

Chapter 1: Mr Pretty Face

Chapter 2: Mr. Here To Stay

Chapter 3: Mr. Looked Me In The Eye And Told Me You Would Never Go Away

Chapter 4: Mr. I’ve Been Waiting For You All My Life

Chapter 5: Mr. Every Single Day Until The End I Will Be By Your Side

Chapter 6: Mr. Change of Heart

Chapter 7: Mr. Leaves Me All Alone

Chapter 8: Mr. Always At The Right Place At The Right Time

Chapter 9: Mr. Casually Cruel

Chapter 10: Mr. Everything Revolves Around You

Chapter 11: Mr. Never Told Me Why

Chapter 12: Mr. Never Had To See Me Cry

Chapter 13: Mr. Insincere Apology So He Doesn’t Look Like The Bad Guy

Chapter 14: Mr. Always Wins

Chapter 15: Mr. Too Late

Chapter 16: Mr. Perfectly Fine

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #slow burn #enemies to lovers #stranger things #barista!eddie #eddie munson smut #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie x fem!reader

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sugarsfics · 2 years ago

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I have the next two days off sooooo

Virgin!Eddie headcannons:@sugarsblurbs

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hellcheerficdatabase · 2 years ago

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Stranger in a Strange Land

Author: @otdano28

Rating/Warning: General, body dysmorphia

Chapter Count: 3/4

Description: After a less than stellar meetup with her online date leaves her questioning her self-worth, Chrissy finds confidence in the form of a metal-loving barista.

Tags: Alternate Universe- no vecna, alternate universe- modern au, Plussize!Chrissy, barista Eddie, Eddie is a sweetie, Chrissy needs a hug, fluff, strangers to friends to lovers, fuck Jason, Chrissy POV, multiple chapters, status: WIP

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mmunson86 · 1 year ago

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OMG OMG OMG this chapter was just so freaking perfect i seriously needed this today, its the fact that he was so worried and trying to remain calm! He seriously melts my heart.

And i can relate to just wanting to put life on pause even if its for a minute i feel like with everything that we had going on from being late down to our cat being picky having Eddie by our side was just what we needed.

It is going to be hard to remain friends because the more this man is around us & being the best man to walk this earth the more i am falling for him🥰

MORDOR (a barista!eddie x barista!reader au)

summary: you take a chance, and decide to call mordor.

warnings: fem!reader (use of she/her pronouns), mentions of life struggles (reader's turn to go through it), references to previous addition in this series so might be a little harder than normal to read as stand alone! this is really just me projecting on my need for eddie munson to comfort me

wc: 4.8k+

the full menu

You’re late. So, so fucking late.

It panics Eddie. He sat in his car for that extra hour just waiting for your ridiculously bright yellow Jeep to pull in beside him, and when you still hadn’t by the time Nicole arrived, his chest twisted. When Nicole gets out of her car, and you’re still not there, his stomach churns.

Where are you? Are you okay?

You hadn’t texted Nicole. You don’t call the store as the two of them flit about and try to manage opening without you. And when the time arrives to unlock the doors for the customers, Nicole finally excused herself to try and call you herself.

Eddie scorns himself for not having your number. How stupid is it that you two have made a pact to be friends, and yet here he is weeks later, still not having your number.

“Any luck?” he asks, trying to level his tone when Nicole returns and he’s turning on the ovens.

“Nope,” her brows furrowed as she quickly scoots behind him, heading towards the front register, “It went straight to voicemail. Which, I mean… she’s never been late. Not like this.”

“Should we be worried?”

It’s a stupid question. He’s already worried. He’s frazzled enough to say fuck it, toss down his apron, and send out a search party for you rather than worrying about the store.

“Maybe,” Nicole shrugs, as if this doesn’t concern her as much as it does Eddie. As if there’s not sirens going off in her head as well. As if your sudden lack of punctuality is something to just shrug off.

As if your absence doesn’t rattle her the way it rattles Eddie.

An hour passes by. Eddie gets more restless. Constantly looking to the store’s front door, incessantly checking outside the drive thru window for any sign of you or that damn Jeep. Every time the phone rings, Eddie has to curl his hands into fists to let Nicole answer rather than him. Each time, when he looks at her, the subtle shake of her head tells him it’s not you. His tongue nearly bleeds from how he chews on it with his molars to stop from asking her if she had tried to reach you again. He knows she has, notices how she spends extra time in the back, no doubt sending texts and useless calls alike your way.

