#vintage mock neck

[susoriginals]

Vintage Red Strawberry Pink Mock Neck Sweater Pullover by Great Lakes Recreation Small Size 7/8 only $4.99

[heich0e]

mini skirt + high neck jumper is forever the elite autumn fit combo and it would take an act of god to change my mind

[fyrewalks]

october prompts - 03. boots

kate has boots in every style, every color, and can be accused of being a hoarder when it comes to her footwear. even when she moved to new york and curated a more appropriate 'career woman' style that lacked her signature vintage-americana look, she still gravitated to boots - this time, she chose rich, dark browns, chunky heels, and squared toes that paired well with skirts for work and doc martins for weekends (rather than her various cowboy and hiking boots).

[chromet]

KAR L’art del L’automobile garage mock neck t-shirt

Available HERE for purchase on grailed

[motorsportbarbie13]

Get Unready With Me - Drunk Edition

In which Lando takes care of you after a night out.

Pairing: Lando Norris x FeminineGirlfriend!Reader Warnings: Drunk reader. Tooth achingly sweet fluff tho. Word Count: 1.8k words

Master List

“Lando! I’ve lost my keys!” You cry, opening the flap on your vintage Chanel bag in an attempt to dump the contents out on the floor of your flat’s empty hallway. 

“No you haven’t, you muppet.” He scolds, tugging the purse out of your hands before anything beyond your Charlotte Tilbury lipstick can clatter to the floor. “You gave me your keys after your fifth vodka cran. ‘Lan baby, be my hero and hold my keys so I don’t lose them!’” He mocks, pulling out your keyring from his pocket. 

Your eyes light up, a drunken giggle slipping off your lips as you lean your whole weight onto your boyfriend as he attempts to open the apartment door for you. “My hero!” 

“Besides,” He tuts, slipping the key into the keyhole. “We live together, my keys are your keys.” 

Lando swings the door open, ushering you inside before closing the door behind him with a soft snick of the lock. You look back at him, a bit more unsteady on your feet than you’d like. The pair of you are just getting back from dinner and dancing with a few of the other drivers and their significant others to celebrate the end of the season and you may have gone a bit overboard with the drinks portion of the night.

Flinging your stilettos off your feet, you groan at the relief of feeling the cool tile on your toes, only stumbling a bit when you try to stand up straight. It’s quite the miracle you made it up from the garage to your tenth floor apartment in those heels under your own power really. “I think my feet might just fall off.” 

Lando follows behind you as you stumble towards the couch. “Baby, shouldn’t we just go to bed? It’s late.” 

“My feet don’t work anymore. Carry me?” You pout, reaching for him with grabby hands. You are quite needy when you get this drunk but honestly, Lando doesn’t mind one bit. You’re quite independent, refusing to allow him to pay for much despite his multi-million dollar contract and endorsement deals. In fact, for the first year of your relationship you had refused to move in with him because there had been no way you could afford to split the rent in his posh apartment in Monaco. So when you get needy like this, which isn’t as often as he’d like, Lando likes to take full advantage of it. He likes to feel needed, especially by the woman he is absolutely smitten with. 

“I think your feet work just fine, but I will carry you to bed anyway, pretty girl.” He coos, scooping you up in his arms. 

You wiggle a little against him, nestling your head in the crook of his neck before breathing in his scent deeply. “You smell so good.” 

“I smell like sweat.” He laughs, walking down the hall towards your shared bedroom. 

“It must be the pheromones then. You’re so sexy when you’re sweaty.” You giggle. 

Lando chuckles, knocking the light switch with his elbow as he enters your room. The yellow glow from the lights overhead illuminate your face as you look up at him. In the alcohol induced haze, the thought of how lucky you are to have him flickers through your mind. You two had met a few years ago when you had been attended the British Grand Prix with your uncle Jenson Button. He had literally swept you off your feet when Fernando Alonso had nearly taken you out in the paddock with his scooter. You liked to joke that Lando had literally been your knight in shining armor that day, so of course you fell for him quick and hard. 

“Here you go, love.” Lando gently sets you down on the bed, your eyes already droopy with exhaustion from the day. “Lets get you out of that dress and into something comfy.” 

“Are you trying to seduce me, Lando Norris?” You slur. 

“No, I’m trying to get you into bed because you’re about five seconds away from falling asleep and I don’t want to cuddle you all night with that scratchy dress on.” Lando rolls his eyes but can’t help the grin that spreads across his face. He helps you shimmy out of the tight dress, pulling it over your head so you were left in only the skimpy McLaren papaya colored lingerie set. 

“This is new.” He says, slipping a finger under the strap of the lacy bralette that has him biting his bottom lip. You looked so cute sitting there on the bed, dressed only in his team colors. 

“I wore it to surprise you but now I’m too drunk to fuck you.” 

Lando can’t help the laugh that tumbles out of him. Despite you being 3 sheets to the wind, you know his rules: No sex while one of you is drunk and the other is sober.  And Lando is very sober right now, wanting to maintain some control over you as you tend to get a little wild and adventurous (read: you like to wander off) when you’re partying. “We can have a rot in bed day tomorrow and you can wear it then, okay love?” 

Your bottom lip sticks out in a pout, “Fine.” 

“Now, lay down. I’ll go get you a t-shirt and we can go to sleep.” 

You follow his instructions and watch as Lando bustles around the room, first getting changed himself and then pulling a t-shirt out of his closet for you. 

A few moments later, Lando pulls his t-shirt onto your body and tucks you back into bed before going to get some aspirin and a glass of water for you, knowing you’re going to have a wicked hangover tomorrow. He hates to see you in pain, but a part of him is pleased that you’ll be unable to do much tomorrow so he’ll be able to wait on you hand and foot. Being needed is absolutely one of Lando’s love languages. 

As he goes to switch off the lights, finally ready to get into bed beside you, suddenly you sit up. “Lando!” You gasp, smacking him on the shoulder as he sits down on his side of the bed. 

“What is it, pretty girl?” 

“My makeup! If I don’t take it off and wash my face, I’m going to break out and I will not be your pretty girl anymore.” 

Lando rolls his eyes, “Seriously? Can’t you just skip it this one time? You will always be my pretty girl, breakout or not.” 

In addition to being extra needy when you’re drunk, you are also extra stubborn. “I need to do my skincare, Lando.” You whine. 

“Fine.” Lando is quite certain there is no way you’d be able to do it by yourself, judging by the state you’re in though. “Let’s go, I’ll help you.” 

You blink up at him as he rounds the bed to stand before you, offering you his hand. “Really?” 

He looks down at those big eyes and pouty lips of yours and really wants to break the whole ’no sex while only one of us is drunk’ rule. “Yes, really you muppet. Come on.” 

Despite the fact that just a few minutes before you had been insisting your feet were about to fall off, you suddenly find the ability to walk and pad behind him into the large en suite bathroom. It’s a luxurious place, with a large jetted tub and huge shower with two shower heads. You find yourself sharing a shower with Lando more often than not. On the other side of the white and black tiled bathroom are his and hers sinks, yours more cluttered than his with various skin and hair products. You may be independent when it comes to asking for help, but you are certainly not low maintenance when it comes to your hair or skin.  

Lando stands in front of your sink, eyeing the various jars and tubes with a bit of skepticism. “I hope you’re sober enough to tell me what goes first because there is no way I can do this on my own.” He mumbles.

“You watch me do this all the time, baby.” 

“Doesn’t mean I know what any of this is. Now, hop up on the counter and let me take care of you.” He says, kissing the tip of your nose. 

A fire burns in your belly at his order. Secretly, you do love when he takes care of you like this. You just hate to admit it. Being raised by a single mom who was never the biggest fan of the male species, you had always been wary of asking for help but being with Lando had healed some of that trauma and mistrust in you and the longer you were with him, the easier you found depending on him. 

“What’s first?” 

“The micellar water.” 

Panic flashes across Lando’s face. “The what?” 

Giggling, you kick your feet like a toddler and point to the large bottle with clear liquid in it. “That. Put some on a cotton ball and…” 

“Wipe off your makeup. I know, I’ve seen you do it, I just don’t know what goes when.”

Lando squirts some out on a cotton ball like he’s seen you do a thousand times and begins to wipe off the makeup in long, slow strokes. The alcohol makes your brain fuzzy but the way his face is so focused on his task, brows knit together in concentration, has you squeezing your legs together. He can’t quite believe how many cotton balls it takes to get everything off, but eventually most of your makeup is gone. 

“Now is when you use the soap, right?” 

He looks so eager to be right your heart squeezes a bit. “Yes, that bottle right there.” 

Lando continues on with your skincare routine, listening to your every step and following it exactly as described. It takes a little longer than usual, but neither of you mind. The way he so gently rinses the soap off your face and then applies your moisturizer is strangely one of the most romantic things you’ve ever done together. 

Finally, everything is done and you’re bare faced and freshly moisturized. Lando hands you your toothbrush, already prepped with your toothpaste, and the pair of you brush your teeth together. He gently helps you down off the counter and you follow him back into the bedroom, hand in hand. 

“Thank you, baby.” You coo as you slip under the covers, watching as Lando switches off the bedroom lights, plunging the bedroom into darkness. 

“I love taking care of you.” He murmurs when he joins you under the heavy duvet, your warmth radiating towards him in waves. 

“I love you, Lando Norris.” 

“I love you too, pretty girl.” 

Tag List: @shelbyteller, @formulaal, @martygraciesversion381, @longhairkoo, @samantha-chicago, @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland, @chlmtfilms , @inarabee @aykxz98 @forensicheart @cheer-bear-go-vroom @charlesgirl16

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[shonen-brainrot]

You’ve always had a knack for finding yourself in the most unexpected places, but sitting on Tomura Shigaraki’s lap in the dim light of a decrepit warehouse takes the cake. It had started with a chance encounter at an old arcade, where you both ended up sharing the last quarter of a game machine. Who would have guessed that the leader of the League of Villains would be a fan of vintage video games?

Tonight, you’re in an old warehouse that the League has repurposed as a makeshift game room. The space is cluttered with discarded furniture and old gaming consoles, but it has a certain charm. A single, flickering light bulb casts a warm glow over a battered old couch where you’re comfortably perched on Tomura’s lap, the two of you huddled together.

Tomura’s arm is draped casually around your waist, his fingers clutching a controller as he furrows his brow at the screen before you.

"You're surprisingly comfy, you know that?" you tease, poking his chest lightly.

He lets out a soft chuckle, a sound you’ve come to cherish. "Is that a compliment or an insult?"

"Take it however you want, boss man," you reply with a grin, leaning back against his chest.

His crimson eyes soften as he looks down at you, a rare sight that always makes your heart skip a beat. "You’re quite fearless, sitting here like this," he murmurs as he bounces you a little on his lap.

"Guess I trust you," you say lightly, though you mean it. Despite everything, you’ve seen glimpses of a side to Tomura that make you believe there’s more to him than just a villain.

"You shouldn’t," he warns, but his grip on you tightens ever so slightly, as if he’s afraid to let you go.

"Too late for that," you whisper, reaching up to touch his cheek. His skin is cool under your fingertips, and you marvel at how he leans into your touch, seeking warmth. “Ready to lose?” you challenge, brandishing the game controller with a playful smirk.

Tomura looks at you with an amused glint in his crimson eyes. “You think you can take me down in Street Fighter? I’ve been practicing, doll.”

“Bring it on, mr villain,” you tease, pressing the start button and diving into the game.

The screen flickers to life, and the characters begin their intense battle.

