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eddiesghxst · 27 days ago

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ARE YOU BORED YET? - part three

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: you're steve's "bitchy" step-sister and are spending the summer in hawkins; eddie is steve's annoying best friend who you can't seem to shake, but things take a sharp turn when you find yourself sneaking around and ultimately falling for him

contains: slightly enemies to lovers trope, food/eating, drug use and mentions of alcohol, smoking, secret relationship vibes, lots of tension, tons of kissing, flirting, oral (f receiving), mentions of virginity, a hint of blasphemy, a sprinkle of angst, and eddie being an obsessed loverboy <3

word count: 16.3k (i sincerely apologize)

chapter song: hold me x fleetwood mac

| previous part I next part |

I series masterlist | their mixtape | -main masterlist- I

Cigarettes, artificial sugar, smoky cinnamon, light on your tongue and heavy on your knees— Eddie Munson tastes like a cool summer night on melted ice.

His lips are soft, pillowy, warm, and addictive. You get lost in them quickly, falling down an endless spiral of Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

Truthfully, you had been the one to jump.

And now you’re falling, quicker and longer than you had thought you would.

And nothing below you looks soft. Nothing is there to break your fall.

But Eddie feels good.

He feels good against your tongue, wet and hot and greedy— beneath your fingertips, warm, soft, and firm.

Kissing Eddie feels like walking through a vortex tunnel.

There are colors exploding around you, shaky grounds beneath your feet, the promising end glimmering ahead of you— and you know your dizziness will end once you step out of it, but you don’t want it to end. The uncertainty of steady knees forces you to hold onto what’s there, hope, and pray you don’t fall on your ass. Blink and watch the world spin around you— Eddie takes every breath you give, hungry and needy.

He presses you against his van, cool metal against the slivers of bare skin, watery whimpers splashing onto his tongue.

God, you can’t breathe.

Your heart is thrumming in your chest, hot and heavy, fingers swelling up with blood as they curl into Eddie’s shirt. His fingers press against your waist, firm, grounding and steady, but you’re anything but steady.

What are you doing?

Your breath catches. The warmth, the weight, the sheer intensity of what’s happening slams into you all at once.

Eddie licks into you, tilts his head and kisses you deeper. You let him. You feed him back, kiss him harder, pull him closer. The thrumming noise of a summer night is drowned by the rushing of blood in your ears. You can feel his breath on your lip and hear your bated breathing.

His fingers trail over your sides, shivers splintering up your back as he cups your face. You lean into it, just a little, and let yourself melt into him for a moment before reality grasps you tight and mercilessly.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

What are you doing?

It settles in your gut like hot stones, thick coats of wool wrapping around your tongue as you make a pathetic noise.

How did you end up here? Alone? With him?

Your grip on him loosens. The blood turns murky in your veins. The storm of uncertainty and confusion crashes over you like a tidal wave.

Eddie feels it before you can even pull back, you know he can. Your body stiffens, a sharp inhale between kisses, and you’re gone.

Nothing to break your fall.

You pull away from him, wet mouth already tainted with him, tongue already familiar with his taste— too late to go back.

There’s barely a whisper of space between you, but it feels like miles. Your world pans out, and you’re staring at Eddie, watching him witness your descent.

Your hands fall from his body, trembling and clenching once, twice.

Eddie doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Watches you like he’s studying you, trying to pick you apart.

Horror.

It drags through you like a snake.

What did you do? What door has just opened, and how do you close it before it’s too late?

His eyes shift, something dark behind the curtain of golden earth you’ve started to dream about.

It’s brief, a flicker, a small flash across your face, but he sees it. That wide-eyed, gut-punched, what have I done? look. His face settles with a look that makes your insides churn.

The air shifts. The warmth drains. And the moment is over.

Eddie swallows, your breaths still uneven, his lips wet as he drags his tongue over them, tasting you.

Fuck, you can taste him too. So clearly. Like you’ve split an orange over your mouth, drained it of its juice, let the acid burn you from the inside out.

You take a breath, shifting, memorizing the feeling of his hands on your waist when you speak, “Can you—” you clear your throat, “—I need to get home…”

Silence. Heavy. Overwhelming— It settles over you, the sound of cicadas in the trees plays like a symphony to the wind of thoughts in your mind.

Eddie stares for a long beat, like he’s waiting for you to take it back. Like he can see right through you. Like he’s hoping. But you don’t.

He nods. Sniffs, wipes a thumb across your nose to distract himself from the storm, eyes glancing away as he kicks at the dirt.

“Yeah… yeah, okay,” his jaw flexes, and he steps back, rings clinking against the metal door when he holds it open for you again.

This time, you don’t look at him, and you don’t dare to touch him.

The van is deadly silent.

A sharp contrast to the vibrant atmosphere you had carefully curated throughout the night. Most times you have been around Eddie, he’s a fountain of nonstop noise. He’s constantly saying or doing something— and the times that he’s not, it’s usually because he’s just being an ass.

But Eddie’s silence tonight isn’t a part of some joke he has. No, Eddie’s silence is just that. Silence. And it’s unnerving.

You don’t know what to say.

And this time, it’s not because you’re scared or have nothing to say to Eddie. This time, it’s because nothing you say or do can erase what you didn’t say or do.

You did the complete opposite of what you know, truly, deep down in your chest, you wanted to do. Instead of pulling Eddie closer, pressing your lips to his again and telling him he tasted like shitty cotton candy and smoke, you pulled away and acted like he’d spit poison in your mouth.

You curled away from him, retreated into whatever stupid little hole you’d dug for yourself, and resumed your facade of ‘don’t speak, never happened’.

But this happened.

You kissed Eddie.

And no amount of silence can deafen the buzzing ghost of his lips on yours.

Your hands rest in your lap, fingers picking at the skin around your nails as you avoid looking over at Eddie, scared he’ll be looking. But of course he isn’t. Because he’s driving, eyes locked on the road ahead, one hand gripping the wheel, the other clenched against his thigh.

His rings catch an occasional flash beneath passing streetlights. Just minutes ago, they had cooled your hot skin and played like an anchor to your dizzying mind. You’d thought they were cool, so incredibly and undeniably him. Now, they just look like armor.

The weight of the night fogs the air like smoke that won’t clear.

You wish there were noise. A cracked window to hear the wheels or Eddie’s usual loud music— but there’s nothing but the silent hum of the van beneath you.

You debate asking for a song— anything to kill the silence. But you think it’d do more damage than good. Like cheating. Like throwing a rug over the bloodstain.

You glance at Eddie again, dragging in a breath, words dancing on your tongue before you exhale, silent, letting it go unsaid.

You wish he’d say something. Anything. You wish he would just… be Eddie.

Call you some stupid pet name, say you’re dumb, make fun of you for running from a kiss. You nearly want to beg for it.

But he’s done being Eddie tonight.

He gave you Eddie, and you took it, chewed it to bits, and spat it right back in his face.

Now, he’s just a boy, driving you back home, holding pieces of something you almost gave him. And you feel it in the way he won’t look at you.

He’s close to your neighborhood, worn-out tires pulling you closer and closer to the end of what could’ve been a perfect night.

You hate to break the silence, hate that you have even to say the words bubbling in you, but you know it’s for your own good— both you and Eddie’s.

“Could you maybe… drop me off a block away?…”

You glance at him, notice the clench in his jaw, the way he rolls a shoulder, seemingly decompressing himself. “Sure.”

It’s short. Clipped. Not the usual teasing lilt Eddie carries when he addresses you.

You take it anyway— grovel with it.

You don’t try again. You’re not one to beg, and you have no reason to plead for his forgiveness— your hesitation about whatever this is was not ill-natured. He knows that. You know that.

You think he knew it before you did.

He turns into your neighborhood, takes a few turns, and gets you as close as possible before he rolls to a stop, just below a streetlight.

He doesn’t turn the car off, the soft hum of the van filling in the silence. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t make a sound or do anything to indicate the end of the night. But you know it is either way.

You don’t unbuckle right away. Your fingers fidget with the strap, teeth chewing at the fleshy part of your lip. Your heart is loud in your chest, begging you just to open your mouth and say something, but all the words taste like cotton.

You look at him.

He still won’t look at you.

And when you think he won’t speak, he swipes a thumb across his nose and clears his throat, voice low and hoarse, “Uh… get home safe.”

Not what you wanted to hear, but better than nothing.

You nod. A ghost of a movement, a thank you caught in your throat.

And then the belt clicks when you unbuckle, your fingers curling around the handle to gently open the door as if anything more will shatter you into something worse.

You step into the cool breeze, the silent summer wrapping around you again, this time not as comforting as before.

You hesitate for a moment. Hope he’ll say something, your name, anything. But he doesn’t.

So, you take his silence, close the door, and turn around. Back to your home, back to your room where you’ll toss around in bed and think about tonight until it eats you alive.

You walk, silent sounds of nature enveloping you with each step you take. You can still feel him everywhere around you. Your lips still tingle, your hips still burn.

God, what did you do?

You don’t dare to glance back because you can hear Eddie’s van still running. Sitting there, watching as you walk down the street, his protection being the loudest thing he’s said since that kiss.

Finally, when you reach the end of the block, the van rumbles back into motion and disappears down the street, taking with it a version of the night that could’ve ended differently.

The house is quiet when you eventually slip inside.

The lights are off, a soft glow of the moon peeking through the windows as you sneak your way up to your room. You pass by Steve’s room, wonder if he’s awake, wonder if he could sense his friend’s presence practically drenched over you. Your stomach twists at the thought.

He’d chew you to bits if he ever found out. Tell you that you’re being selfish. That you know summer will come to an end.

You walk past his door, straight to your room, not bothering to turn the lights on.

Your clothes feel like an echo of the night, a reminder of what you’d tasted. What you’d felt. Who you tasted. Who you felt.

You peel them off slowly, tired from your day, but hoping that, maybe, if you move gently enough, the regret won’t sting as much.

You drop onto your bed, the spin of the ceiling fan painting a vivid image of what your stomach feels like.

You kissed him.

And then you left him.

Your fingers dance across your stomach and ribs, clasping around the small necklace on your chest. You twirl the small pendant between your fingers, replaying the night over and over in your mind, trying to figure out how it could’ve gone differently.

But it never changes.

It ends the same, with him driving away and you walking in the dark.

Eddie makes it halfway home before he pulls over.

The road is empty, the van ticks and cools as it idles under a broken billboard, and Eddie’s mind is a whirlwind.

His body is still buzzing, still high from the good parts of the night, but the way it’s clashing with his mind as it plummets to that dark space he’s uncomfortably familiar with— it makes him feel like an exposed nerve.

You kissed him.

And then you ran.

And Eddie doesn’t know what the hell to make of that. Doesn’t know if that means something, or if it meant too much, and that’s why you shut down. Maybe he pushed too hard, too quickly— it wouldn’t be the first time he’s done that. Because it’s not like he hasn’t been here before— people pulling back once they realize he’s not worth the mess.

Still, it felt different. You felt different.

Until you didn’t.

No. She still does. She is different.

He wrestles with his thoughts for a moment. Hates that he’s always quick to want a final word, a solution, something. He’s not patient. Never has been. And his mind spins like a fucking metal sphere in a pinball machine— Eddie’s not cut out for this. He gives and gives and gives, and when he’s inevitably left wondering why no one will take it, he spins out.

“Get home safe.”

The most pathetic thing he could come up with. He should’ve said more. Should’ve said, Hey, I liked that. I wanted more of that. I wanted you.

But he didn’t.

Because you didn’t.

And because he’s a coward.

He leans back against his seat and sparks up a cigarette before peeling back onto the road.

It doesn’t matter. You made your choice, and Eddie will respect it, even though he thinks it is stupid.

No matter how badly he wants to turn around and go back to you. No matter how badly he wants to shake you and yell out, This is okay. This is good— we’re good.

Kiss me again and stop fighting this.

Be good with me.

A week passes with a long stretch of silence between you and Eddie.

Not the comfortable kind. Not the lazy, late-summer kind that curls around you like a cozy blanket. Not the kind that’s mutual in a sense where you both know once you’re face-to-face again, it’ll be like zero time has passed. No, this one crackles. Burns. It hums, like static, loud and noisy in your ears, itchy beneath your skin— because all you can do is relive that kiss— over and over— like it’s stuck on a loop. Trapped behind your ribs like a lingering cold, refusing to let go.

And it’s not the good part that clings. Not the taste of cotton candy and cigarettes, or the warm, roughened fingertips on your skin. No, what clings is what you did after— you ran.

No explanation, no call, nothing. And every day that passes just makes you feel worse.

That plummeting look in Eddie’s eyes when you caved into yourself— it follows you in every dream. It’s worse than guilt. It’s a tether— a burn.

The silence sticks to you in every room— on your skin, behind your eyes, between every thought— and in the quiet moments you find, it grows deafeningly loud.

You do things to distract yourself. Rearrange your room. Color-code your closet. Plan for the next school semester, even though your schedule is already solidified. Run useless errands with your stepmother, feign interest in countertop samples and paint swatches, just to keep your mind busy.

But none of it works.

Because Eddie’s there.

In every passing car with loud music, in every corner of a room that feels too hot, too still.

He’s folded into the silence and the noise, in the little breath you take between words and the way your stomach clenches when you let your mind drift.

Eddie’s thoroughly infiltrated your system whether you like it or not— and fuck, you’re a fool to say he didn’t.

He’s bright. Searing like the summer sun at its zenith, the kind of heat that saps your strength and leaves you dizzy, thirsty for more.

But he’s cold, too— ice in the root of your chest when you remember how his face shifted the second you shifted. How quickly his warmth cooled when you didn’t stay.

Eddie is everything you’ve ever run from— loud, frayed, rough, unpredictable in a way that makes your skin buzz.

Guys like him were never an option. Too much, too raw, too real. You don’t touch things that burn like that. You weren’t supposed to.

But now you’ve touched him. And it’s already too late.

You’re singed. Marked in ways you can’t see but you feel.

You should be thinking about how to let it go— how to shake it loose, bury it, re-stitch the part of yourself that unraveled in his hands.

But instead, you keep remembering. His hands. The way he looked at you, like he couldn’t believe you were real. The way he tasted— cigarettes, artificial sugar, smokey cinnamon— a summer storm, and the brightest crack of light— Eddie Munson is out to ruin you.

His eyes wanted more. His hands wanted more.

And the worst part was, you do too. You don’t know what exactly you want from him.

But it’s him.

It’s his crooked grin, his smoke-rough laugh, the way he touches you like he knows you better than you know yourself.

It’s the pull— that stupid, reckless pull— and the part of you that craves chaos a little more than you ever admitted.

You don’t know why, you just know you want it. And maybe, deep down, you’re terrified of what that says about you. What it says about the lack of control you thought you had, so carefully crafted all your life.

One kiss from a leather-bound boy and it shattered.

It feels like a beginning. One you slammed the door on way too fast.

And now? You have no idea if it’s too late to open it again.

You want to think he’s fine, that this wasn’t some huge thing for him. That he’s used to girls coming and going. That maybe you’re making a bigger deal of it than it was.

But then you remember the way he looked at you afterward. Like you’d given him the goddamn moon and snatched it back before he could get a grip on it.

It feels rotten in your gut. A spinning wheel of regret, slow like molasses, scraping at your insides with each turn. You don’t know if you crushed something good before it had a chance, and you really don’t know how to clarify that.

You could just ask him. Call. Show up at the bar on one of the nights he performs. What would you say? Would he even want to talk to you? Or is your cowardly rejection still simmering in his chest the way it is in yours?

Fortunately, and maybe unluckily, you’re not left wondering for long.

The answer comes in the form of your father's car. Eddie spent the week fixing it, and now you’ve been tasked with picking it up from Eddie’s place.

You let it sit for two days. You can’t even bring yourself to slip on a pair of shoes to head over to Eddie’s place, because once you’re there, you can’t hide anymore.

Because what happens when you step into Eddie’s home and you’re slapped with the truth of what your week-long spiral was really all about? What happens if it destroys what was left in your satchel of perseverance? What happens when Eddie looks at you and there’s no longer that stupid glint dancing in his eyes?

You’d live on. Obviously. But not without a bruised ego. And maybe a little bit of a growing distaste for cinnamon and sugar.

And you think you hate that.

Steve forces you to go on the third day. If he notices your reluctance, he doesn’t mention it— just impatiently waits in the driveway and curls his nose when you slip into his passenger seat— “…Are you wearing perfume?”

“Shut up, Steve, just drive.”

And you try to focus on the drive or the music, anything but Eddie, but your mind lands on him every time you try to flip it. So you give up. Two minutes left anyway. And then you’ll be forced to face the man who’s been haunting your mouth for the past week.

It’s the peak of the day when you find yourself in front of Eddie’s door— the time when the sun turns the distance into rippling waves of heat. Steve didn’t waste a second to drive off, leaving you behind in a cloud of dust and nerves.

The trailer park is a different kind of solace. Not soft, not serene— just stretched. There’s a hum beneath your skin, something slow and buzzing, itchy like you’d just walked through a field of tall grass. Everything feels slowed down here, strung out, like the air itself is holding its breath. Or maybe that’s just you.

The gravel crunches beneath your shoes like it’s daring you to keep going. The road twists and curves around sun-bleached trailers; a box fan lowly hums in the window of one, a dog barking before settling down in the shade of another.

You should’ve worn something else. Sweat beads at the back of your neck, slipping down your spine, and your heart’s beating faster than it should be for a simple car pickup. You tell yourself it’s just the heat, but you know better. You’re two steps away from the door that makes you want to bolt back to California.

You climb the creaky but sturdy steps, like they’ve been there for years of time and weather. There are scuffs along the door, worn and loved, a sense of a thoroughly used home that oddly stirs your insides. You hesitate for only a second, bite the bullet before you raise a fist and knock twice on the door, sharp and quick.

Cicadas hum in the distance, the dog barks, the fan hums. You debate stealing the bike off to the side and high-tailing it home.

You stare at it long enough to imagine it before the door swings open.

Eddie. Barefoot. Wet hair with sweats hung low on his hips like he wasn’t expecting anybody for the rest of the day. His skin is still dewy from a shower, ink dark and slithering across the expanse of his skin. You swear you don’t watch the bead of water that drips from his hair and rolls down the side of his neck but you can damn near feel it.

Eddie’s eyes slightly widen when he sees you, shifting and opening the door more so he can fully see you.

“Hey.” He plainly says.

You draw in a breath and hold his eyes, “Hey.”

A silence simmers, not loud, but there. For a moment, neither of you moves. And now that you’re looking at Eddie again, face-to-face, if you think hard enough, you can remember how his lips feel.

Eddie blinks like he remembers why you’re here, “Car’s out back. Keys are here somewhere.”

He lets you in, holds the door, and lets it swing shut behind you as you enter his home. The air is cool inside, tinged with whatever soap he used and the sharp note of twine from the fan spinning on the ceiling.

Eddie walks a few steps ahead, taking a hand through his damp curls as he heads for the kitchen counter. “You know, uh…” he says without looking back, digging into a catch-all bowl full of keys, change, and mismatched guitar picks, “it’s nice to see you’re, like, alive. Didn’t die on the walk home, or something.”

You glance around his trailer—guitar leaning in the corner, a record sleeve half-tucked under the couch, light bleeding golden through the dusty blinds, a shit ton of mugs lined on the shelves with baseball caps lined above them.

“You watched me.” You remind him.

As you watch him, he pauses for a beat before he shrugs, “I did. And then I drove home thinking, ‘should I have popped a mint before I kissed her?’”

When he turns around, keys in hand, he’s grinning—eyes soft, a little nervous under all that casual. And there he is. Eddie peeking out from behind the boy you left beneath the streetlamp.

The tiny voice in your head sings as if he’s risen from the dead.

You take the keys from him, slowly. “You tasted like cotton candy,” you say, fingers brushing his, “and cigarettes.”

And cinnamon. Sugar-coated wet dreams and the end of summer— you won’t tell him, you’ll let it toss around in your brain like a mantra until you’re sick of it.

Eddie quirks an eyebrow, eyes slightly narrowing in question, “Bad combo?”

You hum, clutching the keys as you pull your hand back, “For some, maybe…” You tip your head, holding his gaze.

Something grows in Eddie’s eyes. Something small yet true.

It’s quiet, then, where nothing really needs to be said, but you’re both aching to say something anyway.

You take a silent breath, a calm settling over you that hadn’t been there all week— something that clarifies you know what you should say.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. “I didn’t… I didn't handle it well.”

Eddie straightens with a deep breath and makes a face, playful and easy. “No worries, princess. Had plenty of hit-and-runs before. I’m a connoisseur.”

You roll your eyes, even as something in your chest tugs, “I’m trying to be sincere, Eddie.” You deadpan.

The grin on Eddie’s face makes your hands hot. “I know,” he leans in, voice a little lower, like the moment has shifted. “It’s cute.”

He steps back, nods towards the back door with a gaze dancing in his eyes, making your chest thrum, “C’mon, I’ll walk you out. Gotta show off my mechanical skills.”

You follow him out. Try not to eye the expanse of his back through the shirt he’s wearing, try not to remember the way his arms felt beneath your fingers, even though you’d been remembering it since then. His scent wafts behind him like a taunting train of ‘remember this? Remember how close you were to that?’.

It puts you in a daze.

The screen door snaps shut behind you when you step out, the light’s softened, everything golden, and long shadows.

Eddie runs a hand along the hood of your father's car and taps it, “Changed the oil. Transmission put you out on the road, so I fixed that, too. And I tightened your brake line— it was loose enough to make me nervous, and I’m already high-strung as it is.”

“You’re so modest.” You hum as you walk up to the car.

He smirks and shrugs, watching as you approach the driver’s side, “I try.”

You open the door, gazing at him as he props it open for you. A callback to memory, vivid and true.

“Thanks…” You softly say.

Eddie nods, “Don’t mention it.” He glances away, squints at the setting sun, and shifts in his spot, “You uh…” he pauses and scratches the back of his neck, you tilt your head, “You ever been to the drive-in? The one out past the fairgrounds?”

You crack a smile, gazing at him as he turns back to you. You tilt your head, the sun gleaming over him. Somewhere in his eyes, there’s a fairy, swirling the pools of brown and making magic under the sun.

It’s working. Annoyingly so.

“The one that shut down like four years ago?” You huff out a laugh.

Eddie smiles, “Did it?”

“Definitely. Yeah.”

Eddie quirks a brow like he’s questioning your knowledge. You could’ve sworn you saw them breaking the screen down last time you passed it all those years ago. You shift in your spot, leaning against the door, “This your way of asking me out?”

Eddie grins then, sun peeking out in his cheeks, deep enough to make the beast in your chest purr like she’s been asleep for years. Whether she hates the sun or craves it, you’re not sure.

Eddie shrugs, “Just asking if you wanna sit in a car with me for three hours and make fun of bad dialogue.” he gazes at you for a moment before leaning in, voice low and convincing, “Once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

You look at him, rolling the idea in your mind, tasting it behind your teeth. You hum, fingers twitching against the car door before you speak, “No. And you said that at the fair.”

Eddie’s smug demeanor falters, disbelief in his voice when he responds, “No?”

“No.”

“You wound me,” he groans, dragging a hand over his face, “I’m a wounded soldier here, honeybee. Bleeding out. Throw me a bone at least.” He dramatically pleads.

You roll your eyes, already turning to get in the car. “I’m romantic as hell, by the way. I’ll bring you flowers and kiss you at the door, the whole nine.”

It’s cute— his marketing skills— and maybe if you stayed a little longer, you’ll cave. You glance at him, strapping the belt across your torso and holding back the smile in your cheeks as he gazes down at you. You reach for the door and shake your head, “Goodbye, Eddie.”

Eddie looks at you like he always does, with stars in his eyes and his heart on his sleeve, “Bye, Malibu.”

You don’t ask why he’s still smiling at you like that, and you don’t let yourself wonder what it means. You just shut the door and let the warmth in your cheeks settle on the drive home.

He doesn’t let up for nearly two weeks.

Eddie’s on a running campaign to get you to agree to this magical drive-in movie date he’s proposed, and he’s relentless about it, too. He keeps his appearances up at the house, wasting away in Steve’s room until he finds a moment to slip away and find you.

The first time he finds you in the kitchen, cutting a bowl of fruit for yourself when he rounds the corner. He’s got a lovesick grin on his face and a mouth full of smug, flirtatious words waiting to come out at a moment's notice.

“Movie’s still on the table.” He hums, walking around you like an animal taunting its prey.

You don’t bother looking at him, slicing through thick blocks of pineapple as you hum, “No.”

“Free drinks.” He offers.

“Still no.”

The second time he asks comes a day later while you’re lying by the pool, sunglasses perched on your face, a book in your lap. Eddie leans over you, wet hair dripping chlorine and sun, dampening your pages, “Name the candy, I’ll get it.”

“Eddie—” You grimace, pressing a hand to his chest and shaking your book off with the other. You ignore the warmth beneath your fingertips, glaring up at him through the dark shades as he continues to ramble.

“Popcorn? Gummy worms? Licorice? Gross, but I’ll look the other way. I’ll even let you hold the remote.”

You look at him, deadpanned as he wiggles his eyebrows at you.

“There is no remote.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and waves a hand, “You’re missing the point.”

You lift your glasses just enough to give him a look, “Goodnight, Eddie.”

Eddie’s face twists in mild confusion. “It’s three in the afternoon.”

“Exactly.”

You lose count of how many times he asks. He gets creative with it, though. Will pass by your room and slip an index card under your door with a single Dum-Dum taped to it and the words— MOVIE’S THIS WEEKEND?— scribbled in shitty handwriting with two check boxes beneath it. Both of the boxes say yes.

You draw a third box, write ‘no’ beside it, and check the box before sliding it back under the door.

The Dum-Dum was strawberry flavored and painted your tongue red.

You now have a stash of Dum-Dums piling up on your dresser.

Nothing is holding you back from saying yes to Eddie. Aside from the fact that he’s Eddie, and every time you’re left alone with him for a prolonged amount of time, your brain starts glitching out like a jumbled tape until you start thinking stupid things. Stupid things that land you pressed against his van with his tongue down your throat— not like you’re still thinking about it or anything.

By the start of the second week, Eddie’s purely asking for the bit. He likes the chase, says it all in his grin and the twinkle in his eye every time you shut him down, and he throws a hand over his chest like a lovesick dog.

So by the time he leans against the doorframe of your room and asks again on a random Wednesday night, he’s moving off muscle memory.

“Drive-in’s still on the table. So are the snacks. And the cuddles. Just say the word, I’ll heat up the van and cue up the mood lighting.”

You’re perched in front of your vanity, smoothing cool moisturizer beneath your eyes, not bothering to look back when you respond, “You got mood lighting in your van now?”

“Princess, please,” Eddie scoffs, waltzing in like he knows his way around the place. “I’ve had mood lighting. That lava lamp has been through everything with me.”

You snort, and he plops on your bed, splaying out like a cat that’s getting comfortable, his feet still planted on the ground as he talks to your ceiling, “Anyway, no pressure. Just sayin’ I can get ready in five. Six if you want me to shave.”

You glance at him through the mirror, blink once, and consider that he’s still there, draped over your sheets like a lovelorn teenage boy.

“Okay.”

Eddie doesn’t move. And honestly, if you looked close enough, you might think he might have stopped breathing.

“Uh…” He clears his throat, sitting up with a fist over his mouth as he coughs a few times. “Was that— sorry— that was a yes?”

You suppress the grin that threatens to split across your lips. You close the containers on your vanity and stand, pushing the chair in, “Yes. Now get out. Before I change my mind.”

“Oh shit, you’re serious? Like— like this Saturday?” He asks with wide eyes.

“Friday. And I need to be home by midnight, no later.” You demand.

Eddie nods, like a child getting scolded and trying to regain trust. “Midnight, no later, got it.”

You nod, standing before him, arms crossed over your chest. A silence falls over the room for a moment. You blink once, eyeing Eddie as he sits on your bed, a slow grin spreading across his lips.

“I totally cracked you—”

“Get out.”

“Got it. See you Saturday, Malibu.”

You don’t care to wipe off the smile on your face when the door shuts behind him.

You don’t tell anyone.

Not Mia, not Steve— not even the bathroom mirror you’ve been avoiding all day.

You spun a lie at dinner, something short and simple about having a movie night, and when your dad asked who with, you shrugged and said “Mia,” like it wasn’t a sin. Technically true. Mia exists. You could be with Mia. You’re just… not.

Instead, you’re going to be with Eddie. Steve’s friend.

Eight o’clock. That’s when you’re meeting him. A block away, under the streetlamp, just like you’d agreed.

The house simmers to a quiet state as you get ready. You pace a little, change your outfit twice before going back to the original skirt and top you’d picked out. You apply your lip gloss once, hate the shade, and wipe it off before applying a clear one. You smell an array of perfumes until they all smell the same, and you’re forced to just spray something random, biting your tongue as you repeat to yourself, it’s just a movie. Not a date. Stop acting like this is something because it’s not.

It’s getting dark when you slip out the back gate, your purse in one hand with your pride in the other, perfume clinging to your skin like a secret. And maybe that’s what this is. A secret mission. Something stolen and sweet. Something reckless.

Or maybe it’s a mistake.

Somewhere along the way, between the gate and the driveway, your pride slips and falls to the pavement.

Just a movie. Not a date. This is nothing.

You tell yourself that once more as you walk down the block, holding onto your purse like a lifeline. The air is cooling with leftover heat from the day, a slight breeze that instantly cools it, and reminds you of the season. The sky has dimmed to a navy, the kind of dusk that makes the street lights flicker like they’re nervous too. You should be nervous.

You are.

But you don’t let it show. Because you don’t get nervous over boys. Not even boys that kiss you like you’re not breakable. Not even boys that hold your gaze like they’re daring you to run.

But the closer you get to the street corner, the more your stomach knots. The more you start to second-guess whether this is a good idea, which it’s definitely not. But you keep walking anyway. Like your common sense has just magically disappeared, and you’re moving on a whim.

Because this isn’t just a drive-in movie. It’s another step into a story you didn’t plan to write. And planning is how you survive. Lipstick, posture, perfectly-timed smiles, perfectly aligned future— armor. That's always been enough.

And then Eddie came. And you don’t typically feel sorry for turning away from a boy; you never had to feel sorry. Because none of them has been him. And now you can’t stop thinking about the way he looked at you when you said sorry. Like he didn’t want to hear it, but needed it anyway. Like he’d been waiting for you to say something real, and now that you had, he didn’t know what to do with it.

And it didn’t feel like a game.

That’s the part that’s unraveling you. It didn’t feel like a win. It felt like a surrender.

You pause before you turn the corner, allow yourself one more moment of quiet nerves as you breathe, smooth your sweaty hands over your skirt, and crack a smirk that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

And then you walk.

You can already hear Eddie’s music booming from the radio of his van, and it does little to ease your nerves. Because, of course. Of course, Eddie Munson announces his arrival to the entire neighborhood.

As you get closer, you spot him near the van, leaning against the passenger door like he’s posed for some photo he doesn’t know about. His jeans are cuffed, scuffed boots toeing the gravel with a cigarette smoldering between his fingers. The faintest smirk tugs at his lips when he sees you. Something in you settles.

“Hey, runaway,” he calls out, flicking the cigarette to the curb and grinding it beneath his heel, “Nice of you to show.”

“I had to slip out past Steve and a dad who breathes like a dragon,” you say, lifting a brow as you approach, arms crossed. “You, meanwhile, are trying to alert the entire neighborhood with this volume. Jesus, Munson.”

Eddie grins, wide and unapologetic, as he swings the passenger door open with a dramatic flourish. “Apologies, princess. Good habit. Makes for a great entrance.”

You hum as you climb into the passenger seat, the scent of smoke and old leather filling your nose, “I’ll give it a five out of ten.”

Eddie makes a wounded expression, “Harsh— and rude— rough way to start the night, honeybee.”

You halfheartedly shrug as he closes the door and jogs to the driver's seat. Another moment of quiet nerves. And then he slips in, “I’ll change it for you. Just say the word. I don’t change it for many people, so take that shit seriously.”

You smirk, watching as he turns the key in the ignition, “A sacred honor?”

“An elite one,” he solemnly nods, “Most people? They get Motörhead or nothing. But for you, honeybee?” He looks at you and cracks a stupid, heartfelt look, “I’d play Madonna for you.”

You glare at him, fighting the smile on your lips as you roll your eyes, “Alright, loverboy,” you nod towards the road, “start driving. You’re burning up your cool points every time you talk.”

Eddie scoffs and waves you off, peeling the van onto the road with a shake of his head, “Rude. Again. Shouldn’t have fixed your car.”

You can’t help the laugh that rolls off your lips.

You drive in silence for a moment. The city is asleep, everyone home with their families, tucking their kids in for a night’s sleep. Every light is green, the sun still dropping, flickering through the line of trees along the winding backroads. Fields roll out beside them like a running scene to match the radio as it swiftly shifts into the next song. This one is slower. Something you doubt Eddie listens to in his free time.

You glance at him, the way the light hits his jaw, his fingers tapping to the rhythm. You crack, “Fine. You get, like… maybe a point for the mixtape.”

Eddie smirks without looking, like he knew it was coming, “A point? Out of?”

“Five.”

Eddie scoffs out a laugh, “Tough grader.”

You shrug, shifting in your seat, eyes drifting back to the road, “Earn the rest.”

Eddie glances at you, tilts his head back and forth like he’s thinking before he speaks, “What if I bought you gummy worms?”

You turn back to him, “Do you have gummy worms?” You ask in a faux uninterested tone.

Eddie’s teeth dig into his bottom lip as he reaches blindly toward the backseat. He shuffles around momentarily, eyes never leaving the road, one hand on the wheel. You watch in amusement as he pulls out a crinkled gas station bag, holding it up like a trophy. “I come prepared.”

You pause, eyes narrowing in suspicion, “How long have those been back there?”

“Like a day.” He shrugs. You raise a brow, and he rolls his eyes. “Maybe three. They’re still good. Little stiff. Builds jaw strength— y’know artificial sugar never rots, inspector.”

“Rots your teeth.”

Eddie smiles, “So do you. Sweet as honey. I’m still diggin’ in.”

You shake your head, glancing away as a smile cracks across your lips, so wide you nearly feel embarrassed. You sigh, leaning back into the seat, “I’m not chewing stale gummy worms just to impress you.”

“Fine,” he rips the bag open with his teeth, “More for me.” He pops one into his mouth and chews dramatically, loudly, and obnoxiously. He hums as if it’s the best candy he’s ever tasted, “Best ones in the state, baby. Sure, you don’t want me to momma bird you?” He asks, popping another one in as he glances at you.