If it were any other coworker, both Eddie and Nicole would be fuming. Concern would be replaced with irritation

He’s actually reaching to untie his apron and informing her that he’ll start trying to reach you instead when you finally come bursting into the store, a full two hours late to your shift.

“Fuck,” you whisper-exclaim as you power walk through the lobby, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“You’re here!” he doesn’t bother keeping down his volume at the sight of you, flooded with immediate relief.

You’re okay.

“I’m so sorry,” the apologies immediately begin to pour from your lips as you nearly trip rounding the corner into the back room, Eddie hot on your trail, “I’m so, so sorry! Shit, I- I just slept through my alarm, and had a late night, and-“

You’re digging your apron out of your bag when he finally reaches out to softly grab your arm, squeezing gently in an offer of comfort as you finally pause.

“It’s fine,” he promises, “Everyone is late every once and a while.”

Nicole was in the bathroom, but he’s sure that she’d say the same thing. The entire morning, both her and Eddie had been more worried than anything. Not mad, not irritated, but worried.

And yet, you’re still on the verge of tears as you look up at Eddie, “It’s not fine. You had to open the store all on your own, and I know that’s stressful, and I saw all the missed calls but my phone was on silent. I mean, my shift’s already half over at this point. And I just-“

You cut off your rambling with a shaky breath. It breaks his heart to see you so upset, so guilt-ridden over something that happens to the best of you all.

“It’s okay,” he stresses once more, another squeeze on your arm, “You had a late night? Is everything okay?”

You open your mouth to answer him, the no already forming on your lips, when Nicole returns from the bathroom.

“Oh my gosh, there you are!” she exclaims.

And just like that, Eddie’s chance to be there for you as you were for him has vanished into thin air.

—

Your shift may have lasted several hours less than it was meant to, but you’re convinced it’s the absolute worst hours of your life. Which is saying a lot given how your life has gone to shit the last two days.

You were already falling behind on classes, and your bank account was in the negative due to tuition payments. Your mother was calling every day to spend hours on the phone under the guise of catching you up at what you were missing at home, when in all reality it was just her complaining without taking a breath or allowing you to say a single word. You had to take your cat to the emergency vet when he wasn’t eating, only to find out he probably just didn’t like his current food anymore after a series of very expensive tests. Thing after thing, punch after punch, was being thrown your way. It was all just a bit much.

And then you were late to work. Slept in after forgetting to set an alarm after a late night of staying up and listening to a friend rant over the phone. Burnt your hand not once but twice on the ovens. Spilt an entire cup of hot coffee on yourself.

Life was out to get you.

And the only good thing about today was Eddie.

When the clock finally signals for the two of you to step off the floor, you’re sighing out in relief. You have no idea what the next issue will be waiting for you off the clock, but you’ve accepted that the day couldn’t get worse. And yet, as you go to grab your bag, wrapping your apron by muscle memory as you watch him, your stomach churns at the thought of today’s time being cut so short today. You just like being around him. You like making inside jokes, sharing quick glances, making one another laugh until your stomachs ache over stupid things in the midst of chaos. He’s a guiding light, something to look forward to, a wonderful break from reality that you just… you just cherish.

As you’re tearing up suddenly at the realization along with the heavy weight of your week, you recall that conversation last week. The word you two had assigned for when you needed a break.

Technically, it was probably a joke. Or to be used to ditch work. He probably hadn’t meant it.

But you have to try.

“Hey, uh, Eddie?” you ask nervously, fiddling with the straps of your bag as he’s patting his pockets for all his items.

“Yeah?” he doesn’t look up yet, doesn’t see the forlorn look across your face.

Just say it. If he doesn’t get it – no harm, no foul. If he gets it, and rejects the motion – oh well. The worst he can say is no.

You have to swallow hard, take a sharp breath, before you can get the single word out. “Mordor.”

He freezes mid-pat, hands hovering over his front pockets as he slowly looks up.

“What did you say?”

“Mordor,” you repeat yourself, with a little more confidence to your tone this time. The worst he can say is no.