The game is a whirlwind of animated punches and kicks, and you’re deeply immersed, trying to outmaneuver Tomura’s relentless attacks. His laughter, surprisingly light and genuine, vibrates through his chest as you narrowly dodge his special moves.

“You’re not half bad,” Tomura admits, his voice warm with admiration. “But you’re still going down.”

“You wish,” you retort, focusing intently on the screen as you execute a particularly tricky combo move. “Prepare to be defeated!”

Tomura’s fingers are deft on the controls, guiding his character with precision. Every now and then, he leans in closer, his breath warm against your neck as he murmurs strategy tips and playful taunts. The closeness is both exhilarating and comforting, and you find yourself laughing more than you expected.

As the final round approaches, you’re neck and neck. You shift in his lap, trying to find a better angle for your attack, which only causes Tomura to chuckle.

“Getting comfortable?” he teases, his voice low and warm in your ear.

“Just trying to find the best spot to beat you,” you reply, adjusting your position again. His free hand steadies you as you wiggle, making sure you don’t fall off.

With a final, well-timed maneuver, you manage to land the winning blow. “Victory!” you exclaim triumphantly, raising your arms in a mock victory pose, which causes you to slide even more in his lap.

Tomura groans theatrically, though the smile on his face betrays his enjoyment. “Beginner’s luck.”

“You’ll have to admit I’m pretty skilled,” you tease, settling back down and shifting slightly to get comfortable.

Tomura’s hands rest on your hips, holding you steady. He’s wearing gloves with only two fingers covered, designed so he won’t decay anything. He chuckles, “Alright, alright. You’re good. But next time, I’m winning and I won't go easy on ya.”

“Yeah, keep dreaming,” you reply, leaning back against him, savoring the warmth of his embrace. As you shift again to find the perfect spot, and you need to admit his lap is very comfortable.

He relaxes, letting out a contented sigh. “You know, this is... nice. Being here with you.”

“Yeah, it is,” you agree, looking up at him. “I think you’re not as much of a villain as everyone thinks.”

Tomura’s gaze softens, his usual guarded demeanor melting away. “Maybe."

As you turn to face him, without thinking, you lean in and press a soft, lingering kiss to his lips.

Tomura’s eyes widen briefly in surprise before they flutter closed, his hand cupping your cheek gently.

When you pull back, his smile is tender, and there’s a hint of something unspoken in his gaze. “I think me like it, doll,” he murmurs.

[itneverendshere]

alrighty imagine rafe feeling jealous for the first time in his life and absolutely not knowing how to navigate through it, so he just takes it out on you 🤗 he's down bad so it's funny

just a lil something for y'all:

rafe cameron does not get jealous.

why would he? he has the world at his feet—wealth, status, popularity, and seemingly limitless opportunities. got everything he wants and needs in his perfect kook-life, right? there’s absolutely nothing that could make him envious of others. he’s been moving through life with a sense of entitlement, accustomed to getting what he wants when he wants it.

that earth-shattering confidence translates into his sexual life. if there was such a thing as mastering the subtle art of not giving a fuck, god, he’d get a nobel prize for that shit. 

rafe likes to indulge in the pleasures of his fantastic mortal life without the burden of attachment of commitment, just thinking about tying himself up to someone else makes him want to drive his jeep into the nearest wall. 

that’s not the life he wants. that kind of bullshit gets people depressed or killed; he’s seen enough of that kind of misery in his lifetime. 

he knows he’s got a reputation by now. it precedes him, and he revels in it. and people say he’s a bad guy? please, he’s doing the entire female community a favor. there’s no point in restricting his independence for one person. 

no feelings involved, no clinging, and no, he’s not fucking cuddling someone after he just blew his load into their back. The women he involves himself with know what they’re getting themselves into when they open their pretty legs for him.

 it’s great. 

no stupid headaches, no fights, no “why didn’t you text me back?”, complete radio silence unless they want something from him or vice versa. sure, there have been a few girls who needed a collective reminder of his rules, which he does by always cutting them off.

no one’s ever made him want to throw his philosophy out the window. can you imagine that happening? rafe cameron…feeling…something other than complete horniness for someone else? enough to make him want to commit capital murder when someone else thinks they’re entitled to touch what’s his?

no, of course not.

that’d be insane. completely impossible. rafe cameron would never get his perfect hands dirty with filth. not in this universe or lifetime. 

or so he thought. 

“you have a real problem, you know that?”

if looks could kill he’d be seven feet under. you’re shooting daggers at him through your pretty eyes, hands settling on your hips. if he wasn’t raging with misplaced anger issues, he’d tell you how fucking beautiful you look tonight.

“me?” rafe grits out as he sticks his fingers into his chest, “you want to talk about problems, sweetheart?” his words drip with venom, a thinly veiled attempt to deflect the intensity of his own emotions.

you don’t back down, though, gaze steady and unwavering as you meet his challenge, “i’m not the one who just punched the living shit out of someone else!”

rafe's lip curl into a mocking smirk. "whose fault is that?” he quips, the barb aimed squarely at your intellect.

a violent urge to strangle him takes hold of you, anger nipping at your skin, “what the hell is wrong with you?”

he doesn’t know why he did it. all he remembers was that in that moment, while watching you entertain someone else, he wanted to snap someone’s neck in half. and he’d be damned if he didn't get what he wanted. 

rafe’s head tilts, oh so slowly, to the side, pretty blue eyes burning your skin, “i’m not the one letting some sleazy bastard get their hands under my slutty dress.”

that didn’t come out right. 

it made much more sense in his head. he doesn’t want to admit it, doesn’t want to acknowledge the gnawing jealousy that threatens to consume him whole.

“slutty dress?! this is vintage versace you possessive lunatic!”

“so fucking what?” he saunters closer, seemingly calm, except that’s the one thing that he never is, “did they run out of fabric in Italy?”

you watch him, a little mesmerized by the way the moonlight accentuates his features, heart pounding. he stops in front of you.

you must’ve taken a good hit to the head if you believe rafe cameron feels anything for you besides some sort of allure to your cunt. you know better than that. you open your mouth to speak, but rafe’s quick to lift one of his hands, tapping your lip with his finger.

“this is supposed to be like— a casual thing, right?” he exhales a breath, voice barely louder than a murmur.

you tip your chin up, “what are you getting at?’”

 “no strings. so, i really shouldn't be this fucking pissed about seeing you post a picture with that asshat face, smiling, his arm around you. that stupid fucking caption.”

straightening your posture, you don’t let his sugar-coated confession get to you, remaining silent for the time being. what’s his deal? is the devil spawn...confessing?

“speaking of photos…i just looked at a really cute one of you before, can you guess which one?”

and watch that picture be the one where you're on all fours in his truck's backseat lmao😃👀

[sugudoe]

➥ ──── THE OTHERS ‼️ OUCH. . . ღ

shoko ieiri is a med student and long time friend of gojo and geto. she is the one that instigated satoru to create mib, thinking it was just a funny and stupid idea, and was surprised when he actually went along with it. although not a member, shoko is a very special someone to all the boys, there is a room only for her, but she still rather be in the college dorms. she is close to nanami, they study together in coffee shops, and sukuna, since she started to take care of his bruises after the fights. many mib’s fans are jealous of her and send a lot of hate, but shoko is not bothered by them, instead she had her instagram turned private and charges 10 dollars for anyone that wants exclusive pictures of the boys. the fire picture is gojo and shiu, and the bras are ino and nanami.

inumaki toge is yn’s younger brother. they love each other very much, but they barely interact on campus, still yn loves to walk past him and shuffle his hair, and toge likes to slap her neck softly. first time he did this, hakari almost beat him, now they are really good friends. toge is a programming student, but his passion is playing games, he helped his sister get her set up to play the sims because yn bough his, much more expensive and he is scared of asking where did the money come from. he started dating okkotsu yuta recently but rather not expose much, fearing it might make his sister sad that he is dating while she is single. if she ever finds out, he will mock her, so he has been softly launching yuta.

okkotsu yuta is a biomedicine student, he uses his instagram to post pictures he took with the old camera he thrifted some years ago, people really like his photos and vintage style. he has a calm vibe, but in reality yuta is nearly crawling the walls with his anxiety for anything, specially a new year beginning. luckily for him, yuta has friends that love him and a boyfriend that calms him down. he loves the beach, to make poems and to go on dates with toge, just the two of them and yuta gets happy right away.

yaga kumia, also nicknamed panda by everyone because of his obsession with the animal since a baby (he had a sweater he used everyday when he was five) is the son of jujutsu tech’s principal, yaga masamichi. he studies mass communication, and all his friends says that is because he is a gossiper and a talkative asshole. still — he is a fucking legend. gojo plans on having him becoming a mib’s member, but panda’s dad would interrupt it right away. the boy has no self control or filter, he does what he likes if he feel like it, he got into his group of friends because of maki, toge and yuta, who he has met a year prior and thought they were nice. most people want to be close to him because of his dad, so he is very hard to actually get approached to. still, he also wants to be a part of mib, just need to find the right time.

zen’in maki is the younger cousin of toji, she studies biomedicine with yuta, and wants to work making lotion and healing creams for burned victims, like herself. when she was younger, her house burned down, and maki saved her twin at the cost of scars on her whole body. at first she used to hide them with baggy clothes, but nowadays she doesn’t mind and if anyone stares, her girlfriend will bark at them. maki is very laid back, still, she is a very awkward person, making random comments and acting weird. she made her move on nobara by telling her facts of history and serial killers, also flexing her muscles nonchalant, and nobara matched her with what she knew of fashion. two weird babies sharing half a brain.

nobara kugisaki is the goat. anywhere she goes, all eyes go straight to her. being a fashion student was predestined for her, everyone could sense that a mile away. she has lived in japan her whole life, going to high school with yuji and megumi, and she will refuse to admit she was third wheeling every hangout. yuji is and always will be her test subject, he lets her dye his hair to match hers and do his nails and colorful eyeliners. she calls herself his sister, and sukuna rolls his eyes at that every time, but him and choso know for a fact she is their little sister as well. kugisaki is obsessed with her senior, kirara, and whenever they share classes or a conversation the girl melts, kira thinks she is adorable. nobara is a hard kpop girl, and obsessed with NCT and StrayKids. she saw maki once and thought “that’s mine” and she accomplished her mission in less than a week.

gojo megumi is the younger adopted brother of satoru, they might not look alike physically, but the longer in their presence the more they start to become the same person, and megumi pretends he hates that. he likes to hide himself whenever his brother is near, while itadori and nobara will call satoru’s attention to him. megumi studies business administration like his brother, because one day he is going to own half of gojo’s enterprise. his favorite hobbies are staying in bed with yuji (his not yet boyfriend), his dogs and any classical book. the arm cast photo is a drawing he made when itadori broke his arm, megumi is very talented with art. he had to priv his account because mib’s fans were sending him a lot of messages and it was annoying.

itadori yuji studies physical education, he is a basketball player and has been for many years now. the boy is the biggest fan of megan thee stallion, and yes he fought nobara for that spot. besides that he also adores miles morales, watch horror movies and to go out every weekend. he begged megumi for the matching cats icon, and it’s a lie that meg monitors his instagram, still, the boy doesn’t complain to have itadori’s passwords. he was very happy that nobara started to date maki and the friend group merged, because he wanted to be friends with panda and toge for a very long time. cutie. he is apparently the only friend yorozu has, but she can get really annoying when her talk subjects always go to his brothers and their friends.

orimoto yorozu is a sound engineer student, she met yuji because they share a few classes together and when she learned of his family, she glued to his side. yorozu mostly keeps to herself unless she wants something from someone (like when she tried to flirt with panda because they were the single ones of the group, and he rejected her after the first date), so she doesn’t mind when the group forgets to call her for some hangout or party, much rather staying at home on social media. she has been following some people from college on their instagram and twitter, and changing her style every two weeks. she is very cute looking, but there has always been something off about her. still, no one but nobara dares to admit it.