You grimace, looking at him, tone drenched in all seriousness and play, “You better not spit that at me,” you warn.

Eddie turns to you slowly, lips full of threat, chewed-up sugar bullets ready to fire. “I could. I’ve got perfect aim.”

You gape in disgust, blinking in disbelief, “You’re disgusting.” You exclaim. His lips purse, and your hand clamps over his mouth, startled but still smiling. “Chew, Munson. And swallow. I’ll sit here all night.”

His eyes sparkle, darting between the road and you, lips pressed into a smile against your palm. One brow lifts, smug, like he’s silently saying that’s not as much of a threat as you think it is.

You tap your finger against his cheek, unrelenting in your demand. He laughs, swallows, then nips at your palm, smiling when you squeal and pull away with a curse of his name. You roll your eyes, dragging your hand against the material of your skirt as you glare at him, though your glare does nothing to extinguish the pure joy on his face.

“You’re a pain in the ass.”

“It’s my best quality.”

The tension in your shoulders has unraveled, just a little. Enough to let you enjoy the rest of the ride and not freeze when Eddie reaches out and flicks his fingers softly against your knee when he says something else—something dumb and playful.

It makes you feel warm and fuzzy around the edges, like the last time you’ve smiled this much for this long was in a dream.

The drive-in is past the fairgrounds, just like Eddie had said, but it’s not the one you remember. This one is a lot more… handmade. It’s behind an old, rusted warehouse surrounded by a field and a gravel parking lot where cars are lined up— some parked like they’ve been here all day, and others parked without a care in the world, crooked and taking up space.

It looks like something out of a dream, if the dream were hazardous and a little bit illegal. There are fraying extension cords snaking on the gravel, and dented trucks are parked parallel to hold up a white sheet that sways in the wind. The projector flickers every so often on the sheet, casting a light against it like it’s fighting to stay alive. Warm lights are lit across the lot, lawn chairs are scattered around cracked open coolers, and a faint hum of music from a van that looks just as run-down as Eddie’s. It’s the kind of scene that looks warm and feels exactly so.

Eddie parks the van with the back facing the movie. He greets a guy when he steps out, someone named Mickey with rowdy hair, stoned eyes, and a blunt. Mickey supposedly makes the best gas station nachos, and for some reason, you absolutely believe that.

You both climb in, Eddie first because he swears he’s a gentleman that’s not grabbing for a chance to look at your ass even though you caught him doing so just moments before. Inside, Eddie has tossed in a nest of mismatched pillows and blankets, thrown around in a cozy manner yet somehow chaotically organized. Snacks and drinks are stashed in a bag, snuggled into the blankets like it’ll keep them cool.

You fail to suppress a smirk as you settle with your back resting against the seats, raising a brow as you glance at him, “So, this is your thing? Lure unsuspecting girls into your van with snacks, blankets, and a movie?”

Eddie scoffs, feigning a wounded expression as he crashes in next to you, already grabbing a drink and passing one to you, “You think I do this for just anyone?”

You take the canned drink, cracking it open with a hiss and sipping with a hum, “Absolutely.”

Eddie gasps dramatically, clutching the drink to his chest. “I’m wounded, princess. Truly. I fought hard for this, by the way. And I thought we had something special.”

You shoot him a dry look over the rim of your can. “You said that after I let you steal one of my fries.”

“Because we do,” he says, matter-of-factly. “You just don’t recognize the depth of our cosmic bond yet. I mean, remember that kiss? Knocked the wind outta me. Could’ve sworn I saw your eyes roll.”

Your face warms. It’s faint, but unmistakable, like a match sparking beneath your skin. You try to hide it with a scoff, nudging his shin with your foot as he giggles.

“My eyes didn’t roll. How would you even know? Your eyes were supposed to be closed.”

Eddie hums, unbothered, ripping a bag of sour candies open. “I’ve got a third eye. The bangs aren’t just an accessory.” He digs a piece of candy out, popping it in his mouth before offering the bag to you. You pick one, toss it in, and immediately regret it. The taste is sharp and mean, catching in your throat and pulling a wince from your chest.

You cough through it, taking a sip of your drink to ease the stress, “Jesus. Is that candy or chemical warfare?” You cringe.

Eddie grins around his chew, popping another in like it’s nothing, “Little from column A, little from column B.”

You swallow the candy, shaking your head as you lean back on your hands, stretching your legs out, “Your taste in candy is criminal.”

“Funny. That’s what they said about my music, too.” He drums his fingers against his drink like it’s a snare, mock-riffing. “I’m a menace across multiple industries.”

You roll your eyes, but your lips tug upward despite yourself. The movie flickers on the sheet in front of you, voices murmuring from the speaker someone set up between the trucks. The air smells like weed and sunscreen, someone’s smoking close enough to catch the faint buzz of it.

Eddie shifts beside you, closer without fully touching, like he’s testing the air between you. You don’t move away; somehow, the closeness relaxes you more than you’d imagined. Your laughs become loose around the edges, Eddie’s limbs soften, and your eyes meet more.

The van warms in a summery haze with quiet laughter, hushed jokes behind mouthfuls of candy, and the occasional moment when either of you pretends to care about the movie. And somewhere between that, your ankle passes Eddie’s, like a ghost, a memory of the diner, and a nudge into something more.

Eddie is warm beside you, and his thigh presses against yours each time he shifts, which, unfairly, seems to happen more often than not. Your bodies are pressed close, your arms touching, a film of sugar forming over your tongues.

“So,” He speaks softly, warm breath dusting over your temple, a smile trickling around the edges, a nervous undertone so quiet you almost miss it. “Give me the verdict. What’s my rating now?”

You glance at him. His eyes are on you, not the movie. Your eyes dart back to the movie, a small smirk easing across your lips.

“Four stars.”

Eddie scoffs, dramatically offended, “Four?! Out of five?”

“Mhm.” You nod your head, still pretending to watch the movie.

“Why? What did I do?” He stresses.

You shrug, “You forgot my flowers.”

Eddie pauses, only the hum of the movie filtering through the van. He sits up a little, “Who said I forgot ‘em?”

You glance at him, just in time to see him turn around and reach over the middle console, rummaging through bags and the empty soda cans he keeps tossing back. You watch, listen to him mutter to himself, toss aside a hoodie before— “Aha!”

He plops back beside you, triumphantly smiling as he extends a hand to you, clutching something, “I’m a man of my word.”

A single rose.

Well— it was a rose. At one point. Now it’s a little mangled, missing a few leaves, petals slightly crushed, stem bent in the middle like it gave up halfway through standing tall.

Your hand flies to your mouth.

“You let it die before it got to me?”

“I was freaking the fuck out!” Eddie exclaims, absolutley not ashamed, “I got it two hours before I picked you up. And then I forgot it. But then I remembered during the drive and panicked and tried to hide it in the snack bag—”

You burst out with laughter. The sad, wilted rose hangs between you as a testament to Eddie’s story. It makes your ribs ache with lack of air, and your cheeks warm as Eddie tries to explain why his gift is now fit for a compost pile. And then— to your horror— your breath hitches and you snort. A real, startled, uncontrolled snort, right from your lips. And you immediately clap a hand over your mouth like you can shove it back in.

Eddie goes stock still, eyes wide as he looks at you.

“...Oh my god,” he whispers, “Did you just—”

“Shut up,” you groan, face burning as you shove the rose against his chest,

Eddie places a hand over yours, grasping it like a lifeline as he laughs in awestruck disbelief. “No, no— jesus christ. What was that? Do that again.”

“Eddie—”

“Please,” he begs around a laugh, clutching the rose like a microphone, “Do it again. I think I hear angels.”

You groan again, laughing harder now as you collapse sideways, not even thinking when you bury your face in Eddie’s shoulder to hide your embarrassment. His body shakes with laughter, both you warm and full of it. His free arm wraps around you instinctively, pulling you close, and when he glances down at you—your nose tucked against his shirt, his rose wilting between you—he softens.

Warmth radiates from him like a furnace, and for a second, you just stay there, trying to catch your breath, your cheeks aching from smiling. And in the quiet stretch of time, you feel it shift.

The buzzing, the teasing, the fizzy high laughter— it all slows, softens. His thumb rubs an absent-minded circle over your side. You tilt your head, nose brushing over his collarbone, and when you glance up, he’s already looking at you.

There’s a crease between his brows, like he’s trying to memorize something. Like he’s caught off guard by how much he likes you in this moment. And you can’t exactly laugh about it because, well, you feel it too. You feel how good this is, how real it feels, tangible and soft and bright.

He shifts, eyes flickering over your face. “Hey,” He softly says, voice low, reverent.

You blink up at him. “Hey.”

His fingers, rough and calloused, dust across your jaw.

And then, quieter: “You gonna let me kiss you again?”

You don’t answer. You don’t have to.

He kisses exactly how you’d been dreaming of since the first kiss. This time, he tastes like the night's warmth, laughter sprinkled over his tongue, and sugar behind his teeth. You fall into it like muscle memory. Like your body had been prepping for it all this time.

You pull away first. Barely. Just enough to breathe. Though you can’t breathe much when your bodies are still pressed so close like this— Eddie’s arm holding you, you practically draped over him.

Your eyes flicker to the side, a nearly unbearable heat creeping up your chest, lips tingling like they’re still pressed to his. You feel him watching you, still, drafting the aftermath— quietly smug, fond in that boyish way that makes you want to kiss him all over again just to shut him up.

He lifts the rose—pathetic, crushed thing—and sniffs it theatrically before murmuring, “Still smells like a rose.”

You laugh— can’t help it— and the softest little snort escapes. You don’t care to hide it this time. And Eddie lights up like a kid on Christmas.

“Again!” He whispers, scandalized and delighted. You roll your eyes as he tugs you closer, “I’m two for two!”

“You’re annoying.” You weakly push at him as he grins.

“How many people have gotten you to laugh like that, hm? Come on.” He leans in, nuzzles your cheek like it’s muscle memory, smiling when you squirm away from him. “Tell me I’m the one and only. Say it. Say, ‘Eddie Munson is my laughter lord and chaos prince.’”

You bat away at him, trying and failing to suppress your smile. “You’re so stupid.”

“And you snort when you laugh. Which means I win.”

You roll your eyes, settled against his shoulder, snuggled like you belong there. “I’m regretting kissing you.” You halfheartedly murmur.

“No, you’re not,” he grins. He twists the rose between his fingers, eyes gently flickering over your face. Then, gently, he runs the soft rose petals over the bridge of your nose. The brittle petals whisper across your skin, light and teasing, until they dust the tip of your nose. Your nose crinkles on instinct.

Eddie freezes, dragging in a breath. “Don’t move.” He whispers like he’s trying not to spook a deer. “That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire fucking life.”

You laugh, batting the rose away as you giggle, “You’re a sap.”

“And you’re a shitfaced liar,” he mumbles lowly, leaning forward, eyes dancing across your face. His eyes flicker to your lips like magnets pulled to steel. Your breath stutters, eyes stuck on his. “You totally wanna kiss me again.”

You fight the smile on your lips as you shake your head, “No.”

Eddie’s already leaning closer, eyes flickering to your smile as one approaches his lips, “Yeah, you do.”

Your false protest dies on his lips. It’s softer this time. Slower. Deeper. More curious, like he’s trying to memorize you from the inside out.

The rose falls to the ground somewhere, wilted and pathetic. Eddie pulls you close, lips twitching against yours like he’s quietly reminding you that he won. His fingers splay wide across your back, knuckles curling into your top as you press against him, his other hand coming up to cup your face.

Your fingers curl against his chest, holding on like you need it to anchor yourself. Your legs shift between his, and you’re nearly draped over him when you tilt your head, lips parting in an invitation that he takes like it’s sacred.

His tongue slides against yours— slow, careful, sweet— and your body reacts before your mind catches up.

Heat licks up your spine, curling in your belly, and you melt into him. Everything else fades— the movie, the night air, the mess of candy wrappers and pillows around you. It all collapses beneath his lips, the sinful flick of his tongue against yours, his fingers curling around your waist, the tremble in your thighs.

You make a sound you don’t mean to. A soft, involuntary moan caught between a hitch in your breath, featherlight and aching.

Eddie pulls away. Quick and abrupt. Like he’s just touched something electric.

His breathing’s uneven, lips pink and bruised, pupils blown wide in disbelief. “Yeah,” he shakily breathes, eyes darting like he can’t afford to look at you. He peels his body from yours, “Yeah. Okay. That’s enough. No more.”

You blink, wide-eyed and dazed, “What—?”

“I’m gonna jizz my pants.” He says, completely deadpan. He presses a palm to his crotch as he sits up, eyes blown as they dart around the floor of the van, like somewhere in the rubble, he’ll find his dignity. “Like. Seriously. I’m gonna blow a load in my pants— you can’t just… you can’t make sounds like that.”

You laugh, sharp and bright, your face flushing all over again. Eddie looks at you like you’re insane and groans, “Unbelievable. You’re laughing? At a time like this?”

“I didn’t mean to,” you say, halfheartedly and amused.

“You moaned, babe. Into my mouth. Like we’re in some kind of fucked up romance novel.”

“I barely did.” You argue.

“I felt it vibrate in my soul.”

You drop your face into your hands, hiding your warm cheeks, ignoring your mind as it replays the scene over and over again, but Eddie’s already tugging your wrists down, grinning like a menace, one thumb brushing over your pulse as the other brushes your cheek.

“Don’t hide,” he says, a little gentler this time, “It was hot. You’re hot. That’s the whole problem.”

You groan, rolling your eyes as Eddie grins. “I’m never kissing you again.”

Eddie flops beside you with a contented sigh, stretching out like a happy cat, folding one arm behind his head. “In your dreams, honeybee.” He grins, crossing one ankle over the other.

“You’ve kissed me— thrice now. Nearly killed me with that last one, too, so,” he shrugs, “I know your secrets. I own your laugh. It’s mine.”

You narrow your eyes, glaring at him, fighting to keep your gaze from wandering back to his lips. “You don’t own anything.”

“Wrong,” Eddie loudly claims. He cracks a can of soda open, taking a sip before speaking, “I own your laugh. That snort? That’s legally binding.”

And for some reason, you decide not to fight him on that.

Eddie starts the van back up exactly fifteen minutes before midnight.

You both climb out, dusting off crumbs and straightening your clothes to at least try and look like you didn’t spend the last twenty minutes of the movie chasing each other's lips. You can barely pay any mind to the commotion of other cars around you as you waltz to the passenger side because you’re still buzzing with the feeling of Eddie’s body pressed to yours.

The drive is quiet, but much different than the last time you’d spent in the silence of his van. This time, there’s a content lull in the air. Your head leans against the window, your skin warm and flushed in the places his hands had been. Your lips still tingle. Eddie hums to an old cassette, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel like he’s trying to burn off the leftover energy.

Familiar trees pass in a blur, softer this time, like the night has smudged a yellow glow over your eyes. You feel it in your chest. In the way your fingers twist in your lap, thrumming with a need to touch something. You don’t look at Eddie, too afraid of what you’ll do if you catch a glimpse of him.

The streetlight buzzes overhead when he stops below it, the same one he picked you up from. Somewhere in your purse, the crushed-up rose sits, folded up and full of the night. Later, you’ll pull it out and stare at it like it might summon the curly-headed boy into your room. You think you might already miss this night, as if you’re not still sitting in it. And that shakes something loose behind your ribs. Fear, hope, dread. It all mixes together and pumps through you like a drug.

Eddie drags in a dramatic breath, tapping the wheel a few times, “Five minutes to midnight, Cinderella.”

You glance at him, fingers curling around the strap of your purse. “So,” he hums, glancing away for a moment, “You gonna kiss me goodbye?”

You lift a brow, watching as pearly white canines peek out from Eddie’s smile. “Do you know how dramatic you are?”

Eddie scoffs, “Of course I do.”

“And you watch way too many romance films.”

Eddie presses a hand over his heart, “I’m a hopeless romantic. Sue me for having a hobby— you know what I’m not hearing though?”

You press your lips together, fighting a smile as you hum.

“I’m not hearing a no.”

You roll your eyes, reaching for the door handle, your smile finally cracking when Eddie leans across the console and tugs at your arm. “C’mon, baby,” he purrs, “One for the road.”

You turn to him, looking at him draped over the console like some stupid, dramatic Renaissance painting. He looks up at you, a glimmer in his eyes, and something soft and warm. His thumb drags over your elbow, gentle and kind.

You turn more to him, lean down, and kiss him. It’s light. Slow and sure, like something you’d tuck in your pocket and keep.

You pull away, your nose dusting over his, not quite fully pulling away just yet, when your eyes dance for a moment. Eddie’s lips twitch into a smirk, his voice gentle when he speaks, “Maybe you watch too many romance films.”

You roll your eyes, pulling back and turning to open the door.

“Same time tomorrow?” Eddie pathetically calls as you step down from his van.

“Goodnight, Eddie.” You shut the door before he can say anything else, but not quickly enough to hide the smile that lingers on your lips.

And you don’t look back, but you know Eddie doesn’t start the van back up until you disappear behind the next block.

Eddie weasels his way in like a professional con artist.

It’s not much different from before— Eddie was always somewhere lounging around your house from the beginning, but now, it’s different. Now, it’s loud. Big. Because now you know what his hands feel like on your skin. You know how he sounds when he’s breathless. You know his laugh, his smile, and the way he downs a can of soda like he’s just crawled out of the desert.

You know his favorite color is blood red. He likes sour candies even though they make his entire body shiver “like he’s dying”. He names inanimate objects and talks about them like they’re real people. He hates window shopping, but he doesn’t mind that you enjoy it.

You don’t know all of him, but the parts that you do? It feels like everything. And it suffocates your days like wet heat.

And it makes your insides churn whenever you see him, relaxed on your couch, bickering with Steve about something you don’t even care to listen to because you’re stuck thinking about how you were under him. Just two days ago.

You busy yourself, like before, only this time, it doesn’t work at all. The last time you tried to occupy yourself to forget about whatever is unfolding between you and Eddie, it at least worked until the silence crept in. But now, Eddie runs through your mind as if he were made to be there. And again, it doesn’t help that he’s constantly in front of you, cracking sly grins like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. Like he can tell you’ve been pacing holes into the carpet of your room and clenching your thighs every time you get a whiff of him.

It’s mental and physical torture.

And now, you’re fidgeting in your room, listening to the low rumble of his voice through the walls like some yearning lunatic.

You shift against the cool comforter of your bed, tapping your fingers against your stomach as the fan whirs above you. You swallow and shift your gaze to the wall, attempting to fool yourself into believing you’re not phased by any of this. That you’re not listening to the music humming from Steve’s stereo, and remembering the way Eddie had played that same song and sang off-key to it, stealing kisses between each purposely cracked high note. You shouldn’t remember the way his tongue moved. You shouldn’t still feel it.

You rise from your bed with a huff, padding your way out and down the stairs, on a mission to grab a drink you don’t need. You open the fridge and stare at it for some time, letting the cool breeze drip over you like a breath of fresh air.

You don’t hear his steps until he’s beside you, arm brushing against yours when he speaks, “You’re gonna get cold standing there like that.”

You don’t bother looking away from the fridge's contents when you respond, “I’m hot.”

“Yeah,” he says slowly, “You are.”

You grab a bottle of water and shut the fridge with a roll of your eyes, “Do you usually haunt every house in Hawkins, or is this just the lucky one?”

Eddie snorts, leaning against the counter as he grabs an orange from the bowl of fruits on the island. He shrugs, “I make my rounds. Got a thing for the houses with cute girls that walk around in tiny shorts.” His eyes glance down at your bare thighs.

You ignore the warmth that spreads up your neck and don’t bother tugging down your shorts. You shift in your spot, tilting your head, “You sound like a creep, you realize that, right?”

Eddie grins, leaning into your space, orange forgotten on the counter, “Kiss me again. Before I forget what it feels like.”

You don’t bother moving away from his proximity. Or maybe you just don’t want to. Either way, you stay put, breathing in his air like it’s not fogging up the senses in your brain. “It’s not healthy to be this clingy.”

“God, tell me about it. I cry myself to sleep. Kiss me— give me somethin’ new to sob about tonight.”

You look at him, deadpanned, trying—and failing— to suppress that fond look spreading across your face.

Upstairs, Steve calls out for Eddie and tells him to hurry the fuck up.

Eddie lifts a brow, tilting his head, “Time’s a tickin’, honeybee.”

So you kiss him. There, in the kitchen, with Steve just upstairs, not knowing that his best friend has his tongue shoved down your throat. And… you don’t care. At least not at the moment.

You let him kiss you breathless, one hand on your face, the other squeezing your hip, spilling a whispered moan on your lips like a prayer.

He groans low in his throat, hand sliding down until his fingers dance across the hem of your shirt, fingers slipping beneath the thin cotton to brush at the bare skin of your hip. The counter digs into your spine, but you barely notice it. You’re too busy chasing the heat of his mouth, too dazed by the way he kisses you like he’s starving.

Your fingers thread into his hair, his tongue licking across the ridges of your teeth. One of your legs lifts, hooking around his hip like it’s instinct, and you swear he gasps into your mouth, like he wasn’t expecting that.

“Jesus,” he mumbles against your lips, kissing you between each word like he can’t afford to spend a second without tasting you, “You keep doing that, and I’m gonna—”

“EDDIE!” Steve yells again, angrier this time, “We’re fucking losing, man, hurry up!”

Eddie breaks the kiss with a groan, one last squeeze to your waist, “Shit,” he grumbles. One last kiss, and then he pulls away. He looks pained. A little guilty. Hair roused, cheeks flushed. “Gotta jet, sweetfang. Duty calls.”

“Sweetfa—?”

“Good stuff, by the way. Almost tops when you moaned my name.” He winks. You blink, dazed and confused, watching as he grabs the orange and backs away towards the stairs.

“I never moaned your name.” You argue.

“Really?” He tilts his head, eyes gleaming with that usual glint that says he’s definitely being annoying on purpose, “Could’ve sworn you did.”

He disappears up the stairs with a grin and a bounce in his step, leaving you flushed and spinning in the middle of the kitchen.

You stay there a moment longer than necessary, still clutching the unopened bottle of water, still trying to catch your breath. The fridge hums behind you. The fan in the living room clicks softly. And Eddie’s voice echoes somewhere in your skull — really? Could’ve sworn you did.

He’s infuriating. He’s relentless. He’s everywhere.

And god help you, he’s starting to taste like a habit.

It festers slowly and thick at first.

One morning, you’re telling yourself that this is careless and you should stop whatever thing is going on between you and Eddie. Then, by the afternoon, you’re sitting on top of Steve’s car in the garage, eyeing Eddie as he lights a cigarette and says— “You ever think about how your left eye sparkles more than your right?”

And it’s so stupid. He’s stupid. And it makes you smile as you shove him away like you don’t want him to be closer, like he’s not already crawling under your skin and carving out a space between the grooves of your brain.

And then it’s like a flicker in your periphery. Like a dream where you had been in one place and then you blinked and you’re suddenly in a completely different setting with entirely different people.

Eddie finds his way to you like he’s a dog with a keen nose for your scent. He slips into your room like a man on a mission, spreads a palm over your mouth, and smiles when he feels your mistaken giggle against his skin, pressing you into your bed with hot, slow kisses that make your insides twist. He’s reckless and aware, always pulling away when the clock ticks, and he remembers where you are and whose house you’re in.

He takes you to the lake one night and drags you in despite your protests— and that little Eddie-shaped hole in your brain quivers to life when he grins at you, wet hair plastered across his cheeks, droplets of water melting beneath your lips when you kiss them away.

He pulls you into his favorite record store— two towns over, an elderly man at the counter, and a thin fog of dust hanging between each shelf— and Eddie’s waltzing through like it’s his home. He shows you his favorite albums, which records he’s yet to put on his shelf, which ones he thinks you’d like, and he loops a finger through the belt loop of your shorts like touching you is second nature— and by then your body is fully tethered to the drug that goes by the name of Eddie Munson.

And when you think about it— when you really sit down and think about it— between Eddie’s loud way of attracting and your quiet way of obsessing, you never stood a chance.

“You nervous?”

Eddie’s fingertips are warm against the skin of your temple, gentle as they poke like he can pluck the thoughts straight from your mind and see them for himself.

His home is warm and humming with that summer afternoon daze that seeps through when you part the blinds to let the sun drip in like a hazy memory. You’re perched on his couch, legs tucked beneath your body, a cozy sweater loose around your arms.

Eddie’s beside you, dressed in sweats and a wrinkled shirt, curls pulled into an abomination of a bun. He’s got a record spinning— Black Sabbath: Master of Reality— which he claimed to be the best way to feel the high and be high. You didn’t know what he meant by that, but you don’t exactly know what he means a lot of the time because Eddie just kind of spits out the first things that come to his mind until they make a complete sentence.

He pokes at you again, his other hand hovering over the coffee table, a blunt curled between his fingers, waiting to be sealed. You bat at him, pulling a face when he jabs a gentle finger at your lips.

“No.”

“You totally are.” He grins, turning back to his task. You watch as he twists and turns the paper around crushed nuggets of weed, expertly moving around like it’s a mindless craft. He licks the edge, smoothing it beneath his thumb before grabbing the lighter and settling back into the couch.

He lifts the blunt, glancing at you with a lazy smirk tugging at his lips, “This right here,” he broadly gestures to the room, the music, the muted TV flickering forgotten images, the glow of the setting sun, and you perched next to him, watching him like gospel, “This is God’s gift, baby.”

You raise a brow, and his grin widens, thumb flicking the lighter to life once.

“This,” he continues, lowering his voice to something just above a whisper, reverent and teasing, “is how we get closer to God.”

You snort, rolling your eyes when you respond, “You’re making it sound like a ritual.”

He sighs, satisfied in his dramatics as he wriggles against the couch and sticks the blunt between his lips, “It is,” he pauses, flickering the lighter once again, burning the end of the thick paper. He sucks it in like second nature, the burnt smell already dancing up your nose when he exhales, slow and dreamy, speaking through a cloud of smoke, “Holy communion, but with way better music.”

He offers it to you, holding it delicately between his fingers, the end burns soft and orange. You hesitate, just for a beat, eyeing it like it might bite you. His eyes are already on you, half-lidded and slow and warm.

“You don’t have to,” he softly reminds you. “I can snuff it out. We can get high on sugar, and you can kiss me until my head blows… Both heads.”

You grimace, taking the blunt, knuckles brushing against his, and he doesn’t look away. Neither do you.

“You’re gross.” You mumble, ignoring Eddie’s snickers as you bring the blunt to your lips. You take your time to inhale, let it drip down the sides of your body, and lick the sticky spots of your brain. You cough, once, then twice, and Eddie’s chuckling before you say anything.

“Oh yeah,” he grins, watching as you cough a few more times, “That’s the good shit. Your soul’s already half-floatin' outta your body.”

You glare, but it’s weak. Your lungs sting a bit, and your chest feels a tinge warmer than before. “Again,” he encourages, “Let it sit, get your brain fuzzy.”

So you do. You trust him with it.

You take another hit, eyes dancing with his as you drag it slowly, holding it in longer. It burns sweet and low and slips down your throat like a secret. Somewhere beneath the layers of your skin, the pink hollows out to a nice, warm buzz.

Eddie watches as the cloud of smoke drifts from your mouth, slipping his knuckles next to yours when you hand him the blunt, “Shit, that’s fuckin’ hot. You’re a goddamn pro. Lay it on me, baby.”

You don’t think twice, leaning forward and meeting him halfway into a kiss. It’s short and sweet, like it’s muscle memory now, and you both just want it like a deep breath.

Eddie kisses you again, deeper this time, slow and sultry, until he’s forced to pull away from the burn in his lungs. He blinks, low and lazy, a loose grin on his lips when he looks at you.

“How’s your brain?”

You smile, leaning back into the couch, closer to him, goosebumps rising over your knee when he touches it. “Fuzzy. Like I’m… dreaming but awake.”

He smiles something devious, twisting the blunt between his knuckles as he lifts it back to his mouth, “That’s good weed. That’s Master of Reality weed. Straight from the stars.”

You snort, leaning back further as the music hums around you, thick and dark, like the room itself is humming in tune. You pass the blunt a few more times, careful not to inhale too deeply. You’re already floating. You feel it in your spine, in the heavy, molten drag of your limbs.

You wave your hand in surrender on the fifth offer, melting down into his couch as you groan, “No more. I’ll become smoke myself if I take any more.”

Eddie smokes it down to an inch, rambling on about this and that and getting distracted when his favorite verse from “Lord of This World” plays from the stereo.

“Oh— oh, shh. This part is—this part is holy.”

He closes his eyes, socked feet planted in the carpet, knees spread as he drops his head back, throat bared and soft like he’s in the middle of a sermon, and air-guitars the bassline with a reverence that borders on offensive. You cover your mouth to stifle a laugh, and he throws his head around, curls bouncing with every exaggerated nod.

He opens one eye and peeks at you, throwing one thumb your way when he speaks, “That’s gonna be me in hell, by the way.”

You huff a laugh, and he grins, “Like, you think it’s gonna be flames and pitchforks, but no— I’m just down there rockin’ out with Satan, doing solos while he adjusts the EQ.”

You finally lose it. You wheeze out a laugh so hard your body curls and your head hits the pillow in your lap, uncontrollable giggles slipping from your lips. The weed makes the room feel light, more vivid, more real, and less timed.

“You think I’d look good in little red horns?” Eddie asks. He gazes off in front of him, squinting to find the picture. “I feel like I could make it work. Add some flair. Punk rock prince of darkness.”

You lift your head, gasping around a fit of laughter, “You sound ridiculous.”

Eddie scoffs, “Get real, babe,” he starts, “You meet me in a club and I’ve got tiny horns and glitter eyeliner? I’m like a haunted cupid— don’t act like you wouldn’t make a mistake.”

You’re nearly crying at the image, Eddie joining in on the laughter until you’re left breathless and aching, your legs draped over his, leaning into his shoulder like it’s natural for you.

Eddie’s tracing lazy patterns on your knee by the time the record shifts into the next song, slower and thick with a steady bass, layered with occasional drops of naked strings and a haunting flute.

You’re reminded then, with Eddie’s warmth sticking to you and his scent filling your lungs, that this—whatever this is—is getting harder and harder to dance around. You’re reminded that it’s getting difficult to keep pretending this doesn’t mean something.

Eddie’s hand drifts toward yours, his fingers brushing over your knuckles. “Tell me something real.”

You blink. Then hum, soft and sticky, “Like what?”

Eddie shrugs, his chest rumbles beneath your cheek when he speaks, “I dunno,” he lifts your pointer finger and drops it, playful, accepting when you curl it around his thumb, cool silver kissing your skin. “First thing that comes to mind.”

You hum again, watching as your fingers dance. Your heart races. You shove away the voice of reason in your head, hesitating momentarily before you reply, “I wanted to hold your hand at that stupid bonfire.”

Eddie huffs a sharp laugh, “I fuckin’ knew it.”

You groan with a roll of your eyes, shifting to move away, only to be caught by his hold. He kisses you. Cups your face and hums like you’re a sweet drink.

“I did too,” he says, as if you didn’t already know. “But I thought I’d get punched.”

You snort, not bothering to deny yourself another kiss before you mumble, “You would’ve.”

He smiles, his mouth still pressed against yours, his fingers spreading and wandering over your thighs, waist, dipping beneath your sweater. You get tangled, shifting over him until your knees are pressed into the couch on either side of him, and he’s letting out a low groan in the back of his throat, fingers squeezing at your lower back like he needs to remind himself where he is in the space of reality.

You don’t know how you stray down the path; things move slowly and fast simultaneously, and his touch is warm and greedy. Rough hands anywhere he can freely reach, lips losing composure against yours before they drag over your jaw and down your neck.

You gasp a wet breath, every pass of his mouth over your skin sends shivers ricocheting down your spine. You tilt your head, hungry for more, chasing the sensation.

Eddie groans, nuzzles against you, and drags in a breath like you can cure him from the inside out. He mumbles something— your name or maybe a curse— and lets his hands drag up against your bare sides and back down to the base of your spine. He pulls you close, moaning when you shift over him, nipping at the skin of your neck when your breath hitches.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers, “You keep doing that, and I’m gonna explode.”

You smile, sinking a hand into his hair, gently directing his mouth back to yours. You shift against him again, tasting his moan just as you’d planned, drinking it down like wine. He kisses you breathless, open-mouthed and slow, dragging his tongue through your mouth until you’re gasping. It’s easy to drown in him. Easy not to think.

He shifts, holds you against him, and places you beneath him on the couch, holding himself up with a hand beside your head. You follow each of his kisses, chasing him when he threatens to wander, fingers curled against his shirt.

His kisses are sloppy and greedy, trailing down your jaw and neck, hands pushing up your sweater to mouth at your tummy as he slinks his way down your body. His hair is messy, barely held with a hair tie, spilling around his face in soft, dark waves. It’s soft beneath your fingertips as you glance down at him, goosebumps rising over your skin when he kisses just below your navel.

You want to look away, the heat crawling up your neck wants you to look away— laugh it off, pretend it’s not serious. But you can’t. You’re caught in it. In him.

Your mind is floaty and warm, neurons misfiring when his rough hands drag over your hips, knuckles leaving sparks behind when they curl over the waistband of your shorts to pull them down your thighs.

They’re dropped somewhere off to the side, useless and out of mind, when he smears his lips over the inside of your knee.

He spreads you out, gazing over your clothed core like it holds the answers to life, death, and everything in between.

You’ve never been looked at like this.

Not like you’re just pretty—not like you’re some girl a guy wants to mess around with and forget about. No, Eddie looks at you like you’re his first and last sin, like he’s been wandering through the world with a hunger and only just now figured out what it was for.

And it’s you. You, spread out on his couch, still flushed and buzzing from the slow burn of weed, and his fingers tracing over your thighs like a prelude. You, half naked in panties and a sweater, and nervous beneath the low lamp glow of his living room, heart thrumming so hard it makes your breath catch.

His gaze flickers up to yours, brown eyes gleaming with something soft and lustful. He kisses somewhere on your inner thigh, fingers giving you a gentle squeeze.

“You okay?” He asks, voice lower now. Gravely, quieter. Like it’d be a sin to break the hush of the room.

You nod too fast, then slow yourself. “Yeah…” You breathe. Your fingers curl against the couch, elbows digging into the velvet material. “Just… you're looking at me like that.”

His lips twitch into a grin, eyes dropping to your stomach where his hand splays out, anchoring you to the moment. “Can’t help it,” he says, “You’re looking at me like no one’s ever touched you before.”

“Because no one has.”