For a second, you become convinced he’s forgotten all about that conversation in the parking lot. You really don’t blame him; half the time, you guys discuss anything and everything with minimal importance. Those early and surreal mornings are always more about spending time with one another, with a friend, than it is about actually processing the things said.

But then, two things happen. Firstly, the wrinkles between his brows smooth out. A second passes. And then – they return.

Sloping ridges and mountains in that small space, each and every bit of them etched with worry. For you. The corners of his mouth deeply downturn and all the white noise of the front of house fades away the longer he looks at you with such care.

“Mordor?” he echoes, “Like, as in… as in our code word?”

You feel as if the moment you speak up, all that strength you had mustered throughout the shift will shatter. You’re tired and you’re beaten, you’re desperate and you’re hoping. You don’t even care if he tells you he doesn’t have time to properly sit and unwind with you right now – you’d settle for just a hug. The same arms that bump against yours and that sometimes stretch along your space to grab things from around you, the same arms you’ve seen strain as he insists on carrying heavy kegs for you, the same arms you just want to wrap around you, if even for a second, and squeeze.

Who knows? Maybe, if he squeezes tight enough, he can put all the broken shards of the week back into place. It’s not his job to fix it, but you’re convinced for a moment, he’s the key to everything just feeling okay for nothing more than a mere second.

You nod. If you answer him with words, you’re going to cry. The tears are already eagerly burning your corneas.

He says your name softly, gentle enough that you have to pinch your eyes shut and take a shaky breath to avoid any spillage of your emotions.

“Are you okay?”

“No,” you try to make it a laugh, as if this is a joke, “I, uh- not really?”

“Is it because you were late today?”

Your voice cracks and your eyes squeeze shut tighter for a second as you answer with a weak, “Kind of.”

You let your eyes snap open again, try and seek out some everpresent warmth in his honey brown ones as your vision blurs a bit with shameful tears.

You’ve never realized just how many shades resided in those irises, all warm and cool browns alike swirling. They almost match the espresso, you come to realize. And it’s funny, to think about the way all your other coworkers whisper just as scary and grumpy he is the moment he’s out of earshot. It’s funny how customers seem to crumple timidly beneath his disassociating gaze when he finds himself lost in thought on bar or warming. Every single other person who has stepped foot in this store seems to have one impression of Eddie, and it’s not even a proper shadow of the man before you.

All soft edges. All care and all warmth. He’s not scary, he’s not grumpy; he’s careful and considerate, a little shy at times, a little hesitant at others. And you can only imagine why he’s that way, when you can see someone entirely different reflected in those goddamn honeyed eyes in this moment.

He takes a step forward. Opens his mouth to speak. Goes as far to even begin to reach out a hand. And then he’s interrupted.

“Thank you for your patience,” Nicole chirps into her headset as she comes into the back room, turning a corner with determination and snatching a sleeve of cups off the shelves as she continues to speak over the drive thru channel with ease, “Can we get you started with anything to eat today?”

His mouth closes and his hand drops as you both glance down at the floor, completely silent as you wait for her to finally retreat back out onto the floor without a second glance at the two of you.

The tears still burn and blur your vision.

“Okay,” Eddie says the moment the two of you are alone in the back once more, “Okay. Mordor it is. Come with me, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. It rolls off his tongue and it wraps around you before he reaches out and grabs at your hand, only connecting palms and avoiding intertwining fingers before he’s tugging you out the back door.

Not even through the front. As if he wants to save you the embarrassment of a walk of shame with teary eyes and defeated shoulders.

“We can’t-” you start to protest, but he’s already wrangled the key that is left in the back door – impressively quickly, as even you struggle with that fickle lock at times – before he shoves the door open wordlessly and yanks you out with him wordlessly.

The door doesn’t even slam shut. It feels like a dramatic moment where it should, but it only closes back with a whisper and soft whoosh of air.

“They have to do a trash run anyways,” he reassures you when you look back at the unlocked door with worry, referring to the overflowing trash that would soon be taken out to the dumpster in the distance, “It’s fine.”

The soil crunches beneath both of your sneakers as he makes a beeline to his van. No questions are asked, just as you two had joked about.

The sun is still favoring the Eastern sky despite growing warmer in the late morning. Eddie’s van is stuffy when he initially unlocks it for both of you to jump into the front, him being sure to open the passenger door for you and only shutting it closed once you’ve securely settled into that seat you’ve spent countless early hours in.