. ֺ﹢ a. note: this is me begging y’all to not pay attention to panda’s name, it’s kuma (bear in japanese) but written differently, eugh. like the others, this pictures are just for reference, except for nobara, that’s my canon kugisaki. starting to realize i did this whole thing for characters that aren’t that important… yet… AND yorozu is based on the bad looking bitch yorozu + rika, took two evil queenies and made a weirdo, gotta love it.

🏷️ 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩: @ducky1232 @mfcherry @minzxec @d3jecteddoll @shuuji71 @emilyywhyy @makeshiftproject @poopooindamouf @ventila98 @faithums @lvingd3adg0rl @prettynai @r0ckst4rjk @lunavelha @catobsessedlady @luvvmae @sjndvi @punkhazardlaw @lemonnotade @luvmeadow @tired-jaz @csxmxx @serenadesvt

[susoriginals]

Vintage Red Strawberry Pink Mock Neck Sweater Pullover by Great Lakes Recreation Small Size 7/8 only $10

[thestralluvr]

Lars Pinfield x reader headcanons part 2

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

his glasses are constantly breaking, lenses falling out, arms breaking, the bridge has literally snapped but he refuses to buy another pair.

avoids cameras like the plague.

a tech geek, he’s revamped a vintage camera.

his favourite movie is Vroom (1988), his favourite character is Ringe.

you’d think he’d own a super cool vintage car then, right? wrong he’s got a total shitbox that’s falling apart at the seams.

like the door is literally held together with duct tape.

his favourite show however, is drag race. his all time favourite queen is definitely jinkx.

cryptid believer, he’s definitely pulled all nighters researching them and comes to you with blood-shot eyes in the morning like “hey y/n did you know-“.

even working in the paranormal field he’s still a skeptic when it comes to hauntings, a fake until proven true kinda guy.

sets your alarms 15 minutes before you have to actually get up in order to get those mandatory cuddles in.

he adores the domestic moments between the two of you, even something as mundane cooking or cleaning together.

not big on pda unless he’s jealous 🤷 if someone’s flirting with you and not getting the hint he’ll wrap his arms around you from behind and kiss your neck, he can be possessive and it’s really hot.

but other than that, it’s usually hand holding, a quick kiss goodbye or hello, maybe an arm wrapped around you or hand on your thigh and legs entwined when working together.

but alone? he’s all over you, he can’t get enough.

his version of borrowing from people is secretly taking it then discretely putting it back when they realise what’s missing, he’d never admit it was him 😭.

poor babe puts a lot of pressure on himself.

he’d never admit if he was struggling with a certain calculation or something wasn’t adding up.

but you know, you can always tell.

so, when the moment arises you quietly ask him to join you for a break outside, 9 times out of 10 he’ll be able to figure out what he was stuck on once you’ve helped him clear his mind.

he’s forever grateful for you, what may seem like little things to you mean the entire world to him.

less sappy, you know that tiktok trend of boyfriends sleeping like they’re dead, got the plague, pharaoh’s curse, clutching their pearls? well that’s him.

his arms crossed over his chest, he’s ready for his coffin.

you’ve had to check if he was breathing a few times 😭.

if you’re american, he definitely mocks your accent.

if you’re not, you both secretly mock others’.

he’s constantly bumping into things, he doesn’t have much luck with corners i’m afraid. but hey, he’s tall with very gangly limbs i don’t blame him.

you’re always there, band aid box in hand with an unimpressed look on your face.

lars pinfield is the LEADER of the sassy man apocalypse.

the sass from this man, you swear you’re getting premature greys!!

in his hipster phase (referring to part 1) he got a septum piercing but he’s had it flipped up since.

the first time you saw it you were so taken aback.

“since when has that been there?!?!”

“uhh 2012?”

i think he’d have an industrial too but that’s just my opinion.

.

.

hopefully this was okay!!! i feel like you can definitely tell i’m australian by my writing 😭

[pinegreenapples]

Your Teeth In My Neck (Fucking Sucks)

"Whatever. We're getting off topic." Vox waved his hand. Alastor gave a mocking tilt of his head, his arms spread wide as if to implore Vox to speak. "So last time we fucked, it was good, real good. Except for the part where you ripped out my carotid artery and had a little snack while I cauterized the fucking chunk missing from my neck." Alastor's smile widened. "Yes, I remember." He swirled his wine. "Your arteries have such a unique flavor. Not nearly as chewy either because of your mechanical kidneys!" Vox leveled a glare at Alastor but the other simply smiled larger. "Yeah. So, then I was thinking over all the times you've deigned to sully yourself with me and I noticed a pattern. You-" Vox pointed a finger at Alastor's chest. "Are a fucking biter."

Ever since Vox had lifted the wards on Vee Tower, Alastor had decided that-to use some of the Spanish Val had taught him-Vox's casa was his casa. Nowadays, he could often find Alastor lounging on his couch in the evening or rummaging through his record collection with an expensive vintage in hand.

It wasn't with any sort of rhyme or reason that Alastor visited, as always, he was a creature powered by whims and boredom. Sure, he was cunning and calculating and all that, but at his core, Alastor was a thrillseeker and a little shit.

So he loved showing up unannounced and ruining Vox's evening plans. Granted, sometimes he greatly improved the trajectory of Vox's evening (who wouldn't say yes to getting some pussy?) but generally he came over to be a nuisance and enjoy Vox's company.

Tonight was no different as the voice of Ella Fitzgerald greeted Vox when he stepped inside his penthouse. Alastor had taken up residence on his couch and was lazily conducting the music with one hand while the other held open a book. A glass of merlot sat next to him on the side table. No coaster in sight, the fucking bastard. It was like he knew that Vox had had that table imported from Earth.

"Hey." Vox greeted. He toed off his oxfords and tossed his wallet into the little rhinestone dish Val had gotten for him last Hellmas.

"Evening." Alastor replied. He turned a page and kept reading. Vox rolled his eyes fondly at the other's antics. Alastor loved to play little games like, pretend to ignore the man you came to see, and I'm God's gift to demonkind and you're just a lowly sinner-why would I pay you any attention? Too bad that Vox saw right through his fake ass.

He made his way to the kitchen and began to unpack the takeout he'd bought from its bags.

"Hope you're hungry. I bought sushi." He called out.

Alastor's nose twitched as he took in the smells emanating from the bags.

"Did you buy the-"

"The Envy ring sashimi? Yeah, I did." Vox pulled the container out and shook it for emphasis.

Alastor raised his eyebrows, unimpressed.

"Well, I suppose I could eat a bite or two." He hedged.

Vox knew better.

"Sure you could." He snorted. "I got two orders this time so I expect to get at least one before they all disappear, capische?"

Alastor hummed. 

"I make no such promises!"

The deer closed his book and scooped up his wine. He meandered over to the end of the bar to watch as Vox opened up each container and then collapsed the bags. One remained standing however, a smaller bag with no telltale fish emblem from Vox's favorite sushi shop.

"And what sort of tchotchke have you brought home today?" Alastor pointed to the last bag on the counter.

Vox spared a glance over at the bag. He shrugged and grabbed two plates from a cabinet.

"It's a gift for you, actually."

"Oh? Well do tell!" Alastor preened.

"Well, I was thinking about our nights together and I wanted to try something out." Vox slid the bag over. "Here."

Alastor peered into the bag and then hummed in disinterest. The bag disappeared into a shadow and Vox felt something hit him over the head.

Out of instinct, he raised his hands to catch the bag.

"I fail to see what that is for, but I'm sure your depravity has an explanation that will burn my ears."

Vox snorted.

"You say that as if you didn't literally attend orgies as a voyeur when you were alive." He said as he plated up some sushi for them both.

Alastor smirked.

"Attended, certainly. Participated? Hardly." He leaned forward on his elbows and tucked his chin on his interlaced fingers. "It was rather less than sanitary, and I do so hate to ruin a good suit."

"Besides, it wasn't like I sought it out. Jazz is just so liberating! A few dances, a few drinks, and suddenly everyone's swinging on the dancefloor with a little less decorum!"

"Uh-huh." Vox replied. "Doesn't make you any less of a fucking freak."

Alastor cackled.

"Well now, my dear, that'd be the kettle calling the pot black, now wouldn't it?"

"Whatever. We're getting off topic." Vox waved his hand.

Alastor gave a mocking tilt of his head, his arms spread wide as if to implore Vox to speak.

"So last time we fucked, it was good, real good. Except for the part where you ripped out my carotid artery and had a little snack while I cauterized the fucking chunk missing from my neck."

Alastor's smile widened.

"Yes, I remember." He swirled his wine. "Your arteries have such a unique flavor. Not nearly as chewy either because of your mechanical kidneys!"

Vox leveled a glare at Alastor but the other simply smiled larger.

"Yeah. So, then I was thinking over all the times you've deigned to sully yourself with me and I noticed a pattern. You-" Vox pointed a finger at Alastor's chest. "Are a fucking biter."

"Guilty as charged." Alastor grinned and raised his glass in salute before taking a sip.

"So as I was thinking about all the times I had to patch up a nasty gouge from your teeth, I decided maybe the solution wasn't to get you to stop biting, but instead for you to bite something else."

Vox reached into the bag and pulled out the gift.

"Voila! Your very own chew toy that isn't me."

For the first time in a while, Vox was treated to the very special experience of a stunned Radio Demon. Alastor's glass had paused halfway to his mouth and his signature smile had dimmed down to almost a frown, with his lips pressed tight. His ears flattened and his eyes flickered between shock and indignation.

Vox drank it all in. And recorded it too-for posterity. It took Vox moving the toy closer to him before he finally snapped out of his stupor.

"Get that thing away from me before I take your hand for my evening snack." He snarled.

Vox smirked and wiggled the toy. To be honest, this reaction was absolutely worth the trip to the pet store alone. Vox hadn't seen Alastor so scandalized and offended in a long time. He was gonna have to make a montage of this later to enjoy.

"Aw c'mon, Al, give it a tryy-ahhhh fuck!" He swore as Alastor's teeth clamped down on the toy through the meat of his hand.

"Shit. Fuck! That smarts." He hissed. He shook his hand to dislodge the absolute freak of a demon he had fallen in love with but all Alastor did was growl and sink his teeth in deeper. Blood burbled up from between Alastor's teeth, down his fingers, and onto the floor with a gross plop.

Vox scowled. Great, he was gonna need to call his cleaning service for a deep clean tomorrow if this was where the evening was headed.

Vox tried smacking him next but Alastor simply growled louder, his antlers cracking as they grew. His frequency sent out a short burst of warning and Vox quickly withdrew his fist.

"Al, c'mon. That's my fucking hand. I need that."

Al merely hummed and began gnawing on the flesh between his teeth. His tongue lapped at the blood still gushing from the punctures in Vox's hand. It rasped over his raw skin like sandpaper, dragging over every cut. Vox grimaced at the unpleasant sensation.

Alastor was a weird amalgam of predator and prey with the instincts of both and one of the weirder things about him was his tongue. It was covered in hooks like a large cat's and just as rough. Vox had literally seen him lick the skin off a deer carcass down to the muscle underneath like some fucked up red mountain lion about to start a feast. Needless to say, it was fucking gross to watch.