You don’t realize what you’ve said until the words are already out, barely louder than the low hum of Sabbath still playing in the background.

It’s not like you weren’t planning to tell him. Honestly, you were sure it'd never even get this far. And you’re not ashamed about it. Especially not when all Eddie does is pause, eyes flickering between yours, like he’s tasting the truth of your words.

And then he softens.

His lips curl against your knee, a hand dragging over your other thigh as he murmurs, “Thanks for telling me, honeybee.”

It’s the name— the way it drips from his mouth with a different thickness than all those other times he calls you that— it tugs something loose in your chest.

He drags a finger over your cotton-covered center, just one, barely even applying pressure over the softest part of you. You clench around nothing, throbbing like a heartbeat. And Eddie feels it beneath his thumb.

“Already?” He murmurs, amused, voice a little wicked, a little worshipful. You let out something like a strangled whine hidden in a shaky breath. “That’s cute.”

You shift, lips parted like you want to say something but can’t quite find the words. Eddie leans down and noses at the seam of your thigh, letting his curls tickle your skin.

“Open up for me, baby.”

And you do. Just like that. Without hesitation. Like your brains completely gone and all that’s left thinking for you is your pussy.

He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your panties and drags them down slowly, like unwrapping a gift. They join your shorts in a forgotten land somewhere.

Eddie settles between your thighs with a look of wonder. “Oh, fuck,” he breathes. “Look at you.”

You’re squirming now. Cheeks burning, legs wanting to close like you can hide your arousal as if it’s not dripping onto his couch, but he holds your thighs open with steady hands.

“Nuh-uh,” he gently says, “C’mon, let me look at you. You’re so fuckin’ pretty.”

Eddie doesn’t look the least bit ashamed of how he’s ogling you. In fact, he seems quite pleased with himself when he dusts a thumb over your clit just to make you clench again, like he wanted to see it for himself this time.

He slides a finger down your pussy, all the way down to the stream of wet, sticky arousal leaking from you. He drags it back up to your clit and introduces a second finger to part your folds, exposing you for all your worth. You squirm, heart racing, something devious and hot settling in your gut.

He hums, hooking a hand around your thigh and pressing a kiss to the inside of it. His lips trail wet kisses along the inside of your thigh, open-mouthed and unhurried. Your breath snags when he lingers, a thumb caressing your hip, eyes flicking up to meet yours again. He looks like he’s waiting for something— permission maybe. Your tongue is heavy in your mouth.

You tilt your hips in invitation.

Eddie moves like a man on a mission.

His mouth brushes over you so gently at first, more thought than touch. His breath is warm against you, cooling the heat of your cunt like ice on hot skin. You gasp, your hips twitching, and he pulls back slightly, murmuring something you can’t quite catch— something that sounds like so sensitive, laced with laughter and awe. He kisses you, lips pursed over your clit like something holy.

Then his tongue moves— slow, deliberate. Laving through your folds, dipping lower to catch the wetness dripping from your hole, tasting it—tasting you. You can feel him learning you. Not fumbling or nervous, but curious— measured. Every flick, every kiss, every drag of his mouth is purposeful, like he’s sorting the puzzle pieces out before placing them down, twisting them this way and that to figure out what makes your legs shake.

And it’s new. So new. You’ve touched yourself before, obviously. But this— Eddie— his tongue, his mouth, his hands? It’s something else entirely. It’s like being rewritten.

“God, you’re sweet,” he groans, voice low and rough against your skin. One hand is firm on your thigh, holding you open, his thumb tracing over the quiver in your muscle. The other drags slowly up your belly, fingers spreading wide, feeling your breath stutter under his palm. A needy breath slips from your lips. You can no longer hold yourself up, the back of your head hitting the couch with a soft thud when your eyes flutter shut, a shaky hand finding his on your tummy, fingers lacing together.

His lips close around your clit, suckling soft and pointed with intention. You moan— unfiltered and raw— and that’s all he needs.

Eddie doubles down, patience out the window, full throttle greed and lust— firm, hungry, focused. The kind of pressure that makes your hips lift, your fingers tight around his, a litany of oh fuck ohfuckohfuck spinning through your mind so fast it barely registers.

You feel full of sensation. The heat curls in you tighter and tighter, unbearable, blinding— and he won’t stop humming and moaning like every drop of you fills him with pleasure too— it makes your toes curl and the coil in your belly tenses.

“C’mon, let go for me,” he mumbles, lips dragging against your center. He licks your clit, suckles, hums. “Don’t hold back on me, baby, just— fuck, give it to me.”

Your eyes fly open. You don’t even remember them squeezing shut. He looks up at you from between your thighs like he’s found religion. Like you’re god and he’s your loyal disciple. And the way you’re unraveling, crying out, legs trembling, stomach contracting under his hand, you think maybe you have to.

Another pass of his tongue, another suck at your clit, and you’re done. You come with a sharp, choked sound, thighs closing around his head as the pleasure bursts white-hot behind your eyes.

And he doesn’t stop. He keeps drinking you in, licking and nuzzling into your wet heat like a man starved. He doesn’t even seem like he has intentions to ever stop— not until your hips twitch away from overstimulation, not until you’re whining out his name in a voice you’ve never heard yourself use before.

He parts from you with a gasp, wet sticky strings of arousal bowing and snapping against his lips. He drags his mouth over the inside of your thigh, sticky pleasure smearing over your skin. His lips are pink and shiny, his grin wicked and proud. He looks wrecked. Happy.

He kisses the fold between your core and your thigh. Mouths his way up over your hip, breathes you in like a drug. “Shit, honeybee,” he pants, nips at your rising tummy before he crawls up your body. “Best meal to date.”

You blink at him, dazed.

He taps your hip when you squirm. You mirror the lazy smile on his face. “Twenty out of ten,” he adds, smug. “Can’t wait for the next visit.”

You laugh, breathless, shy, and boneless. You can’t even be embarrassed.

Eddie kisses you with raw need, humming as he presses his body over you. “I saw heaven. She had your mouth. And your thighs.”

You huff out a laugh, lazy and spent, “You’re gross.”

Eddie doesn’t disagree.

Somewhere between the start of the night and 4 AM, you realize you have to go home.

It’s with a dramatic groan from Eddie and the shameful event of grabbing your panties off his floor that you finally find enough life in your limbs to shove your feet into your shoes and make him grab his keys.

Eddie’s got a shit eating grin on his face the entire drive to your place. He’s humming to the radio like a drunk idiot, drumming made-up rhythms against the skin of your thigh and acting like he can’t tell how often you’re shifting in your seat like you’re sitting on hot rocks. The hot rocks being the constant flicker of mental images of Eddie between your thighs.

You don’t want to leave.

You decided to admit that when he turns the corner onto your street. You wanted to stay there, in the Munson trailer, curled against Eddie and feeling weightless.

But you know you have to. It’s late, and the world is waking up soon, and you’re supposed to be in your room by the time your father passes by your room to say goodbye for the day.

Eddie pulls up just far enough down the street to avoid the headlights hitting your windows. He puts the van in park but doesn’t let go of your hand. When did you even start holding hands?

“Same time tomorrow?”

You glare at him, fingers twisting between his. “That gonna be your signature line all summer?”

Eddie grins, “You love it. Gets you giddy and smiley inside.”

You roll your eyes, failing to suppress the smile on your lips. You lean over to kiss him, just once, quick, before he can make another dumb joke, and you can think too hard about what it means now that you’ve started to kiss him goodbye.

He kisses you back like he means it. Like he always does.

“Go,” he whispers against your lips, one thumb nudging your chin, “Before I change my mind and lock the doors.”

One last kiss through a smile, and you hop out.

You walk the short distance, same as always, cringing at the soft creak of the front door when you open it. The house is still asleep. The faint hum of the fridge, the ticking of a clock. You move up the stairs like a ghost, slow and careful.

You pass Steve’s room, but the echoes of hesitation are nearly gone this time. You’re too happy to stress over the implications. And not at this hour. Not after the night you’ve had.

But then— “…Where the fuck have you been?”

Steve is standing in the bathroom doorway, looking like he’s just stumbled out of a bar fight. His shirt is all twisted, his hair is mussed, and you think you see a bit of dried drool on the corner of his mouth.

Your heart skips a beat, but you’re quick— too quick, maybe, “I was with Mia.”

He stares, eyes squinted in that sleepy glare people get when they barely notice they exist. His jaw ticks once, he blinks, and he nods like he’s decided he’s not awake enough to interrogate that.

You nod, let the tension slide just a little before you move on.

You make it two steps past him— “Since when do you smoke weed?”

You stop. A ghost of Eddie’s fingers pressed against your sides ripples across your skin. “Huh?”

“…You reek.”

You blink and debate whether or not to respond. You glance at Steve, consider the fact that he’s barely standing straight, and then you realize— he probably won’t know if this was real or a dream by the time he wakes up again.

“Goodnight, Steve.”

Your heart is pounding in your ears by the time you shut your bedroom door. You press your back against it, hold your breath, listen for footsteps. Nothing.

Just the hum of your fan, the buzz of leftover weed, the phantom feeling of Eddie all around you, and the one thought left spinning in your head—

You can’t wait to see him again.

There's nobody in the future

So baby let me hand you my love

Oh, there's no step for you to dance to

So slip your hand inside of my glove

- hold me x fleetwood mac

part four.

cutie lil taglist: @kellsck @your-nightmaredoll @hereforshmut @emxxblog @mdurdenpitt @glassbxttless @peculiarwren @aactuaaltraash @daveythorntonslocker @bl1ssfulbaby @strangereads @wdsara48 @cowboylikemunson @mrsjellymunson

————

a/n: WOWOWOW GUYS IM SO SORRY FOR SUCH A LONG CHAPPY OMG!!! i also formerly apologize for how LONG this took me to put out, but i hope i did it justice and you'll forgive me hehe

anyway, as always, thank you for riding along, i hope ur enjoying their gross lovesick era, ily and appreciate any and all forms of feedback <3

#WHEWWWW #DOWN THE HATCH BABY !#ENJOYYYYY #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie x reader #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson au #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson smut #eddie x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson headcanon #eddie x fem!reader #stranger things au

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no-144444 · 1 year ago

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navigation :) -requests: open!

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hi, i'm daisy and i'm irish. my main teams are redbull, mclaren, haas, and williams but tbh i like all of them and just enjoy the sport. I also watch f2 and a bit of f3 :)

for my stories i'll be going by the 2025 grid and obvi update it next year :)

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fic-tober masterlist! (2024)

a very f1 christmas! masterlist (2024)

who i write for:

mclaren masterlist (OP81 &LN4)

ferrari masterlist (CL16, LH44 & AL65 )

williams & mercedes masterlist (GR63, KA12, CS55 &AA23)

redbull & vcarb masterlist (MV1, IH16 & LL40)

alpine masterlist (JD7, PA17 & FC43)

the retirees (LS2, JB22 & DR3)

the youths masterlist

misc drivers:

lance stroll

losing battle it's a marriage of convenience that's becoming pretty inconvenient when you start falling for your best friend.

ollie bearman

Creepy guy who isn't all that creepy Why does your cappuccino taste like shit? And why are you being followed by a random 6 foot man?

Alright Ollie isn’t exactly ecstatic after Brazil… you change that.

unsure ollie is nervous before the car launch...

sledding accident an accident in the alps...

chaotic trio how your best mates react when they see you're getting hate online

bloodonmyhands your past relationship ends and you may or may not get with his rival...

(but you can request others!)

----------------

the grid: (aka blurbs) 'the grid' = piastri, leclerc, riccardo, verstappen, russell, norris, albon, hamilton (but tell me if there's others you want on it :)

getting caught making out

complimenting you

you find out you're a bet

meet-cutes!

wedding shenanigans!

time for a hot lap!

confesses!

late for a date!

no nut november!

(more) no nut novemeber (jenson button, mark webber, fernando alonso, nico hulkenberg, kevin magnussen, valterri bottas, zhou gunayu, kimi raikkonen, sebastain vettel)

when their teammate likes you...

when the media says something insane

when they admit they love you

valentine's day!

mafia!

can you fight?

attending the met!

crying during an argument

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playing favourites masterlist

your first season as an f1 driver doesn't start the best, and you quickly realise McLaren doesn't like women very much. On top of that, your race engineer is as smug as the rest of them, and you have to deal with him all the time.

pairing: race engineer! oscar piastri x f1driver! fem! reader

warnings: lots of misogyny, lando is an asshole in this, illusions to ed behaviour, reader is not in a good head space, all of mclaren is super sexist, mentions of crashes and injuries.

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my mixtape!

fics based on albums!

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munsonsmixtapes · 5 months ago

Text

I Never Got to Say Goodbye

ex boyfriend!eddie x reader

You see Eddie over a year after your break up and you both realize that you never stopped loving each other

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) unprotected sex, hurt/comfort, angst, a guy gets handsy with reader

You sit at your vanity in your room, dreading to get ready. You don’t even want to go out, but you feel like you have no choice. Your friends are trying to get you to meet someone new but how can you when you’re still not over your ex?

You’re not even sure why you broke up anymore and you’re wondering if he feels the same. If he lies awake playing your breakup over and over, wishing that you would have just stayed together. But you suppose it was just a “right person, wrong time” sort of thing, that it was more the situation than anything that led to your relationship ending.

You put on your makeup and get dressed as you put on the mixtape that one of your roommates had made for you. You’re dancing around as get ready, loving every song that’s been put onto it. She knows you so well, knows exactly what you like. But then you freeze when the familiar guitar riff floats through your ears.

“I can’t dance,” you tell Eddie as he guides you around your living room. He’s trying and failing to teach you how to dance but he’s just so determined to show you how.

“Sure you can,” he says, turning up the volume of the stereo before taking your hands in his. He steps forward and you step back as he guides you through the moves, being so gentle with you like always. “Eyes on me, okay?”

You nod and keep your eyes on his pretty brown ones as he slowly shows you the steps. You’re not even sure how he learned this but you love seeing the fluid steps and wonder how he does it so well. There’s just so much about him that you want to know and you hope you’re together long enough to find out every single thing about him.

A knock at the door pulls you out of your flashback and you’re quick to turn off the music before hurrying to answer it. Janet is on the other side, a bright smile plastered on her face like always. You know she’s waiting on your to finish so you all can leave and you’re actually kind of pissed at her for not at least letting you finish your flashback.

You’ve been having a lot of those lately. It’s like your brain is trying to torture you with all of the memories because it knows just how much you’ve been missing Eddie. You miss him so much that it actually hurts. It’s to the point where it’s gotten so painful to think about but you don’t want the memories to stop.

You grab your purse and follow Janet and the other girls out the door. Luckily, the club is just down the street so you don’t have to hail a cab to get there. They’re all talking about finding someone to hook up with but of course, all you’re thinking about is your ex and how much he would have hated a place like this.

Being in that close proximity to strangers-drunk strangers at that-was his worst nightmare and the loud music was so overstimulating which you totally understood. It was something that he would always push through for you because of how much you loved it and now you know you’re going to miss having him by your side, whispering silly things into your ear and staring down any man who even looked at you.

As the four of you get in line, Violet slips some condoms into your purse that you’re sure you’re not even going to need but you let her anyway. It’s easier not to put up a fight, especially when they’re all just trying to help.

The club is newer and allegedly very hard to get into and as you look up at the name, you notice that it sounds very familiar, something you’ve heard a billion times but you’re sure that it’s not actually what you’re thinking of.

“Ed’s?” You ask with a laugh. “That’s the name of a bar, Eddie, not a club. And why do you want to own a club anyway? That’s not exactly your scene.”

“For you,” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world before pressing a kiss to your lips. “I want you to have a place you can call your own, where you can make the decisions. You always complain about the music and the prices and now you’d be able to have whatever you want.”

“You’re doing this for me?” You feel tears welling up in your eyes at the gesture, wondering how you got so lucky to have someone who cares that much about you. That pays that much attention and is willing to drop a bunch of money just so you could be happy.

“I’d do anything for you, you know that,” he winks and your heart flutters.

“Ed’s,” you nod, having a newfound love for the name. “I like it.” You lay your head on Eddie’s chest while he runs his fingers through your hair, your favorite lullaby.

“I thought you might.”

You’re thrown back into real life to the bouncer outside the club asking for your ID. When did you get to the front of the line? Did you really zone out of that long?

You shake the thought away and pull your wallet out of your purse, retrieving your ID and handing it to him. Once he sees that you’re of age, he hands it back and you head inside. As you walk through the doors and take in everything, you still think about how familiar everything looks, almost as if you’ve seen it before. But it can’t be what you think it is…can it?

Your friends have separated from you yet again so you head to the bar for a much needed drink. As soon as you sit at the bar, you look around and see just how busy it is. The bartenders are working hard to stay on top of their orders and as much as you really want a drink, you’re willing to wait as long as you need to.

You pick up the menu and look at the drinks, the deja vu coming over you again as the names all sound familiar. They’re based on metal songs, songs that you’ve heard so many times you could sing them from memory.

They would all play so loudly in Eddie’s car as you’d drive around town, screaming the lyrics as loud as you could through giggles because you were just so happy to be around each other.

You haven’t even been able to listen to any of them since the breakup because it just hurts too much. At first, you were only listening to them because of Eddie, but over time, you really grew to appreciate the genre and even started listening to them on your own.

Eventually, one of the bartenders comes over to take your order and your mouth falls open as you make eye contact with him. You definitely must be hallucinating because he looks so much like Eddie. As you stare at him, taking in his features, his longer hair, his beard, and nose ring, his own eyes widen which causes you to believe that he is in fact real.

The last you heard, he was in Chicago. What was he doing back in New York? And why hadn’t he told you? Oh, that’s right. He probably doesn’t have your number anymore and considering that you haven’t kept in contact, you don’t really deserve to know what’s going on in his life anymore.

And that just kills you. You wonder how much about him has changed besides his appearance. He obviously still opened the club even though you aren’t together anymore. And it seems to be doing really well so you can’t help but feel your heart swell with pride. He got everything he ever wanted. And the stab to the chest is that he didn’t even need your help to do it.

“What can I get for you?” He asks and now you don’t even want a drink. You want him to sit next to you while you tell each other everything that’s happened over the past year. You want to tell him just how much you fucking miss him.

“Rum and Coke,” you reply and he smiles, loving to see that you’re still ordering the same drink.

“You got it,” he nods and moves around the bar, fixing the drink. You watch him, staring at his back, wishing you could hug him from behind like you always used to do. He’d just laugh and turn around , wrapping his arms around you and giving you a squeeze. You miss everything about him, but you’re pretty sure you miss his hugs the most. They were always so tight and long, his favorite way to show you just how much he loved you.

Loved. As in, past tense. You never stopped loving him but you’re not sure if he still loves you. Considering how he’s been treating you like every other customer, you don’t think he does. You almost want to just get up and leave but he sets your drink on the bar in front of you.

“One rum and coke,” he says, wiping his hands off on a towel and you can’t even look him in the eye. It’s just too painful.

Eddie can’t fucking believe that you’re here. He hasn’t stopped thinking about you since you broke up, well, more specifically, that day and how much he regrets the whole thing. It still plays in his head on a loop, torturing him. What he would give to go back in time and beg you to stay.

“So what are you saying?” He asks, crossing his arms over his chest. Surely you’re not suggesting what he thinks you are. No way are you breaking up with him. You just can’t be. You’ve been through far too much to just give up on each other.

“I’m saying that what’s the point of even being together if we can’t be together? We’re both always busy and we see each other once every few weeks. That’s not a relationship Eddie.” He knows your right, but he’s sure that you just need to push through and you’ll get through it just like the two of you have every time you’ve had something you needed to work through.

“So you want to break up?” He almost looks like he’s going to cry and you just can’t bear to look at him if he does. You don’t need this to be any harder than it already is.

“I didn’t say that…but I don’t see any other choice.” You’re both crying now and the whole thing is just pitiful, the two of you looking at each other with tears streaming down your faces, having a conversation you never thought you would.

“No. No, we can make this work.” He’s taking your hands in his and as much as you love that he’s fighting for you, you know you just can’t keep going like this.

“How?” You ask and he reaches up and wipes your tears, resting his hands on your cheeks. This is one thing he just can’t fix and that breaks you.

“I don’t know. I guess maybe it’s for the best,” he shrugs, finally seeing it from your perspective. He feels like his heart is being ripped out of his chest and he’s not entirely sure what he should do about it. You’re always there to fix things for him and the one time he really needs you, you’re not going to be there.

“I guess so,” you sniff, the two of you now breaking into sobs, knowing that things between the two of you will never be the same.

You moved your stuff out of his apartment that week and you both cried the whole time, the pain all consuming as he helped you pack up your stuff, being his sweet self which just added salt to the wound. You broke up with him and he still helped you move your stuff, being nothing but a gentleman about the whole thing.

He didn’t even beg you to stay or anything like you thought he would. He just silently helped you pack stuff into boxes then put it all in the truck you rented. All he did was cry, not even uttering a single word to you as he did so.

He hasn’t seen you since that day and he has no idea how you got even more beautiful since then. You’re wearing a pretty silver dress and the biggest standout is that you’ve cut your hair. The short style looks good on you, but Eddie thinks that everything looks good on you.

He doesn’t know how he ever let you slip through his fingers, who he let you move your stuff out of his apartment, why he even went as far as helping you pack everything up. It was the hardest thing he ever had to do but he felt like it was the right thing for both of you.

But now that you’re here tonight, he’s wondering if it’s fate giving him a second chance. God, if he’s offered one, he’s going to take it. Just thinking about it, he feels the weight on his chest lifting, like everything finally makes sense again.

You’re sipping on your drink so elegantly, giggling with a man who’s now occupying the stool to the left of you. You seem to be having a good time and now you’re holding Eddie’s heart in your hand, squeezing it as you continue to giggle with the man and he can feel it, his chest aching as he watches you slip through his fingers once again.

But as he’s turning his back to help the other customers, he sees the man’s hand sliding up your thigh and something about watching this happen is making his skin crawl. Just thinking about this guy touching you like that makes him want to break every single one of his fingers, especially because of how uncomfortable you look.

You’re trying to scoot away but don’t have the strength, the guy grabbing hold of your arm and holding you there so you’re unable to move. Even from your profile, he can see the fear in your eyes as you try to push him off.

Eddie’s had enough of this and rounds the bar, grabbing hold of the guy and pulling him off the stool. As soon as he looks the guy in the eyes, seeing that he’s not even phased tells Eddie that he does this a lot and that doesn’t sit right with him. He’s seen red now as he holds the guy by his shirt and he knows he really shouldn’t but before he can stop himself, he raises his fist and punches him square in the face before letting security take care of him.

He shakes his fist afterwards because of the tingly feeling just as you’re throwing yourself into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck as you bury your face into it. He doesn’t exactly know what’s going on, pretty sure that you’re trying to thank him, but he doesn’t need it. He did it because it was the right thing and honestly would have done it for anyone.

You pull away and Eddie feels every part of him ache when he sees that you’re crying. He notices your face change, your eyes widen as you slip your arms from him, almost as if you think that you’ve made a mistake.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him as you step away, quickly adjusting your dress before wiping your tears from your cheeks. There was a time where that was Eddie’s job but being chronically single since the breakup, you’ve learned to do it for yourself again

“For what?” He asks, tilting his head to the side as he slips his hands into the pockets of his jeans to prevent from reaching out for you.

“For hugging you,” you reply as if it’s obvious, but clearly it’s not since he’s still looking at you like a confused puppy. Has he always been this adorable?

“Baby-” he cuts himself off, the nickname coming so naturally like it hasn't been months since he’s called you that. “You can hug me anytime you want. Especially after that.”

“Sorry,” you shake your head. “This is just weird for me, I guess. I-I wasn’t expecting to see you here and I guess old feelings are just flooding back.” You’re chuckling awkwardly like you shouldn’t be saying it, but it’s honestly music to Eddie's ears.

Eddie’s brain short circuits as you finish speaking. Old feelings? So you don’t still love him. You don’t feel the same way as he does and that absolutely kills him. This whole thing has just become torture but he can’t get himself to walk away because he’s still wrapped around your goddamn finger. Some things just never change.

“Well, I um-” you cut yourself off, now feeling flustered. “I should get back to my friends,” you jerk your thumb over your shoulder and Eddie couldn’t be more disappointed. He really wishes he had more time with you, realizing just how much he missed you now that you’re leaving again. If he doesn’t say something now, he’s going to be kicking himself for the rest of his life.

“Wait,” he calls after you and you turn around, clearly caught off guard by him still having something to say. “I get off in about an hour. Do you want to…go somewhere?”

“Eddie…” You look hesitant, almost caught off guard and now he’s trying to think of how he can backtrack since he’s clearly made you uncomfortable.

“I just want to talk.” You think about it and Eddie can practically see the gears turning in your head. You want to, you really do, but there’s so much that you want to say that you probably shouldn’t.

You want to tell him how much you miss him, how you miss being wrapped up in his arms, the way he’d squeeze you tight before the two of you fell asleep. You miss the humming that he did or the tv constantly playing on low volume in the background because he hates silence.

You miss his kisses and even though it’s been over a year since your last one, you still vividly remember what his lips felt like. They were almost always chapped and he often tasted like the mint gum he chewed to cover up the tobacco for you.

“Okay, yeah,” you nod, craving to be in his presence so badly. Being here with him now, all of that anxiety and dread you’ve been carrying around with you is gone, replaced with warmth that’s spreading throughout your body, the calm that always coursed through you when you were around him. For the first time in so long, you finally feel like you’re home.

Eddie’s feeling clammy as he stands outside the club. He’s smoking a cigarette to help ease his anxiety but it’s not working. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous to talk to you. Maybe because there’s so much uncertainty. There’s so much he wants to say and he’s unsure how you’re going to take it all. He wants to tell you just how much he misses you, how much he still loves you. It’s fucking breaking him being apart from you and when you left, he felt like he lost his purpose, his passion for everything gone with you in the moving truck.

And the thing is, he doesn’t even blame you for leaving because what else were you supposed to do? That’s what happens when people break up. He just wishes he had gotten the chance to say goodbye since you made the decision to leave while he was at work. He got home and all of your stuff was gone, those cute little mugs you had collected over the years gone from the kitchen cabinet, your books that you would read to him every night before bed disappeared from his bookshelf along with everything else that you owned.

Seeing you tonight made his feelings for you even stronger and now he can’t even fight them off like he usually does. They have to make themselves known, wanting Eddie to not deny them anymore. He guesses he can’t now and he honestly has no idea what he’s going to say to you without looking like a lovesick fool.

So he just continues to smoke his cigarette until it’s gone, then reaches for his pack to get another one when you exit the club, giggling with your friends before saying goodbye to them and heading over to him. You’ve gotten even more beautiful since he last saw you a couple hours ago and it hurts so bad knowing that he can’t have you. After getting your closure, the two of you will go your separate ways and Eddie will go home to a bottle of tequila and put on the mixtape he made for you while he drinks until he cries himself to sleep.

He’s pathetic and he knows it. He’s imagining you telling him that you miss him too then sharing a kiss that’s filled with fireworks. He really needs to get a grip and stop wishing for something that will never happen.

“So,” you speak up, standing there awkwardly as you fiddle with the strap of your purse in your hands. “Where are we going?” Eddie completely forgot to come up with a spot and now he’s panicking, saying the first thing that comes to mind.

“Dina’s,” he says as he takes one last drag of his cigarette before putting it out underneath his boot. Your eyes widen at the name, memories flooding your mind of sitting in your favorite booth, the two of you giggling over pancakes and a milkshake with two straws.

Eddie suggesting that place is like a stab to the gut, too painful to go there and try to relive the good memories of your failed relationship, but you think that maybe it won’t be too bad.

“Dina’s, wow, I haven’t been there since-” you cut yourself off, wondering if this is even a good idea, talking things over with your ex, bringing up the past as you both mourn what could have been. You’re just not sure if you should be doing this. Maybe it’s not too late to catch a cab and go home.

“Since our anniversary,” Eddie finishes, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket, seeing that you’re not wearing one, your shoulders bare, your arms wrapping tighter around your body to try and warm yourself up but it’s not working. It’s taking everything in him not to give you the jacket right off his back but he knows you won’t take it, too stubborn like always.

“Right,” you nod, knowing that this will be nothing like that. It will just be an awkward and painful conversation that you really wished you hadn’t agreed to. You have tried so hard not to think about Eddie, pushing out every single thought you’ve had but there is always going to be little pieces of him sprinkled into your life. Whether you like it or not, there’s always going to be something that reminds you of him, taking you back to that painful place where you left him as you moved out that day.

Eddie leads you to his van and you can’t help but feel like this is a date. You wish it was, though. Maybe you’ll be able to turn everything around and he’ll be your boyfriend again. Or your friend at the very least.

He opens the passenger door like he always used to and helps you into the van and it’s just like old times. You look around the van as he rounds the hood and it looks exactly the same, the stickers that have been on the dash since you’ve known him are still there, even the ones you gave him.

They’re curling up at the edges, the adhesive wearing off, but that only means that he’s loved them so much that they’ve been there a while. You run your fingers over them as Eddie gets into the driver’s seat, watching you from where he’s sitting with a smile that’s filled with admiration.

He starts up the van and catches you singing along to the next song on the tape he’s got in. It’s the last one you made for him that he plays in a loop because apparently he loves to torture himself. It’s got his name written across it in your handwriting with sloppily drawn hearts all over it.

He can’t keep that stupid smile off of his face and joins you, both of you laughing through your duet as if no time has passed. Things are so different now but one thing you at least know for sure is that Eddie still loves ABBA.

You sing the rest of the song, your laughter fading away as another one starts and now it’s just awkward silence. Neither of you know what to say even though you unknowingly still love each other. If only the two of you could get over your anxiety and just say it already.

But you can’t. You won’t. You already hurt him once and you’re not going to do it again. He’s doing so well and you’re not going to stumble into his life and claim your have feelings for him when he’s definitely over you.

If only you could see how lovesick Eddie still is. If only you could get back all the cobwebs that have gathered in your past and see the future that’s right in front of you. Eddie is still as head over heels for you as he’s always been. He never stopped loving you even when everything went to shit. He’s tried, god, he’s tried. He’s wanted to forget you, but you’re always still there, stuck in his mind forever.

He pulls up to the restaurant and you’re thrown back in time again, another flashback that you can’t seem to escape as much as you want to. You remember the tender touches of your hands across the table and the loving stares and now you’re just sitting across from each other like two people on a blind date.

You hate that you still remember your exact orders even though you haven’t even thought about this place since the last time you sat in this very booth. His hand is resting on the table as he looks at the menus and god, you just want to reach for it, to know if they’re as rough as you remember. You hope he still uses that lotion you always used to buy him.

He’s sitting there, looking so pretty with his hair tucked behind one ear, moving an unlit cigarette between his fingers that’s always been a nervous habit. You hate that he’s nervous but you completely understand why. This is uncharted territory. You’re completely different people now and this whole thing was completely unplanned.

You mimic him and look at your own menu but you’re not even hungry. You’re actually feeling sick thinking about why you’re actually here. You’re nervous as shit to have this conversation. You just know he’s going to break your heart and you suppose you can’t even be upset with him since you deserve it for leaving him all that time ago without even so much a goodbye. But the thing is, you actually actually left because you were terrified to see the look on his face so you fled to avoid the pain of seeing how heartbroken he was.

“So,” he says, taking a deep sigh as he sets his menu on the table, looking you in the eyes as he does so.

“So,” you repeat in the same fashion and furrow your eyebrows when he brings his hands up to cover his face, scrubbing at his eyes. He then slaps his hands onto the table which startles you, looking at you with that fire that you’ve missed the entire night.

“I’ve gotta be honest,” he says, his gaze still burning into yours. “I’ve missed you. Like, so much that I can’t even stand it.” He knows that it’s rushed and that he probably sounds crazy and eyes widen at his confession, he’s terrified that he’s scaring you away. God, he’s driving you away again, fucking up one more time before you leave his life for good. He just can’t seem to get it right.

Before he can even finish his speech that he’s been writing in his head for months because in the blink of an eye, you’re sitting right next to him, a goofy but adorable grin on your face. He has no idea what’s going on but he sure as hell isn’t going to deny you being in such close proximity to him.

“I’m sorry,” he replies, nervous all over again because even though you’re smiling at him, he can’t help but feel iscared that you’re going to slip through his fingers. “I-I don’t know why I said that. I just-”

“Eddie,” you cut him off, your hands cradling his cheeks like they used to and his eyes widen as he stares at you, wondering what you’re going to do next.

“Yeah?” He asks, his voice small for the first time tonight.

“Will you please just shut up?” You ask before pressing your lips to his, pouring out all of your repressed emotions for the past year pouring into it and you don’t even care that you’re crying. You just need this and apparently Eddie does too because his arms are wrapped tightly around you, his own tears trailing down his cheeks as he involuntarily whimpers against your lips.

This is the best way he’s ever been shut up in his life and it’s crazy to him just quickly you’re both able to do this after so long, picking it up like it’s nothing. It gets progressively more hungry and as you’re sticking your tongue into his mouth, you suddenly realize where you are, deciding that you can’t exactly do what you’re doing here. So you stand from the table and offer him your hand which he gladly takes.

You’re both out the door in a flash and as soon as you’re heading down the alley between the diner and the other building, you’re pulling Eddie into the dark, pressing yourself to the wall as your lips find his again, somehow even more hungry than before. You’re both crying again but you’re too caught up in your need for each other to be embarrassed.

His hands are sliding up your dress as he kisses down to your, nipping at whatever skin he’s able to get his teeth on as he goes. It starts off as gentle kisses as he murmurs the words “I missed you” against your skin but it gets progressively more intense as he begins to suck on your skin, making your brain feel fuzzy.

“I missed you too,” you moan as he pushes you gently against the wall. He’s pulling down your thong and you let him despite being so out of practice that you’ve felt so nervous about sleeping with anyone else. Being with Eddie, though, just feels so right.

You unbutton his jeans and pull them down with his underwear, so caught up in your thoughts that you don’t even notice that he’s slid himself inside you, both of you grunting at the tight fit.

He’s moving slowly at first but progressively gets faster, missing the feeling of being inside you, missing the way you moan, the way you grab onto him, scratching up any part of him you can get your hands on, missing you. God has he missed you. It feels so right being here with you now.

He’s moving so fast, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pumps and pumps, his lips finding yours again, biting down on your bottom lip as another moan slips past your lips. It’s loud and he’s eating it up, wondering how much more he can get out of you before you’re absolutely spent.

You’re close already but to see how long you can hold out. You’ve gone so long without him between your legs that it doesn’t take much for you to orgasm, to completely undone as he bottoms out inside you. He’s still going as you whine his name, pumping in and out, in and out until he reaches his own orgasm, moaning so loudly that you’re almost concerned that someone is going to hear him.