He starts up the vehicle once he’s in his driver’s seat, but makes no move to drive off as he stares at you.

“What?” you whisper, voice still strained as you toss your bag down by your feet.

All he says in return, still gentle and still warm, still glowing brighter than the man everyone seems to think he is, is a reminder of, “Seatbelt.”

You obey that half-spoken command. You don’t ask where you two are going once he shifts into drive the moment the click sounds in the small space.

—

Eddie drives for a while. He gets onto the freeway in the opposite direction of your way home, and you probably should be worried, but you aren’t. You have no mental capacity for consideration of how you’ll get back to your car, whether your coworkers will worry about it remaining in the parking lot, or whether Eddie even knows where he’s going. Hell, even his slightly erratic driving doesn’t affect you.

You just stare at the trees as they pass by in a blur. Your mind numbs, smells of a rainstorm in the distance slips into the cabin of the vehicle through the cracks in the back windows, and you just let go.

If your mother knew what you had done today, you would have absolutely been reamed a new one.

Eddie slows at an unfamiliar exit, just after the two of you pass a small green sign that reads NOW ENTERING HAWKINS CITY LIMITS.

“Hawkins?” you murmur your first noise of the entire drive.

“You ever been?” Eddie asks as if you hadn’t been catatonic the entire way here.

You prop an elbow up on the door, fist digging into the side of your face as you lean and take in the scenery now passing by a bit slower, “Can’t say I have.”

“Well, then,” he keeps talking, and it’s sort of comforting after the long silence, “Consider yourself lucky.”

That gets a snort out of you. One that has his head turning quickly to look at you as he slows at the first redlight after the freeway, a grin twitching on his lips softly as he takes in the sight of you.

He must think you can’t see him staring, because he continues to do it, until the light has changed green and he’s made no move to press on his gas.

“It’s green.”

“Huh?”

You look over at him, his rosy cheeks and diverted eyes at being caught, and repeat yourself with more emphasis, “The light’s green, idiot.”

“Oh, shit!”

Another snort, another rapid (albeit shorter) glance on his part.

He’s got a nice smile. Even if he might totally be a secret serial killer who was just jumping at the opportunity to murk his unsuspecting and vulnerable coworker in the middle of the woods. He could get away with it with a smile like that.

It’s only once he’s turned onto a dirt road that leads out into the woods that you really care to finally ask one of the first questions you probably should have asked the moment you got in his van – “Uh, Eddie? Where… Where are you taking me?”

“Trust me,” he insists, both hands gripping his wheel with care as he navigates the car into thicker foliage, “I promise I’m not going to, like, murder you.”

“Sounds like something someone who is going to murder me would say,” you put in a little extra effort, offering him the joke and more than a snort this time.

You don’t miss the swell of pride that lifts him to sit up just a tad bit straighter in his seat. As if your joking, as if your laughing, was something he was proud to elicit from you.

“Guess you’ll just have to wait and find out, then.”

He drives pretty deeply into the woods, until the road turns rougher and the treeline is thick enough you can’t catch clearsight of the main road anymore. You really should be worried, but all you do instead of mustering up any anxiety is roll down the window. It makes him glance at you, but you don’t pay that look any mind.

The smell of rain is even stronger, heavy as it mingles with the scent of pine and dirt. It somehow dances between something familiar and something new, a distant memory that unlocks and soothes some of that tightness that had been residing in your chest for a week now. It doesn’t smother, but it does gather up in your nose, tickling in the slightest. You swear, if you were to focus hard enough, you’d pick up on the comforting smell of a burning campfire somewhere. It just seemed like the kind of appropriate scent to add to the essence of it all. The strings of light that break through leaves in golden hues, the cloud spitting out of his back tires as he clearly goes just above the recommended speed for this old road, the pleasant chirp of a bird that whistles right past – the essence of pure comfort to someone like you.

It kind of makes you wish you lived in Hawkins, just as you assumed Eddie did.

He finally slows the van into a clearing, never once scolding you for rolling the window down. He leaves you as you twist your body in what must be an uncomfortable fashion to rest your chin on the top of the door, cheeks and nose just barely peeking out of the car. Every slap of the breeze on your face feels as though you’re releasing another bit of worry to the wind, your chest continuing to grow lighter and lighter.