So no, Vox was not enjoying the way his beloved's tongue was laving over his palm and fingers.

It was better than losing his fingers to Alastor's gullet, yeah, but that didn't mean he had to like it. Vox could admit that he was maybe a slut for pain, but getting fucking vored was not a kink he was into.

Vox sighed and rocked back on his heels. It was probably gonna be a while before he got that hand back, so he might as well get comfortable. At least he would probably regenerate most of it by lunch tomorrow. He could just take all his meetings digitally to avoid the handshakes.

Alastor's teeth sank even deeper-stupid fucking cryptid ass with an unhingeable jaw- and Vox yelped. The chew toy wheezed out air as Alastor's teeth sawed back and forth.

"Motherfucker! Al!" He snarled. He tried to tug his hand to his chest and ended up bringing a radio demon with it, still attached. The movement dislodged his beloved nutcase somewhat and the strangest thing happened as Alastor's tooth snagged on something embedded in the toy.

A loud weee-wooo! squeaked out into the air and both Alastor and Vox froze.

Now, when Vox had gone to Demon's Den Pet Supplies, he had not been paying the most attention as he wandered the aisles looking for the most annoying chew toy he could find. He was half reading emails, half scanning the toys for the most obnoxious one and at the time, he hadn't thought to actually read the labels before he picked up the lurid yellow and orange toy and decided that this one would offend Alastor's sensibilities the most.

And because he did not read the label, Vox was now attempting to make peace with the fact that he most likely would need to call his EMT team to stitch him back together and take a couple sick days after Alastor was done with him.

"Heyyyyy Al, let's not be too hasty now, okay?" He chuckled, eyes lasered in on Alastor's face. "It was just a joke, yeah? Just a little prank! No need for any further maiming."

Alastor growled and Vox flinched.

Oh this was so gonna hurt.

A beat.

Another.

Vox cracked open his eyes and stared down at his lover.

He blinked. Then he closed his eyes and opened them again.

Alastor's eyes were wide and dilated, focused down on the hand in his mouth and his ears were twitching wildly.

"Al?" Vox tried. "Alastor? You in there, bud?"

His ear flicked towards Vox's mouth but then swivelled away as if searching for something.

Vox frowned. He sent out a tendril of static and was met with a vibrating intensity, almost as if Alastor was waiting for something.

"What the fuck?" He muttered. Well, maybe whatever had set Alastor off was enough to get his hand back. He tugged his hand again, his other one tried to pry open Alastor's jaw. Alastor's ears airplaned downwards and his eyes darkened further. Vox kept going.

Alastor snarled at his impetuousness and clamped down harder. Vox yelled as his abused nerves took another beating from Alastor's teeth but his scream wasn't loud enough to cover the second weee-wooo! that sprang forth from the toy still trapped in his hand.

Alastor's ears shot upright and his eyes got bigger.

Huh.

Vox slowly squished his hand as best he could inside his dickhead of a lover's mouth and squeezed the chew toy one more time.

weee-wooo!

Vox cringed as it rang out but he kept his eyes trained Alastor. Once again, Alastor's ears perked up and he chittered-he fucking chittered.

"Holy shit." Vox breathed, "Holy shit!"

He started to cackle.

"You fucking-" He gasped. "Oh! Oh, this is too good!"

And the best part of all, was that Vox had bought two. He summoned the other toy to his free hand and squeezed it by Alastor's head. It let out a shrill shriek and Alastor turned so fast his neck cracked. Vox squeezed it again and Alastor's mouth loosened. A rumbling sort of chitter emanated from his chest.

Vox squeezed the toy one more time then tossed it as hard as he could against the nearest wall. In seconds, Alastor had melted into shadow and pounced on the unsuspecting toy. A terrible chewing started up interupted by little weee-wooo!s. Vox smirked and turned his attention back to his latest love tap from his beau.

Vox flexed his hand. He had all four fingers but his palm was sliced to bits. There was practically no skin left and it stung like a mother fucker. He'd definitely have to wrap it. Probably would need to wear gloves for the next few days too. Typing was going to suck so much tomorrow.

He sighed.

Sometimes, Vox wondered what the hell he saw in that psycho.

He rolled his hand in his jacket and made his way to the bathroom. The fabric snagged on the edges of the lacerations and Vox kept up a solid litany of swears as his hand continued to burn like it'd been dipped in lava.

As he ran his hand under the sink, he could still hear Alastor going to town on toy in the living room. He started chuckling again. His chuckles turned into hearty laughs and soon he was wheezing and bent over the sink.

Alastor, the mighty Radio Demon, felled by a fucking chew toy. It was too good to be true.

Vox had heard about why dogs loved chew toys, something about them having an overactive predator drive and the noise reminded them of prey, but he hadn't thought that his little predator would maybe have the same instincts baked in.

"Awww, Alastor's been too cooped up in that little hotel," he joked to himself, "Can't get any enrichment through murder!"

"Poor, poor Radio Demon!" He wheezed and reached for the gauze. "Doesn't little Miss Morningstar know how to take care of her pets?"

Vox had to stop to laugh again. He couldn't help it. He had never seen Alastor like this before and it was honestly priceless. It took him several minutes before he sobered up enough to continue dressing his hand and strode back out to the living room.

Alastor was kneeling by the wall with one hand holding the toy in his mouth, teeth clamped around it like a bear trap. His eyes had blacked out completely and his antlers had grown to their full 12 point rack. The toy was making pathetic little mewls as his teeth crunched down.

Vox whistled. His internal server whirred as he snapped picture after picture.

"Damn, Al. You're in deep, huh?" He muttered, waving a hand in front of Alastor's face. All his beau did was growl a warning and hunch deeper over the toy.

Vox brushed his frequency against Alastor's, but there was little to no thought coming from the other. He got a few vague impressions and a contented sense of satiation before he pulled back.

"Well, this wasn't how I expected this evening to go, but I suppose I'm not complaining." He commented. "Will you kill me if I eat all the sashimi?"

Alastor just kept chewing.

"More sushi for me then!" Vox crowed and moved to the kitchen. He finished plating the sushi and brought both plates out to the coffee table in front of the couch with a glass of riesling for himself and a coaster like a civilized demon.

Alastor seemed happy to chew his toy as Vox flipped through his streaming catalogue to find something worth watching. He put on a crime procedural and settled in to eat his sushi.

Ten minutes in, Alastor approached the couch with the toy in his mouth. Vox watched as he dropped it onto his slacks and then stared expectantly at him.

He grimaced as the black saliva oozed over his good slacks and started to seep in. The toy was practically torn to shreds. It looked like someone had put it through a woodchipper and the noise box hung limply from the end like some sort of technological entrail.

"Thanks, Al. That's...that's great, baby." He managed. He picked up the toy and placed it on the floor next to him. It spilled out even more black saliva.

"Eugh, that's fucking disgusting." Vox muttered and summoned a napkin to try and dab at the stain on his pants.

Alastor snorted and pawed at the hardwood. His frequency shoved displeasure at Vox.

"Fuck! What do you want? A fucking treat? God, you're such a diva." Vox complained, but he reached down to Alastor's plate and tossed him a sashimi. Alastor caught it with his mouth and let out a gravelly purr. "There. Eat your fucking sashimi, you bastard."

Alastor swiped the rest of the sushi into his mouth with his tongue and settled back on his haunches to chew. 

"You know, it really is a shame that you refuse to eat ass." He observed. "The things I would do to get your tongue inside me."

Alastor merely blinked lazily at him and swallowed. Vox sighed.

"Well I guess we're not doing anything tonight but waiting this out, huh? In that case, I'm getting out the shark onesie because you can't make fun of me right now."

Alastor merely yawned and then walked off.

Vox took that as his go ahead and got changed into his favorite pjs and the onesie. When he came back, Alastor was curled up on the couch with the first chew toy in his mouth, gnawing gently.

Vox cooed and took another dozen pictures before he sat back down and started the show again. Alastor shifted and Vox watched in amazement as he curled into his side and placed his head on Vox's lap.

"Holy shit. Holy fucking shit, you are going to kill me tomorrow but it'll have been worth every second." He whispered. His fingers twitched towards his lover's ears, the opportunity presented was way too good to miss. He stroked the ears and Alastor hummed deep through the airwaves. His head nestled closer and he leaned into the featherlight pets.

"Oh Al, you're gonna kill me if you keep being this cute, you little motherfucker." Vox groaned. He'd flipped from pictures to video and was now zooming in on the happy little swish of his partner's ears and tail. Alastor had even let his frequency unfurl to tangle with Vox's. Vox let his own free in response and the two began to thrum and pulse in harmony.

They sat like that for hours, watching episode after episode until Vox could barely keep his eyes open. Alastor had fully fallen asleep on him and was letting out cute little snuffles as he breathed.

Vox looked over at his bedroom door, then back at the adorable demon on his lap. Yeah, it wasn't worth getting up for the bed. He snuggled down into the armrest and shoved a pillow behind his head and conked out.

****

The first thing Vox was aware of was little pinpricks of pain circling his wrist. He grumbled and shook his wrist.

"Vark, fuck off." He mumbled.

But the pinpricks didn't go away. They came back in a barrage of sharp shocks and Vox bolted upright. His arm tried to curl to his chest on instinct but it wouldn't budge, instead the pain made him yelp.

He cracked open his eyes and was greeted with the sight of Alastor's teeth embedded in his wrist. His eyes were black and ticking and his smile had grown feral. A low growl was emanating from the radio in his chest.

"Oh shit." Vox hissed. He tugged frantically at his hand but Alastor held firm. His teeth began to clamp down harder and Vox yelled.

"Ow ow ow ow! Hey Al, buddy, you don't want to do this!" Vox babbled. "It was just a joke! I didn't know it would do this-ahhhh fuck!"

Vox howled as Alastor's teeth scraped his bones. It felt fucking awful. It grated like nails on a chalkboard and Vox retched.

Alastor snapped his head backwards suddenly and Vox ragdolled forward. Alastor growled and shoved a hand against Vox's chest before he resumed his pulling.

Vox screamed. There was an unnatural stretch as he felt his tendons start to tear, each one snapping like strings on a harp. Blood gushed down his arm like a cyan waterfall. His vision blurred and black spots tap danced across his screen.

Alastor kept up a consistent gnawing on his radius and ulna in between pulls and Vox fought to stay conscious through the pain. Alastor's teeth nicked the bone with each bite and Vox swore he could feel his arm splintering. Bile rose in his throat.

With a sickening crack, Alastor snapped his teeth through the bone. Vox vomited, tears dripping down his casing.

"Oh God, oh fuck!" He whimpered.

But Alastor wasn't done, with one vicious tug, he ripped Vox's hand clean off. Vox's voice broke into a hoarse sob and the black spots swarmed his vision.

When he woke back up, Alastor was back to his normal size and chewing loudly on Vox's hand. Neon blue blood ran down his chin and his radio was chirping out a little ragtime tune.

Vox stared down at the bloody stump of his arm in stupor. It was pouring out blood like a fucking fountain. Vox felt queasy. He used to have a hand there.

It pulsed hot pain and he hissed. He tightened his fist over it and let out a sob as his nerves wailed. He braced himself, then shot electricity through the wound to cauterize it.

His vision whited out. All he could feel was pain for what felt like hours. He blacked out again.

When he came to once more, Alastor was humming as he licked Vox's blood from his fingers.

Vox's throat felt raw. He swallowed and tried to sit up. His mouth tasted coppery.