The words “I love you” fall from his lips and you melt when you hear them, so happy that he still feels the same way, that the love you have for each other has never faded. You’re both smiling now as you pull him into another kiss, mumbling the words back to him against his lips. A laugh escapes his lips as he pulls away and he picks you up and spins you around. He’s the happiest he’s been in so long.

“C’mon, angel,” he says, grabbing hold of your hand and leading you back to his van that’s around the corner. “Let’s go home.”

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson smut

564 notes · View notes

bcmbiquinn · 5 months ago

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Boyfriend!Eddie Munson Headcanons

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ He’d always make mixtapes/playlists for you for any occasion, “songs that remind me of us” “we should make out to this rhythm” type of thing.

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ He’d drag you to every underground metal concert he can find but he would also go to any concert you want.

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ Following the above, he would do anything to get you tickets for your favourite artist, like anything! Camping the night before to be early in line -modern Eddie would have a laptop, 3 phones and a tablet to get you tickets-

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ Late night drives with your boy, yup! Blasting music, windows down and taking random turns until you end up in a secluded spot and make out for hours. (Maybe more)

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ Eddie is definitely a total romantic, he would write you cheesy love notes on scraps of paper, make poems for you, showing up late at night outside your window with a flower he stole from your neighbour yard.

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ He would try on making breakfast for you, but it’s mostly just burnt toast and half cooked scrambled eggs, he tried tho!

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ Touchy touchy, this man can’t take his hands off of you, pinching your cheeks, hand on your lower back, on your knees, caressing your arm, kisses on your forehead and neck and so on.

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ Eddie definitely needs a lot of reassurance, deep inside he always feels like people would eventually leave him, he desperately wants you to reassure him but struggles to ask for it, but once you do it and tell him there’s no one else you’d rather be, he melts instantly!

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ He’s really into matching tattoos and would love to get one with you but if you’re hesitant about, he’d just draw one on you with a sharpie.

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ ridiculously overprotective, you stub your toe, he’s like “Who did this to you?” Then proceeds to flip of the chair or hit the couch with his foot and ends up hurting himself too!

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧He’s sooo dramatic when he gets a cold, acts like he’s dying, all tucked acting like he’s on his deathbed holding your hand dramatically “my love…i don’t think I’d make it this time”

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ He can’t lie and definitely can’t keep secrets from you, if he has planned a surprise for you, he’s going to mess up immediately “Okay but when we get to the… I mean the totally normal thing we're doing! Forget what i said that!”

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ He would stole your snacks and leftovers, his logic? “What’s yours is mine, love. That’s how love works”

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ He takes fake offence to everything, if you say you don’t like a band he loves he would act as if you just stabbed him.

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ He’s genuinely protective of you, if someone upset you he goes full beast mode, “do I need to kick someone’s ass?” He doesn’t play about you or your safety.

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ if he’s ever mad at you, he would never be mean, he may cross his arms and grumble but the moment you give him puppy eyes he melts “you’re so lucky I love you, you little gremlin”

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ Our boy is a crybaby but he never had someone to rely on until he found you, he would try to hold his tears but the moment you hug him and whisper “I got you, Eds” it’s over, he buries his face on your shoulder shaking as he sobs.

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ He loves making gifts for you, he thinks it’s way more romantic, he would spent hours making the perfect necklace, ring for you, love letters, a scrapbook with all the memories you’ve made together, concert tickets, Polaroids.

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧He totally loves your quirks, if you’re into collecting rocks, you better believe he would get you the prettiest rocks!

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧He would give you one of his rings and if it doesn’t fit on your finger because it’s too big he would turn it into a necklace.

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧he would give the most out of place birthday cards “congratulations on your promotion” “yaaaaaaaaay”

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧He gives you his stuff to you for no reason, his jacket? Take it, his favourite band pin? Take it. If you ever mention liking something he has, straight right into your hands “No, really take it, I don’t even need it” he probably does need it.

We’re close to valetine’s day baddies!

Divider: @adornedwithlight

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson headcanons

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sugarcherris · 3 months ago

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Narancia who looks up to reader headcanons

Brotherly & Older sister bond

Aka: chaotic sibling energy, platonic, wholesome, domestic, fluff, a bit of angst, and Mista being Mista mentions his own dick

(Reader is a chainsmoker... don't smoke kids)

Narancia “borrows” (Reader)’s eyeliner

(Reader) has the perfect winged liner, sharp enough to cut someone. Narancia starts trying to copy it. He sucks at it at first and pokes himself in the eye. She doesn’t help him right away,just watches with that smug little grin.

When he finally nails it, (Reader) gives him a smug, approving head pat.

“There you go. Didn’t even stab yourself in the eye with my eyeliner this time.”

He flips her off but preens the rest of the day.

Team reactions:

Fugo: “You two are unhinged.”

Mista: “I’m stealing this look too. Pass the mirror.”

Abbacchio: Glares in disgust but looks just a second too long at the wing.

(Reader) calls him “ragazzino” (little boy) when shes feeling playful or condescending

It infuriates him.

“I’m not a kid, dammit!”

“Then stop kicking the back of the van seat or I will tie your knees with your bandana!”

He still lets her ruffle his hair right after that.

They have stupid secret handshakes

Not one. Multiple.

They change it every month and forget half of it mid-handshake and just turn it into a slap fight.

Somehow it always ends with (Reader) flicking Narancia in the forehead.

They make “mixtapes” for each other

Narancia starts writing her tracklists of songs he thinks she’d like—rock, metal, dramatic anime OPs he won’t admit he loves.

(Reader) writes hers on torn napkins in lipstick: metalcore breakdowns, and “old people music,” according to Narancia.

Bonus

Fugo: (Secretly steals one of (Reader)’s playlists. Pretends he didn’t.)

Narancia hides behind her when Bucciarati’s mad

Classic younger sibling move. Bucciarati raised his voice, and Narancia ducks behind (Reader)

(Reader) just raises an eyebrow, does not protect him, and says,

“Don’t drag me into this. He’s mad at you, not me.”

Narancia stares in betrayal

Bonus:

Later she sneaks him a sweet from her pocket when Bucciarati isn’t looking.

They graffiti stuff together

They tag alley walls with little stylized versions of each other’s names or dumb phrases like “(stand name) was here (so was Aerosmith)”.

(Reader)’s handwriting is elegant and sharp. Narancia’s is chaotic. Together it looks unhinged.

Team reactions

Bucciarati: “You tagged our safehouse?”

Narancia: “It’s ART.”

(Reader): “It’s coded. They won’t know what it means.”

Fugo: “You used your stand names! They’ll know exactly what it means!”

Abbacchio: “I hate you all.”

They try to cook together once. Just once.

The kitchen never recovers. Powdered sugar on the ceiling. A knife embedded in the floor. Fire extinguisher was used. Twice.

Bucciarati puts them on kitchen probation. (Reader) sneaks in anyway. Narancia just watches for lookout and giggles.

Narancia “guards” her cigarettes

She left her pack behind one time and he grabs it, dramatically guarding it like a chihuahua.

“If you want them, you have to answer three riddles.”

“Narancia, I will kick your ass.”

She gets them back by pulling his bandana down over his eyes and just taking them.

He once tried to steal a cigarette from her. Never again.

(Reader) had left a half smoked cigarette on the ashtray, and Narancia, wanting to be cool, took a quick drag.

Immediate, violent coughing fit. Red watery eyes. Almost fell off the chair.

(Reader) didn’t even look up. Just chuckled

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

The whole team laughed except for Bucciarati, who just sighed.

Bonus:

Narancia still tries to act like he smokes sometimes, resting an unlit cigarette between his fingers like she does with her lit one. He gets so mad when she calls him out on it.

Narancia falls asleep next to her during long car rides.

She lets it happen. Doesn’t shove him off.

He sleeps with his head leaning against the window at first, but eventually, when he gets really exhausted, his head tips onto her shoulder.

The first time, she smirks and mutters, “Comfortable?”

The fifth time, she just sighed and quietly adjusts her jacket so it drapes over him a little. Doesn’t say a word.

Team reactions:

Bucciarati: Says nothing but notice with a warm smile.

Mista:Giggling, thinking it’s cute but will draw on narancia face and (Reader) lets him.

Fugo: Mild disgust. “You’re drooling on her.”

Abbacchio: “Wake him up by pushing him out of the car. Do it. For me.”

(Reader) hates it when Narancia pulls reckless stunts.

Few times, he jumped into a fight headfirst before backup arrived.

He came out fine, but (Reader) was furious. She never yells at him except that time. After much built up frustrations because of his mistakes and words entering his ear out the other.

“Do you wanna die? Huh? That’s your goal?”

He snapped back at her “What the hell are you my mom?shut the hell up bitch!”

Silence. Tension. He stormed off, but later that night, she threw a bag of sweets at his head.

They never talked about it, but the next mission, she covered him a little closer.

if (Reader) has tattoos? Narancia wants to get a tattoo because she has them.

“What if I get something cool? Like a knife? Or a skull? Or or or A PLANE!”

(Reader), blowing out smoke “You’d cry.”

“No, I wouldn’t!”

He drags her to a parlor once. The moment the needle comes close, he flinches hard.

“I’m not ready yet,” he mutters. She crosses her arm looking amused and pays the guy off.

If (Reader) has piercings? Narancia tries to copy her piercings

• He gets a second ear piercing by stapling his ears (Staplers were stolen from Bucciarati office) just because he saw hers glinting in the sun one day. She just chuckled at his stupidity whilst treating the infection.

• "Thought it looked cool on you... So..."

•She just hums, but she's clearly smiling. She took him to the piercer parlor the next day.

Team reactions:

Mista: "Sickkkk, should | get a dick piercing?"

Fugo: "You're all stupid."

Bucciarati: Groaning mentally. Locking his office next time.

Abbacchio: "Jesus Christ."

Giorno: (Standing on the side ready to give him a new ear)

"If you died I'd go feral.”

•(Reader) stares at him with an unreadable expression" Good."

• It's said like a joke, but the silence after it hangs a little longer than it should.

“If I go first, you better not cry, ragazzino.”

Mafia life is dangerous. They joke about it sometimes.

Narancia, scoffing: “You’re not gonna die before me.You’re much stronger and smarter than me!If anything it’ll be me.”

(Reader), tilting her head: “Mmm. You sure?”

He hates that answer. He doesn’t know why, but it sticks with him longer than it should.

When she’s out late, Narancia worries.

He’s not obvious about it, but if she’s gone longer than expected, he starts getting antsy.

Checks his watch. Paces. Cold hands.

If she comes back with blood on her glove, he doesn’t ask questions, just mutters, “You good?”

She grins, “Why? Miss me?”

He huffs, “Pfft No, just making sure you didn’t get your dumb ass killed.”

They both know he was actually worried.

This is my first time writing a fanfic/headcanon! Phewwww hope you guys enjoyed this!! Maybe I’ll write narancia and (reader) first meeting and how they bond grew to be 🫡

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kjiscrawlingbackformore · 1 month ago

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Movie Night

Jackie Taylor x Fem!reader

Summary: It’s the end of summer before your senior year of high school. And you decide a trip to Wilmington beach for the week is exactly what you and Jackie (your very secret girlfriend) is what you need.

A/N : Just some Jackie Taylor Fluff to get me through these next few days. On my Jackie Taylor clingy gf agenda 😔

Jackie’s hands felt tied behind her back. Watching you choose between renting clueless or toy story. She had her hands on her hips and she watched you hold the two together with this concentration. Like she had asked you to pick which wire to cut before the bomb went off.

“It’s not that hard to pick a movie.” Jackie whines impatiently.

She walks behind you, close enough to you to drop her chin onto your shoulder. Getting a perfect vantage point to see the two movies you were deciding between. You scoff, and motion to the movies in your hands.

“Jax, I know you’re not a movie girl. But this is a very hard decision because it could make or break the vibes of the night.” You explain seriously.

Jackie rolls her eyes, letting her cheek settle into your shoulder. Her hands moving to hug you from behind now. She seriously didn’t get it. You were having a movie night together, one last one before the end of summer, and the start of senior year.

You had saved up all summer working for your uncle in his tire shop to take Jackie to your grandparents beach house in Wilmington, North Carolina. The drive was eight hours of Jackie nonstop talking and your endless supply of mixtapes (you definitely borrowed from Van) and her need for pit stops.

All for a week of getting to be together...without pretending.

So really you were here just to pick a movie you both would make out to. Jackie didn’t fucking care about the ambience of her kissing you. She just wanted to kiss you. It made Jackie sigh, but then she looked at the movies.

Oh wait.

Jackie then pointed at Toy Story. “I’ll be honest I don’t want to make out with a cartoon about talking toys playing in the background.”

That made you burst into a deep laugh. One that made Jackie’s lips tug into a smile. A warm feeling settling in her chest. She loves that sound.

“What? It’s true.” She says with a shrug.

You nod, “No I know. I just wasn’t expecting you to say that-“

“I know!! Isn’t it the best? I can just say what I want to now.” Jackie squeals in excitement, “Like you wearing my old jersey with those shorts is so hot. Or I can do this now.” Jackie ends with giving you a firm lingering kiss on your neck.

You swallow hard, face flushing. You chuckle at her excitement and find yourself twisting around to look at her properly. One hand caressing her cheek, and the other holding up clueless.

She was so pretty, dark blonde hair, tied back into a ponytail. Looking at you like you were the only person in the world. You fought the urge to pinch her.

You give her a kiss, dangerously close to her mouth, and then a wink. “You’re the best.”

Jackie rolls her eyes. “I know I am. Are we done? I want to go home and eat, and watch the movie.” She throws up air quotation marks with movie that make you chuckle.

“Yes we are done. But let the record show-I thought we were actually going to watch a movie together.” You admit, walking to the cashier.

Jackie laughs, “Aw baby, you’re so cute. When have was the last time we actually watched a movie?”

You open your mouth to answer but she doesn’t let you. “Yeah never is the answer. Because whenever it’s just you and me…ALONE? I have other things on my mind.”

You give her a pointed look before paying for the rental. She gives the cashier a polite smile, as you make small talk to this cashier. Overhearing your girlfriend indirectly talk about having sex.

Jackie grabs onto your arm as you walk out of the store, after a few steps she hums. “You have to admit, this is so awesome.”

“It kinda is.” You agree, leading the way back to your grandparents home.

Your eyes taking in the sight of the small beach town. Passing shops, and small local restaurants, the smell of sunblock and sea salt in the air. The sun illuminating hitting Jackie just right to make her look-

“It makes me extra excited to graduate. This will get to be our life forever. Just you me and our movie nights.” Jackie sighs with a dreamy look in her eyes.

She was wearing a white tank top and a pair of your jean shorts. Hair up and cheeks sun kissed from the beach. Tiny freckles splattered all over her nose from sunbathing no doubt.

She was perfect.

“This trip is making the countdown to graduation feel-“

“Fucking too far away” Jackie finished with a groan. “The idea of having to endure another year of petty Wiskayok drama is unbearable. But if I have to watch George fucking Henley flirt with you at my locker one more time I’m going to commit a crime.” Jackie fumes, eyebrows furrowed and her hand squeezing your arm.

That happened a lot. Just as much as Jackie had her string of admirers. So did you, maybe worse since the rumor you kissed a girl spread like wildfire last year. Jackie had to fend off not only fuckers in the film club your in, but also the damn theater girls.

She still brings up Ashley’s good luck kiss to the cheek during the Wildcats game, whenever she’s pissed. She had the good idea to finger you in the back seat of her car as soon as you got back from the game. All to remind you-you were hers. Hers to kiss, hers to have, hers only.

You shivered at the memory.

“-Well luckily it’s just one more year. We can handle one more year until freedom.” You assure her with a smile, you kiss her cheek hoping to calm her down and it helps her loosen the grip on your arm.

The walk wasn’t a long one to the house. But it felt so sweet in an indulgent way. Too good to be true. Walking the way lovers do out in the open with Jackie.

It was like a sacred moment.

You weren’t even a tiny bit religious, but getting to feel Jackie’s lips on yours without the cares of eyes on you both. It felt cathartic in a way you’d assume an answered prayer felt. You wanted to stay in the bliss of the week forever.

Jackie seemed too caught up in the actual moment to seem to notice you’re more reverent state. Rambling about friends, and goals, and soccer, and colleges. Jackie had a plan for just about everything, including post graduation.

She had a list of all the soccer scholarships she was going to get after winning Nationals. Which colleges were closest to your choice colleges and the best apartments for you two to split. She even had plant babies and a cat picked out for you both to raise.

It was so fucking endearing. Jackie had doubled down on soccer being the most realistic avenue to getting the tuition to go into the colleges closest to yours choices. She knew you were too fucking smart not to get into most places.

You worked your ass off for three years straight, played offside for the yellowjackets and tutored on the side. Jackie was determined to grow at the pace you set. One thing she refused to happen is for you to outgrow her. Not when you were the best thing that ever happened to her.

“Look at this house babe!” She lets go of your arm to get a better look of the yellow beach home off the cul-de-sac nearest to your grandparents place.

It had a front yard and a wraparound porch. The tree out front had a big swing and it was walking distance to the beach downtown and a few minutes walk to the nearest beach. Jackie’s eyes were wide and she was practically buzzing with excitement.

“We NEED to build our own house off the beach just like this one baby. It would be so perfect!! PICTURE IT! I can be a school teacher and you can start that coffee shop you’ve been dreaming about starting. Raise our kids to be ocean babies. Thoughts?” Jackie asks, in a way that’s not really asking.

Her hand has now grabbed your hand to pull you to the fencing of the house to get a closer look. “See, we can have our morning coffee’s there on the front porch, watching the kids play. I’ll grade homework you’ll do…whatever business people do. IT’S-“

“-Perfect.”

“So what I’m hearing is you’re in? Because I think this is a big deal for the future of the Taylor estate.” Jackie teases, her hips swaying.

You snicker, “Now…when did we agree to Taylor being the last name? What about my last name? You know the Y/L/N estate?”

Jackie rolls her eyes, “No offense but I think as the only child in this relationship we have to give the Taylor name a chance to live on. Also Y/N Taylor sounds soooo hot. Like so sexy.”

“I feel like I’m being hate crimed for having a brother.”

“Okay that’s dramatic, I want my girl friend to have my last name how is that a hate crime?”

“Did it ever occur to you I want the same thing?”

“How about this, first one to the house gets rights to our last name?”

And before you could answer she was gone. Leaving you in the dust watching her race to the house. You gasped in disbelief before running to catch up with her. Which was stupid, and unfair. Jackie was the captain of the fucking girls soccer team.

The varsity soccer team no less.

She smoked you, sitting on the kitchen counter with a smug grin and water bottle in hand for you to drink. You wordlessly snatched it from her hand, chasing your breath, and clutching your side.

“You’re welcome future Mrs. Taylor.” She sings.

“You are a little cheater.”

“I won fair and square baby.”

You scoff, taking a big sip of the water in your hand. “Sure varsity super star.”

“Shouldn’t have quit the team. Speaking of…you should come back.” Jackie says with a pout, making grabby hands at you from her spot on the counter.

You can’t even help the small smile on your lips. You walk in between her legs. Water bottle abandoned behind you to place both your hands on her waist. Her hands hold onto your face to keep it up looking at her.

“Come back to the team.” She repeats with a more whine to the tone.

You roll your eyes. She has not stopped asking since your last game. A few months back. You told the team you wouldn’t be coming back next year. Now did that stop Van and Natalie from betting on whether that’s true or not.

No it didn’t.

But you meant it. Which is why Jackie was a broken record advocating for the saving of your soccer career. The pads of her fingers are caressing the apples of your cheeks. With so much softness it tickled a little.

“Jax, you know how my parents are-“

“-They love me. They would want you to stay on the team with me.

You laugh a breathy laugh. “Baby they want me to get into a good college. Not kick the ball around with my insanely hot girlfriend.”

“-Kicking the ball around with your insanely hot and sexy girlfriend will help you get into a great college. Have you told them that? Let’s tell them that when we get back.” Jackie corrects, with a kiss to the forehead like it seals the deal.

You give her a pointed look, “Jax-“

Jackie sighs, her hands covering your face. “Nooooo, don’t say no. I don’t want to spend my last soccer season without you. Who else will I get to make out with under the bleachers at away games-“

You peel her hands away from your face, so you could actually see her. “-Uh no one I would hope.”

“See, that’s why you have to come back. So my lips won’t go so long with being on yours.” Jackie argues,

You snicker, tiling your head. Studying this girl in front of you. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I know right.” She beams, leaning down to kiss you.

A proper kiss on the lips. Moving your hands to hold her waist. As soon as they are where she wants them her own hands slide up to curl around your neck. Tilting your head slightly so she can kiss you harder.

You tighten your hold on her. Pulling Jackie flush against you. Heartbeat beating loudly in your ears. Thankful for the counter that’s steadying you both. As Jackie devours your lips like it’s water in a desert and she’s been deprived for days.

Your fingers wonder underneath the hem of her tank top. Which makes Jackie hum above you. She pulls away abruptly.

“No.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “No?”

“No. Say you’ll come back and then I’ll let you touch me.” Jackie bargains, cheeks flushed, but her face is determined.

You let out a strained groan, hand on your forehead. Chest rising and falling trying to catch a breath. “That’s like…so fucking unfair.” You whine.

Jackie shrugs, face deadpanned. But her lips twitch twice and you know she’s fighting a smug grin. You study her. And she’s got that look. She is fully prepared to suffer this entire trip just to prove a fucking point.

Just to get you to rejoin the damn Yellowjackets.

“No touching today? Or the whole trip?” You question quietly.

“Whole. Trip.” She punctuated, popping her p dramatically.

You take a step back and sigh, hands on your hips. Eyes still staring at her. Seeing if her resolve falters just a bit. And after a long moment it fucking doesn’t.

Shit.

“Jackie, if I come back I have to divide my time with school, college prep, you, and now soccer.” You try to reason.

“But soccer means more time for us. Baby…it won’t be the same without you. It’s our senior year. The last time we will get to play together. Get to play with the girls. I just think we need to try for Nationals one last time. We won’t get there without you.” Jackie Taylor pitches, with a softness in her tone that makes you weak.

Weak enough where you already know you’re going to fucking come back.

You sigh, giving her one last look before nodding. “Alright, BUT if I come back it’s on the condition you cover for me when I’m late to every practice which is bound to happen-“

“ARE YOU SERIOUS?? YOU’LL COME BACK?” Jackie voice rises in excitement.

And when you nod she pounces you. Arms wrapped around your neck. Squealing in delight. Like she just won the lottery. You grin and hold her tight.

“And guess what baby.” Jackie asks pulling back eyebrows wiggling.

“What?”

“Van owes us $30 bucks. BECAUSE MY GIRLFRIEND IS BACK ON THE TEAM!!” She announces to the empty house.

You laughed a deep belly laugh. “BABY YOU BET ON ME?”

“Of course I did. This is date money.” Jackie says, and before you could argue about the concept of gambling with date money. She grabs your face and kisses you.

Kisses you hard. Kisses you like she is craving you deeply. Her lips trailing off to your jaw, nipping at the skin. She then is back to your lips, like her own are tethered to it. Your hands hold onto her like she’s an anchor.

“Touching is on the table again so let’s go watch this damn movie.” Jackie mumbles against your lips.

You chuckle and nod, grabbing the movie and leading her to the couch. Part of you knew coming back to the team would be good. Even if it was sacrifice to your time. But fuck it-it’s your senior year. And you know the feeling settled into your chest that became a resounding fact to you.

Senior Year was going to be significant. Maybe the most significant year of high school. The last year you and Jackie have to hide. The year you both prepare to live the life you want to live before you’re actually in it.

And who knows maybe you’ll make it to Nationals too.

#yeah y/n definitely got a foresight on that damn crash 💔💔💔#anyways #jackie taylor x reader #jackie taylor #yellow jackets x reader #jackie taylor x you #yellowjackets fandom #jackie yellowjackets #yellowjackets jackie

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rubywonu · 2 years ago

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DINO LOOKS SO GOOOD ANANJWIHWBANAKAKWJ

#i just wanna give him the biggest head #one chance please #this mixtape is going to be END of me #nia says!

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pensthoughts · 3 months ago

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call me crazy… and this just came to me recklessly… but i KNOW you would write the most insane, angsty and somehow fluffy, van palmer fic based on “pushing it down and praying” by lizzy mcalpine… van is just so that song and i’d love to see what you would do… ty!

pushing it down and praying | v.p

a/n: okay so i saw this request and was like omg why didn't i think of that because i seriously love that song and it matches van so perfectly! hope you enjoy <3 pairing: van palmer x f!reder summary: (au where no crash happened) you've spent years pushing it down—what you feel for van, what you're afraid to want. then one night, everything unravels in your bedroom. and suddenly pretending isn't so easy anymore. word count: 2.5k contains: angst, smut, fluff, alcohol

you were in bed, naked. and your boyfriend was over you as you stared at the ceiling.

he kissed your neck. said something about how much he missed you this week. you were always at soccer, and when you weren't at soccer you were hanging out with van. you murmured something back, a vague sound of agreement.

but your eyes stayed fixed on the water stain in the corner of his bedroom ceiling. you watched it like it meant something.

you knew a lot about him. you knew how he liked his eggs and his favorite baseball team. you knew he was sweet, and that your parents liked him, and that he always offered you his jacket when it got cold.

but he didn't make you feel electric. he didn't make your stomach twist just by walking into a room.

he wasn't van.

you and van had been friends since freshman year. soccer brought you together—late bus rides and bruised knees, the way she always made fun of your shoelaces and then tied them for you anyway. somewhere in the middle of all that, she became your favorite person. and then, without warning, something more.

it was easier not to name it.

easier to keep dating the boy who liked you and didn't ask questions.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

friday after practice, you were supposed to meet him. he said that he'd drive you to that diner you liked, grab food and then drop you off at home so you could get ready for jackie's party. he'd even told you that he'd wait outside the field.

"you better not flake," he's said with a half-smile.

"i won't," you'd replied.

but when practice ended, and you jogged off the field, still tying your hair up, it wasn't your boyfriend you saw.

it was van—leaning against her car, eating a granola bar, her hair messy but still cute. she raised her eyebrows when she she saw you.

"you need a ride?" she asked. "i got a fresh mixtape and a slurpee craving."

you froze. your cleats scuffed the pavement.

"my boyfriend's supposed to pick me up," you said slowly.

van made a face like, of course he is. "guess i'll just take my superior taste in music elsewhere, then."

she turned to go, keys jangling in her hand.

and you—before you even thought about it—called after her. "wait."

she looked over her shoulder.

you hesitated, then said, "can we just... go for a little bit?"

a beat passed. then she smiled—slow and crooked. "get in, loser."

the 7-eleven parking lot was mostly empty. you sat on the hood of her car, passing a bag of chips back and forth. she was ranting about a song she hated on the radio.

you didn't talk about the fact that you ditched your boyfriend. she didn't ask.

but your knee kept bumping against hers. and neither of you moved.

"you coming to jackie's tonight?" she asked

"i guess," you said, trying to sound casual

"you guessing because you're playing it cool, or because lover boy's dragging you there?"

you rolled your eyes. "he's not dragging me."

van smirked. "sure."

your fingers curled tight around your unfinished slurpee, "are you going?"

she shrugged. "only if you are."

and that was the problem. the way she said things like that, offhand, careless, but it never felt like nothing.

it felt like everything.

in her car, she had music playing low, some old tracks you both liked, and the windows cracked just enough to let in the spring air. she drummed the steering wheel as you passed through your neighborhood.

"you wanna hang at my place for a bit before you get ready?" she asked. "i still owe you a rematch. foosball."

you bit your lip. "i should go home. gotta figure out what to wear."

van shrugged. "i could help. i have amazing taste."

you rolled your eyes, but you still said, "fine, but only because i don't trust jackie to not wear the same thing as me."

you pretended that was the reason. but it wasn't.

in your room, van flopped onto your bed like she owned it, grinning at the pile of clothes on your floor.

"this what fashion looks like?" she teased.

you shot her a look, rifling through your closet. "help me pick something or shut up."

she stood and walked over, close enough that you could feel the warmth of her behind you. her fingers brushed past yours to pull out a black dress.

"this," she said. "you look good in black."

you turned. her eyes were already on you.

the air between you shifted.

you could've kissed her. you wanted to. your heart was hammering and your throat felt tight and her mouth was right there, soft and parted, like she was waiting for something.

you swallowed it all down.

"we shouldn't," you whispered, eyes flickering from her lips to her eyes

van didn't step back.

she didn't say anything either—just watched you, gaze heavy and unreadable, like she was trying to figure out if she should let you go or pull you in.

and when you didn't move, when your breath caught just slightly, when your fingers stayed tangled in the hem of your shirt instead of pushing her away; she closed the space.

her hands were careful as they found your waist, thumbs slipping just beneath your t-shirt. her mouth brushed yours like a question—one she'd already asked a thousand different ways in a thousand quierter moments. you answered her without words.

the kiss started tentative. but it didn't stay that way.

you clutched at her shirt, pulled her closer, and suddenly everything you've been holding back cracked wide open. van kissed you like she was starving. like she'd been holding her breath for years. and you let her.

clothes dissapeared in pieces. her mouth didn't leave yours until she had to—only when she knelt at the edge of your bed; her hands gripping your thighs like she was afraid you'd vanish if she let go.

"you sure?" she asked, voice low, wrecked.

your answer was a nod, breathless. "please."

van lowered her head, kissing the inside of your thigh first—slow, like she was learning you with her mouth. and when her tongue found you, warm and right, your whole body went taut.

she moved carefully at first. gentle licks. soft circles. testing what made you gasp, what made your hips rise off the bed. but once she found your rhythm, she didn't let up. her tongue pressed deeper, more deliberate now, and the heat in your gut coiled tight and fast.

you moaned—quiet, shaky—and van hummed against you like she liked the sound.

one of your hands tangled in her hair, the other fisting your sheets. your thighs trembled. she didn't stop. her grip on your hips tightened as her mouth worked you over, unrelenting, like she was trying to rewrite something in your bones.

it was too much. it wasn't enough. you whispered her name, broken and desperate, and that was what did it—van's eyes flicked up, locked on yours, and you came undone under her mouth, under her hands, under her everything.

you collapsed back against your pillows, heart pounding in your ears. van pressed a kiss to your hip, then rested her head against you like it was where she belonged.

neither of you spoke. you stayed tangled in each other for a few long, quiet minutes.

van's thumb traced lazy circles on your hip, her head resting just below your collarbone. her breath had evened out, but yours hadn't. not really.

you wanted to stay like this forever. you couldn't.

you cleared your throat softly. "you probably have to go."

van didn't move at first. just blinked, slow, against your skin. "oh. yeah. the party."

you nodded, not meeting her eyes as you sat up, pulling the edge of your comforter over your chest like it made a difference. "my boyfriend's supposed to pick me up soon anyway."

the silence that followed was thick.

van swung her legs over the side of the bed, grabbing her shirt off the floor. "right. of course."

you stood too, avoiding her gaze as you picked your clothes up one by one, like if you moved fast enough, you could pretend none of this happened.

but it did.

you felt it in every inch of you.

van paused at your doorway, one hand braced on the frame. she looked back once, her expression unreadable. "i'll see you tonight?"

you hesitated. "yeah."

she gave you a small smile. not her real one. not the one that lit up her whole face. just the one she wore when she was pretending to be okay.

and then she was gone.

you sat on the edge of your bed, still half-naked, staring at the closed door like it might open again. like she might change her mind and come back.

but she didn't.

you exhaled, long and shaky, then reached for the black dress van had picked out for you.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

jackie's house was already packed when you arrived. the music was loud enough to make the walls pulse. shauna pressed a red cup into your hand. mari grabbed your wrist and dragged you into the kitchen. jackie, the perfect host, was fluttering throughout the rooms making sure to greet everyone. you saw lottie sitting on the couch, laughing with laura lee, looking like a daydream.

and then van walked in.

you wouldn't be lying if you said you felt it before you saw her—that electric shift, the twist in your chest. her jacket was tied around her waist and she was talking to taissa. you couldn't hear the words, just the way van's face lit up when she laughed.

your boyfriend's arm slipped around your waist. you didn't lean away, but you also didn't hear whatever he was saying. not really.

"hey, did you hear me?" your boyfriend asked.

you blinked. "what?"

"i said i'm gonna grab drinks. you want one?"

you nodded, "sure."

when he disappeared into the kitchen, you started toward van. you didn't plan it. your feet just moved.

but before you could reach her, she turned—and someone pulled her in to dance.

you stopped short. just watched.

she didn't even see you.

the backyard was quieter. you stepped out with a red solo cup you weren't drinking from and sat on the steps. your heart was thudding in your throat and you couldn't name why.

until she sat down next to you.

van's jacket brushed your arm. "you ghosting me already?"

you glanced at her. "thought you were busy dancing."

her eyebrows lifted. "were you watching me?"

you didn't answer.

she took the cup from your hands and drank from it without asking.

"i saw you with him when i walked in," she said.

you stared at the grass. "he's my boyfriend."

van was quiet for a long beat.

then: "right. forgot. that makes everything fine."

you looked at her. "don't."

"no, seriously," she said, her words slurring slightly. "we fucked a few hours ago and now you're back to playing house. it's seriously impressive."

you flinched. "van—"

she laughed, bitter and sharp. "what? you thought i'd forget? that i'd pretend nothing happened because you're pretending too?"

"i'm not—" you started.

"yes, you are," she snapped. "you do this every time. you pull me in, and then you shove me back like it didn't matter."

"of course it mattered," you said. your voice cracked. "you think that didn't mean everything to me?"

van looked at you, really looked. "then say it."

you couldn't.

so she stood. her fingers were shaking a little as she brushed them through her hair.

"i'm trying," you said. your voice cracked. "i'm trying to do the right thing. it's just confusing"

van's face twisted. "then why does it feel like you're lying every time you touch him?"

the words hit like a slap. because they were true. and she knew it. and so did you.

"you're not confused," she said. "you're scared. and i get it. but i can't keep being the thing you hide."

"i didn't mean for it to go this far," you whispered.

van looked at you. "yeah," she whispered. "me neither."

she turned to go, but paused. her voice was quiet when she said, "why do you keep doing this? pushing it down like you're praying it'll just disappear. do you even want it to?"

you didn't have an answer. not one you were brave enough to say.

and then she was gone.

later, when the party spilled back inside and the music got louder, you stood in the doorway and watched van laugh with shauna, beer in her hand, head thrown back like nothing had ever happened.