“Alright, Sunshine,” he clears his throat, throwing the van into park. The clearing is very obviously a small campsite – you can make out a fire pit just a few paces away and the perfect space cleared of rocks, “You call the shots. What are we gonna do?”

“What?”

Eddie leans over the center console, getting closer to you as thunder rolls in the distance, “What do you want to do? You called Mordor, so whatever is going to help you, we’ll do.”

You want to tell him that just doing as he has, not saying no and not asking questions as he drove the two of you out into the middle of nowhere, helped. The fact that he hadn’t hesitated when he’d processed that you’d said Mordor was already doing wonders for the storm that had brewed within your chest. You’d managed to snag extra time with the boy who had a way about making everything alright, and that in itself was able to erase some of your week from Hell.

But he’s looking at you, awaiting a real answer, so you say the first thing you can think of, “Do you have your copy of The Hobbit on you, by chance?”

“Oh, say less, sweetheart,” Quickly, Eddie fumbles with his seatbelt and unbuckles himself, swinging open his door and clambering out onto the soft ground waiting below. He waits for a moment, hands on his hips as he looks at you expectantly, “Well? C’mon. I promise you the back seat is far more comfortable.”

“Does that line usually work for you?”

“I don’t mean it like that.”

“Every fuckboy means it like that, Eds.”

You don’t know it, but his heart swells a little bit at the nickname.

“Good thing I’m not a fuck boy then,” he leans back into the van a little, smiling wildly, “Now come and join me in the back of my van in a totally platonic, definitely not suggestive way, Sunshine.”

He doesn’t have to ask twice; you’re climbing out to follow him to the back of the van, not even flinching as you both slam your doors shut in sync and you giggle the entire way. It’s just his effect. Everything is lighter with him around, and you’re starting to believe he should be the one called Sunshine instead of you.

“M’lady,” he bows dramatically, swinging open the heavy doors for you.

The climb in is a bit awkward, but you don’t even think about it as you take in the nest of an arrangement Eddie has set up in the back of his van. There’s an old comforter spread out across the entire floor of it, with several smaller blankets bunched at random with a few pillows.

“Are you sure you’re not a fuckboy?” you question as you’re careful to not touch the blankets with the sole of your shoes, twisting and beginning to unlace the sneakers that had seen better days. There’s stains of various sauces and syrups from work, and surely milk layering the bottom of them. You’re positive if you investigated close enough, you’d even find coffee grounds lodged between the ridges of the textured sole.

“Positive,” Eddie follows you in, reaching and shutting the doors carefully behind him. He’s less meticulous about his own boots, hardly undoing the knots and kicking them off into the same corner you’d placed your shoes, “I solemnly swear you are the first to see these freshly cleaned blankets.”

“What about before you cleaned them?”

“Sweetheart,” he throws himself down on one of the worn pillows, laying right beside where you have your knees drawn up to your knees. He’s flat on his back, hair flaring out in a halo around his head as he looks up at you with big, brown eyes, “You’re killing me here.”

You can’t help it. The two of you are probably not nearly close enough for what you impulsively do, but you’ve had a hard week, and his hair looks damn soft.

Your fingers are reaching out to trace over some of the wild and thrown out strands of curls before you can overthink it. Curling caramel and honey softness, you try to not let your breath catch as your pull up on the strand and let it run between your knuckles rather than just fingertips.

“Yeah?” you smile gently, watching him melt as you twirl the end of the curl you’d been playing with around the length of your finger, “Any specific requests for your funeral?”

He plays along, trying to not get too lost up in the barely-there feeling of you playing with his hair, “Your attendance, obviously. And probably some good music. Preferably Metallica – again, obviously.”

“Oh, obviously.”

“Actually, d’you think you can get Kirk Hammett himself to attend? That’d be the best outcome. My only request, actually.”

“You’d rather Kirk Hammett attend your funeral than me?”

“I’ve got priorities here, Sunshine.”

Your fingers have traveled up to his scalp now, scratching gently as you both are consumed in withheld laughter and brilliantly shy smiles, letting go of heavy weeks and succumbing to all of the sunlight crammed into the back of Eddie’s van.

“Alright,” your fingers pause their scratches, “I believe you were meant to read me a bedtime story, Munson.”