"I fucking hate you so much." He rasped.

Alastor turned to him with a cold fury in his eyes.

"If you ever treat me like some pet again," he spat, static thickening his voice, "I will scatter your parts across all seven rings and mount your head on my wall as a trophy."

He stalked over to Vox and let out his demonic form to loom menacingly.

Vox glared back, but wisely kept his mouth shut.

Alastor shrunk back down. He dusted off his overcoat and summoned his microphone.

"Well, thank you for the breakfast, but I really must be going." He said cheerily. His hands came to adjust his bowtie. "A hotelier must always keep his duties! Ta ta for now, old friend! See you soon!"

And with that, he melted into the shadows.

Vox scowled deep at the spot he had occupied.

"Rat fucking bastard." He muttered. His fingers fluttered over the stump that used to be his right hand and he sighed.

Today was going to be a long fucking day.

[sweet-villain]

Cause I Believe ~7~ Older Eddie Munson

Part 6

Summary : You take Eddie one a date, a thing happens and a real talk happens too.

You rummaged through your closet, the fabric of your favorite shirt brushing your fingers. An old band tee, rough at the edges. Perfect.

“Eddie’s never seen you like this,” you muttered, slipping into a pair of boots. The mirror reflected a spark of excitement.

Eddie strolled into your apartment, a lopsided grin beneath his wild curls. He held a worn cowboy hat, tilting it to eye it nervously. 

“Does this make me look… ridiculous?” He scrunched his face, hand pressed against the brim, weighing it. He added a toothpick to the corner of his mouth

“Only if you don't wear it right,” you shot back, grabbing it from his hands. With a swift move, you placed it on his head, adjusting it playfully.

His hands brushed the felt, fingertips lingering on the edge. “I don't know, this kinda feels like a costume party. Are they gonna laugh at me?”

“They’ll envy you. Just watch.”

He shuffled his feet, both anxious and curious. “And you really want to take me line dancing?”

“Trust me. You’ll look good out there—just… follow my lead.”

Eddie shrugged, lips twitching up into a reluctant smile. “Fine, but if I step on your toes, I’m blaming you.”

" Stop being such a drama queen.....Edward.. your full name is Edward?" Eddie rolled his eyes, but the hint of a smile crept onto his lips. “Not even close. Eddie Munson, through and through, no fancy names needed.” 

"Suit yourself, Edward" you teased, while he huffed. “Very funny. Let’s hope the dance floor doesn’t chew me up and spit me out,” he quipped, his fingers brushing against the guitar pick necklace that hung loosely around his neck. 

" You'll be fine, a rockstar like you dancing like that would sure catch attention.." 

Eddie snorted, his eyes narrowing. “Yeah, because all the hotshot musicians just waltz into honky-tonks to show off their two left feet.” He adjusted the hat again, this time tilting it slightly to the side.

" You look good, but didn't you wear this shirt the other day?" you poked the sleeveless shirt that was torn on the bottom. 

Eddie shot you a mock glare. “You have no proof.” He crossed his arms, the pinky of his left hand gripping the collar like a shield. “Plus, it’s got... character.”

“Character, huh? More like it you need a new wardrobe" 

“Hey, this is vintage!” Eddie pronounced, his eyes widening as if he held the most valuable treasure. “A real piece of nostalgia. It’s a whole vibe, you know?”

" Yeah a vibe, I bet you only owe like three pair of pants" 

He chuckled, pushing the brim of the hat up with a finger. “Three? Try five. Every rockstar needs options.” He flashed a grin that danced across his face like a flickering flame.

“Do you have leapord pants too now? " you teased. 

Eddie leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Only on wild nights when I need to bring out my inner animal.” 

You laughed, imagining Eddie in a pair of leopard print trousers. 

“Please, hold your horses. We're not going to any rockstar show. Line dancing. I wanna see what moves you have." 

“Moves? Is that what we’re calling this?” Eddie wiggled his hips in an exaggerated fashion, his hat nearly slipping off. “I don’t think these hallowed halls of line dancing are ready for my signature moves.” He says. 

" Oh they aren't ready for two left feet Eddie Munson" you teased. Eddie rolled his eyes, his grin wide, revealing that spark of mischief. “Two left feet? I'm just saving my energy for the big show. The crowd can only handle so much.” 

“Right. And I’m sure they all are dying to swoon over your feet" 

Eddie straightened up, hands on his hips, feigning a pose. “I’m a wild card, baby. A real showstopper.” His voice dripped with sarcasm, and he failed to suppress a grin.

" Okay wild card, let's go before we're late" you pushed him out the door and locking the apartment. 

As you stepped into the brisk evening air, the sound of the city buzzed around you. The moon hung low, casting a golden color over everything. 

He opened the passenger side door for you. 

"Such a gentleman," you quipped, sliding into the seat. 

Eddie rolled his eyes but couldn’t mask the grin spreading across his face. “I gotta score some points before the toe-stepping starts.” He settled into the driver’s side, starting the car. 

" You need to clean this car once in awhile, Munson" you shoved some candy wrappers into the cup holder. 

Eddie chuckled, tossing an amused glance your way. “It’s character! Makes it feel lived-in. Besides, it matches my wardrobe perfectly.” He revved the engine, a low rumble that vibrated through the seats.

" It smells like someone died in here too" you waved your hand around. 

Eddie’s laughter blended with the rev of the engine as he arched an eyebrow at you. “Now you’re just being melodramatic. It’s called… ambiance.” He shot you a wink, shifting gears as he pulled onto the parking lot onto the road. 

" Do you know where we're going, Eddie? I'm suppose to be taking you on the date.." 

Eddie glanced at you, smirking. “Well, I thought I was the one supposed to be leading the way.” He turned onto a side street, tires crunching against gravel. “ Besides I don't think I'm all ready for you to drive my car" He adds. 

You looked disbelief, throwing your hands up. “What? Scared of my stellar driving skills?” 

“Let’s not test the limits of either my car or my sanity tonight.” Eddie leaned back, a mixture of amusement and mock horror dancing across his eyes. 

You gave Eddie the directions to go. 

" Wait, you must like me a lot to do this. You're not the type to like things like this" you turned to face him.

Eddie’s fingers drummed against the steering wheel, the rhythm of the car matched by the pace of his heartbeat. “You’re right. I don’t typically pair my dark aesthetic with sparkly boots and cowgirl hats.”

“Sparkly boots? Eddie they have glitter on them and it's barely showing" you chuckled, shaking your head. 

Eddie chuckled, his laughter warm against the cool evening air. “Just because they don’t shine like a disco ball doesn’t mean they don’t pack a punch. Besides,” he added, glancing sideways with a sly grin, “maybe I'm looking to impress you."

Heat washed over your cheeks, and a laugh escaped before you could catch it. You glanced out the window, the streetlights casting fleeting shadows across the dashboard, trying to mask the flutter in your chest. 

He parks the car in front of the small like resturant that blaring music inside, Eddie scrunches his nose not liking it to his taste. He leaves the car running as he looks over at you. 

Eddie’s gaze shifted to the entrance, where flashes of neon painted the night. “So this is the place, huh? Looks like a set from an old Western flick.” He chuckled, but there was an undercurrent of uncertainty beneath the tone he was using.

"you'll have fun" you reassured him by putting your hand on top of his on the sterring wheel. 

Eddie glanced down at your hand, fingers curling slightly as if absorbing the warmth. His brow relaxed, though uncertainty still lingered in his tight smile.

“Right, line dancing. This is totally my scene,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. " Born to do this" he groans. 

“Come on, rockstar. Embrace it!” You nudged him playfully, your touch lingering a moment longer than needed. The anticipation bubbled within you.

Eddie sighed, " You're lucky your cute." 

You laughed, caught off guard, the compliment hanging between you like a soft note. Eddie turned to face you, his expression a mix of challenge and intrigue. “Alright, cuteness. Let’s see if I can charm the boots off someone tonight." 

He turns off his car and walks around the passenger side to open the door. 

" After you princess" he says offering his hand out to you. 

You took his hand, a jolt like electricity sparking between your palms. With a confident stride, you stepped out, feeling the weight of the night settle around you. Eddie followed, the sound of his boots thudding against the pavement. 

His hand found yours as he locked the car behind him, following you as you led him inside. He stops in his tracks over looking the scene and feels his anxiety building up.

Eddie froze like a deer in headlights.

His hand was sweating against yours. 

You took a breath, squeezing his hand, feeling the warmth seep through your skin. “It’s just dancing, Eddie. Just people having fun,” you whispered, trying to anchor him as the neon lights flickered with riotous energy.

He shook his head, looking down at the ground. 

" Not my scene" 

You stepped closer, letting your fingers slip from his grasp, gently guiding his chin up. “Look at me. You can do this.” Your voice was steady, anchoring him. 

Eddie met your gaze, swallowing hard. 

“Yeah, but what’s the worst that can happen?” he replied, a hint of humor creeping into his tone even as doubt flickered in his eyes.

As you lead him to the dance floor, he followed slowly and took deep breathes. He didn't want to do this. 

" We don't have to if you don't want to" you tell him, bringing his fingers up and kissing them. The rings brusing agaisnt his lips.

Eddie’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening. “What was that for?” 

You shrugged, heart racing under his gaze. “Just giving you a little push. It helps to think about the fun, not the fear."

His cheeks flushed red as he looked down at you. 

" I'm not the age I used to be, my body isn't the same" he scratched his beard. 

“Age is just a number, Eddie. You’ve got spirit,” you countered, a playful lilt dancing in your tone.

He chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. “Spirit? Is that what you call nearly tripping over my own feet?” 

“We’ll start slow, I promise,” you said. You started to show him how you danced when a whirl of cowboy boots and laughter filled the air as the group encircled you, their movements following like clockwork.

You started to do what they were doing, smiling along. 

Eddie watched, mouth slightly agape, as you glided across the floor, spinning through the rhythm with grace. You pointed to your feet, mimicking the simple steps of the dance—a gentle as feather. Eddie moved slightly but he felt his anxiety eating him alive.

Eddie stood there, still rooted to the spot as you twirled and stepped, the pulsating beat pulling you like a magnet toward the rhythm. 

You saw how awkard he felt and started to pull him off the dance floor to the side.

You leaned in closer to Eddie, your breath brushing against his ear over the fading chords of a country tune. “Stay right here. I’ll grab us something to drink. Just breathe.” 

" Do my best" he says. Eddie stood awkwardly, his fingers tracing his own guitar pick necklace, until the woman approached him with an easy smile that glinted under the lights. 

“Hey there, stranger,” she said, " you alone?" she flirted putting her hand on his arm. " Nice tattoos" she adds. 

Eddie’s heart raced as her eyes sparkled with interest. He tried to shift his weight, but his feet felt glued to the floor, a sudden wave of heat rushing to his cheeks. 

“Uh, yeah, just, uh…” He didn't know what to say. You turned to walk back to the table and stopped in your tracks seeing the woman with Eddie. 

You paused, the weight of the moment pressing against your chest. The woman’s smile broadened, her fingers grazing Eddie's arm.

“Looks like you’ve made a friend,” you said, stepping back, placing the drinks a little too hard on the table. You didn't look at Eddie. 

Eddie’s expression shifted, surprise etched on his features as his gaze flickered between you and the woman. 

“Uh, hey,” he stammered, stumbling over himself as he realized you had returned. “This is, uh…” He looked wide eyed not knowing the woman's name. 

" Brittany" the woman says leaning closer to Eddie. 

Your heart sank, and the heat pooled in your cheeks. 