"you okay?" your boyfriend asked, noticing your bad mood

you nodded.

you weren't.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

that night, when he dropped you off, you kissed him goodbye and said "i'll call you," knowing you wouldn't.

then you climbed into your bed, the ceiling dark above you, the silence heavier than usual.

van's voice echoed in your head.

"you're not confused. you're scared."

you closed your eyes. but van's face was still there.

you tried to sleep. you flipped onto your side, then your stomach, then your back again. nothing helped.

you stared at the ceiling again. but now all you could think about was the way van had looked at you when she said, "do you even want it to go away?"

you didn't.

so you got up. pulled a sweatshirt over your pajama top, sat by your baywindow, and just...waited.

for what? you weren't sure. maybe a sign of some sort.

and then, just like some cosmic joke or a small miracle, you saw it.

headlights. her car pulling up to the curb, engine cutting off.

a few seconds later, a pebble tapped against your window. you were alredy opening it.

she looked up at you from below, jacket zipped halfway, hair a little windblown. "you gonna let me in or just keep staring like some tragic diary entry?"

you smiled before you could stop it. "come up."

she climbed the lattice by your window like it wasn't her first time, slipping in with the same ease she always did. but tonight felt different.

heavier and lighter all at once.

you stood across from her in the dark then finally said it.

"i don't want to keep pretending."

van's shoulders softened. "good. 'cause i'm really bad at pretending."

you walked to her, slow. "i'm scared."

"me too," she whispered.

she reached for you gently—just fingertips at first. then a full touch. her hands resting at your waist, like she was checking to make sure you were real.

and you leaned in. no one had to make the first move. you met in the middle. quiet and warm and finally, finally honest.

outside, the streetlights buzzed softly.

inside, you fell asleep with her breath on your neck.

and for the first time in forever, you didn't feel like you had to run from it.

#van palmer x reader #van x reader #van palmer #van yellowjackets #lizzy mcalpine #pushing it down and praying #vanessa palmer #yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #wlw #yellowjackets s3

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stevie-petey · 1 year ago

Text

episode eight: the battle of starcourt

He fights with it, tries desperately not to let it fall, all while his resume hangs from his mouth. “Shit! Oh, Fast Times! Ever heard of it? Top three for me, Keith.” Robin laughs and Steve turns the cardboard cutout to you, wiggling his eyebrows. “Own any red bikinis?” You flick his forehead, though you laugh as well. “In your dreams.” “I can sleep right now and find out–” “I will flick you again.” “A kiss is preferred, but whatever.”

Summary: jonathan becomes a certified surgeon, hopper returns and is oddly sentimental (wonder what that could mean !), you and dustin show off your musical theater talents, the mind flayer becomes a track star, fireworks become weapons, and really a lot just happens so suddenly it gives you whiplash. dont worry though, the rest of your summer involves painful goodbyes and the scary realization that youre growing up. absolutely disgusting. but at least steve gets to kiss you whenever now, so hooray for that ! side note: you keep making promises to people, surely there wont be narrative foreshadowing as a result !

Rating: general, violence and swearing

Warnings: blood, swearing, major character death, graphic depictions of violence, fem!reader, use of y/n

Words: 21.2k (ouch)

Before you swing in: this was my magnum opus. truly. so so so much happens in this chapter, this episode is INSANE. it took me a while, the scenes were hard and complex, but im happy with the final results :) ive been waiting a long time to write this ending, to set up the strings for later in season 4 <3 i sincerely hope this chapter is all yall have wanted. if theres any glaring typos, pls ignore because its 21.2k words and im weak from rereading it. anyways, i have a sneaky lil link right here that will make sense at the end of the chapter (spoiler alert: it's a mixtape jonathan makes for bug). enjoy !

El’s screams tear out of her body. She writhes in pain, sobs claw out of her throat. It’s unbearable to watch, the sight of her in immeasurable pain. It breaks your heart.

No one knows what to do.

Mike thrashes in your arms still. He tries to escape your hold so that he can cover his body with El’s. Take away her pain somehow. But you won’t let him. You know that it hurts him to see her this way, but his panic will only drive El’s panic further.

“What is that?” Disgust litters Erica’s face as she stares at the moving creature within El’s leg. Gently you push the girl away, not wanting to crowd El too much. She needs space to breathe.

“There’s something in her leg,” Mike sneers into your face as he fights against you again. He’s furious, he’s overwhelmed, he just wants to help. “Let go!”

Your arms tighten around the boy. He isn’t in the right state of mind. Frantic, you look to your left and start forming a plan. “Jonathan, my switchblade is in my left back pocket. Grab it.” He stares at you, unsure what to do, and you raise your voice into a yell. “Grab it.”

Jonathan jumps at the command and his hand disappears behind you. You feel him find the weapon and pull it out. He holds it in front of you, offering it, but you don’t accept it. “Go and disinfect it. There’s a gas stove where you found us. Heat up the blades so that we can–” you swallow as nausea fills you. “We–we have to cut it out of her leg.”

The moment Jonathan is gone, you turn your attention to Mike and Steve. You try to keep your voice leveled, try to contain the blinding panic that screams in your head. El needs you right now. Swallowing again, you start to speak to them. “I need you guys to talk to El. Keep her awake.”

“Right, okay.” Mike nods, and you finally release him. He hovers over El, his voice is gentle as he tries to calm her. “Hey, stay awake, okay?”

You tug Steve towards El’s legs so that he can help you move her into a better position. “Get her onto her side. Mike, put her head in your lap.”

Both boys do as they’re told. Everyone watches, and Robin tries to make light of the situation. She rambles about a girl from her soccer team who once broke her leg. How the bone had ripped clean through her skin. The story makes you shiver, and Steve sees the discomfort. “Robin, hey. You’re not helping.”

“I’m sorry.”

Jonathan returns, out of breath. “Okay. Alright, El?” He looks down at the girl. Tries to steady his breathing. “This is gonna hurt like hell, okay?”

El whimpers out that she understands, and you take hold of her hand. “Sweetheart, you need to brace yourself. I promise it will be over soon.”

“I’ll be fast, but I need you to stay real still. Here,” Jonathan hands a wooden spoon to Mike. “You’re gonna want to bite down on this, okay?”

Teeth bared, El clenches her teeth around the spoon. Her body braces for what’s about to come. Kneeling next to her, you angle your body over hers and pin her arms down with your hands. You look at Mike, ordering him to do the same. “Hold her shoulders. Don’t let her go, no matter what.”

He pales, but swallows deeply and nods. When Mike is in position, you signal to Jonathan to start cutting. “Do it.”

“Okay,” Jonathan inhales. The knife you’ve given him shakes as he holds it over El’s wound. He’s fucking terrified, but he knows it’s the only way. Exhaling, he cuts into her flesh. Blood pours from the wound and El’s screams tear from her chest.

Everyone makes a sound of disgust and horror. Your own stomach lurches at the sight of Jonathan cutting into the leg. The image, the way El’s body convulses, the screams she releases, it’s all too much. You don’t feel yourself shaking until Steve guides your head into the nook of his shoulder, shielding you.

“Thank you,” your breathing is shaky. You aren’t even sure if he’s heard you, but Steve nods and his hand rubs up and down your back. He’s doing whatever he can to help, being the solid surface you need to lean upon. Lending you the strength you need to hold El down and save her.

You hear your knife glance against the ground, followed by El’s scream becoming deafening. Unable to stop yourself, you pull away from Steve to look at what’s happening. When you do, you almost gag. Jonathan’s fingers are now in El’s leg, digging underneath the flesh and muscle to find whatever the hell is in there. A horrible squelching sound fills the air. Faintly you think you can hear Will crying behind you.

Jonathan struggles, digs deeper into the leg, but it only seems to be making everything worse. El twists and contorts beneath you, in agonizing pain. Her screams only intensify. A tear from your eye lands on her shirt, and you force yourself to hold her down despite how desperately you want to end it.

“Goddamn it!” Jonathan can’t find it. He can’t find whatever the hell is in El’s leg. It keeps moving the moment he thinks he has it. Everything is slick from blood.

“No!” El spits out the wooden spoon, her voice raw from screaming. “Stop it!”

You can’t stomach her pain any longer. The moment she pleads for it to stop, you move off of El and push Jonathan away from her. Nancy helps, touches his shoulder to alert him as well. The moment she has the room to, El sits herself up. “I can do it.

“Do what, El?” You ask, though you think you know anyways.

She breathes heavily. Tears flow freely down her face. She’s sitting down, one of her knees is pressed against her chest. The injured leg remains flat on the ground, her hand outstretched above it. Static, the one you always feel when El uses her powers, surrounds you. There’s a low hum, she grunts and screams, and yet her hand remains steady. You rub her back, offering her all the strength you can give her, in awe despite the poor timing of it.

To have the strength to expel a foreign object from your body. You can’t imagine it.

El releases one final long, harrowing scream. The lights flicker, the windows behind you rattle violently. You only just barely manage to cover Dustin and the kids from the shards of glass before they explode. At the same time, a small, writhing creature shoots from El’s leg. It stalls in the air, hovering in front of her face as she continues to scream. The creature is no bigger than the size Dart had been when Dustin first found him. The idea that it had been buried in El’s leg makes you feel ill.

With the last of her energy, El flings the creature across the room. It lands with a sickening thud on the floor, before it starts to move. You watch in horror as it scurries away, releasing its own screech, until Hopper’s boot crashes down upon it, killing it.

You’ve never been happier to see that cranky son of a bitch.

Joyce stands behind him and you whimper pathetically when you see her. You miss your own mother. It’s been days since you’ve last seen her. You’re more homesick than you’ve ever been before.

Alongside Joyce and Hopper is a man you’ve never seen before. He has glasses and a beard. As you study him, Jonathan makes a surprised sound. “Murray?”

“You know him?”

Jonathan nods at you. “He’s the detective Nance and I visited last year.”

“He’s insane.” Nancy says, though there’s a nostalgic smile on her face.

Hopper steps forward, investigating the scene. Glass crunches beneath his boots. He stops in front of you and El. He looks down at you. “Always at the scene of the crime, huh?”

“Yeah,” you blow hair out of your face. “Can’t seem to ever stop myself.” Then, finally noticing his aggressively bright and floral shirt that he’s wearing, you tilt your head to the side. “Nice shirt, by the way. I like the color on you. You’ve been direly needing some color in your life.”

Dustin snorts and El manages a tired smile. Hopper rolls his eyes at you, though you can tell it’s more from fondness rather than annoyance like it usually is. You watch as his eyes drift towards Joyce, uncharacteristically shy. “Thanks, kid.”

“Anytime, old man.”

–

“The Mind Flayer, it built this monster in Hawkins, to stop El, to kill her and pave a way into our world.”

You sit on the fountain’s edge. Dustin is next to you, Steve leans against you on the other side. Mike’s words surround you.

He explains what he and the others have been dealing with while you’ve been gone. Innocent people have been getting possessed and turned into chemicalized substances. Their bodies melting together, conjoining to create a monster meant to kill El. With every detail Mike remembers, your stomach twists uncomfortably. It doesn’t sound real. It sounds like a thing from nightmares.

And somehow Billy has become the face of it.

The last time you saw him, he had been a shell of who he used to be. He had been in pain. Obvious pain. Sweat had run down his flushed skin and his eyes had a frost in them unlike anything you had ever seen before. Instead of helping him, instead of telling anyone about this, you had abandoned Billy.

“How big is this thing?” Hopper asks, shifting so that El can rest more comfortably against him.

Jonathan sighs. “It’s… It’s big. Real big. Thirty feet, at least.”

“You’ve seen it?” Your eyes draw to the bruise on his forehead. The pained noise he made when you hugged him still rings in your ears.

“We’ve had a rough night.” Nancy whispers, eyes downcast.

“It sorta destroyed Hopper’s cabin.” Lucas looks up at the chief, a poorly feigned apologetic smile on his face. “Sorry.”

Steve interjects now. He asks questions, tries to make sure he understands. As he speaks with the group, your head falls onto his shoulder. Your head spins. Only hours ago you were dealing with Russians and national emergencies. Now, you and Steve try to wrap your heads around the idea of a giant human goo creature wreaking havoc on Hawkins.

Which, according to Max, is still very much alive.

But that doesn’t stop Will from trying to help. “But if we close the gate again–”

“We cut the brain off from the body.”

“And kill it.” Lucas finishes for Max. “Theoretically.”

It sounds so simple, but you’ve been here before.

You’ve heard this conversation already; you were standing in the Byers’ dining room. Steve had been next to you, just like he is now, and Jonathan had been on your other side. The people surrounding you were the same, only now Robin and Will join. That November, the conversation had terrified you. Closing the gate. Killing the Mind Flayer and destroying its army.

It had been the exact same conversation. And it terrifies you still, now. Only this time the fear is accompanied by an emptiness.

You’ve been here before. It hadn’t been enough.

“How many more times are we going to kill it?” Your head remains pressed against Steve. Your eyes don’t lift from the ground. Exhaustion sags your body. “We thought we already killed the Mind Flayer. We went through hell and back to close the gate, only for it to be opened again not even a year later. By another country. I mean,” laughter crawls out of your throat. “Who’s to say that they won’t just open the gate again? They’ve already done it once–”

“Loverboy over here,” The bearded man from earlier, Murray, suddenly appears and slaps the back of Jonathan’s head. The man has a mad smile on his face, the kind that tells you he’s an insane genius. After Jonathan shoves him away, Murray stops in front of you. He looks down, a curious glint in his eyes. “He told me you were a ray of sunshine. Gotta be honest. I’m not really getting a real sunshine vibe from you.”

Steve subtly shifts your body so that he’s in front of you. His eyes are narrowed, body tense. “What’s that in your hands?”

Murray seems to now remember what he interrupted the group for. He clutches the pieces of paper in his hands, waves them in the air. “Ah. These, my perfectly coiffed haired friend, are blueprints.”

“That’s just a poorly done drawing of squares and lines.” You squint at the papers. They’re no better than the map Mike had scribbled to navigate the tunnels last year.

“Seriously,” Murray turns back to Jonathan again. “I thought she was supposed to be the nice one.”

You open your mouth to argue, not at all liking whatever this random man is insinuating, but Hopper steps forward first. “Just start talking.”

He sighs, but agrees. Motioning everyone to follow, Murray guides the group to a nearby table so that he can lay his drawings out for everyone to see. “Okay, this is what Alexei called ‘the hub’.” Murray points to the center of the first drawing. “Now, the hub takes us to the vault room.”

“Okay, where’s the gate?” Hopper hovers over him, attentive.

“Right here.” Murray now points to a random box, far from where you know the gate actually is. You bite your lip, unsure if you should speak up just yet. “I don’t know the scale on this, but I think it’s fairly close to the vault room. Maybe fifty feet or so.”

You snort obnoxiously loud, getting everyone’s attention. “You’re so wrong that it physically pains me.”

“I’m sorry?” Murray gives you an odd look. When Jonathan and Nancy showed up on his doorstep last year, the two of them had nothing but great things to say about you. Jonathan had waxed poetry about you while Nancy had sat at the dinner table, resentful. Now, meeting you, Murray is really struggling to understand where that all came from.

“It’s more like five hundred feet.” Erica says. When she sees Murray’s exasperated expression, she can’t help but laugh at the old man. “What, you’re just gonna waltz in there like it’s commie Disneyland or something?”

“And who are you?”

“Erica Sinclair. And who are you?”

“Murray… Bauman.”

“Listen, Mr. Bunman.” You have to stifle a laugh into Steve’s shoulder. You love Erica, you really do. “I’m not trying to tell you how to do things, but I’ve been down in that shithole for twenty-four hours. And with all due respect, you do what this man tells you, you’re all gonna die.”

“I’m sorry, why is this four year old speaking to me?”

You slide off the fountain’s edge and stand. Whoever this guy is, you don’t like his snippy attitude. “She’s ten, actually, and she’s right.”

“Yeah, you bald bastard!” Lucas reprimands her, but she doubles down. “Just the facts!”

While you enjoy her quips, you gently grab Erica’s shoulders and place her behind you. There isn’t time for her to make a grown man cry. “We went through hell down there. It won’t be as easy as walking fifty feet. The place is huge.”

“They’re right.” Dustin speaks up. “You’re all gonna die, but you don’t have to. Excuse me, may I?” Even before Murray has consented, your brother is already grabbing the blueprints. He sits down and starts explaining. “See this room here? This is a storage facility. There’s a hatch in here that feeds into their underground ventilation system.”

“It’s how we accidentally got in.” You add, figuring any extra information could help.

“Wait, you accidentally broke into a secret Russian lair?” Mike tries to hide it, but you can see that he’s impressed. You know that once this is all over, he’ll grill you for details later.

“No, we thought it’d be fun to get tortured by commies on the fourth of July.” Steve points to his swollen eye. “Yes, Wheeler. It was an accident.”

“Guys!” Dustin shouts. When he has everyone’s attention again, he sighs. “Jesus. Anyways, these vents will lead you to the base of the weapon. It’s a bit of a maze down there, but between me, Y/N, and Erica, we can show you the way.”

Hopper stares down at the three of you, unamused. “You can show us the way?”

Dustin is about to agree, but you cover his mouth with your hand. “Yes, I can show you the way. The kids can stay here, but I remember everything from when we were down there. If you want all the hero glory, then fine. Fight some Russians. But I can be your navigator.”

“No.” Hopper, Steve, Dustin, and Jonathan say at the same time.

You roll your eyes at all of them. “Okay, I was only talking to Hopper. The rest of you,” you glare at your brother and the two teens next to him. “Aren’t a part of this conversation.”

“There isn’t a conversation to be had, kid.” Hopper scoffs at you. He doesn’t want to hear whatever you’re about to say. He won’t let you back down there again. From the state Steve is in, Hopper doesn’t even want Joyce coming with him. “You’re not going. End of discussion.”

“You don’t seriously expect me to let you walk into a death trap, right? I mean, I know we argue a lot, but you can’t be that dumb.” Hopper has started to walk away now, trying to put an end to the conversation, but you follow him anyways. “Listen to me!” He ignores you, doesn’t turn around. Instead, Hopper starts gathering bullets as he picks up a shotgun from one of the guards on the ground. Groaning, you continue to chase him.

You don’t care how annoying you’re being. You’ll nag him until your last dying breath. If he doesn’t want you getting hurt, then he has to understand that you don’t want him getting hurt either. “Hopper, I’m serious. El…” You look at the girl, who is far behind the two of you now as she rests near the fountain. Your voice grows thick. A wave of emotions rush over you, seeing her. She’s so small. She’s still just a kid, despite the power that lies within her. “She needs you. You–you can’t get hurt.”

“And I won’t.”

“You don’t know that,” you grab the man’s shirt, but he tries to walk anyways. You plant your feet on the ground and grit your teeth. He’s frustratingly strong. “Please, just–you’re her father. You–you can’t leave her–” You stumble over your words, try to think of how to convince him. There has to be a way, a middle ground. Isn’t he the one who taught El what compromise means?

In your nagging midst, you overhear Dustin and the party all catch up. Talk about how they missed one another. It’s a sweet reunion, seeing them come together again after being separated for so long; your boys are together again. It feels like a lifetime ago where they were all together on Weathertop hill. Seeing them together again, it hits you.

The walkies. Cerebro.

“What if I could still communicate with you from above?” You shout, frantic. Hopper stops walking. He still doesn’t look at you, but he indicates that you have his attention. Taking a deep breath, you don’t waste any time. “We have walkies. Dustin, all the kids. It’s how they communicate with one another. Always have. What if… what if I give you directions using them? That way, you’ll fulfill your annoying need to be a hero while I fulfill my annoying need to protect everyone.”

Your words come rushing out, messy and jumbled, but Hopper seems to understand. He’s quiet, mulls what you’ve said over and over again in his head. He inhales, closes his eyes, and then exhales agonizingly slow. When he opens his eyes to look at you, he’s resolved. “You’re really annoying, you know that?”

A relieved smile graces your face. Knowing you’ve gotten through to Hopper, you finally release his shirt. You straighten it back out, wipe some dirt off of it. It really is a good shirt, one you know was almost definitely purchased for a woman named Joyce Byers. “It adds to my charm.”

Hopper chuckles, shakes his head, before walking over to where your brother stands with the others. He fishes a walkie from his back pocket, tosses a spare one to Dustin. “Hey, heads up. Your sister came up with a shockingly genius compromise. You guys can navigate, just from someplace safe.”

Dustin sighs. “It’s not that simple.”

“The signal won’t reach.” Erica clarifies for him.

You motion at them to explain faster. “But…”

“But,” Dustin quickly explains your idea. “We’d need something with a high enough frequency band to relay with the Russians’ radio tower. But for that to work, you need someone who has both seen their comms room and has access to a super-powered handcrafted radio–”

“Dustin,” you hit his shoulder, urging him to get to the point already. “Just tell him about Cerebro.”

“I was getting there! Look, we have one already situated at the highest point in Hawkins.” Your brother shakes his head. “If you need us to navigate, we got you. But we need a head start… and a car.”

“Hey, chief.” You stand beside Hopper now, grinning ear to ear. “Don’t you have a car?”

He stares past you, and the rage in his eyes amuses you immensely. It’s taking everything within him not to start yelling, which only causes your shit eating grin to grow. You extend your arm, hold your hand out palm-facing upwards. This is the best day of your life. “Come on, give me the car keys, Hopper.”

Sucking his teeth, Hopper drops the car keys into your hand. “I hate you.”

Hopper stands in front of you, annoyance and irritability in his eyes as he stares at you, but you don’t care. A surge of warmth cascades through you instead. He listened. It means more to you than the man could ever know. Your arms find their way around him, surprising both you and Hopper, as you pull him into a hug. “Thank you for listening to me.”

“Yeah, well. Don’t make me regret it.” Hopper says, his voice rough. He clears his throat, allows his hand to pat your shoulder. He may not know what you’ve gone through, but he thinks he can understand the weight the history has left you. It’s the same weight that he carries every day. The guilt, the anger that follows it. He clears his throat again and pulls you off of him, keeping you at arm’s length. “Do me a favor, will you? Make sure El and the others are safe.”

You sniff, wipe away tears. You’re not sure why you’re crying. “I will, I promise. Good luck, old man.”

“Good luck, kid.” He hesitates, still holding your shoulders. His breath hitches and his eyes don’t leave yours. There’s something in them, almost a certain kindness that once reflected in your father’s eyes when you were younger. The gaze burns you at first, but you stare back at Hopper through it. After he seems to find what he’s looking for, Hopper swallows. He says what Joyce has always said about you; from his conversation with the woman back at Melvald’s. “You’re the best of them.”

More tears well in your eyes, but you wipe them away before he can tease you. Hopper releases you, shoves you in a playful manner, and you can’t help but laugh. It’s a warm moment. His words simmer on your skin. You’ve heard them before, you know what people say about you, but the words are different coming from Hopper.

Praise doesn’t come naturally to him. Words have always plagued him; the ones he has just told you hold a weight that’s even heavier than the guilt the two of you carry within yourselves. You’ve known Jim Hopper for three years now, but as you watch him walk over to El, soft smile still on his face from his conversation with you, you finally understand him.

–

Steve is waiting for you at the fountain, whispering quietly with Robin. The two of them stand off to the side, away from the others. He’s nervous, uncomfortable. He stands with his back away from Jonathan and Nancy, who are a few feet away talking to Murray. His arms are crossed over his chest and his fingers tap together in an anxious tick you’ve become familiar with.

The moment he sees you approaching, all the tension in Steve’s body melts away.

He grabs your hand the second you’re within reach. Pulling you into his chest, he kisses the top of your head. “Any updates, angel?”

You hum against him, allowing yourself a moment to bask in his warmth. It’s been a long day. It’ll be an even longer night. “You know Weathertop hill?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Good.” You place Hopper’s keys into Steve’s hand. “You’re driving us, then.”

Robin points at Jonathan, who sneaks glances at the three of you. “Define ‘us’. Because, no offense, he seems nice and all, but he keeps looking over at you like a lost puppy and it’s making me uncomfortable.”

“Be nice, he’s still my best friend.” Flicking her forehead, you silently scold Robin. “And it’s just going to be the three of us with Dustin and Erica. Jonathan and Nancy are taking the rest of the kids to Murray’s bunker. He’s just… He’s worried. Probably wants to make sure he says goodbye to me before we leave.”

Robin makes a confused face, reminding you that she’s new to all of this. That she hasn’t had to say goodbye to her loved ones every year with the fear of them not returning. You sigh. “It’s… Kinda a tradition, at this point. A final goodbye before all hell breaks loose.”

“How many times do you guys almost die on a weekly basis?”

Steve snorts. “Depends on the month. November seems to be our worst one, though.”

“Astounding…”

You leave Steve to deal with Robin’s amazement on his own, though you laugh as you walk away. Ever since the events of Will’s disappearance, you’ve done everything you can to not think about what you’ve all been through. However, seeing the bewildered amazement on Robin’s face the more you reveal to her, you can’t help but laugh.

Jonathan sees you approaching him and Nancy and steps aside to make room for you. They’re still talking to Murray, although the man is more lecturing them than anything. He holds up a bunch of keys, explaining in great detail which one goes into specific locks. It’s dizzying trying to keep track of it all.

Secretly, you’re grateful that you’re going with Steve and the others. Easier key instructions.

“This one is for the second to last bottom lock–”

“Murray, can I cut in real quick?” You try to be polite about it, but truly you don’t care whether or not you have the man’s permission.

He glares at you. “Aren’t you already?”

“Good point!” You grab Nancy’s and Jonathan’s arms and pull them away with a wicked smile on your face. When you’ve dragged them far enough away from Murray, you wrap your arms around them both. Jonathan sinks into the unexpected embrace. Nancy stiffens. You try to ignore it. “Get to that old man’s bunker safely, please?”

“Of course, bug.” Jonathan has wrapped an arm around you. He closes his eyes, his fingers span across your back. “Stay at Weathertop, get to safety. Maybe even get some rest while you can.”

“I’ll try, bee.” Your laugh is wet. This will never get any easier.

Nancy shifts in your embrace, and for a moment you’re afraid she’ll pull away entirely, but instead she surprises you by wrapping an arm around you as well. Her chin is tucked against your neck, she still hasn’t melted into the embrace like Jonathan has, but she’s trying. Lips close to your ear, she whispers, “I’ll keep him safe.”

You suck in a breath. You hadn’t known how desperately you needed to hear Nancy’s reassurance, to hear her silent apology. Pulling away from them, you look at Jonathan and Nancy. “I love you. I love you both.”

Jonathan smiles, the same way he did the night you met him on the Wheeler’s porch. Nancy ducks her head down shyly, the same way she did the night she opened the door to let you into her home.

You squeeze their hands one last time before leaving to say goodbye to the others.

Lucas wishes you luck, Will hugs you as tight as ever, and El offers you a partial smile. She’s still recovering from whatever the monster did to her leg, so you brush some hair out of her face and kiss her head.

“Sucks you were down in hell this whole time. Could really go for a brownie right now.” Mike says, a light in his eyes as El’s head rests in his lap.

You stick your tongue out at him. “Sorry, couldn’t find a way to bake while getting chased by Russians with guns.”

“Lame.”

“Goodbye, Wheeler.”

Then you turn to Max, who has been silent this entire time. She hugs you tightly when she sees you. “He’ll be okay, right?”

Your body goes stiff. Somehow, in the midst of Hopper and the others, you had forgotten about Billy. How he’s infected. Flayed. It hasn’t escaped your notice that no one seems to want to bring the matter up, either. When it had been Will, everyone had wanted to make sure he wouldn’t die if the gate closed.

But no one has asked the same question for Billy.

Swallowing, you slowly reciprocate Max’s embrace. “We’ll… We’ll find a way. We always do.”

Though the words aren’t meant to be a lie, you can’t help but feel that you’re breaking an oath when you say them.

–

Steve hadn’t noticed what brand of car the keys belonged to at first. However, the moment his brain recognizes the iconic Cadillac logo on its keychain, he practically starts to drool. A fucking Cadillac.

It doesn’t take him long to round everyone up and drag you outside.

“I was saying goodbye to Joyce,” you grumble, struggling to keep up with Steve’s quick footsteps.

“It’s a Cadillac, Y/N!” Steve can almost feel the foam pooling around his mouth. His footsteps increase even more, his body vibrating at the knowledge that he gets to drive his dream car. His dad hadn’t wanted to buy him one, said that the BMW was more practical. Reliable. When Steve pushes the mall’s front door open and sees the beautiful, timeless car parked perfectly in front of him, he almost collapses. “Oh, man, now this…This is what I’m talkin’ about!”

“‘Toddfather’?” Robin points out the license plate and its horrible name.

You make a face, but Steve doesn’t let her ruin his moment. He’s ecstatic. This is arguably the best thing that has happened to him all day (besides maybe kissing you). For fuck’s sake, it’s a goddamn Cadillac. “Oh, screw Todd! Steve’s her daddy now.”

Steve hops into the car’s front seat like a little kid with a toy car. Meanwhile you, Robin, Dustin, and Erica retract your heads in disgust at what he’s just said. Robin looks at you, repulsed. “Did he just talk about himself in the third person?”

Erica follows up with her own creeped out question. “Did he just call himself daddy?”

“I’m choosing to ignore him right now.” You say to both of the girls, pressing a hand to your forehead as you walk to the car. There’s so much you don’t want to unpack with what Steve has said.

“You can’t ignore me, Y/N.” Steve leans over the center counsel and opens the passenger door for you. “We already established that I’m really annoying.”

“Just take us to Weathertop, please.” You buckle yourself in and make sure the kids have their seatbelts on as well. When you see that Robin has found herself in the middle seat, you snicker at her. She’s squished between Dustin and Erica, her knees are pressed uncomfortably to her chest.

“Why did I get stuck in the middle?” She complains.

Steve fixes one of the mirrors before revving the engine. As he pulls out of the mall’s parking lot, he offhandedly responds, “Passenger seat is reserved for girls I’m dating.”

Everyone in the backseat gags, and you blush furiously. You and Steve haven’t had the time to talk about your relationship. Or if there even is a relationship. But he’s just referred to you as the girl he’s dating. He kissed you yesterday, or was it today?

Time has blurred together, but Steve’s hand rests on your thigh as he drives and you’re his girl.

There will be time to talk about all of it later. You’ll make sure of it this time.

Steve’s foot presses on the gas, speeding through Hawkins. Neither of you were given an exact time frame from Hopper, but he presses down harder on the pedal and sends the car flying. There’s music on the radio, doing its best to distract everyone, but your hands are still antsy. You’re nervous, there’s still so much left unspecified within the plan. Steve notices your fidgeting fingers and removes his hand from your thigh to play with them; he’s trying to soothe you.

You intertwine your fingers through his and smile at him. Steve winks back at you, and you admire how lovely he looks as he drives. The moment is broken when Robin shoves her head between the two of you. “What the hell is a Cerebro?”

“It’s basically a radio tower that Dustin built for his girlfriend, Suzie.” You explain to her, voice raised to be heard over the music and wind. “She lives in Utah.”

Robin raises an eyebrow, intrigued. She leans back in her seat and pokes Dustin’s shoulder. “Suzie must be really special, huh? I mean, if you built this thing and lugged it all the way to the middle of nowhere just to talk to her.”

Your brother preens at this, pleased someone has recognized his romantic efforts. “I mean, nobody’s scientifically perfect, but Suzie’s about as close to being perfect as any human could possibly be.”

“She sounds made up to me.” Erica snarks from the backseat. She looks over at Steve, tries to get his opinion. “She sound made up to you?”

Steve hesitates for just a fraction of a second too long, and you sigh. Dustin notices it, too. “Why are you hesitating, Steve?”

“I–I’m not!” He looks to you for help, but you only shake your head at him. All he had to do was respond promptly. This is his own fault. “I’m not hesitating! I–I think she sounds real. You know, totally, absolutely real.”

“Not really loving your uncertain tone, Steve.” You say, and Dustin nods in agreement. “Suzie is real. I mean, I’m almost positive that she is.”

Dustin does a double take at your use of the word “almost”. He’s about to say something, demand to know why you’re not certain Suzie is real, before he notices that Steve is about to miss the Weathertop turn. “Left, turn left!”

“There’s not a road here?” Steve argues, squinting his eyes in the dark to see whatever the hell the kid is seeing.

Dustin screams at him again to turn, and you only have a second to brace yourself before Steve jerks the wheel. The car’s tires screech on the asphalt as your body gets thrown forward. You scream, getting war flashbacks to when you’d been in the back of Billy’s car as Max had very recklessly driven you and Steve to the tunnels. Somehow, this is so much worse.

The car breaks through a fence and your screaming only intensifies. “What the fuck?”

“Hendersons, where are we going?” Steve screams to you and your brother. He’s desperately trying to keep hold of the steering wheel as the car struggles against the hillside’s grass.

“Up!” You and Dustin exclaim. One hand clutches the door, the other clutches the seat. The entire car is practically at a ninety degree angle as Steve continues to drive up the hill. It’s bumpy, your head hits the back of the seat more times than you would like, and your heart races.

The car makes a concerning amount of strange noises the further up the hill you drive. Robin clutches her stomach. “We’re not going to make it!”

“Yes we are!” Steve does everything he can. His foot never leaves the gas. “C’mon, baby. C’mon!”

“Sweet talking the car won’t help!” You shriek after a particularly rough bump leaves you nauseous. The poor car strains against the giant hill. The tires, not at all made for off-roading, get caught in the grass.

Steve hits the wheel and curses. “C’mon! Please!” He presses harder on the gas, but the car comes to a stop. The tires move uselessly against the slick mud underneath.

Ill and desperately wanting to get out of the car, you unbuckle your seatbelt. “We can walk the rest of the way, Steve.” He gives you a despaired look, pleading with you to let him continue playing with his new car, but you roll your eyes at him. You’re five seconds away from vomiting, he can deal with abandoning the car. “The Toddfather is dead. We can mourn her later.”

Steve groans but turns the car off as everyone gets out, preparing for the walk ahead. The hill is just as steep as it had been earlier this week when you were with the party. While you’re annoyed you have to walk it again, at least this time it’s night and the heat isn’t as suffocating.

When you reach the crest of the hill, Dustin immediately runs to Cerebro. He crouches next to the radio and turns it on. “Bald Eagle, do you copy? Bald Eagle, I repeat, this is Scoops Troop, do you copy?”

Bald Eagle had been your idea.

“Scoops Troop?” You ask your brother.

He nods, proud. “Thought of it myself.”

“Not bad, buddy.”

Murray’s voice crackles over the walkie. “Yes, I copy.”