“Bedtime story? It’s not even afternoon yet,” Eddie scoffs, throwing a hand up as he digs beneath one of the small, fluffy blankets in the corner. When his hand comes back into view, it clutches that same copy of The Hobbit you’ve seen on the back desk at work on multiple occasions, “Alright, well, make yourself comfortable.”

Eddie shifts to sit up, your hand falling from his scalp as he piles a few of the pillows from beside him to prop him up as you mentally debate your options.

You could just lay down beside him. Not touching, just listening. The arrangement was comfortable enough and you have no doubt that it would still be exactly as you needed after all the stress.

Or you could be daring. You could do more than listen; you could lay your head in his lap, or maybe rest your tired temple against his shoulder. Your could press up against him tightly under the excuse that the space back here was limited and you could selfishly indulge in all that he was willing to offer for this afternoon. More than brushing touches, more than playful glances.

You could feel the skin of his arm against your own bare shoulder and for a moment, you could just pretend.

Don’t overthink it. Don’t overthink this.

You opt for the lap. It’s more comfortable. Less intimate, you convince yourself.

When your cheek presses into the rough denim stretching over his thigh, you can feel him tense up momentarily. Everything seemingly stops for just a second – even his breathing. But by the time you notice, it’s already resumed. You start to worry you’ve overstepped boundaries, gone too far for two coworkers playing pretend as ‘friends’.

This definitely isn’t what he meant. First you played with his hair, now you’re laying your head on his lap. You need to learn personal space, personal boundari-

All thoughts evaporate as Eddie suddenly tugs one of the blankets over you, letting it drape comfortably over your shoulder.

“Shall we begin?”

Eddie’s voice was made to narrate Tolkien. It becomes apparent between the way he enunciates each word to paint a beautiful fantasy world, his fluctuation changing for each character without missing a beat. His voice takes on a slightly deeper timber than his normal speaking voice as you listen to the storm that had been teasing the entire drive finally break. Hard winds knock against the sides of the van occasionally, the patter of rain echoing off the metal roof of the van. Thunder becomes more frequent, and you couldn’t be sure, but there must be lightning somewhere above the trees to match it. But it doesn’t reach the two of you, the random bursts of light easily mistaken for swaying shadows through the windshield.

Here in this van, with just you and Eddie and the adventures of Bilbo Baggins, it feels as if nothing bad can touch either of you. Not long weeks, not irate customers, not pessimistic friends or family – nothing. A certain bubble of safety has been created here, and you revel in it. Preen in the certainty of a few hours rest as Eddie’s fingers begin to tangle in your hair and return the favor of playing with your own strands. A simple pattern; he starts at the scalp, runs the fingers all the way through until they trail down the slope of your neck and curve of your shoulder. On occasion, they even slip to caress the top of your spine through the blanket.

Somewhere between the warmth of the soft blanket enveloping you in the scent of clean laundry and the soothing repetitive motions, you find yourself slipping away into sleep. Well-deserved, very much needed sleep that welcomes you with open arms. It’s not quite the hug you had craved from Eddie back at the store, but it’s a hug all the same, and it does hold you close just tight enough to make you believe the afternoon is capable of pressing all your broken pieces back together. If not forever, then just for now. The comfort of it all only has you nuzzling your cheek deeper into the muscle of his thigh.

The lap, it turns out, was the right choice.

Little did you know how grateful Eddie was for your choice of position. Better for your head to rest on his lap than for your ear to be pressed to his chest and hearing the current thunder of his heart that challenges the storm beginning outside the van, beating far harder for you than a friend’s would.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @d64d-n0t-sl66p1ng @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975

ghost's taglist: @emmaisgonnacry @figmentofquinn @bebe07011 @barbedwirebats @ayooooo0 @neverlearnedcivility @munson-enthusiast @digwhatudug @wow-cam @daddysmodifiedprincess2 @cancankiki @gothmingguk @nix-rose @thesesuggestedblognamesbegreat @chevelle724 @madaboutjoe @take-everything-you-can @josephquinnsfreckles @thebanisheddreamer @water-loos @dailyobsession @whenshelanded @happy-and-alone @alwayslindie @royale1803 @onegirlmanytales @whyamiheresomeonehelp @mrsjellymunson

join my taglist!

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