“Brittany, huh?” you said, forced cheerfulness lacing your voice. You crossed your arms, glancing between her and Eddie, whose face reflected confusion mixed with embarrassment. 

" Yeah, didn't you hear?" She scoffed. 

“Eddie here has got some killer taste in music,” she said, leaning closer, the laugh spilling like melted honey from her lips. 

Eddie shifted, his eyes darting between you and Brittany. “Right, uh, music. Yeah I uh..." 

" You two have fun then" you rolled your eyes, a thin smile on your lips. 

Eddie seemed to wilt under the weight of the moment, his eyes wide with confusion. “Wait, no, I—”

“Right?” Brittany interjected, a laugh following each of her words like a melody. “We were just talking about how handsome you are" Brittany ran her fake nails across his beard.

Eddie’s eyes darted between you and her, helplessness creeping into his expression. “I—thank you?” He stumbled over his words, a sheepish grin forming as his gaze landed on you.

You forced a chuckle, but a roll of eyes added. 

" I'll find my own way home" you mumbled. 

Eddie’s facade cracked, confusion etched across his face. “Wait—what? No, don't leave. I—”

“Hey, no worries!” Brittany interjected, winking at you as if claiming a piece of the night. “You don't need to worry about him. I'll take good care of him." 

You forced another smile, but the tightness in your chest felt suffocating. 

Eddie glanced between you and Brittany, his expression a mix of disbelief and guilt. “No, seriously, you don't need to…” 

But Brittany, sits in his lap as she wraps her arms around him. " What's your name, sugar?" She asked him.

Eddie shifted beneath her, eyes darting between you and the woman . “Uh, it’s Eddie,” he replied, voice barely rising above the music. 

You downed your drink and headed towards the door feeling sick watching him have her on him like that.

The front door swung open, the crisp night air slapping against your face like a wake-up call. 

You should of known flirting with Eddie was all it was going to get you. He wasn't about to choose you over some girl that walked up to him and sat herself on him. 

You stepped outside, the rush of cold air biting against your flushed cheeks as your mind raced. 

" Y/N?" A voice called out to you. You turned to see Steve. 

“Hey!” Steve jogged over, his brow knit with concern as he took in your pale expression. “What’s wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost.”

" I was suppose to go on a date with Eddie..." you mumbled.

Steve nods knowing you were suppose to.

" What happened?" 

“It's just… he’s sitting there with her.” You gestured back toward the entrance. The neon lights and thumping bass pulsed behind you, but all you could focus on was the sight of Eddie and Brittany’s laughter echoing in your ear.

" With who?"

“Brittany,” you spat, the name bitter on your tongue. “All it took was one glance from her and he’s wrapped around her finger.” 

Steve’s brow furrowed, concern deepening in his eyes. “But it was suppose to be about you guys" 

“Exactly,” you spat, crossing your arms tightly against your chest. Anger simmered beneath your skin, mixed with a thrum of hurt. “It doesn’t matter, though. He’s obviously enjoying himself.” 

The warmth of Steve's embrace enveloped you, but the tension coiled tightly in your chest refused to melt away. He held you there, grounding and steady.

" When did you grow out a scruff?" you poked it.

Steve chuckled, his hand scratching the stubble. “Not sure—I guess just got tired of looking like a kid." He leaned back slightly, brow cocked, his lips curling into a teasing grin. “What do you think? Too much?"

" No it suits you" The door opened and you frowned seeing who it was. 

Eddie stepped out, the neon lights dimming around him, but the glow of confusion lingered in his eyes. Brittany trailed behind him, still radiating confidence, her laughter trailing like a ribbon in the wind. 

“Y/N!”Eddie calls out. " Why did you leave?"

You forced a smile, but your heart twisted at the sight of him emerging from the dim light. Confusion laced his expression, a mixture of guilt and concern.

“Just needed some air,” you replied, keeping your voice steady. Eddie eyes Steve arm around you.

Eddie’s gaze flickered between you and Steve, uncertainty clouding his expression. “Did something happen?”

" Could ask you the same thing" Steve says as he pushes you behind him.

Eddie blinked, taken aback. “What do you mean?” His brow furrowed, confusion deepening. Steve eyes the girl besides Eddie. 

" Her" Steve pointed to Brittany.

Eddie's gaze flicked to Brittany, who stood with a smirk, hand on her hip, reveling in the attention. “What? We were just talking,” he replied, defensiveness creeping into his tone.

“Talking?” You echoed, snorting too. " Yeah, talking" you hissed. 

Brittany rolled her eyes, as if she were somehow above it all. “Is there a problem here?” She stepped forward, her stance wide and unfazed by the tension. 

“ Yeah, he should of been with the person he came on the date with instead of some bimbo." 

Brittany smirked, her confidence showing “Oh, honey, I’m not the one who walked away.” Her words dripped with false sweetness, but her challenge hung heavily in the air. 

Eddie shifted on his feet, and you pursed your lips seeing he wasn't going to say anything. 

" You call me a kid, Munson when you can't even use your mouth to talk" you mumbled. 

Eddie’s mouth opened, then closed again.

" Right" you nodded. 

“Y/N, I didn’t mean to…” he started, but the hesitated. 

" Make me feel like a second choice?" 

Eddie’s brows furrowed, confusion and frustration etching deeper lines on his face. He opened his mouth to object, struggling with his words, but the silence felt heavy between you. 

“C'mon, Y/N. It’s not fair" he says. 

“Not fair? What’s not fair is watching you swoon over someone else while I hang back like a forgotten accessory,” you shot back, arms crossed tighter against your chest. 

Eddie stared, mouth agape, searching for the right response.

" Grow up, Munson" 

His eyes flashed with something—embarrassment mixed with urgency. “You don’t understand,” he pleaded, struggling to find the right words. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. It just—”

“Just what? Just happened? You lost your words as soon as you saw her tits?" 

Eddie flinched at your words, his face flushing crimson. He took a step closer, desperation mingling with frustration in every line of his face. 

“Y/N, this isn’t—” Eddie started, his hands clenching at his sides, but you cut him off.

“Isn’t what? Isn’t fair? Look at you,” you shot back, your voice sharp. “You can't even tell her that you came here with me. On a date. With me. Not her." 

Eddie hesitated, his mouth working silently as if the words tangled in his throat. “I—”

“Just stop.” Your voice firm, the anger spilling over. “I don’t want excuses."

Eddie’s hands fell to his sides as he swallowed hard, eyes darting away. " What do you want me to do?" He asks.

" Just once don't make me feel like the second choice" 

“I wasn’t trying to make you feel that way.” 

" You did, you can go with her. This date is over" you shrugged. 

Eddie shifted back, the realization hitting him like a cold wave. “Y/N—”

“Just… go, Eddie. Enjoy your night,” you said, voice trembling, trying to appear happier for him even as hurt rippled through your chest. 

Eddie steps towards you, " No." 

Eddie stepped toward you, pleading in his eyes. “No,” he repeated, voice low, almost vulnerable. “I don’t want to.” 

You turned away, arms crossed tighter, to ignore him. But he turns you around and cups your face. 

Your breath caught as he cupped your face, warmth radiating from his palms. His brown eyes starting down at you. 

“Y/N, look at me,” he said, his voice a low murmur . “I don’t want this to be over.”

" Then why didn't you push her off her lap when she sat on you? Why didn't you kissed me or something in front of her?" 

Eddie's eyes flared with a mix of determination and regret, his grip on your cheeks gentle yet firm. "Because I didn't see it coming. One minute I'm just being me, and then she's… she’s all over me." 

" The correct words you could of used was to tell her to fuck off" 

Eddie's brow furrowed, a spark igniting in his eyes. “I know! I should have,” he said, desperation creeping into his voice. “I just—everything happened so fast.” 

“Fast?” you scoffed. " You were just too scared to hurt her feelings." 

" I'm not paying attention to her" Eddie starts. " She caught me off guard." 

You pulled away slightly, feeling the heat radiating from his hands as you tried to process his words. “Caught off guard? Is that your excuse now?” 

Eddie’s frustration bubbled to the surface, his brow furrowing deeper. “ Look" Eddie was trying to find words to explain but finding none. He took matter in his hands and kissed you. 

Eddie’s lips brushed against yours, hesitant at first, then deepening as a surge of warmth swept over you. The world around you faded. He continued to kiss you while his hands went into your hair. 

You melted into the kiss, warmth spreading through your body like wildfire. His breath mingled with yours, soft yet electric, awakening every nerve ending. 

He pulls away breathless, " I like you." He kisses your forehead. 

He kissed your nose. " I like you" 

" I'm still here" Brittany mumbles. 

Eddie’s gaze flickered over your shoulder toward Brittany, eyes sparking with an unfamiliar mix of irritation. “Well, that’s sweet,” he said, irritation edging his voice. “But this is between Y/N and me.”

" You walked out with me, sugar" Brittany says. 

Eddie's expression hardened, his frustration flaring. “This isn’t some playground. You made your choice, and I make mine,” he snapped.

" I thought she wasn't your choice" Brittany says, scoffing. 

Eddie’s jaw tightened, his gaze narrowing on Brittany as if she had just crossed an invisible line. “When did I ever say that?” He stepped closer to you, grounding himself in your presence. “Y/N is the one I came here with, the one I like. I don't know you." 

" But you could" Brittany stepped closer to Eddie. 

“I’m not interested, alright? I’m here with Y/N, and that’s where I want to be.” 

" What can she offer you that I can't?" Brittany asks. 

“Y/N doesn’t have to offer me anything. It’s about the connection, the chemistry we have. Something you wouldn’t understand.”

Brittany scoffed, " We can have more chemisty.. even in the bedroom" she smirks. 

Eddie’s jaw clenched, fire flickering in his eyes. “What part of ‘not interested’ didn’t you get?” He stepped forward, effectively putting space between you and Brittany as if to protect you from her unwanted presence. 

Brittany chuckles, " I know you want more. I mean I have a better ass than her" 

“That doesn’t matter. You think you can just waltz in and assume you’ve got me wrapped around your finger?” His voice rose.

" She kinda did" you mumbled. 

Eddie shot you a glance, confusion mingling with frustration. “No, she didn’t. You think I’d let that happen?” 

" You did when she sat in your lap" 

“I didn’t want it to happen, alright? I didn’t know what to do!”

Brittany folded her arms, a smirk plastered on her face.

" It's called pushing her off and telling her to fuck off!" 

“I get it, okay? I messed up. But I’m not going to stand here and let you dictate what I want.” 

" Then what do you want? Because, we keep going in circles." 

“I want you. Just you. Can’t you see that?”

Brittany crossed her arms, unimpressed, leaning back slightly as if she were observing a theatrical performance. “But look how she's still here and you haven't exactly told her to fuck off" you tell him motioning to Brittany who was watching. 

Eddie's gaze flickered between you and Brittany, frustration simmering as he ran a hand through his hair. “Why do you think I’m giving her the cold shoulder?” 

" You're not really, the words you need to use is fuck off to her" 

Eddie clenched his jaw, frustration boiling beneath the surface. “I know!” His hands balled into fists, but then he exhaled sharply, trying to calm in his temper. 

" Then do it!" 

He turned fully toward Brittany, eyes fierce beneath furrowed brows.

“Listen, I’m done with this charade,” he said, his voice rises. 

Brittany raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Charade? Honey, I was just keeping the fun going.” Her smile never stops.

“No,” Eddie stepped closer, " I like her" he points to you. " and you" He points to her. “...you need to back off,” he finished, voice steady, grounding himself in his decision.