Everyone lets out a breath of relief when you hear him. So far, the first phase of the plan seems to be working. Cerebro can reach all the way down to the lair; you can communicate with Hopper and Joyce. So far, so good.

Dustin starts to give Murray the directions he’ll need for the vents. You and Steve roam the perimeter of the hill, weary and needing something to do. While you’re far from the Russians below you, you still don’t necessarily feel like you’re out of harm’s reach. Robin stays with the kids, figuring it’s best to give the two of you some time alone.

You stare out into the view of Hawkins from so high above. Weathertop has always been your favorite spot in the small town. Your first summer in Hawkins, Jonathan had introduced you to the hill; you used to spend all your time up here with him. You’d spend hours running up and down the length of it, giggling and sunkissed. If you stand still enough, you can still hear the laughter in the breeze. You miss Jonathan and being kids with him.

“I haven’t been up here in years.” Steve stands next to you, voice soft. He stares out into the field as well, admires its beauty the way you are, though really he just wants the excuse to look at you. “Forgot how peaceful it was.”

“I love it here,” you tell him. “Late in the summer, dandelions appear. They scatter the entire hilltop. I like running through them.”

“Well, when they start to bloom,” Steve wraps his arms around your waist, pulls you back into his chest. He presses a soft kiss to your cheek, lingers. He hasn’t held you in so long, his body aches with the weight of yours against it. “We can run through them together.”

You smile into the embrace, lean into the kiss, tremble into the words. He will always make you weak. It’s an exhilarating feeling, knowing someone can dismantle every bone in your body with less than six words. “I think I’d like that–”

From the corner of your eye, you see lights flickering in the distance. They catch your attention, standing out against the black backdrop of the night sky. You shrug Steve off, feeling a tug in your chest to walk closer to the hill’s edge. You need to figure out what you’re seeing. With every step you take, the more your vision focuses in on the lights, the more dread fills your body.

It’s the mall. The lights are coming from the mall.

You freeze.

The lights are going haywire, flickering wildly. It’s supposed to be deserted. Jonathan and the others were supposed to have left already, but still your stomach sinks. Something isn’t right.

Steve stumbles after you, confused as to why you pulled away, but when he sees the mall as well, he stills. “What the…?”

“They left. They said they would be gone by now.” You try to calm yourself down, try to focus on the reasoning. The mall is empty. It’s supposed to be empty. Jonathan promised you he would make it to Murray’s safely. He wouldn’t lie, he would never lie to you.

Robin, Dustin, and Erica come up behind you and Steve. You all stand there at the crest. No one moves, transfixed by what they see. The lights continue to flicker, miles below, impossibly too far away from help.

Someone has to help.

Your feet move, twisting your body to run back to the radio. You need answers. You need to know what the hell is going on, if everyone is safe, and Dustin is right behind you. He falls to the grass in front of the radio and frantically brings it to his lips. “Griswold Family, this is Scoops Troop. Do you copy? Over!”

He repeats the call over and over, but no one responds. With each passing moment of silence, your panic turns into blind fear. “I repeat, do you copy–” A sudden, horrifyingly familiar screech, one that has haunted your nightmares for years now, rips through the radio’s speaker. It’s loud and gruesome and sends ice into your body. Your brother’s concern rivals your own. “Griswold Family, please confirm your safety. Are you enroute to Bald Eagle’s nest?”

Dustin is screaming into the radio at this point, demanding answers, but there’s only snarling on the other side. Your breathing quickens, the edges of your vision blur. Sweat trickles down your neck. You can’t breathe. Jonathan is still at the mall. Mike and Will. Nancy, Max and Lucas.

El.

The Mind Flayer has them.

Steve tries to grab your hand, but you’re blind to it all. In raw desperation, you tear the radio out of Dustin’s hands and bring it to your own lips. “Jonathan! Nancy! Mike, anyone.”

Your pleads fill the void of a response in the night air. Steve sits next to you, all he can do is watch as your pleading turns into begging. Your voice cracks, the words scratch your throat. Seeing your white-knuckled grip on the radio, Steve can’t take it anymore.

“C’mon,” he takes your hand and pulls you up. Numb with fear, your body is limp. You try to fight him, you don’t know why he’s pulling you away from the radio when your friends need help, but Steve has made up his mind. He takes the device out of your hands and makes you look at him. “They need our help.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do!”

“Y/N, look at me.” Steve motions to the car, and finally you understand. “We’re going.”

Relief threatens to make your knees weak. Too wired from the debilitating combination of fear and helplessness, all you can do is nod at Steve and allow him to guide you down the hill. Dustin and Erica see that you’re leaving and try to stop you. “Where are you going?”

“To get them the hell outta there!” Steve calls over his shoulder, fumbling through his pocket to retrieve the keys. “Stay here, contact the others!”

Dustin calls out your name, anxious. He doesn’t want you to leave, and you hate that you have to leave him. But right now, he and Erica are as far from danger as physically possible. Weathertop hill is miles away from Starcourt. Right now, Jonathan needs you, and so do the others. Breaking out of Steve’s grasp, you run back to your brother and kiss his forehead. “I’ll be back, I promise.”

You run back to the car where Steve awaits, and Robin is quick to follow. She runs after the two of you and catches the walkie that Dustin tosses her. “Stay in touch,” he orders the three of you, still entirely against the whole thing.

“We will!” You shout back at him, already crawling into the car. “Stay safe, don’t do anything stupid, and stay here.”

The backdoor closes, Robin’s seatbelt clicks into place, then the Cadillac’s engine roars to life.

–

Your hands won't stop shaking as Steve drives. Nothing he says can reassure you. The car hasn’t gone below seventy miles an hour despite the narrow road, and still it doesn’t feel like it will be enough.

“I’m sure they’re okay.” Steve tries again to sound convincing, like his hands also don’t shake as he grips the steering wheel. “I mean, they have El. She’s a superhero.”

“Total superhero.” Robin unhelpfully chimes in. Her own nervousness is on display as she twists her fingers together.

You draw your knees into your chest, trying desperately to make yourself smaller. You’re terrified for your friends, you should’ve never split up. The party always does better when it’s together. Forcing air into your lungs, you stare out the windshield. “How much farther?”

“A minute, maybe even less.” Steve promises, pressing down even harder on the gas pedal. The engine’s roar deafens your ears, and you welcome the distraction.

In the distance you see Starcourt’s blinding neon lights. They grow bigger and bigger with every passing second, and you release the breath you had been holding when you see that you’re close. The moment of relief is short lived, however, when you hear gunshots pierce through the night. The sound rings in your eyes and the sight of Nancy firing the gun chokes you.

“There!” You point towards where she stands and Steve changes the direction of the car. The tires screech and your body thuds against the door but you don’t care. All you can focus on is Nancy standing in front of Jonathan’s car, unmoving as she fires bullet after bullet. Something seems to be wrong with his car, you can hear the engine fail each time he turns the key.

You squint your eyes. At first, you can’t see what Nancy is firing at, but within seconds you see the third car barreling straight towards her at a terrifying speed. In the driver’s seat is Billy. “Steve!”

“I see him!” He floors it.

The impact knocks all the air out of your body. It all happens so fast. Glass shatters. Metal hits metal. Your body gets thrown, your head roughly hits Steve’s shoulder as the car spins out. Your eyes squeeze shut at the momentum. You can’t remember if you scream.

“Are you guys okay?” Steve asks, panting, as soon as he car comes to a stop. His head is spinning yet the first thing he does is look to see if you’re hurt. There’s some glass in your hair, but for the most part there isn’t a scratch on you, which he’s thankful for.

“Ask me tomorrow?” Robin stares blankly ahead, still trying to process what’s just happened.

It takes a few moments for you to come to. Your ears are ringing. Your neck aches from being thrown so suddenly to the left. “Let’s never do that again.”

“Agreed…” Robin swallows, but quickly her mouth goes dry. “Oh, shit.”

You follow her line of sight and nearly throw up. The Mind Flayer crawls over the mall and releases a thundering screech, and the size of it alone makes you want to cry. It’s huge, bigger than anything you’ve ever seen before.

A car honks behind you, breaking you from your terror. Your head whips around, finding Nancy in the passenger seat of Jonathan’s car. “Get in!”

Quickly the three of you scramble out of the wrecked car. There isn’t room in any of the passenger seats, so you yank the trunk door open and scream at Robin and Steve to crawl in. It’s a tight fit, you have to press your back against Steve’s chest, but it’ll have to do.

As soon as the trunk is closed, Jonathan steps on the gas. You’re thrown further into Steve’s chest and Robin, who sits in front of you, lets out a quiet yelp when she sees the Mind Flayer chasing after the car, not far behind. Seeing this as well, Jonathan takes a rough turn and everyone in the car tries to brace for the rest of the ride.

“Are you okay, bug?” Jonathan shouts over his shoulder, eyes still on the road.

“Fine and dandy,” you pick a piece of glass out of your hair. Steve helps, carefully combing through your hair as well. The Mind Flayer screams, tries to lunge at the car, and your heart skips a beat. You try to distract yourself. “I crash cars every day. How about you guys, what brought y’all out here tonight?”

“Billy.” Everyone in the car says in unison.

You wince. “It’s always him, isn’t it?”

No one answers. Your quips don’t land. Robin hasn’t looked away from the Mind Flayer yet, Steve doesn’t want to look at it. Jonathan stares at the road ahead of him and Nancy flinches every time the Mind Flayer’s body thuds against the earth. The rest of the kids are silent, the echoes of its footfalls pounding against their eardrums.

It’s grim in the car. Really fucking grim.

“Dusty-bun, you copy?” A girl’s voice comes through over the radio. It’s not a voice you recognize; never in your life have you heard anyone besides your own mother refer to your brother as Dusty-bun.

Steve’s bewildered expression matches your own. Then Dustin’s voice crackles through the radio, and your bewilderment turns into relief. At least your brother is far away from whatever the hell is chasing you right now. “I copy, Suzie-poo. It sounds much better now, thanks.”

“Suzie,” Steve and Robin breathe out at the same time. You smile at them, smug. They had their doubts, but you were almost certain she had been real. Serves them right.

The nickname Dustin has for his girlfriend, however, is awful. “‘Suzie-poo’? That’s the best nickname he could’ve come up with?”

“I like bee, better.” Jonathan agrees.

Steve scoffs. “Honey has a nicer ring to it.”

“Both of you shut up!” You don’t have time for their weird ‘my horse is bigger than yours’ competition. Dustin’s started speaking over the radio again and you’re trying to listen in case it’s important. He’s asking Suzie whether she knows what Planck’s constant is, and you have no idea how any of this is relevant to the situation at hand.

“Okay, so I know it starts with two sixes, and then a…” Dustin’s voice trails off. Apparently this Planck thing is a number, one he can’t seem to remember. “W-What is it?”

“Okay, let me just be clear on this.” The tone of Suzie’s voice makes you pity your brother. It’s an angry tone, annoyed and fed up. Whatever she’s about to say, it won’t be pretty. “I haven’t heard from you in a week, and now you want a mathematical equation that you should know so you can… save the world?”

You whistle, commending the girl’s sense of self worth. “She’s got a point.”

Dustin pleads with her, promising that he’ll make it up to Suzie as soon as he can. You feel a bit bad for him, honestly. He really had been trying to contact her ever since he got home from camp. How was he supposed to know his week would end up being dominated by Russians?

“You can make it up to me now.” Suzie’s voice lowers a frightening octave. You have no idea what she’s about to say, and a large part of you wants to throw the radio out the window before you’re forced to find out.

“What?” Dustin sounds frightened as well, which doesn’t make you feel any better.

“I want to hear it.”

Horror fills you. It’s worse. So much worse than you ever could’ve imagined. You know exactly what Suzie wants from Dustin. “Oh, no… He told her.”

“Told her what?” Steve asks you, confused by this entire ordeal. Dustin and Suzie argue in the background. She’s insistent and your brother tries his best to convince her otherwise.

Jonathan’s eyes meet Steve’s in the rearview mirror, mischief in them. “Theater camp.”

“Jonathan Byers, I will hurt you!” You hiss at him, utterly mortified. Sometimes you despise the fact that he’s your closest friend. He knows far too much about you.

Steve has so many questions, but he forgets all of them when Dustin starts to sing. “Turn around, look at what you see.”

His voice is clear and beautiful, a testament to the countless hours the two of you were forced to endure in vocal lessons. When you were younger and still living in Virginia, your mother made you and your brother attend a musical theater camp every summer. She loved having you guys perform little shows for her around the house. Said your voices were like angels to listen to.

The day you and Dustin moved to Hawkins, you both swore to never tell anyone about the camp. The secret would die with you.

Jonathan only knows about it because your mom had him video tape Christmas carols a few years ago (like the traitor that he is). It had taken several batches of cookies, numerous pleas, and a handful of threats to ensure he wouldn’t tell anyone what he saw.

“In her face, the mirror of your dreams.” Dustin’s melodic voice floats through the car. The song had been one the two of you sang frequently at camp, its verses simple yet fun to sing together.

Steve and Robin share a look of disbelief. They’ve completely forgotten about the Mind Flayer still chasing after the car. Suzie, a surprisingly good singer as well, now joins Dustin. They sing together, in a sweet, childish way. You can’t help but sing along, harmonizing with them.

Everyone in the car looks at you as if you’re insane, but you’re too tired and exhausted to care. You’ve had the weirdest two days of your goddamn life. Sue you for singing along. It’s a good song.

That, or maybe you’re just delirious from dehydration.

After a minute or so, the song comes to a close, and you’re almost saddened by that. You’ve missed singing with your brother. You make a mental note to bug him about it later. “Planck’s constant is 6.62607004.”

Dustin laughs into the radio, happy that Suzie finally revealed the number. “You just saved the world!”

“Gosh, I miss you, Dusty-bun.”

The two continue to go back and forth with their baby talk, which you cringe at. It’s disgusting to overhear, although you guess you understand now why Dustin hates being around you and Steve. You’ll apologize to him later.

Dustin’s voice cuts off unexpectedly, which you assume is Erica’s doing. You’ll also thank her later. The car goes quiet again. No one knows what to follow Dustin’s impromptu performance with.

“So, theater camp, huh?” Steve finally breaks the silence, squeezing you gently in his arms as he teases.

“Tell anyone and I swear I’ll–” The Mind Flayer suddenly turns around, catching your attention. It runs away, back towards the mall. It doesn’t make any sense. Everyone is here, in the car. It only wants El. Unease twists your stomach. You lean forward and look at who is in the car. When you see Will and Lucas in the seat in front of you, you panic. “Where are the others?”

You’re practically crawling over the seat to try and get to Jonathan and Nancy. “Where’s Max and El? Where the hell is Mike?”

Nancy tries to distance herself from your anger. “We got separated, but they’re–they’re fine. We had to guide the Mind Flayer away from the mall–”

“So you left them?”

“We didn’t really have much of a choice, Y/N!” Nancy screams back at you now, insulted that you truly believe she would ever leave her brother behind willingly. She wouldn’t do that. She knows that you know this.

“It’s going back for them! It fucking turned around, can’t you see that? We need to follow it, now!”

“Y/N–”

“Turn. Around.”

“Steve, sit Y/N back down!” Jonathan’s yell cuts in between you and Nancy. You’re about to start spewing curses at him, but Steve’s arms are strong and force you back into his lap. You’re livid. “Hold on!”

Jonathan knows you’re right. He tightens his hold on the steering wheel and stomps on the brakes. The car spins, he twists the wheel, controls it as best as he can, before he steadies the vehicle and accelerates back towards the mall.

–

When you get to the mall, Lucas announces that he has a plan.

“Fireworks have an insane amount of gunpowder in them.” He explains to the group, waving around a handful of fireworks he left in the trunk. You’re all carrying some as you run through the mall’s parking lot. “If we tie them together, we can mimic the damage of dynamite.”

“Think it’ll be enough to kill the Mind Flayer?” Nancy asks, hesitant.

“If we throw them from above, yeah!”

You kiss Lucas’ cheek, only barely managing not to trip over your feet as you run. “I think you’re a genius, Sinclair.”

Inside the mall, everyone quickly sets the fireworks up. Faintly you can hear the Mind Flayer lurking somewhere, its roars echoing throughout the building, but it hasn’t found you guys yet. Lighters get passed around, fireworks get messily taped together, groups are divided in an attempt to cover the most ground. Jonathan with Nancy. Will with Lucas. You and Steve with Robin.

You’re taping together the last of your fireworks when you look down over the railing. You almost drop the fireworks in your hand when you see Billy hovering over El. He’s so much bigger than she is. She’s hardly even visible beneath him. Your stomach churns. “He’s here.”

Thuds shake the ground. The Mind Flayer descends from the rooftop and crawls over to where Billy has placed El. Its mouth opens, preparing for the kill, and Lucas throws the first firework. “Flay this, you ugly piece of shit!”

Bursts of light collide into the monster. It hisses, turns to face the direction the firework was thrown, and Lucas throws another into its mouth.

Smoke begins to fill the air. The whistle of the rockets sting your ears. The light blinds you. It’s loud and messy and fireworks rain down upon the monster. Everyone throws the bundles they have, and yet still you hesitate. Billy’s eyes flash through your mind. How the red in them overtook the icy blue. The sweat that poured from his face. The cruelty that seeped through his skin.

It’s horrible what’s happened to him. He didn’t deserve to become a pawn in this maddening game.

But someone has to end it. You breathe in, relax your body, and bring your lighter to the first firework. Its heat licks at your skin as you release it into the air. You hit the side of its body, sending the Mind Flayer stumbling back.

“Hey, asshole. Over here!” Steve throws a firework and its blasts almost scorches the two of you. It’s dangerous, stray fireworks threaten to crash into everyone, but the plan seems to be working. With every hit the Mind Flayer takes, the more he weakens.

Your thumb burns as you light fireworks over and over again. The motion is repetitive, just enough to keep the fear in you at bay. It’s deafening within the mall. It’s exhilarating. It’s dizzying. Reds, blues, yellows, greens all light up the sky.

Distantly, through the haze of smoke, you watch as the fireworks affect Billy as well. He cowers each time the Mind Flayer gets hit, but it also seems to enrage him as well. He grabs El’s wounded leg and drags her closer to the monster.

Helplessly you wish you were down there with El, helping her. However, all you can do is continue throwing fireworks in a crazed attempt to save the ones you love. You scream with every throw, exerting all your strength to throw them as far as you physically can. But you’re quickly running out of ammunition.

“Dustin, we’re out of time!” Steve screams into the walkie, breath heaving with soot on his face.

Your brother screams back, pleading with Hopper to close the gate. No one answers him, and you hold back exhausted sobs as you throw the remaining fireworks. They won’t be enough. Someone has to close the gate, sever any connection the Upside Down has to your world. It’s the only way any of you are making it out alive.

Yet it remains open, and Billy has now crawled back on top of El.

She seems to be saying something to him, but in the cloud of smoke and explosions you can’t be sure. Robin helps you light the last firework, Steve aims it, and you’re numb to it all. He throws it, it explodes into a shower of purple. Its ashes scatter around Billy, singes his back, and you see now that he’s stopped moving.

“That was the last one!” Robin shouts over the screams of the fireworks. Steve runs a hand through hair and curses. There isn’t anything else the three of you can do.

You run to the railing and look around, feverish to find any way to help. Jonathan catches your eye from across the plaza. He looks just as distraught as you are. Your palm hits against the metal of the railing in frustration. There has to be something. Then you see Max and Mike below, standing on the outskirts of where Billy and El are, all alone.

“I’m going down!” You scream to Robin and Steve. You have to get down there. Someone has to be with them. They’re too close to the fire and explosions and monsters.

“Y/N, wait–” Steve tries to stop you, but you plead with him.

“Steve, I need you to trust me.” There’s a raw, overwhelming feeling within you that something bad is about to happen. You can’t shake it, the feeling of loss being inevitable frightens you. For three years now you’ve saved everyone, done everything right. For three years, you’ve gotten lucky. You don’t know how to explain all of this to Steve, the fear that has followed you ever since you first intercepted the Russian code. “Please.”

Maybe it’s the way you say it. Maybe it’s the tears that stream down your face as you look at him. Whatever the reason may be, Steve reluctantly lets go of you. Endlessly thankful for him, your hands cradle his face as you kiss him. He makes a cute, surprised noise, and you wish more than anything that you can bask in the warmth of his lips, but you can’t.

You force yourself to pull away. “I’ll be back, take care of the others.”

And then you’re gone.

Footsteps echoing against the walls of the mall, you run down the stairs and straight towards Max and Mike. They hear you approach and suddenly they’re both in your arms. They hold onto you tightly, none of you can tear your eyes away from the scene in front of you. Billy slowly stands up and away from El. His movements are labored as he walks in front of the Mind Flayer, blocking its path to her.

They stand, face to face, unmoving. Predator against prey. Your heart pounds in your throat as you watch, too scared to move. In an almost imperceptible velocity, the Mind Flayer extends its claws.

Billy raises his arms, stopping the monster from piercing through El, protecting her. “No!” A guttural, animalistic scream tears apart his vocal chords. He screams, over and over again, as the Mind Flayer struggles against him.

Max freezes in your arms, you feel her choke on her gasp.

Everything happens slowly after that.

The first claw that penetrates Billy’s side.

The second one that cuts through his other side.

Then the third one, the fourth and the fifth and the sixth. They pierce through his skin, sink into the flesh. His body goes limp as he’s suspended into the air. The Mind Flayer hisses down at him, its teeth bared, and Billy, who has never been afraid, screams in the face of death as the monster fatally punctures his chest.

Everything stops.

“Billy!” You will never forget the pain in Max’s scream. It will become yet another sound that haunts your nightmares.

As you stand there with a paralyzed Max in your arms, the Mind Flayer drops Billy’s body onto the ground. He lands with a sickening thud. The Mind Flayer’s body crashes into the walls, it convulses, spasms, leaving destruction in its wake. Then, all together, it stills and falls to the ground.

The gate has been closed.

Mike tears himself from your arms and runs over to El. He pulls her into a hug and she begins to sob. You and Max walk numbly over to them, neither of your eyes leave Billy’s bleeding body. He shudders weakly where he lays, a pool of blood encasing his body.

“Billy?” Max knees next to him. She’s crying, she doesn’t know what to do. There’s so much blood. “Billy, get up. Please, Billy. Get up, please.”

You kneel next to her, at her side through it all.

Blood pours from Billy’s mouth. He coughs and the wet sound only makes Max cry harder. He looks up at you, his eyes are finally blue again. “Talking to you… sweetheart.”

But if you need anyone to talk to, about anything, come find me, okay?

Those had been your last words to him.

“Billy…” He had tried to find you. He had been lost and scared and alone. He didn’t know what had been happening to him, why his anger became venom. A sob is wrenched from your mouth. He had been all alone, and he had tried to find you.

Billy coughs again, more blood leaks from his wounds. With the last of his strength, he turns his head to Max. “I’m sorry…” His chest heaves in pain, he labors two final breaths, before his chest falls entirely. It doesn’t rise again.

Max shakes his shoulders, uncaring for the wounds there. She shakes him, begs and pleads with him to wake up, but his body remains lifeless. She lets out one final, anguished sob. “Billy.”

She buries her face in your chest and sobs. You hold her, El joins. The girl tries to soothe Max, she tries to keep you together, but you break as well.

You cry for the boy Billy had once been. Max had told you stories from before. How he would drive her to the skate park, scare off any older boy who tried to taunt her. She told you about how he used to love surfing in California, before his mom had left them and his dad became violent.

Max told you about how kind Billy had once been, she knows he used to be kind. How she could see it in him still, hiding the bruises from his father to not scare her. To make her feel safe in their own home even if he intimidated her as well; it was the violence in him that was created by a monster far more vile than the Mind Flayer.

You cry for Max, too young to lose such a complicated loved one. You know the pain better than anyone else. How it hurts to grieve them, how it makes you feel pathetic to miss someone who has only hurt you, but the tenderness of knowing them tethers you to it all. Billy had been her brother. There is no greater tether than that.

You cry because you loved and have lost. You will blame yourself for having not said anything about Billy’s off behavior. You had seen the first signs of what the Mind Flayer did to him. He had been stranded on the side of the road, bloodied and bruised, blue eyes darker than normal, and you had done nothing except tell him to come find you.

And then you had left him.

Billy Hargrove died alone.

You and Max will share the burden of this guilt.

–

Jonathan finds you first, then Steve. You’re on the floor, kneeling with Max in your arms, two broken pieces finding solace in the other. Billy’s body lies next to you, neither you nor Max can bear to look at it.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” they’re the only words you can say to the girl.

Max clutches your arms around her and her tears soak your shirt. El and Steve try to coax her out of your arms, but she doesn’t move. She refuses to let go of you, though she allows Jonathan to drape his arms over you and hold you as your own sobs echo within the mall.

Nancy and the others join. They leave a wide berth around the dead body before them. Nancy sees that you’re in no condition to guide, so she takes over for you. She instructs Steve and Lucas to take Max from your arms so that they can stand the two of you up. The fire from the wreckage is quickly spreading and you’ll need to evacuate soon.

“It’s okay, bug. You’re okay.” Jonathan whispers in your ear, one hand delicate on your arm. Steve’s hands rest upon your other arm, and together the two of them are able to get you onto your feet.

Your body shakes, grief sits heavily upon your chest. Steve’s eyes never leave your weak frame.

It’s all a blur after that.

Firefighters break through the mall and evacuate the building. Nancy and Jonathan do all the talking. Someone, you think it’s Steve, carefully guides you through the maze of burning rubble and bodies. It’s raining outside and the soft thunder almost drowns out the drone of the helicopters that swarm the building.

There are ambulances amongst the military trucks and you’re shoved into one by a concerned medic. The woman explains to you that you’re in shock, that your body is in a state of perpetual flight. She allows Steve to sit and stay with you only after she’s finished patching up his split lip and bruised eye.

“It’s going to take some time to heal,” the medic explains to you. She’s soft spoken, maternal, and in your numb state she reminds you of your mother. “You kids went through a lot tonight.”

Time.

It always goes back to time.

Steve rubs your back and kisses the top of your head every few minutes. You rest your head against his shoulder, body pressed against his, a blanket draped around both of your shoulders’. Neither of you say anything. His hand on your back is warm, it unthaws the ice that the shock has left behind. His touch grounds you, keeps you afloat.

A car pulls up in the distance and its doors slam. Your eyes drift up, finding Joyce’s as she stumbles through the crowd of armed soldiers and firefighters. She stumbles around, lost in some haze that clouds her once shining face. Joyce looks around in concern, trying to find her sons, and somehow you know, even before her face crumbles when she sees you, that something terrible has happened.

Her eyes meet yours.

Hopper isn’t with her.

Will rushes towards his mother and almost knocks her down with how hard he hugs her. Joyce clings onto him and breaks into heartwrenching, bone crushing, sobs. You can hear her from where you sit with Steve, you can feel the weight of her loss like thickened water in your lungs.

In the other ambulance next to you, El, who had been resting in Mike’s lap, stands up when she sees Joyce. She walks towards the woman as she embraces her son. Though El faces away from you, standing alone in the middle of the parking lot, the way her shoulders shake as she begins to fall apart indicates the remnants of her childhood have died tonight.

“Hopper’s dead.” They’re the first words you’ve spoken all night. Your voice is hoarse from disuse and the words echo, taunting you.

Steve doesn’t say anything, only a heavy sigh leaves his body.

There were three deaths tonight. Billy, Hopper, and El’s childhood. One for every year you got lucky. The fear that had been creeping through the back of your mind finally presents itself to you. It manifests in the humid July air and it laughs at you. Saving Will, closing the gate, destroying the Mind Flayer. They were debts needed to be fulfilled, and they were paid for tonight.

You see Max and Robin sitting on a stretcher across from you. Max also hasn’t said anything all night, lost in her own grief and remorse. Joyce still sobs in Will’s arms. El grieves alone, mourning the closest thing she’s ever had to a father.

You see Jonathan and Nancy whispering quietly to one another in another ambulance. They share a blanket like you do with Steve, but Nancy’s eyes are sunken in and Jonathan’s face is pale. Lucas and Mike sit together, too exhausted to say anything.

You’re all bleeding or burned or bruised and you’re tired.

“Sometimes…” Your voice cracks, tears threaten to silence you, and you force yourself to breathe in. Force yourself to focus, to get the words out. They’re important, somehow, even if you don’t know why. “Sometimes it feels like I’ve used up all my luck.”

Steve draws small circles into your ribcage. His fingers catch on the raised skin, the scar from when you saved his life last year. “Luck?”

“When Will went missing… It was pure luck that I found him. Brought him back home.” You weren’t supposed to have been with the kids when they found El. You were lucky that night, it was luck that threw you into the middle of it all. “It was luck that saved Will last year, too. Those tunnels…” Your body shivers at the memory. It had been so cold down there, the smell of the damp earth is a scent you will never forget. “And now I–”

Your words catch in your throat. Steve’s body presses against yours, he waits for you, patient. When your voice returns, you try again. “And now I… I’m not sure how I feel.”

“Why’s that, angel?” Steve listens, he tries to understand. “I mean, the Mind Flayer is gone. We won.”

You saved Hawkins. You saved El. You know this, and it should be enough, but it isn’t. “All the deaths that took place tonight stain everything.”

El’s father is dead. Joyce had come so close to loving again. Max no longer has someone to call a brother. Billy, who endured so much hurt when he was a child, never got the chance to experience kindness when he grew up.

Billy never got the chance to become good, not like you did. You were lucky to have even become kind again in the first place. It had taken years to turn the hurt from your childhood into empathy. You had a mother who called you her sweet girl even when you screamed horrible insults at her. You had a brother who held your hand through the anger that your father left behind. You had a best friend who taught you that not everyone leaves. There had been people who loved you, who were gentle, who showed you that anger can be turned into something soft.

But all Billy ever knew in his life was violence and cruelty. It isn’t fair.

“My entire life I’ve been lucky,” your chest constricts as you confess everything to Steve. All your fear, the doubt, the insecurity. “Now it–it feels like I’ve used up all my luck.” Your fingers find Steve’s, a mind of their own as your body seeks the solace only he can bring. He doesn’t know that he’s the reason you believe you’ve had more luck than anyone else in their life. “I… I was lucky to have met you, to become your friend, someone you trust. How could I possibly have any luck left over after everything we’ve been through together?”

Everything burns in Steve. He understands what you’re trying to say, he does, but he doesn’t agree. Steve hooks the pad of his fingertip underneath your chin and coaxes your head up, he wants you to look at him as he speaks. He needs you to hear him. To understand. “Well, that’s where you’re wrong.”

You wipe your eyes, uncomfortable under Steve’s open and earnest gaze. “I’m wrong?”

He hums, strokes a finger from the dip of your cheek up to the crest of your brow. He admires you, memorizes the skin beneath his. “You’ve taught me a lot of things, but you’re wrong about that luck theory of yours. See, I have my own theory that you can never run out of luck if you love, and you taught me that to love and be loved is the luckiest thing a person can give and receive.”

Steve remembers the first day he ever saw you. He’d been thirteen, you had been twelve. He remembers how small you looked to him, yet lovely nonetheless, even back then. You had always been so lovely to Steve, kind, delicate, admirable.

Your eyes stare into Steve’s and he remembers the first day he spoke to you. The squeal of your bike tires as you almost crashed into his car. The way the setting sun cast you in a golden glow in the ditch you landed in as Steve offered you his hand. How, the moment you laughed at what he said, he felt breathless.

You smile at Steve now, the same smile all those years ago, the smile he saw when he was thirteen and believed in knights and dragons. Now, at eighteen, you smile at Steve and he believes in fates that attach people to one another and mold them into one being.

“And I’m lucky enough to be able to love you, angel.”

Steve’s words cut through you. They’re the good that remind you of the light of the sun that follows the dark of the night. It’s almost like an awakening, a slow remembering, how can someone run out of luck if they love with everything within them?

You see Mike now consoling El. She’s in pain, but Mike bears the hurt with her. You see Jonathan and Nancy sleep soundly against each other, safe in the other’s arms. Lucas holds Max’s hand as Robin cracks a joke that gets the young girl to laugh. Will strokes his fingers through his mother’s hair, offering her love that only a son can.

Even while there is so much grief and pain within this world, the love that follows overwhelms it.

Steve stares down at you, eyes soft with contentedness. There isn’t a pressure behind them, he doesn’t need you to say anything to him. He’s simply happy to have you in his arms, to have you with him now, to remind him of how lucky he is, and you’re so full of love for him.

“I’m lucky enough to be able to love you, too, sweet honey.”

Steve Harrington smiles the boyish smile that you fell for long before you knew what love even was, and he kisses you. He breathes you in, he has you right where he wants you.

You finally, finally, have come home.

–

Time passes slowly afterwards; you take it one day at a time.

After the mall burns down, your job is practically all but saved. It’s a small, bittersweet thing. Mrs. Waters had told you the news with her own bittersweet smile, mourning her dear friend Mrs. Driscoll who died in the fire. She will never know the truth, that the woman had become part of an army created by a monster.

“But at least Doris would be happy that I still have my store,” the woman said as she stacked books with you at the counter. It had only taken you two days before finding yourself falling back into old habits. Your mother had wanted you to stay home for the rest of the summer, but Bookstrordinary has always been a second home to you, and you couldn’t bear the silence in the house. Mrs. Waters sighed sadly, looking down. “I miss her.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Waters.” You squeezed her hand, mourned with her.

Hopper’s funeral took place a week after Starcourt burned down. The entire town showed up, something that you know the old man would’ve hated, and he was crowned Hawkins’ hero. You spent the ceremony in the very back, holding El’s hand, so that the two of you wouldn’t be seen.

Billy’s funeral was a few days after Hopper’s. Max sat alone at the front of the church, Billy’s father had been too drunk to attend and her mother couldn’t get the time off of work. After the ceremony, the girl silently followed you into your car and spent the rest of the day at Bookstrordinary with you. She hadn’t wanted to go home to an empty house, and you understood the feeling.

Max spends most of her summer with you at the store after that. Some days she helps restock the shelves, singing along to your set of tapes, bright and cheery. But some days she’s quiet, sits in a corner and pretends to read whatever you hand her. El stops by the store sometimes, too. You read comics to her, bake her the oatmeal raisin cookies she loves so much, and gossip about Mike and Lucas if Max is having one of her good days.

During the first week you bake Joyce’s favorite muffins, the second week you bake her brownies. You offer her a shoulder to cry on every time you stop by the Byers home, you reminisce over Hopper and his disdain for you; she appreciates everything you do.