" What Eddie means..." you stepped towards her" He doesn't need you to flash your fake tits his way, no thank you." 

Brittany’s expression soured, losing her playful facade. “How charming,” she spat, sarcasm coating her words like poison. “Real sophisticated, calling me out like that.” 

" You probably have more done on yourself than have the real thing" you point to yourself. 

Brittany’s eyes narrowed, annoyance flashing across her face. “At least I don't have to rely on some wannabe rockstar to feel good about myself.” 

You stepped forward, jaw tightening, ready to swing. 

Eddie's hand shot out, gripping your wrist before you could take a swing. “Y/N, don’t,” he urged, his voice a steady.

“Why not?” you shot back, glancing at him. " She can't talk to me like that" you add.

Eddie's grip tightened around your wrist, a mix of urgency and concern flashing in his eyes. “Let’s not make this any worse, alright?” 

“You heard what she said,” you snapped. 

Eddie's grip softened, his thumb brushing gentle circles over your wrist, grounding you both. “I did. But fighting her won’t solve anything. Just... stay with me.”

“Why? So I can watch you flirt with her some more?"

Eddie shook his head, frustration etching deeper lines on his forehead. “Flirting? You think I was flirting?" He looked incredulous. “I was just trying to be polite!”

“Polite" you scoffed, " yeah right" you snorted.

" Okay that's it" 

Eddie lifted you effortlessly, settling you against his shoulder. “What are you doing?” you squealed, the surprise stealing the breath from your lungs. 

“You’re overreacting,” he declared, striding confidently toward the car. “ I'm not!" you punched his back.

Eddie grunted, adjusting you with surprising ease, his laughter blending with your protests. “You're definitely overreacting,” he teased, sneaking glances back over his shoulder at Brittany, whose expression morphed into amusement.

“ Don't look back at her!" you slapped his back.

Eddie smirked and kept striding toward the car as if you were just some prize he'd won at a carnival. “I can’t help it if you’re throwing a tantrum,” he teased, shifting you slightly to adjust for comfort.

He opens the door and puts you inside before he leans in and pecks your lips. 

The kiss was light, a fleeting brush, but it sent shivers through you. Eddie pulled back, his eyes searching yours, a mix of challenge and tenderness glimmering in his gaze. 

“Can you just breathe and look at me?" he asks. 

You blinked, trying to collect your thoughts as his eyes searched yours. 

"I'm looking," you replied, " not much to look at.... grandpa.." 

Eddie chuckled, his expression shifting from playful annoyance to genuine pleasure. “Grandpa? That’s rich coming from someone who’s about to throw a tantrum over a little flirtation,” he said. 

You huffed, crossing your arms, " So you admit you were flirting..." 

Eddie raised an eyebrow, the smirk tugging at his lips. "No, no. Misunderstanding, actually. What I meant was—"

“Don’t cover for it,” you interrupted, shaking your head. " Always the flirt with everything that has a pulse." 

Eddie opened his mouth, then closed it, frustration mingling with amusement. “You make it sound like I have a reputation for hitting on everyone.” 

“Please,” you shot back, arms crossed as you leaned against the seat. " Never can get attention from one woman. It has it be more." 

He sat in the driver seat.

Eddie’s brows furrowed, the playful glint in his eyes dimming slightly. “That’s not true,” he argued, his hands gripping the steering wheel. “I like you.

" You said that already" 

“Well, it’s the truth, isn’t it? I wouldn’t have come here with you if I didn’t like you.”

" Maybe I don't like you" 

Eddie’s brows knitted together, surprise flickering across his face. “Seriously?” He leaned back in his seat, the playfulness evaporating. “You can’t be saying that.”

“and why not?" 

“Because I know you like me,” he replied, brow furrowed, voice tinged with worry. “Last time I kissed you, you didn’t exactly push me away.”

" It was just a kiss" you shrugged. 

Eddie's voice took on a softer tone, his brows knitting together as he leaned closer. “Just a kiss? Is that all it meant to you?” 

“Just a moment, Munson.” 

" I'll show you a moment" he growled. 

With one swift movement, he closed the space between you, capturing your lips in a kiss that was rough, deep and full of passion.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as the world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you. 

His beard rubbed against your mouth making you feel a burn. A burn you liked. 

The kiss deepened, an electrifying rush that stirred something inside you. You could taste hints of cigarettes and something sweet, sweet enough to cloud your thoughts.

Eddie broke away, breathless, his forehead resting against yours. 

" How is that for a moment?" 

The warmth of his forehead against yours felt electric, a tangible reminder of the space that had just shrunk between you. 

You leaned in wanting to kiss him more. 

Instead of retreating, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, your lips brushing against his one more time. Eddie chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your mouth.

“You want more?"

You smiled against his lips, letting the warmth of the moment wrap around you like a familiar blanket. “Maybe a little,” you replied, pulling him closer, your heart racing like it had when you first stepped onto the dance floor. 

Eddie smirks as he flicks his tongue across your lips. 

His breath mingled with yours, the anticipation hanging thick in the air. “Is that all you want, Y/N?” His voice lowered, teasing. 

You leaned back slightly, gauging his expression. “What else would I want?” 

Eddie’s gaze sharpened, curiosity and mischief dancing in his eyes. 

“Say it,” he insisted, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, as if challenging you to break the teasing barrier between you both.

" I don't know what your talking about" 

Eddie’s smirk widened, his confidence radiating as he leaned back slightly, crossing his arms. “Playing coy now? Oh, come on. I didn’t just kiss you so you could keep me guessing.” 

You rolled your eyes playfully. 

" I don't know" you shrugged, playfully. 

He leaned closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “Playing the game, huh? Alright, let’s change the rules then.” 

“Since when did you become a strategist?” 

" Since you want to keep kissing me" 

" Well I don't wanna kiss you anymore" you lie. 

Eddie raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Sure you don’t,” he teased, leaning back slightly.

" Maybe if you kissed me a lot better, I would tell you" 

Eddie leaned in, his eyes gleaming with challenge. “Is that so? You think you’re the judge of my kissing skills?” 

“Justice must be served, Munson,” you shot back, a grin dancing on your lips. 

"You asked for it" 

" Alright... sugar" you teased using the nickname Brittany called him.

Eddie’s expression shifted, a mix of amusement and irritation flashing across his eyes. “You’re gonna pay for that one, you know.” 

“Oh, I can’t wait,” you said, a playful smile stretching across your face. 

Without anymore words, he leaned over kissing you deeply with his tongue in your mouth. His tongue meets yours for battle. 

His hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer as if he wanted to imprint this moment into memory. You moaned agaisnt his lips for a moment. 

His hand grips your waist, rubbing circles on the skin he finds there. 

It ends way too soon for your liking. 

" Now what?" He asks. 

You leaned against the seat, breathless, heart pounding like a drum through your chest. " How about we go get a burger and some fries? I have the key to the diner" 

Eddie laughs, " you're playing dangerous, you sure you won't get in trouble with Harrington?" 

"If you won't tell, I won't" 

Eddie tilted his head, a playful sparkle igniting in his eyes. “A covert operation? Count me in. What’s the worst that could happen, right?” 

" Start driving then" 

Eddie chuckled, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel as he revved the engine. “Oh, I’m all in for this late-night escapade. Just call me your partner in crime.” 

" Good thing you're cute, grandpa" you teased. 

Eddie rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the grin creeping onto his face. “Cute, huh? Just don’t expect me to knit you a sweater or anything,” he shot back, shifting into gear as he pulled out onto the road.

" The world isn't ready for any of your sweaters or anything" 

Eddie flipped the radio on, the sound of electric guitars filling the car, drowning out the fading echoes of the bar behind you. 

"You ever wear a sweater?” he asked.

" No I walk around naked" you rolled your eyes answering him sarcastically. 

Eddie burst into laughter. “Now that’s a scene I could get behind,” he joked, winking as he focused back on the road. 

" Hey can I ask a question?" you asked.

Eddie glanced over, curiosity sparking in his brown eyes. “What’s up? You know me, I’m an open book.” He reached to turn down the knob of the radio, the electric guitars fading into a softer melody.

“With your music, do you ever think your actaully going to get big? And if you do, are you going to forget me? us?" 

Eddie tightened his grip on the steering wheel, a look washing over his face. “Wow, that’s a heavy question for a late-night burger run.” 

You leaned back against the seat, arms crossed as the engine's hum filled the air. 

" I just wanted to know, in the back of my mind I think about it" 

Eddie glanced at you, his brow furrowing slightly. “You really think I’d forget someone like you?” His voice softened, genuine concern pooling in his gaze.

“People change, Eddie. Success changes people,” you murmured, your hearteat racing, " you might find someone else." 

Eddie's grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles white under the dim cab light. “Yeah, but I’m not just some dude focusing on fame and fortune. I like where I’m at. I like my friends. I like you. I like our thing. I am not rushing." 

" I'm sorry I asked" 

Eddie glanced over, concern furrowing his brow. “Hey, don’t apologize. You’re allowed to ask questions,” he said, his voice steady. “I just don’t want you thinking I’m some rock star who’d turn his back on people he cares about." 

" .... and what if you know.. get married to some chick with blonde hair or something..." 

Eddie’s laughter erupted, filling the car with a warmth that sliced through the lingering tension. “Married? To a chick with blonde hair?” He shook his head, hands still gripping the wheel as he navigated an empty road. “That's a long road to marriage." 

" Do you ever want to get married?" 

Eddie's brow knitted in thought as he shifted gears, the rumble of the engine filling the silence. “Honestly? I never really thought about it, you know? Too busy daydreaming about rock stardom and selling out arenas.”

You nodded, looking out the window. 

" How about you?" Eddie asks.

You thought for a moment, the streetlights blurring past as you stared into the night. “ yes." 

Eddie’s brow arched, surprise etched across his face. “Really? You want to settle down and wear a white dress, or something?” He glanced at you, curiosity shimmering in his brown eyes.

" Not a white dress exactly, but I want to be someone's wife. I don't know. Might sound silly to you. But I always wanted a wedding, not a big one. Small one." 

Eddie’s smile softened, his gaze steady on the road. “Not silly at all. That sounds nice. A small wedding, just close friends and family?” 

“Exactly,” you replied, your fingers tapping nervously on your knee. “Halloween themed." 

Eddie let out a bark of laughter, his eyes brightening with genuine intrigue. “Now that I can get behind! Imagine the cake—black velvet or maybe a pumpkin spice assassination with bat-shaped sprinkles.” He grinned. 

" Red bloody roses, in a small garden or somwhere where you can see the fall weather." 

Eddie's eyes widened with delight, a broad smile spreading across his face. “That sounds like a scene from a movie! A killer wedding, literally.” He laughed, his excitement infectious.

“Right? I’d have to walk down the aisle to the person I love, having them cry over me a little bit. I would want Steve to walk me down." 

Eddie's laughter faded, replaced by a soft smile that lit up his face. “That sounds perfect. And here I thought all you wanted was a burger after line dancing.”

You elbowed him playfully, your spirits lifting with the conversation.

" Shush you" you glance down at your hands. Eddie covered yours. 

" Any guy would be lucky to marry you.." He says. 

The sincerity in his voice surprised you, sending a warm tingle through your fingers where he held your hand. You glanced up at him, meeting his earnest gaze.

“Are you serious?” you asked, the words slipping from your mouth before you could say them. 

He nods, " and if you do get married... to you know someone else.." he goes quiet. 

“Someone else?” you repeated, " You don't think you'd want to marry me?"