Steve spends every single day with you, it doesn’t matter where you are. Without a job, he follows you everywhere. Whether you’re at work, at home, even at Jonathan’s or Nancy’s, he’s always able to find you with Robin right behind him. Nancy thinks the newfound trio is bizarre, but Jonathan can’t help but laugh whenever he sees Robin talking your ear off while Steve follows you around like a moth to a flame.

Together, you all try to heal.

Two weeks pass and you’re woken up by the ringing of your phone.

“Hello?” Annoyance seeps through your greeting. You’ve only just managed to fall asleep, the nightmares at bay for once.

“Come outside, angel.”

His voice wakes you up, the annoyance now replaced with confusion. “Steve?”

“Wear something warm, okay?”

“What–?” He hangs up, the line disconnects, and you’re completely taken aback by the phone call. You didn’t make any plans with Steve tonight, at least not any that you can recall. He had spent the day with you at work, ate dinner with you and your family, before watching a movie with Dustin and going home.

You’re not entirely sure why he’s called you at nearly two in the morning to come outside, but you listen anyways. On your desk chair lays the cardigan Steve bought you for Christmas, his initials stitched into the sleeve. Sliding it over your shoulders, you quickly put it on before climbing through your window.

Steve’s car is parked two houses from yours, headlights off. There’s music faintly playing that can be heard through the window, and a familiar melody has you running to get inside. “The Beatles?”

They were the band that you and your dad used to listen to. His fingers would strum their songs on his guitar as the two of you sat side by side on the front porch of your childhood home. He would hum the words to you. Told you that you should know about real music.

When your dad left, he took the music with him.

Jonathan had tried to get you into his favorite artists. The Smiths, David Bowie, the Clash. He would sit you down in his room and play their songs over his record player and watch your reactions. While the music was good, and you’ve come to love them because the artists reminded you of Jonathan, it was never the same as listening to the Beatles with your dad during early July mornings.

Then one night, when you and Steve had been driving around Hawkins, a Beatles song began to play over the radio. Unknowing of your history with the band, Steve started to hum along the same way your dad would do, and it was finally then that music was brought back into your life.

“What, I don’t get a hello?” Steve is smiling ear to ear, seeing the flushed joy on your face and the cardigan you wear.

You throw your body over the center console and hug him. “Hi, honey.”

As he drives, Steve is unusually quiet. His initial smug greeting upon your arrival is quickly overshadowed by a shy demeanor. Steve’s fingers fidget on the steering wheel, his foot taps against the car’s floor. The Beatles play softly within the car and somewhere along the route you find that the wooded scenery starts to look familiar.

He’s driving you to Lover’s Lake.

“Why are we heading towards the lake?” You ask Steve, but he pretends not to hear you. Instead, he turns the radio up and sings along to Paul McCartney. Your eyes wander to the backseat and notice a small box nestled against the leather.

A few minutes later Steve parks the car and wordlessly the two of you get out. It’s dark, the moon reflects off the lake’s water. Crickets sing in the air and the waves lap at the shore. It’s a beautiful night, the July heat is masked by the night’s breeze; your cardigan keeps you warm.

Lost in admiring the view, you don’t notice that Steve has left your side until he returns with a picnic basket. The box you saw earlier is tucked underneath his arm. You tilt your head at him, quizzically. “What are you planning, Harrington?”

Steve grabs your hand. “You’ll see.”

He leads you down to the lake’s edge where the water meets the sand. There’s a trail that Steve once found when he was nine. It had been during the last fishing trip he had ever taken with his dad. The man commanded him to hook the worm and Steve cried. Embarrassed and ashamed, Steve had run towards where the sand met the woods and found a meadow hidden within it.

There are flowers in full bloom within the meadow, and you gasp when you see their vibrant pinks and blues. The flowers are delicate yet their stems are long. Steve sets the picnic basket down and pulls a blanket out from it. He sets it onto the grass and lays down, motioning you to join him.

The stars are clear tonight, shining bright above the two of you. They almost seem to wink at you as you lay side by side with Steve. His hand is in yours, as it always is these days, and with only the stars as his witness, Steve whispers into your ear, “Thank you for staying.”

His breath warms your neck, and you know, without having to ask, what he’s thanking you for. Your promise to him last year, that you’d wait for him. He hadn’t been ready. The timing of it all wouldn’t have been right, but you knew, even back then, that you’d wait forever for Steve Harrington if it meant you’d receive even half of his love.

Take your time, I’ll be here.

“It was the easiest thing I’ve ever done.” The words come easily to you, raw with truth and vulnerability.

A soft sigh escapes Steve. He turns his head to you, eyes finding yours, and you’ve never seen such tenderness within him. He opens his mouth, sighs out the words you’ve longed to hear again since that night at Starcourt. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” You don’t think you’ll ever tire of saying those three words to him. There’s so much love within you, so much you’ve ached to give out ever since you were a little girl, and now you finally can.

Steve kisses you with a softness that releases a sigh from your own lips, and you know he’s wholly, truly, yours now. With a swift motion, Steve places himself on top of you as you kiss. His weight presses down on you, one hand cups your cheek and the other steadies him. His hair tickles your face, his cologne clouds your brain, and the sweet taste of July honey coats your tongue.

Minutes, maybe even hours, pass as you kiss Steve. It’s lazy, no sense of urgency as your lips move against his. It’s warm, it’s soft. Eventually he manages to pull himself away from you, he’s brought you here for other reasons tonight.

“Hold on, I got you something.” Steve fixes his hair, clears his throat, and pulls out a container from the basket. He reveals a freshly baked loaf of banana bread on a beautiful glass plate. There’s a small, lopsided candle on top of it.

“You came prepared tonight,” you tease him, still breathless from the kisses and love.

“My mom did, actually. She’s the one who made this.” You sit up and look at Steve, wide eyed. He laughs at you, finding your stunned reaction endearing. “Relax, angel. She really wanted to bake you something, and I had to make up for allowing Russians to ruin your seventeenth birthday, didn’t I?”

Words escape you. Steve’s mom made you banana bread, a woman you have still yet to meet, though you’ve only heard fond stories about. She had insisted on doing this kind thing for you.

Steve lights the candle and holds the plate up for you. “C’mon, make a wish, Y/N.”

You close your eyes, smiling, and the wish comes easily to you.

For time to stay like this, forever.

You blow the candle out, Steve cuts the banana bread, and you take turns feeding it to one another. The dessert is delicious, freshly baked and still warm. It’s sweet and nostalgic and everything you could ever ask for.

When you’ve finished eating, Steve claps his hands. “Alright, now onto the real event of the night!”

You raise an eyebrow. “What, the kissing wasn’t enough?” Steve makes a panicked noise and you laugh at him. “I was teasing, honey.”

“You terrify me,” he huffs, before revealing a box from behind him, the very same one you’ve been curious about all night.

“I aspire to be terrifying,” you stick your tongue out at Steve before turning the box over in your hands. It’s light, lighter than you expected. “Is this my gift you’ve been bragging about?” For months leading up to your birthday, Steve had been boasting about this amazing gift he had thought of, how he had convinced the party to help him.

“Open it and find out.” There’s a glint in Steve’s eyes, yet you also see the shyness return as well. He’s nervous to see your reaction, he wants more than anything to have gotten this right.

You roll your eyes at him but open the box. It isn’t wrapped like your other gifts from Steve have been. Instead the box is made of a dark oak, and its lid opens with a soft click. The silver catches your attention first. It’s a small chain with two silver ovals on opposite sides. In between the two ovals is a collection of charms.

“Is this…?” The charms are all roughly the same size, but each vastly different from the other.

Steve nods at you, rubs the back of his neck. “It’s a charm bracelet.”

Moonlight reflects off of one of the charms, revealing it to be a frog, another one to be a cookie, and slowly you piece it together. There’s six charms, one for each member of the party. “Steve.”

“Have you figured it out–oomph!” He lands with a thud on his back as you attack him with a hug. Slightly out of breath, he laughs and wraps his arms around you. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

“How did you get the kids to do this?” You lay on top of him, blinking back tears as you hold the bracelet delicately in your hands to admire it.

Steve sighs in exasperation. “Money and a lot of begging. They were all for picking out charms for you, I just had to pay them to spend more than five minutes with me at the jewelry store.”

You laugh, that sounds exactly like them, and you love those kids with everything within you. Holding up the frog pendant, you know which kid picked it out for you. “Mike?”

“Yup. Said something about Kermit the frog?”

“He’s such a little shit,” you say with fondness. Last year, when Billy had nearly choked you to death, your voice had been lost and Mike wouldn’t stop referring to you as Kermit. Your fingers skim over the pendant next to it, a simple blue one, and you smile. “Dustin?”

“He told me about your code blues.” Steve rubs your back, content to have you resting against him. You hum, touched that your brother trusted Steve enough to confide this to. No one else knows about your code blues, it’d been a special thing just between the two of you.

With your ear pressed against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, Steve explains the rest of the charms to you. His voice is lazy, slow, lilting with fondness, and his hand a firm weight against your back. Max chose a knife charm to remind you of how badass you are. Will chose a bee, because he’ll always be your little bee. Lucas was able to find a small, white flower that resembles a dogwood, knowing that it’s your favorite. As for El, she chose a cookie based solely on her love for the ones you bake for her.

“What about the ovals?” You ask Steve after he’s done explaining what the kids chose for you. The ovals are slightly larger than the charms, almost serving as a divider between them. The metal is smooth underneath your fingers.

He brushes hair out of your face and winks. “Turn them over.”

With slight confusion, you do, and discover that they’re engraved. Etched onto the back of one oval is honey, and, on the other, angel is written. They’re your names for one another, nestled between charms from the kids you love so dearly in your life; this is a gift made from pure, unadulterated love.

“Oh my god,” it’s perfect, absolutely perfect. Your lips are all over Steve’s face before he even has time to blink. You scatter millions of kisses upon his face, drown him in them, With every kiss that you press upon his pretty skin, you shower him with praise. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Steve laughs and tries to move his face away, but really he leans into the onslaught of love. His cheeks burn from smiling so hard and from the heat you always make him feel. He grabs your waist and enjoys the skin he holds. “You like it?”

“I love it, Steve!”

“Does this make up for the whole Russian fiasco?” He asks, only joking a little bit. He still feels awful for dragging you into everything, but with time he’s learning to forgive himself. Before he overthinks it, Steve adds, “Am I now the best boyfriend in the world?”

His words make you blush, and you don’t think you’ll ever get used to Steve being yours. You’ve waited so long to be his, to hold him and kiss him like you do now. You cherish the feeling, the sensation of knowing a boy loves you the way that Steve does. “You’ve definitely redeemed yourself for getting me trapped in a Russian lair on my birthday. And you’re definitely the best boyfriend in the world.”

Steve, despite being underneath you, does a victory dance and whoops into the night. He’s elated, his face shines when you look down at him, and you’ve never been so in love before. You once thought you knew what love was, what the burn of it could feel like. But now, with Steve lying beneath you as his arms keep you from falling, you know that love is airless, light, cool to the touch and warm on the skin. Love isn’t supposed to hurt, it’s supposed to feel like coming home after a long day of being out in the cold.

After Steve helps you put on the charm bracelet, you lay together in the meadow. The lake’s waves can be heard in the distance. Crickets chirp their greeting, the stars wink hello above you. Their noises serve as a lullaby to you, soothing you to an almost sleep-like state. You nestle your head into the crook of Steve’s neck and let out a sleepy exhale.

Feeling this, Steve strokes the back of your hair. “You fallin’ asleep on me, Henderson?”

“I’m resting my eyes.”

“Very convincing,” he chuckles, tightening his embrace to try and stave off the cold that creeps in. He lets out his own tired sigh, your weight upon him has always put him at ease. He inhales, smells your perfume, and he can’t believe that he’s here right now with you. After everything he’s been through, he can’t believe that somehow he’s come out of it with you next to him. Last year he thought he had lost you forever. This year he can see forever with you. “I think I like this July a whole lot better than the last one.”

It’s meant to be a joke, a gentle tease. More of a reflection of how far the two of you have come in such a short amount of time, but still Steve’s words remind you of something. You’ve never told him the real reason why you left last summer. Why you ran away from him.

“I was scared, last summer.”

Steve tilts his head at you. “Scared of what?”

“I was scared of falling in love with you,” the confession lifts from your chest. It hangs over you both, the weight of it tangible. Steve’s eyes soften, he lets out a soft oh, and you duck your head shyly. “Last July, you were… Everything. You were everything to me, and it terrified me. I was still figuring my feelings out for Jonathan back then, you had Nancy, but you were so lovely and I just–I couldn’t do it. It wouldn’t have been fair, not to anyone, but I’m sorry.”

“Y/N…” Steve hadn’t known. All this time, he thought he had done something wrong. But really you had been trying to protect yourself, protect him, and he understands now why you had to leave him for a while. He sees the distress on your face and he shushes you, kisses your forehead. “Don’t apologize, okay? I honestly would’ve run away too, if I were you. I’m just… You came back to me, in the end. That’s all I care about.”

He’s too good for you. “I still hurt you.”

“You’re human,” Steve brushes more hair out of your face. “We all make mistakes. You ditched me for a few months and I almost got you killed by crazy Russians. I think we’re pretty even now.”

Despite the guilt in your throat, Steve manages to draw a smile from you. It’s what he’s always done best. Even on the day Will had gone missing, he had been the one to ease the loss by pretending not to have known your name. He had made you laugh when you thought you could never laugh again. Steve would do anything to get you to smile, and you cannot imagine where you’d be without him. “We always even our debts, huh?”

“It’s tradition at this point.”

And you laugh, full-bellied and loud and recklessly. It echoes into the night, Steve’s reverberates into your ears, and you’re happy.

–

A month passes, and in the mid-August heat, Jonathan knocks on your window late one night.

His knuckles rap against the glass and it’s a sound reminiscent of before, when you were little kids who didn’t know how yet to hurt each other. You crawl out of your bed, curious, though happy nonetheless to let him in.

You go to open your curtain, ready to tell the boy all about what Dustin had done today, unaware that when you open the curtain, everything will change.

Jonathan is crying.

“Bee, oh my God.” You quickly open the window and he manages to crawl through, though sobs wrack his body. He’s shaking, and for a terrifying moment you think that something has happened to Will. “Is everything okay?”

He stands before you, chest heaving and eyes red, and with two words your world comes crashing down. “We’re moving.”

Time stands still. You’re seventeen and your childhood is coming to a close.

Somehow you’re holding onto Jonathan as he explains everything through his tears. He’s moving in early September, going all the way to California. He and his family are leaving Hawkins, leaving you.

Your legs give out, or maybe it’s Jonathan’s, but you hold each other on the floor, intertwined, mourning the loss of growing up together. Your tears mix with his, his breathing becomes yours. The two of you cling onto each other, scared that one day soon you’ll never be able to do this again.

“We need to–” Your breathing is shaky, your eyes sting. You feel a desperate franticness claw out of you, you grasp at what little sanity you have left. “We need to promise each other that–that we’ll see each other every day before you leave, in some capacity. It–it doesn’t matter how but–”

“I’ve already talked to Nancy about it, bug.” Jonathan wipes your tears, lets his own fall freely. He knew you’d say this, and he loves you all the more for it. “It’s been agreed.”

You nod, relieved. It isn’t much, it still doesn’t change the fact that Jonathan will leave you in the end, but at least you’ll make every last second with him count. You’ll move into the Byers home if you have to, they’re your family. He’s your person. He’s embedded into your skin, he’s nestled between your bones.

Last year you and Jonathan promised you would never let go of each other.

The year prior to that you promised each other that nothing would change between you two.

Now, holding onto each other as the world you’ve been building together for five years comes crumbling down, you have to believe that the promises will be enough.

–

Steve and Robin rope you into helping them find a new job.

You innocently pointed out that Family Video was hiring, figuring it was an easy enough place to work at, and suddenly the two of them had shoved you into Steve’s car with resumes in their hands. Honestly, you should’ve seen it coming.

“You put your mom down as a reference?” Robin questions Steve as you all get out of the car. She had agreed to proofread it after you politely declined, stating that if you proofread anything Steve wrote, it might ruin your relationship.

“Yeah, why not?” Steve slams his door, straightens his shirt, and grabs your hand as you walk inside. “She’s like, super well respected.”

You share a look with Robin. “Rich kids,” you both groan at the same time. As much as you love Steve, you’ll neve quite get over how well connected he is. It’s bizarre and slightly terrifying how much the Harrington name can get you in this town.

“Whatever, call me a rich kid, but it’s my car you guys get free rides in.”

Robin rolls her eyes. “You’re such a dingus.”

“I didn’t ask to be here,” you remind Steve, though you thank him when he holds the store’s door open for you and Robin. “I think this could count as kidnapping.”

Robin bumps her hips against yours. “Not technically. Besides, I thought we agreed to leave our kidnapping days behind us after Erica?”

You shove the teen and follow her into the store. You look around at all the movies, slightly impressed. You’ve never really visited Family Video before, only really stopping by if you were picking up Dustin from the arcade next door. The store is nice, albeit small, but you can see Steve and Robin enjoying themselves. There’s good music, few customers, and the uniformed vest is less mortifying than Scoop’s small shorts and sailor hats. “It’s not so bad in here.”

“Why thank you, pretty lady.” A greasy looking man at the register smiles at you, leaning over it in a very unappealing manner. His name tag informs you that his name is Keith.

Steve immediately steps in front of you and stares the guy down. “She doesn’t need you thanking her, buddy.”

You can tell that he wants to say more, but you see the “general manager” on Keith’s name tag and quickly try to deescalate the situation. If your idiot boyfriend wants the job, he can’t piss off the guy hiring. “Steve, why don’t we take a look around while Robin does all the talking?”

“What–” He doesn’t have a chance to argue, you’re already pulling him down a random aisle, throwing a quick “good luck!” to Robin as you leave.

She talks with Keith, and it seems to be going well. She shows him their resumes, smiles at him kindly. before she shouts across the store to Steve. “Dingus, what are your three favorite movies?”

Steve nearly drops the movie he had been looking at. “Uh, Animal House?” You can practically hear Robin’s disappointed sigh from where you stand, and Keith looks unimpressed. Panicked, Steve whispers to you, “What are my favorite movies?”

“I don’t know!” You hiss, frantically trying to get this poor man a job. “Just, name two other movies. Animal House can’t be too bad, right?”

“Star Wars,” Steve manages to get out, now walking back to the register. You stand next to him, looking nervously at Robin, who makes a pained noise at his responses.

The manager stares blankly at him. “A New Hope?”

“A new what now?”

You drop your head into your hands and sigh. He’s hopeless. Already knowing it’s a lost cause, you mumble to him, “It’s a Star Wars movie, Steve.”

He snaps his fingers. “Right! Yeah, it’s the one with the teddy bears, isn’t it?” Steve makes what you think is supposed to be an Ewok sound, which only makes you sigh again. Sensing he’s fucked up, Steve tries to backtrack. “No? Uh… Oh! The one that just came out, the movie. The one with DeLorean and Alex P. Keaton and he’s trying to bang his mom.”

“Oh, dear.” It’s a trainwreck, one you can’t look away from, and Robin can only shake her head at you. “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Stop talking.”

“Uh, yeah.” Steve clears his throat, he knows he’s rambling. Had he known he would have a goddamn pop quiz about movies, he wouldn’t have dragged you here for the interview. “Those are my top three. Classics.”

Keith looks between you, Steve, and Robin. He points to Robin first, “You start Monday.” He points to Steve, “You start never.” And then he points to you, “You can start whenever.”

“Okay, I get why you’re telling me no,” Steve waves a hand in front of you, “but she didn’t even apply!”

You’re also confused by how this day is turning out, and you look at Robin, wide eyed and pleading. She’s good with people, Keith seems to like her. When she sees you silently begging her to fix this, Robin sighs and steps in front of Steve. “Will you just, um… Will you guys give us a minute?”

“Why?” Steve doesn’t move, and you want to throw a shoe at him.

“Let’s go, pretty boy.” You grab the back of his shirt and yank him back to the aisle of movies. He doesn’t fight you, he simply accepts his fate and allows you to drag him away. Before turning the corner, you nod at Keith. “Thanks for the job offer, but you should really give it to the guy I’m currently dragging.”

Robin snickers at Steve’s offended huff as the two of you leave, before she starts trying to convince the manager to let Steve work there. From where you stand, it seems like a heated discussion. You try to lean closer, nosey, and while you’re distracted, Steve runs into a life-sized cardboard cutout of Phoebe Cates wearing a red bikini.

You flick his forehead, though you laugh as well. “In your dreams.”

“I can sleep right now and find out–”

“I will flick you again.”

“A kiss is preferred, but whatever.”

–

When the Byers move, you spend the entire day fighting back tears as you help them pack.

You spent the night in Jonathan’s room, both of you dreading the morning to come. Neither of you had slept, instead spending the entire night taking turns sharing your favorite memories together. The day you met. The time a dog chased you. When Jonathan mistook your sweater for his and wore it to school. Late night drives. Movie nights with your brothers. You relive it all that night.

As the morning sunlight began to stream into Jonathan’s room, the warmth the memories brought started to fade away. Slowly, as the sun rose, you and Jonathan packed his room. You helped him organize his vinyl's, sort through his mixtapes. When he isn’t looking, you steal a few t-shirts and flannels from his closet. He won’t notice they’re gone until he’s halfway to California.

When it gets too much, seeing all of Jonathan’s life dwindling down to only a few boxes, you wander into the living room and help Joyce pack as well. She sees the tears in your eyes and gives you things to do, but eventually you can’t take it anymore. You go into Will’s room, and it’s the same. You cry, he cries with you, and it’s bittersweet. The rooms empty, the boxes grow.

El’s room is the hardest to pack, she has so few items to call her own, and you’re both silent as you move through the room together.

With each box that you tape full of things you grew up with, you feel a piece of your childhood being packed away as well. The plates you used to eat off of, the books you used to bring from your job, the toys you passed down to Will. It’s all there, pieces of you frozen in time.

As you tape a box labeled “games” in Jonathan’s messy handwriting, you hear Max and Lucas singing in the living room. The sound makes you smile. It’s one of Max’s better days, she’s teasing Dustin for singing with Suzie, and she’s in a good mood. The rest of the party keeps her occupied. The kids all arrived as early as Joyce allowed them to, Nancy and Mike were the first to knock on the door.

You place the box next to the others and walk towards Jonathan’s room. He’s leaning against its door frame with Nancy beside him, and you join them. You stare at the empty room, the one you’ve called your second home ever since you were twelve. It hurts, seeing it stripped of everything.

All of Jonathan’s boxes are in the living room, filled with the things that make him who he is. There’s a drawer in your room of things Jonathan has left over the years, and you’re never giving them back. They’re all you have left of him.

You and Jonathan take in his barren room, and you sigh against the door frame. “It’s so… empty.”

Nancy crosses her arms. “Is that everything?”

“I guess so,” Jonathan stuffs his hands in his pockets. His room feels cold somehow, its emptiness devoids it of the warmth it once had. He can still hear your laughs echoing in the floorboards, he can still smell your perfume that clings onto the walls. There’s scuff on the closet door from the time the two of you thought it’d be a good idea to play blind-folded baseball in the small room.

Jonathan steps into his room, taking it all one last time. The sunlight from his window illuminates his silhouette, making him appear even smaller within the room. “Seventeen years of my life… packed up in one day.”

His voice is melancholic, his body is sad. You nudge Nancy, nod your head in Jonathan’s direction, urging her to go after him. She nods, understands that you’re telling her to say goodbye, giving them the space to do so. She smiles at you appreciatively.

You do it because they love each other, but selfishly a part of you leaves because you can’t say goodbye just yet.

“Thank you,” she whispers, following after Jonathan.

You find El as she’s leaving Joyce’s room. She’s holding a piece of paper, clutched closely to her chest. There are tears in her eyes, though you know better than to ask why. It’s a sad day for everyone, you’ll let her grieve on her own. However, that doesn’t stop you from pulling the girl into a fierce hug.

“I’ll miss you so much, sweetheart.” You mumble, kissing the top of her head. “I don’t know who’s going to paint my nails now.”

El laughs through her tears and holds you tight. “I can ask Mike to.”

You kiss her head again, close your eyes, and pray to whoever is above that this girl will stay who she is forever. That she will never change. Her kindness is genuine, her joy is admirable. All her life she only knew cruelty, and yet she still came out of it so full of love. “I’d love to hear how that goes.”

“I will write you,” El promises, and you nod eagerly at her. She pulls you in for one last hug before finally releasing you to go see Joyce.

The woman greets you with a tired smile when you walk into her room. She’s kneeling on the floor, folding clothes. They’re baggier than what she normally wears, darker, and you finally realize that they’re Hopper’s.

A lump forms in your throat. She shouldn’t be doing this alone, packing away the remnants of his life. “Here, let me help.”

Joyce accepts, and together you sit in comfortable silence as you go through the clothes Hopper left behind. They still smell like him, old cigarettes and whiskey. It’s a nostalgic scene, a part of you wishes you could keep one of his shirts. He had been dear to you, regardless of the constant bickering you faced with him.

“I don’t blame you, you know.” Joyce speaks softly next to you, catching your attention. “At all.”

You look up at her, sucking in a breath. “I don’t… I don’t know what you mean, Mrs. Byers.”

“The guilt, honey.” She places a hand on your arm, gentle as she always is with you. “I know you blame yourself for what happened to Will, but you shouldn’t. You have to let go of it. I want…” Joyce pauses, looks into your eyes the way a mother does to her daughter. “I want you to promise me that you’ll live the life that you deserve, because you’ve spent half of your life making sure my boys lived the lives that they deserved. Can you do that for me?”

“I…” You’re crying, you don’t know what to say. For years you’ve carried the guilt of Will’s disappearance, and for even longer you’ve done everything you could to ensure that he was loved. That Jonathan was loved. Never once had it felt like a burden to you, but Joyce’s words undoes something in you. “I promise.”

Joyce pulls you into her arms and hugs you, tears in her own eyes. She strokes your hair, hugs you as she’s always done since you were a little girl. She echoes the final words that Hopper told you. “You’re the best of them.”

You’re not sure how long you cry in Joyce’s arms, but when she soothes you and wipes your tears away, she tells you to go find Will. They’re leaving soon, he’ll want to see you, and you wish the woman one final goodbye before going to find her son.

Will ends up being in the hallway, you find him just after he’s said goodbye to Mike. You note the longing in his eyes, the uncertainty in his posture as his friend leaves. There’s a wistful look on his face, one that you once had on your own when Jonathan was around. Even if Will may not know yet, you do.

“Hey, little bee.”

He turns around, the softness in his eyes when he sees you makes you homesick. “Y/N!”

Will buries his face in your chest, and you hug him just as tightly back. He’s grown so much since you first met him. He’s no longer the shy little boy who had been afraid of his own shadow, and you can’t believe you won’t get to finish watching him grow up. “I swear, you’re going to be taller than me next time I see you. Won’t be able to call you little bee anymore.”

“I’ll always be your little bee,” Will squeezes you tighter, afraid to let go of you.

“Good,” you ruffle his hair, making him to laugh. “I’ll miss you, but I’m sure you already know that.”

“I’ll miss you, too.” Will’s voice is wet, more tears come. He pulls away from you, he looks as if he wants to say something, but he stops himself. As if he’s afraid of something.

You frown. “Hey, what is it?”

“I’m scared,” The words rush from his mouth. “What if… What if I don’t make any friends?” He lowers his voice, looks around nervously, before trusting to say the words out loud to you. “I–I’m different, Y/N.”

Will’s fear hurts you to see, you wish you could do more, promise him that it will all be okay, but you can’t. Instead, all you can do is kiss his cheek and hope he can feel all the love you have for him within it. All you can do is remind him that you will love him through it all. “You’re the bravest kid I know. I have no doubt that you’ll be fine. I mean, you’ll have Jonathan and El with you, but if you ever need me, I’m just a phone call away. I love you, and that will never change.”

You stroke the boy’s cheek with your finger, and he leans into the gentle touch. “I’m rooting for you, always.”

Will squeezes you tight when he hugs you for the last time. He thanks you, his body relaxes into yours, and you know that in the end he’ll be okay. He’s a brilliant kid, he’s been through more than anyone else his age ever has. He’s resilient, his kindness is his strength, you just hope that he can recognize that himself one day.

As you pull away from the hug, Will’s eyes catch on someone, you turn around. It’s Jonathan, standing by the front door, waiting for you.

It’s time to say goodbye.

Taking a deep breath, you walk towards him, and Jonathan takes your hand and guides you to the porch outside. Everyone else is still inside, packing. You sit side by side in silence, absorbing the final remaining moments alone with each other. Saying goodbye to your childhood best friend leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

A ladybug crawls on a leaf next to you, a bee flies past you and lands on a sunflower nearby, and a bird chirps in the blue sky above. You rest your head on Jonathan’s shoulder, he presses a kiss to your temple. Your fingers interlock and the cool September air surrounds you.

“I made you something,” Jonathan breathes out, clears his throat. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a mixtape, its front covered with a piece of paper listing all the songs on it. “I, uh, used the money I won from the betting pool to make it. Dustin was pretty annoyed with me for winning.”

You snort at the image of your brother berating your friend for winning a betting pool about how long it’d take Steve to ask you out. Taking the mixtape from Jonathan, you read the songs. There’s eight songs on it, the first one being a Beatles song from your childhood; you don’t know how Jonathan knew that. Though most of them are familiar, the writing on the paper is old, faded with age. “How long have you been making this?”

Jonathan looks away from you and swallows. “A while, I guess. Listen to it after I leave, okay? That way, if you hate it, I’ll never have to know.” His demeanor is odd, there’s something he’s not telling you, but it’s your last day with him. You leave it alone for now, not wanting to ruin it.

“You’re not allowed to find a new best friend.” You tell him instead, the silence becoming too much to bear. It’s a joke, though truthfully you don’t want Jonathan to find another best friend. He’s supposed to be yours, only yours, and you’re supposed to be his.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Jonathan lets out a soft laugh, and you’re going to miss feeling the way his body moves as he does so. He sucks in a breath, releases it slowly, and shakes his head. “I mean, we were kids together, bug.”

You start to cry, and he does as well. You’ve never had to say goodbye to each other before. Not like this. The two of you sit on the porch of Jonathan’s childhood home and cry. You cry into his neck, he buries his face into your hair, and it’s all so unfair.

Jonathan touches his forehead to yours. You look into his eyes and know that your childhood will always live within him, and his within you. Jonathan brings his finger up to your bee necklace, his ladybug ring knocks against the pendant. The jewelry glistens in the sunlight.

“Bee, we were more than just kids together.”

And it’s true. You were everything together. Now, you have to figure out how to be everything while apart.

–

The last of the boxes are placed in the moving van. Everyone is crying, you’re all gathered around one another, hugging and saying goodbye.

You hold El tight and whisper good luck to her. You remind Will that everything will be okay, knowing how scared he’s been of high school and remorseful that he has to do it all alone. The kids all cry as they share the final hugs, Jonathan and Nancy cry as they hold one another. Everyone says goodbye, and you watch them with tears in your eyes. You turn to Joyce to kiss her cheek, but she grabs your arm instead.

“Remember what you promised me, okay?” She catches your eye, makes sure you hear what she’s telling you. “Live the life that you deserve.”

“I will,” you exhale, and she seems content with that. Joyce hugs you, kisses your cheek, and you tell her to drive safe as she gets into the van.

Jonathan stands by his car, waiting for you, and you pull the boy into your arms. He crashes against you, clutches you to his chest, and you breathe him in one final time. “I’ll always love you the most, bee.”

“And I’ll always love you the most, bug.”

Joyce drives away first, El in the van with her, before Jonathan and Will follow. The car pulls out of its driveway one final time, and you hold Nancy’s hand as you both cry. Slowly, their cars fade into the distance, and one by one the kids hop on their bikes and pedal away. No one wants to stay, the empty house feels too permanent, solemn. Eventually Nancy gets into her own car, wishing you a quiet goodbye, until it’s just you and your brother standing in front of the house.

Dustin stays beside you, as he always does, and you take a deep breath. Nothing will ever be the same again.

You take one last look at the Byers home, the house you grew up in and discovered pure love and joy and naivety in, and inhale the final scent of your childhood. Dandelions are in bloom, its yellow surrounds the home, soon they will wilt and its seeds will litter the sky

Joyce’s words ring in your head.

It’s time to live the life that you deserve. You’re on your own now, though you know that really you aren’t. Dustin is next to you, Steve and Robin are waiting at your house with movies stolen from work because they knew how hard today would be. Your mother has your favorite cookies ready and waiting for you. Mike and the others have already planned their first letter to Will.

The charm bracelet from the party and Steve is cool against your wrist.

You’re no longer the scared, angry twelve year old you had been when you first moved to Hawkins. You’re loved, you have so many incredible people in your life who now get to watch you grow up into someone new.

Slowly, you exhale your childhood, with a single promise of keeping it within you forever. To live the life that Joyce has told you that you deserve.

And you believe her.

[END OF SEASON THREE]

⌑ series masterlist

⌑ if youd like to buy me a coffee ☕︎

⌑ thank you for reading ! feel free to like, comment, reblog, or send in an ask so we can chat <3

#steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things rewrite #slowburn #angst #nya #m's writing #WE HERE !!!!#ONE MORE CHAPTER LEFT #THEN WE ONTO FOUR !!!

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vanyatas · 11 months ago

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TICCI TOBY HCS

GENERAL HCS:

Midwest emo.

But in a more silly way if you feel me chat

6’0.

Very sweet, He’s still a bit younger than the rest of the creeps so i still feel like he has a bit of joy and whimsy

Gash on his cheek from chewing through it.

Cannibalistic tendencies.

Soft, brown, messy hair, goes down to his neck but keeps it medium length on the top.

Operator mark on his ribs.

Car seat headrest(LMFAOOO), Angels and Airwaves, Weezer, Ptv, Modern Baseball, American Football, Sorority Noise, Origami Angel, Title Fight, Mom Jeans, No Pressure enjoyer.

Chews on his hands and finger tips

Wears leather gloves to avoid this

Def has BPD

Even if he’s sweet, because he has this ^ his mood can be set off immediately.

Piercings. Double eyebrow and a septum, ears as well.

Gets them done to see if he likes them, Will probably take them out a second later if he thinks it doesn’t look right.

BROWN EYESSS PLSS DO YALL FEEL ME!! I see him having very dark brown ones.

Skinnier, But by god does he have muscles regardless!! nothing too toned, but he’s definitely built from well. being a killer and having to chase and do crazy shit.

Stutters yes.

Autistic, PTSD, Tourette’s, Tics, CIPA, and Schizophrenia!! Keeping it 90% og still.

Also attention starved, It gets to him severely that Masky is The Operators favorite.

They’re still friends. Along with Jeff, EJ, BEN and Hoodie.

Hoodie and him don’t talk a lot.

ROMANTIC HCS:

A little awkward.

After all Clockwork was his first girlfriend.

They ended on good terms but I digress.

Even if he’s anxious and awkward, He is trying his best to try to flirt and show he likes you.

It might fail 50% of the time and he just apologizes and fast walks away to scream at himself for fucking it up.

Mid-Dating he might be a little fucking scared to even kiss you.

Will look at u with his autistic eyes until he either just walk away with a hot face or if you take the initiative to kiss him first.

Probably feel melt and blow up if you kiss him without him asking or staring.

Any compliments will make him stim I’d like to think.

Get excited to tell you about anything.

If you reciprocate, a burst of ‘i love you so much’ and more rants about the things he likes.

Once he’s settled in enough he will be at your door every night to sleep with you.

Cuddles omg, the amount of physical affection you will receive once he’s comfortable enough is crazy.

Plays with your hair, scratches at your scalp.

MAKES A MIXTAPE FOR YOU.

He would love to do the trend where you buy nail polish of each others eye color n paint it on your nails, or buy gemstones to make bracelets.

Might carve your initials into the wood of his hatchets when you guys are together for while.

Cups your face before he kisses you.

WILL burrow his face into any part of you.

Show him new music and he will listen to it everyday to memorize it for you.

can i go to ellie and mason. HOUSE 💜

also it might be obvious i have a favorite.. 100% listened to don’t you dare forget the sun writing this.

HUGEEE creds to bae (/plat) @kumcore !!

#ticci toby x reader #ticci toby x you #ticci toby #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta #creepypasta hcs #ticci toby headcanons

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courtingchaos · 1 year ago

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Crosstalk

Undesired signal leakage from one sound channel or track to another.

Playlist (if you wanna play along at home.)

Eddie Munson x Fem Reader

Prompt: Eddie - I really like the idea of making him a naughty tape full of audio recordings of you playing with yourself for when he's out of town and you can't be together for a few days. But it's a surprise so you pass it off as a regular old mixtape and he doesn't suspect a thing until the first two songs end and then the real stuff starts.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Masturbation, reader tattoo mention

A/N: I have a list in my notes of prompts and I don’t remember what ask this one came from originally so apologies for that.

18+ NSFW No Minors

Eddie digs through the bag he hastily packed that morning while the phone sits tucked between his cheek and his shoulder. “What kind of surprise is it? When did you even get it in here? Is it dirty?” He gasps into the receiver. He can feel you swatting his arm even from four hours away.

“It’s nothing wild, it’s just-“

His fingers close around something almost buried to the bottom and he fishes it out, slick plastic cassette case gleaming in the low motel light. “Did you make me a mixtape?”

“I told you it wasn’t anything wild.”

He knows you’re twirling your finger through the phone cord, your chin probably tucked into your collar in mild embarrassment.

“I love it.”

“Don’t uh, don’t go playing it for the guys though.”

“Oh so it is dirty.”

“No, I just don’t want them making fun of me for putting Linda Ronstadt on there three times.”

“Three? What are you, breaking up with me via music?” Eddie teases you while he reads the insert you lovingly wrote on, little hearts in the corners beside the 10 track listing.

“No! She’s just got a way with the language of love!” You whine into the phone and Eddie laughs.

“Okay, okay. I’ll keep it all to myself. Gives me something to listen to while I fall asleep.” Behind him the shower cuts off and he knows Gareth will be out to finish his tangent on getting bullied out of his terrible pizza toppings. “You gonna be okay if I let you go?”

“I won’t cry myself to sleep if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Oh shut up, I know you walk that widows peak night and day awaiting my return from…Detroit.”

“I don’t waste my time like that. I know you’re up to your armpits in groupies.”

Eddie looks around the old motel room and scoffs. “If you think four nerds are pulling groupies in the kind of room we have, I have a river to sell you.”

After saying goodnight five times and you finally hanging up on him being sappy he flings himself into the bathroom after Gareth and before Jeff and Frank get back with food. Four straight hours in a car with three other men makes him want to crawl out of skin so he watches the steam roll out from the behind the shower curtain with anticipation. Almost scalding water leaves red marks over his shoulders and down his chest, enough to make him feel clean again while he rinses his hair. He can hear muffled voices from the other side of the thin bathroom door and knows he’s been relegated to the small couch in their room.

“You know, it’d be nice to get the bed once in a while.” He says when he exits the bathroom and snatches two slices from the open box on the single king bed.

“If you didn’t try to spoon all of us we would.”

“Oh what, you bothered by a little cuddling?”

Gareth glares at Eddie hard and Jeff cracks up at the deep breath he takes in. “If it was just cuddling I wouldn’t think anything of it, but you turn into the world’s only land octopus! I’ve never been so sweaty in my life! I don’t know how your girl puts up with it, you’re a fucking radiator!”

“This is why I always take the cot.” Frank singsongs from said cot while watching the local news.

The bickering continues as Eddie makes his temporary bed on the too hard, too small couch and finally ends when Jeff just shuts off the lights. “I need everyone to shut the fuck up for the next five hours okay?”

Eddie only hums and fishes around for his headphones, cassette player tucked up under the blanket with him. With the tv flashing across the walls Eddie starts to drift off to the slow beat of “Blue Bayou”, a soft chuckle for your choice of intro, and by the end of it he’s almost out when he hears your voice.

“Okay, so uhm, this is actually your final warning to stop playing this for everyone because you never listen to me so I’m trying to save us both some face you ratfink.”

His eyes snap open in the dark and he pulls the player out from under the covers like it’ll tell him what’s going on.

“I’m pretty sure you’ll listen to me this time though if I put a warning on your mixtape.”

He slaps around beside him on the floor for the case and squints at it in the flashing tv lights to see if you wrote something he missed.

“Anyways though, I do miss you and I hope your show goes well. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there but there’s never much room in those motels, huh?”

He can tell you moved around while recording, the bumping of the tape deck clacking in his ears. He’s glad it’s dark so none of the guys give him shit for the blush he knows is dusting his cheeks.

“Hell, one day soon you’ll get your own room and then I can come out and I don’t have to do sappy shit like this.”

The recording cuts and jumps to Carly Simon’s “You Belong to Me” and Eddie can’t help but laugh and feel hollow at the same time. As small as this couch is it would be nice to feel your weight on top of him, your head smushed in next to his sharing headphones that might snap from overextension. The song cuts off a few notes early to shuffling sounds and then your strained voice.

“This is really hard to do one handed, I won’t lie, but I wasn’t just gonna whisper sweet nothings to you.”

One handed? He can barely make out your breathing but he can hear the gasp alongside your light laughter.

“I don’t know if you know this, and if you don’t I’m sure I’m just inflating your ego but-“

The long sigh that follows finally jogs his tired brain and keys him into what’s happening. He whips his head to the side to see the sleeping forms of the other three before he sits up and pays closer attention.

“You have amazing hands Eddie, and it isn’t just-ohhh-it isn’t just the guitar playing you know? You know just where that spot is. I think your fingers are longer, I don’t know.”

Suddenly Bonnie Raitt is in his ear and he’s fumbling for the buttons on the side of the player to fast forward because while he appreciates your mixtape skills, now is not the fucking time. You would make him wait through three more songs before he accidentally runs into the middle of your recording, a thin moan of his name that makes him stand and head for the bathroom.

“-and I just miss you a lot and you’ve only been gone f-for what, a day by the time you get this?”

His lighter clicks in the dark while juggles the tape player and his pack of cigarettes.

“You actually just left my place. We had dinner and I told you I wouldn’t fuck you because it’s like good luck or some shit. I heard boxers do it like that.”

You have a remarkable way of running your mouth while otherwise occupied, thoughts that zip between moans and even he has a hard time keeping up. In the bathroom he cracks the small window so he doesn’t set the smoke detector off and then locks the door behind him before turning the shower on full blast. When he finally sits on the edge of the tub he expects a little more from you before Bill Withers starts singing about missing sunshine and he has to fast forward again.

“You’d think I’d be a little embarrassed to do this but actually it’s-fuck-it’s kind of easier to rec-“

Eddie sucks on his cigarette until the cherry burns bright red and his lungs start screaming, the cut off voice in his ears lending to quiet sounds of your hand working fast to make your breath jump in your chest. He thinks about you probably laying on the floor of your tiny studio, right at the foot of your bed with that big boombox next to your head set to record. That pillow that’s too big for your tiny couch, the one that got relegated to a ‘floor pillow’, stuffed behind your head while your toes catch on the edge of your green rug as you try to brace yourself.

Eddie sits on the edge of the tub and breathes in his own exhaled smoke and chews on his lip till it goes almost numb. Sits there and listens to your gasps and whimpers, the far off wet slick of your fingers moving faster.

“You’d think…I was making you…a tape to send you off to war.” Your laugh is light, forced air before it chokes off on his name and he slides down to the cold tile floor. Cigarette tossed into the tub behind his head, he’ll fish the butt out of the drain when he’s done listening to your voice.

“Barely a long weekend and-and-ah shit!”

You’ve tranced him, hardly notices the dig of the tile against his bare skin, doesn’t give a shit that this floor is dirtier than he can imagine probably. He lets his vision fuzz with the steam filling the small bathroom so he can focus on your voice and try to picture you laid out in front of him. It’s just another lazy afternoon, weed haze ringing your apartment while he watches you from across the room.

“I miss you when you’re gone. It’s only four days but I miss you Eddie.”

Sitting on that tiny couch and mesmerized by the dance of your fingers over your own skin. Nails press lightly into lines of ink to trail up your thigh and over your hip, to press into the softness of your belly. You’d hold his gaze the whole time like a dare while your other hand kneaded at your chest. When those adventuring fingers finally dip between your thighs and you sigh so light, Eddie follows suit.

Through the headphones he can hear you closer now like your lips were pressed to his ear. Heavy pants and no more words, just breathing that stutters and climbs in pitch. He wastes no romance on himself, not here in this cramped bathroom, not when he can almost feel your breath hot and damp against his neck. With every hitch of your voice he speeds his hand up, didn’t even bother pulling his shorts down all the way. In his imagination you give him a chastising smile for it before your reddened eyes roll back into your skull on a moan and he uses both hands now, just like you would.

The next song started and ended maybe but his hair clings to him in the steam and his sweat. There’s a chord change he thinks that proceeds his stomach clenching and his thighs aching before it all cuts off with your loud moan. You must have slapped at the player too late, not catching all of your agonies for him. Not everything, sure, but the important part is there. Your voice chanting low as your pleasure ebbs, his name over and over until you giggle and gasp.

Soft hands, phantom and damp with arousal and sweat cup his face when he cums, the heel of his palm shoved into his mouth to stifle the high noises trying to escape his throat. The track clicks again back to music and it isn’t until Eddie hears Peter Frampton that he starts to crash back into reality.

“If I know you like I think I do, I’m sure you’re rolling your eyes at me.” You giggle again at the end of the cassette, satiated and melancholy. “I just wanted you to have a little something, though I am sorry I buried it all in some of the best love songs ever written.”

You leave him with an I love you and another I miss you and a little bit of a mess to clean up. In twenty minutes though, when he’s back on the couch having evaded being caught and sucking down another smoke, he falls asleep and dreams about that hazy afternoon he intends to give you when he gets home.

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson Fic #Eddie Munson x Reader #Eddie Munson Smut #Eddie Munson Fluff #My Fic #My Work

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allurearia · 1 year ago

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"I said I love the Smiths"

Where Mattheo tries to find the girl who said said she loved the Smiths.

I know I know the desc is very bad but I'm writing this at almost 4am 😭😭 the mattheo brainrot is real.

The quidditch season had just ended, crowing Slytherin as this season's winner. The Slytherin's of course taking this opportunity to throw the year-end party they weren't lying when they said it was going to be huge, even Gryffindor were invited just for their loss to be rubbed in their faces. Everyone's who's spent at least a year at Hogwarts knew that the Slytherin's throw some of the best party, alcohol and drugs were just the beginning of it.

Usually mattheo would join his friends at the main couch playing some sort of drinking game, but today he just wanted some peace, not even two hours had passed since Slytherin took the quidditch cup home, and they were already halfway through the party.

Mattheo was absolutely exhausted, only having to chance to shower, then directly being dragged to the party.

Mattheo quickly found solace at the corner of a table and put his wired headphones in, which were connected to a mixtape that Theo had gifted him for his birthday. Blocking out all the surrounding noise, Mattheo closed his eyes.

There is a light that never goes out - the smiths.

After a few seconds he hears faint sounds of glasses clinking, brushing it off as someone trying to get some drinks, he resumes being in his trance when suddenly with a tap on his shoulder brings him back to reality.

Mattheo quickly opens his eyes and pulls his headphones down, and the sight in front of him reveals that of a very pretty girl. He swore he's seen her in the bustling halls and somewhere he couldn't remember yet.

"I love the Smiths!"

"What?!"

"I said I love the smiths!! You know the whole if a double-decker buss that!"

"well actually i didn't mean to interrupt you but I could hear the the light that never goes out from your headphones!!" the girl shouted over the music

Mattheo swore he saw a twinkle in her eyes. He opened his mouth to say anything, someone he guessed to be her friend had shouted, which had caught her attention.

"Sorry, my friends need me good music taste though!!" She shouted over the loud music and quickly disappeared into the crowd. Mattheo still looking like a fish out of water was staring at the crowd of people hoping he would meet her again.

"What are you staring at?" Mattheo turns around to find Enzo presumably stacking up more food for the group. "Nothing, just spaced out" Mattheo quickly retorted.

"Okayyy you haven't joined us the entire night wann-"

"I'll be up in my dorm" Mattheo said, and he quickly sprinted towards the stairs, disappearing into the boys' dormitory. All he could think was how he was going to find her again.

"You guys are actually dumbasses, I told you not to drink so much last night" pansy said as she looked at almost all of her friends with droopy eyes and shoulders slumped down.

"Pansy, this was the party of the year, how could've we not gotten drunk??" Draco quickly retorted.

“Yea and we saw you last night you drank way more than the rest of us, my question is how are you not hungover??” Enzo says

“Apparently I was the only one smart enough to drink a hangover potion before I passed out”

Blaise quickly put an arm around pansy’s shoulder’s know how riled up she gets after a long night. “You blokes saw the way pansy was practically checking out lovegood last night?” Draco said, Theo finally plucked his face up from the table, suddenly very interested in the conversation.

“Pansy wasn’t the only one ogling someone last night, isn’t that right, mattheo?” Enzo perked up, nudging mattheo who shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about” mattheo replied with slight flushed cheeks.

“Oh come on, I noticed the way you were eyeing Y/n from that brooding corner of yours”

y/n? So that's her name

“Wait Y/n as in the Y/n Y/L/N the one we have history of magic with??” Pansy questioned

Now he remembered why she looked so familiar.

“Since when is riddle so whipped for a girl, huh?” Draco asked, Blaise nodded while everyone’s attention was shifted to the onyx eyed man.

“You lot are ridiculous” mattheo said as he got up and strutted down to the exit of the great hall. Just as he turned to the courtyard he caught a glimpse of those familiar eyes, it was a look he knew all too well having experienced it just last night.

He quickly changed his course, his steps quickening as to not lose her again.

“Hey smiths girl”

#slytherin boys #slytherin #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo x y/n #mattheo x you #mattheoxreader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x y/n

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staylovesmiley · 6 months ago

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Mixtape: OH~ Chapter 1

₊˚⊹ᰔ Pairing; Han Jisung x Fem!reader

₊˚⊹ᰔ ₊˚⊹ᰔ Summary; Having a crush on your friend/roommate while trying to navigate college life is hard enough as it is, what happens after you find out the secret he has been hiding?

₊˚⊹ᰔ ₊˚⊹ᰔ ₊˚⊹ᰔ Warnings; college!au, female!reader, angst, smut, mentions of sexual harassment, alcohol and drug use, she/her pronouns used for reader, this is very loosely based off the overall themes/tones of the manga and anime “kiss him, not me!”~

“So…you gonna buy it?”

Soft chocolate brown eyes flit around the room, his honey skin flushed lightly caused by the cider he had been nursing throughout the night.

“Ya know what? Sure- gotta take down Minnie-opolis one property at a time.”

Cool condensation wets your palm due to the cold glass of cola you sip on while you listen to the chatter of your friends around you, not fully paying attention to anything but the man sitting so close beside you on the floor that your thighs are pressed together.

“Pay up then, baldie!”

“oh that was so uncalled for! I still have hair, ya know! It’s just buzzed.”

“Yeah, you look like a kiwi fruit.”

An exchange of flimsy paper money for a piece of card stock printed with the property being purchased is made across the coffee table and a moment later there is a shout that draws everyone’s attention, well….almost everyone.

“Ya! Don’t think I didn’t see that, you little cheat! That money is supposed to go in the bank not your personal stash!”

Playful argumentative yelling bounces off the walls of the small apartment belonging to two of your dearest friends, ending with a little metal playing piece being thrown and the sound of it making contact with its target as a loud shout sounds to your left.

“Okay okay someone else please be the banker?? We can’t trust this dog with such an important task, the power is going to his head.”

A tongue licks over a plump bottom lip after the bottle of cider is finally finished off, a soft clink sounding as it is placed gently on top of the table. God you wished it was your tongue instead.

“Uh- hellooo? Earth to Winnie??” You startle slightly, the sound of your nickname jolting you out of your trance as you turn to see Jeongin eyeing you expectantly from across the table, blush fanning over your cheeks as you realize they had been trying to get your attention for a while.”Sorry, Innie…think I’m starting to get sleepy.” You say, playing off your lack of attention with what you hope is a convincing yawn and a little stretch of your arms and shoulders. “You wanna call it a night? We do have class in the morning-“ Jisung whispers from your right, hand coming to rest on your thigh and the warmth you feel from the contact makes your brain feel fuzzy.

“Uh- yeah, maybe that’s a good idea. Sorry guys-“ You reply sheepishly as you move to rise from your spot on the floor. Your best friend is giving you a knowing look, smirking as he nudges your other best friend to his left and you mentally groan as Celine stifles a giggle and turns to whisper something to a confused looking Chris who’s eyes widen after she pulls away with his mouth making a little ‘o’ before he nods in understanding.

“Night guys! Gotta drive the lightweight home and pray he doesn’t have too bad of a hangover in the morning.” You tease, bumping your shoulder lightly against your roommates as he whines. “Ya- I’m not that much of a lightweight anymore!” He complains though you know it’s all for fun. The two of you say your goodbyes to your friends before heading out and down the wooden steps to your car parked a few spaces down from the exit of the old apartment complex.

Your roommate, Han Jisung, slips into the passenger seat as you enter on the drivers side. With your foot on the break you push the start button and the engine roars to life while your passenger princess eagerly turns his heated seat on max and cozies up against the leather material before buckling himself in. “We could have stayed a little longer if you had wanted to, ya know…I could have gone and crashed in Celine and Chris’s room for an hour or two to let you all finish the game-“ The man is quick to shake his head at your admission, giving you a warm smile as you start to back up from the parking space.

“Nah, you and I both know the second your head hit that pillow your ass wouldn’t be up until morning and you’d be late to class having to double back and grab your book bag from home.” You sigh in defeat, knowing full well he is right. “No fair- you know all my bad habits by now you shouldn’t be allowed to call me out like that.” He chuckles and leans his head against the cool pain of the window while looking over at you to watch as your focus lays on the road ahead. “No can do, my baby. It’s cause I know you so well that I have the privilege and duty to call you out.” You groan, hearing him call you his baby always makes you weak and really you shouldn’t let it go to your head too much as just last week he was calling Hyunjin in the same way as you both met in the quad before grabbing a quick lunch in between classes.

You had met Jisung two years ago, at the beginning of freshman year when your friend Celine had introduced you to her new boyfriend Chris and his slowly growing group of friends. The two of you had instantly hit it off and after years of feeling like an outcast despite your two best friends always being by your side you finally felt like you had found somewhere you belonged. Your crush on the slightly older man didn’t happen until after you had moved in together your second year of college as you had both been desperate to get out of the dormitories and into a proper apartment.

It was simple, really. The way he would brush his hand against your lower back gently as he passed by while you were cooking a meal or washing the dishes, giving you a soft smile and muttering an apology as you both maneuvered in your impossibly tiny kitchen. You always felt a blush creeping up your neck and to the tips of your ears when he gave you one of those smiles, big boba eyes looking so soft and apologetic you couldn’t help but step aside to make his exit a bit easier despite wishing he would touch you again in such a soft manner. Your feelings for him only deepened over time, though you would never admit it to him. You couldn’t admit it to him, despite Celine insisting that Chris said your roommate was obviously down bad for you as well. His evidence? The way he would always cut their producing sessions short the second your location showed that you had arrived home, the way he would light up at the mention of you or when he would be in the spare room of Chris and Celine’s apartment and both of you girls would pop in to say high after a girls day out, or how he hadn’t changed his phone’s lockscreen from the picture Jeongin had taken of the two of you in the living room of your then brand new apartment, boxes of your belongings stacked haphazardly around the surrounding space as you both held up your keys with cheesy grins that made your cheeks feel sore after it was taken.

You were not convinced, however, your bad brain telling you that no one as charming and charismatic as Han Jisung could ever feel more than a platonic connection with you.

Even now as you entered your small two bedroom apartment just outside of campus, dropping your keys in the bowl by the front door and slipping off your shoes as Jisung did the same with a slight stumble as even though he’d only had the one drink he was such a lightweight it still had an effect on him.

You made your way inside with your arm loosely around his waist under the guise of helping him steady himself. Jisung allowed it, head coming to rest on your shoulder as you made it to his door. “Winnie, baby?” He cooed softly, looking up at you with big brown eyes that always melted you into a puddle under their gaze. “Yes, Ji?” You said softly, pulling away to look at him just as soft. “Do you um-“ he started, looking between you and his door a few times giving you the impression he was going to ask you to stay the night in his room.

It wasn’t uncommon for the two of you to fall asleep in one of your beds, snuggled up on nights after a long study session or when either of you needed an extra bit of comfort after receiving a bad grade. You nodded to him, trying to not seem too eager as he looked down at his feet. “Do you want to stop by the cafe on campus before class tomorrow morning?” You paused, trying to hide the disappointment you were feeling with a smile and small nod. “Y-Yeah, Ji. That sounds like a good idea.” He looked back at you with a bright smile before opening his door. “Sweet! Okay- I’ll see you in the morning then.” You giggled a bit, nodding to him as you turned to head for your own room. “Don’t over sleep too much or we won’t be able to go to the cafe without being late.” You called out to him before closing yourself in your room.

You sighed, the darkness of the room surrounding you as your eyes slowly adjusted. It was silly to be so upset at not being asked to sleep in your roommate’s bed, as if you had any claim on the space. You carefully got dressed into an oversized hoodie and pair of sleep shorts before laying down and grabbing a make up wipe from your bedside table to haphazardly remove the small traces you had worn that night before pulling your spare pillow to your chest. If you couldn’t fall asleep with the beautiful musical theory major in your arms then this would have to do until you maybe one day worked up the courage to tell him how you felt.

The smell of deli pickles and the loud sound of the latest pop hits surrounded you as you poked around at your salad absentmindedly while Jeongin sat across from you ranting about something your professor had left a comment about on his most recent assignment. You were too busy thinking about how earlier that morning Jisung had come up behind you in the quad in between classes and wrapped his arms around your waist with his head rested on your own while you had been talking with Felix and Jeongin about the party that was happening later that evening.

The musician had lit up as he pulled back to look at you in surprise. “Wait- you’re going to Junnie-hyung’s party too? I thought you said those were too loud and crowded.” He pouted, arms giving you a squeeze before falling limp at his sides. “Well I wasn’t gonna go but Lix insists I need to get out of the house more than our normal game nights with the crew.”

He still held the pout on his lips, arms crossing over his chest. “But if you’re going to the party who’s gonna stay in and watch dramas with me and listen to me complain about the lead girl picking the wrong guy??” He said with a little whine, one hand coming to hold your bicep and you felt your resolve cracking. Maybe you should just stay in after all with your crush instead of going out to a party you’d most likely get overstimulated at and wish you were at home anyways. That’s when Felix perked up and bounced over to wrap his arms around Jisung with excitement. “Well then you should just come with us!” The musician groaned as he let the slightly younger engineer squeeze him before shaking their bodies dramatically. “Come ooon it’ll be fun! Please?” You gave him a small smile, and that’s all it took for Jisung to agree.

“Hello? Winnie- Are you even paying attention?” Jeongin huffed, popping a fry in his mouth as you looked up from your salad to give him a bashful smile. “Sorry, innie- was trying to figure out what I’m gonna wear to the party tonight…” You felt his smirk on you before you saw it and you whined, knowing what he was about to say before he even spoke. “Why? Trying to impress a certain someone?” He teased lightly as he took a bite of his sandwich. “No- just…there are gonna be a lot of people there so I wanna look nice.” You shrugged, taking a bite of your salad while your companion gave you an exasperated look. “Stop playing around, it’s just the two of us here. Anyways, it’s not like everyone isn’t already aware of your little crush but him.” Jeongin comments as he finishes off half of his sandwich and goes in for a bite of the second half. “Still- you act like my world revolves around pleasing Jisung.” You mumbled, eating a piece of chicken out of your salad as you thought for real this time about what you should wear to the party. “Will you help me pick something out? You’re way better at this than I am.” Jeongin smirked, nodding his head enthusiastically. “You’re giving me a chance to dress you up? Hell yeah. I’ve been dying to do something about your wardrobe situation for a while.” You gasped at him playfully while picking a fry off his place to throw at him. “Are you saying I don’t have style?!” He laughed, picking up the fry you threw from the table to pop it in his mouth before answering. “You have the style of an eighty year old grandmother with those cardigans you always wear.” You rolled your eyes before continuing with your meal. “Besides, gotta make you look hot so maybe you’ll finally grow the balls to tell Hanji how you feel.” Your eyes widened at that. It’s like he could read your mind- how you had been thinking of using this party as a way to gain the confidence to confess. The two of you finished your meal in relative silence, chatting here or there about class before finishing up and making your way back to campus for the rest of your day.

The bass was loud, as expected, the floor beneath your feet practically vibrating as the drink in your hand left a bitter taste on your tongue but you continued to sip at it in hopes it would blur the anxiety edging in your mind. Jeongin had done a wonder on you, dressing you in a lacy black cropped cami you completely forgot you had purchased and a miniskirt with a red floral pattern you normal would have worn under thick tights but tonight he had handed you a pair of fishnets you knew you did not own prior and he had to have brought them with him. You had to fight him on allowing you to wear a plain black cardigan, insisting that the cool autumn air would freeze you to death without it.

You made your way through the crowds carefully as to not spill your drink on yourself or others as you were already starting to feel a nice buzz when you happened to run into the man of the hour, your friend Yeonjun who was now the chapter president of the fraternity who’s party you were attending. “Winnie! Oh my god I didn’t think you’d actually come!” He exclaimed excitedly as he pulled you into a warm hug, patting you on the back lightly as he pulled away. “Well I wasn’t going to but Felix made a compelling argument-“ you giggled, tucking some of your hair behind your ear as he reached for the drink in your hand. “Whatcha got here?” You made to stop him before he tipped it back and made a face like he was going to spit it out. “What the hell was that?! Who gave you that?” He groaned, taking your hand firmly before dragging you towards the kitchen. “Wooyoung mixed it up- no clue what he put in there but he swore it’d be good.” The older man scoffed as you leaned against the counter while he poured your cup out and began making something new for you to drink. “Figures. That dude has no taste- I’m sure he’d drink nail polish remover if he thought it would give him a buzz.” You laughed, taking the drink he offered you with a thanks before taking a sip and sighing in relief. “Better?” He asked, an amused smile playing at the corner of his mouth and you nodded. “Much, thank you again.”

You stayed talking with Yeonjun in the kitchen for a while, catching up with him before he was pulled away by another member of his fraternity to play some drinking game you weren’t too knowledgeable. By the time you found another familiar face you were pleasantly intoxicated with yet another drink to sip on being thrust into your hand by an equally as intoxicated Hyunjin. “You look hot, Winnie bear.” He said with a smirk and a nudge to your hip with his own. You heard a chorus of agreement from the rest of your friends around you causing a blush to fan across your cheeks. “It’s all thanks to Innie! He deserves the credit.” You said, trying to take the attention off of yourself and thankfully it worked somewhat as the conversation naturally drifted off and you were able to sip your drink and listen in as your mind wandered until you could feel someone’s gaze burning into you.

Jisung. He was staring at you with an unreadable expression as he sipped at the drink in how own hand. The colorful flash of the strobe lights in the living room illuminated his honeyed skin in a way that mesmerized you and you swallowed hard before stumbling up to him. His hand came to your waist instantly as he let out a light chuckle. “Woah there, careful baby.” You blushed, feeling a bit embarrassed but the feeling of his hand still resting on the dip of your waist spurred you on as well as the earlier gassing up of your attire that evening. “You were staring, Hanji~” You sing songed to him, giggling a bit as you looked up into his eyes adoringly. He blinked a few times before shaking his head. “Just making sure you’re alright. You don’t usually come to these and you seem to be pretty drunk.” Jisung teased, poking your cheek though he pulled his finger away quickly as you turned to bite it playfully.

“You are so sweet, Ji…always looking out for me.” You cooed, head coming to rest on his shoulder as he wrapped an arm around you to steady you against him. “Well I-“ he started but you cut him off quickly. “And you’re always so pretty…prettiest man I’ve ever seen.” He blushed now, though you could barely see it under the still flashing lights in the room. The bass still booming around you caused you to feel hazy and the smell of his cologne would have been intoxicating alone without all of the alcohol you had consumed. “Have you seen Lee Minho?” He asked, obviously trying to tease but his voice seemed a little bewildered as he looked down at you curiously. “Han Jisung just take the damn compliment!” You pouted, stomping your foot in playful annoyance causing him to laugh. “Okay that’s enough alcohol for you, you are acting silly.” He said, gently taking your cup from you and sitting it down. “Noo no I’m having a good time! I’m with a pretty boy and I’m at a party and I feel greaaat~!” You stumbled more as you tried to leave his side to grab your drink but his arm tightened around you until your chests were flush together.

You both stood there for a moment with wide eyes staring at each other, and something seemed to possess you as you slowly started to lean in. You were gonna do it, gonna finally kiss the plush lips of the gorgeous man you had been living with for the past year and a half. Just as you were inches from impact his hands moved to your shoulders and he took a step back. “Alright, really you are being silly now. Let’s go find Channie-hyung and get him to take us home, yeah?” You sighed, feeling defeated as you nodded and let him take your hand and lead you to where Chris and Celine were sitting making out on the couch. Fuck your life, that couldn’t have gone any worse.

It was a few weeks after your drunken attempt at kissing your roommate that you were sat across from him in the library studying for your respective classes while quietly snacking on the grapes you had packed for the stuffy session.

Neither of you had spoken about that night much, besides Jisung teasing you about the massive hangover you had the next day. Nothing had seemed to change, and you were grateful for that. Jisung didn’t treat you any differently, probably assuming you trying to kiss him was only due to your intoxicated state and not any underlying feelings you’ve had for him since moving in together. You felt like you could breathe easy with that thought comforting your nerves.

Just as you were popping another grape into your mouth your roommate stood with a stretch of his likely sore muscles from sitting folded up in an uncomfortable library chair for the past few hours. “I’m gonna take a bathroom break, yeah? Don’t slack off without my moral support while I’m gone.” He teased, giving you a wink as he turned and made his way to the far end of the building where the restrooms were located. You hummed to yourself one of the tracks Jisung had played for you earlier, asking your opinion on the tune although you knew next to nothing about music in comparison to the prodigy he was. You both had a shared sociology class that you had been studying for a test together for the past hour and you got to a spot you knew he took some good notes for. He wouldn’t mind if you just..took a look at them while he was gone, right? Surely not. You know if you asked him he’d willingly turn them over anyway so it shouldn’t be an issue to just take a peek. You got up from your spot and took his seat before carefully scanning over what he had open on his laptop.

her moans echoed off the walls as his hand traveled lower, caressing her body in a way that drove her mad as he pressed he back firmly against the wet tile of the shower wall.

Oh. These were definitely not the notes for class. What even was he working on? Probably some fanfiction for one of his beloved dramas or animes. You giggled a bit and continued to read, your curiosity getting the better of you and also maybe you could get an idea of what he was into this way.

Gently he pushed a finger inside, the wetness from her arousal and the steady stream of water flowing down their bodies making the slide easy. His forehead rested against her own as she gasped. “J-Jeongin~”

Wait- what?! Jeongin. As in….Yang Jeongin? Your Yang Jeongin? Yang Jeongin who grew up in the same neighborhood as you, whose mother was your mother’s best friend in college. Jeongin who for the first few years of your life you were convinced was your cousin and even your parents couldn’t tell you that you weren’t. Why was Jisung writing explicit stories about him- what even was this?! Still, you continued to read until your eyes caught something that confused you even more.

”oh Winnie, so wet for me already? I’ve barely touched you.” He chuckled darkly as he began pumping his finger in a slow rhythm before adding a second and picking up the pace.

You- you’re Winnie….no- what is even happening right now?! Your roommate who is one of your best friends, that you have had a crush on for a year, is writing….smut about you and your childhood best friend? You shake your head, unable to fully wrap your mind around what you just read but then your eyes widen as you hear Jisung singing along to some song that had been playing in the car earlier that day and getting scolded by the librarian as he made his way back to you. Shit.

You scramble back to your seat, heart racing as you try to seem nonchalant like you hadn’t just read that Jisung was writing about one of your closest friend’s finger blasting you in the shower. “Hey baby, miss me?” He teased, taking his seat and casually placing his headphones back around his neck. “Haha yeah definitely- you have those notes from Mr. Lewis’ class? I’m stuck and you always have better notes-“ You feel sweat beading at the back of your neck from the adrenaline, worrying in the back of your mind that you will get caught for snooping. “You got it, baby.” He coos, pushing a notebook your way and you curse yourself in your mind that of course he wouldn’t have notes on his computer but in one of the millions of notebooks he kept on his person. “Thanks, Ji.” You breathe out, trying to keep calm as you attempt to get back to work.

What the actual fuck was that.

author’s note; happy birthday to meee~~ it’s currently 12:36am Jan13th and I’m officially half fifty ꒰ᐢ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ᐢ꒱⸒⸒ hope you all enjoyed the first chapter~~ this is just the beginning hehehe

taglist; (pink users I wasn’t able to tag) @chancloud8 @iknow-uknow-leeknow @extremechaoswarning @jisunglyricist @imeverycliche

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