Eddie paused, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. He bit his lip, considering his words. “It’s not that I wouldn’t want to marry you. It’s just…” he hesitated, glancing at the road, then at you, " I have dreams." 

You felt the weight of his words settle in the air like a storm cloud gathering on the horizon. “Dreams?” you echoed softly, the bump in your throat rising with the unspoken tension between you. 

“Yeah.” He sighed, hands in his hair, " I really want to make music, travel the world..." 

“It sounds incredible,” you replied, trying to mask the heaviness that pressed against your chest. “But what does that mean for us?” 

" Let's take it one day at a time" 

" I don't want to hold you back..." 

Eddie’s gaze softened, his hand still enveloping yours as he navigated the winding road. “You’re not holding me back. You’re part of this ride, Y/N. The music, the chaos, all of it. I want it all but in life sometimes not everything happens.." 

You stared at him, watching the shadows dance across his face as he focused on the road, each bump in the pavement causing a slight jolt. 

You bite your lip knowing you had connections to the music industry from your parents. 

"You know," you said, your voice soft but deliberate, "my parents have connections in the music industry. If you ever need help—"

Eddie cut you off, his grip on the wheel tightening. “Y/N, no. But when were you going to tell me that?" 

" Well it's not something I talk about after losing both my parents" 

Eddie’s eyes softened, a mixture of regret and understanding washing over his expression. “Y/N…” he started, the weight of unsaid words hovering in the air. 

" I'll get you a connection, Eddie" 

Eddie’s grip on the steering wheel relaxed slightly, his eyes flickering to you with a mixture of vulnerability and admiration. “You really mean that?” 

You nodded, your heart pounding. “I just want to see you succeed. You deserve the world and the world deserves to know Eddie Munson." 

Eddie's expression shifted, something between disbelief and appreciation flickering in his brown eyes. “You have no idea how much that means to me,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“You’re not just some rockstar to me, you're someone I care about.. someone..." 

The words hung in the air, thick with unspoken feelings. Eddie's gaze flickered toward you, searching for the weight of what you hadn’t finished saying. 

“Someone…” he prompted, his voice softer now, inviting.

“Someone I like... a lot" you turned to face the window as he parks in the parking lot of the diner. 

The car came to a stop, the engine's rumble diving down into silence. You sat in the stillness of the car, the engine fading into a whisper as Eddie turned to face you, his expression caught somewhere between hope and uncertainty. 

“You like me a lot?” he echoed. " Let's just go inside" you were about to open the door when he reached and closed it. 

“Not so fast,” Eddie said, his voice low but steady as he leaned towards you, his intensity drawing you in. 

“You can’t just throw that ‘I like you… a lot’ into the air and expect me to let it linger." 

" You can" you went to open the door, and again he shut it. 

“Seriously?” you shot him a look, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. 

" We're talking about this" Eddie says. 

You crossed your arms, ready to bolt from the car, but Eddie shifted forward, his gaze locking onto yours with unexpected intensity. 

“Y/N, you can’t just drop that bomb and expect me to pretend like it didn’t explode!” He says. 

" I said what I said" you shrugged. 

" There is more to it, isn't?" He asks.

Eddie leaned closer, his gaze piercing yet soft, urging you to unveil the thoughts you buried within. 

“Y/N…” His voice dropped to a whisper, heavy with expectation.

" Eddie.." 

Eddie leaned closer, his brow furrowed as if he could pry the truth out of you with sheer determination. “What are you thinking?”

You hesitated, heart racing as his earnest gaze held yours. 

“I just… I don’t think I wanna say" 

Eddie’s expression shifted, concern etching deeper lines across his forehead. “You don’t want to? Or you’re scared to?” 

You looked away, tracing the seams of your jeans with your eyes. “Maybe a bit of both,”

" Hey, it's me" Eddie says, " just us here." 

His voice wrapped around you like a warm blanket, grounding you amidst the whirlpool of thoughts inside your head. 

“C’mon, Y/N." you look at him and this time he sees the struggle in your eyes, the tears that are coming. 

Eddie’s eyes softened, and he reached out, his fingers gently brushing away a stray tear that escaped down your cheek. “Hey, it’s okay. Whatever it is, you can tell me. I promise I won't judge.” 

You took a deep breathe, shaking your head. 

Eddie’s thumb lingered on your cheek, his brown eyes searching yours. “Please, Y/N. Just be honest with me.”

“I...” You hesitated, feeling the weight of everything pressing down. “What if I told you that I was afraid?"

Eddie's brow furrowed deeper, concern flooding his features as he leaned in closer. “Afraid of what?”

“Afraid of losing you.” Your voice trembled, the admission hanging in the air like a fragile thread, ready to snap. " If you leave..." 

" Because you have dreams Eddie, to be this rockstar" 

Eddie's gaze softened, his brow furrowing. “Y/N, I know it seems like a wild ride, but I don’t plan to leave anyone behind. You’re a part of my journey, whether you realize it or not.”

“But you don't get it" 

“I do get it. You think I’m just gonna vanish once I get a taste of success?” He shook his head, the frustration brewing in his voice. “That’s not who I am.”

" No you don't get it" Your voice wavered, uncertainty creeping into your words. “You might think that now, but how will it feel when the world suddenly wants a piece of Eddie Munson? The fame, the attention... What happens when someone else catches your eye? What if someone else loves you... before.." 

" Before what? " Eddie asks. 

“Before I can even express what you mean to me,” you whispered, your voice trembling. You looked down, unable to meet his gaze, the weight of your fears unbearable. 

“Hey.” Eddie’s tone became even softer. “You need to breathe and two, I'm right here." 

His words washed over you like a soothing wave, but the tension in your chest tightened. You met his gaze, seeing the sincerity behind those warm brown eyes, but doubt still tangled within your heart.

“I’m afraid I’ll become just another name just like a song" 

Eddie’s expression shifted, his gaze unwavering as he turned fully to face you. “You think you’re just a name to me? Y/N, you’re so much more than that,” he says.

" What do you mean?" 

" I...I.." Eddie gulps.

He paused, taking a steady breath as if grounding himself amid the emotions swirling in the confined space of the car. His fingers lingered on your wrist, a reminder of his presence. 

“I think... I..I" he runs a hand down his face as he tries to find the words. 

“I think I’m falling for you,” he said finally, the admission spilling into the air like a fragile confession. 

" Say it again" 

Eddie’s breath caught, uncertainty flashing in his eyes. “I think I’m falling for you.” 

“Really?” The word slipped from your lips, a mix of disbelief and hope fluttering in your chest. 

“Yeah.” Eddie searched your face, " Oh Eddie" you tugged on his jacket pulling him close as you kissed him. 

Eddie’s lips melded against yours, warmth enveloping you both as an electric pulse surged through the air between you. His taste lingered on your tongue, a mixture of sweet anticipation and shared longing. 

His hands cradled your face as he kisses you back. You pulled away. 

" I think I'm falling for you too" 

" You mean it?" He asks. 

" Yes" 

“Seriously? You’re not messing with me, right?”

You shook your head, " No." 

" That's why I'm afraid when you leave.. you'll stop falling for me." 

Eddie’s expression shifted, a shadow of uncertainty crossing his features. “Y/N, I’d never stop falling for you. That’s not how it works.” 

" No? There will be much prettier girls, you'll have them left and right and I'll be here.." 

Eddie shook his head vigorously, a mix of frustration and disbelief dancing in his eyes. “You think I’d trade what we have for a pretty face? That’s not how it works. You’re not just another girl, Y/N.” 

" Why do I feel like I always comes second then? '

Eddie's brow furrowed, a mix of frustration and sincerity shining in his eyes. “Because of tonight? I get it, I do! But don’t let one mess-up define what this is between us.” 

" Yeah when some girl hung up on you and sits on your lap while you look like a deer in headlights" 

Eddie ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. “Y/N, I froze. Like I’ve said, it caught me off guard. I wasn’t prepared for it, okay?” His voice rose.

You held his gaze, the tightness in your chest refusing to fade. “You didn’t even push her off. You just stood there.”

Eddie closed his eyes, breathing through the frustration. “I get it. I messed up. But I'm here and I told you how I feel.." 

You tilted your head, searching his eyes for that flicker of sincerity. “And what if it happens again? What if you freeze next time with someone else?”

Eddie sighed, simmering frustration leaking from his every word like steam. “Then I will deal with it, but I will not break your heart." 

" Eddie I.." He doesn't let you finish the sentence as he kisses you. 

His lips pressed against yours, strong and fervent, a silent promise coating the air between you like an electric current.

Eddie pulled back, breathless, " I won't hurt you. I'll chase after you if it's my last breath I take." 

" That's huge, you have to put meaning behind that" 

Eddie’s gaze sharpened, determination flooding his features. “I mean it. If it ever feels like you’re slipping away, I’ll fight for what we have. "

He takes your hand in his and kisses your fingers. 

" Promise" 

[n33dlew0rk]

..and very old men, they dream of summers

rated G | 1102 words | cw: major character death, mention of drug use, hurt/little bit of comfort

for @steddieangstyaugust prompt “ghosts” (day 2)

Vaguely and very creatively inspired by “Ghosts” by The Presets

Remnants of snow are clinging to the ground as a few shy flower buds slowly emerge, following the sun like Eddie is following the gravelly road back home.

Strangest walk of shame to ever be treaded the one you take after an entire life of big cities, sparkling lights on blurred faces, extremes explored and barely survived to.

Strange because c’mon who runs back home after more than forty years on the road? What even is home when the only sense of belonging you ever found was in the lingering spaces between too many words spoken, in the quiet hours before sun dawn, in the foggy and fuzzy brains chasing drug-induced highs that claimed to self-fulfil all of one’s youth-driven naive dreams?

Strangest because never in all of his nine cat-like fast-burned lives would Eddie ever have said that it was the Indiana torrid and unforgiving blitzkrieg summers he wished to warm his old bones to. Mid-May’s traitorously cold spring tail end was kicking his ass, but Eddie could be patient for this. 

Wayne’s old trailer looked like a vintage memorabilia, something straight out of the eighties. Eddie bought it out of the city-owned land for way more money than it was worth it because they were a sentimental little clan, the Munsons. More like a duo maybe. Now a one-man band since Wayne passed nearly a decade back. 

Eddie had briefly come back then, just to retrieve his beloved uncle’s ashes, scattering most of them over Wayne’s favourite fishing lake and keeping some to melt into a customised guitar pick because he was a morbid gremlin like that, Eddie.

Thing is ‘course this is home like he spent the majority of his young life between those tin-foiled pressed baking tray walls mock-off, how could he not think back with nothing but fondness about it, slowly climbing the porch steps and sitting down, hugging his cane like he once held a too big guitar during endless strumming-filled nights.

But as a few weeks pass by, the first seeds of summer expanding warm late afternoons into longer comforting nights, when the sun packs its bag for the day and grazes the horizon, Eddie knows he has another ghost to chase before he can settle for good, before old deeds are taken care of, before he can rest.

-- in peace?

You see memories are kind of a funny thing when half of your brain has been fried by poor life choices you don’t really regret but sometimes wish could have left you with some more cooperative neurons.

So when Eddie spots the familiar mop of hazelnut hair he sighs and gets up from the old deck chair, aching bones rattling and all. He could take the car, but he knows it would kill half the fun despite what his knees have to say.

Once he reaches the road outside the trailer park, it’s a solitary basketball rolling down the asphalt guiding him.

“You know I’m not picking it up, right?”

A light phantom laugh travels in the breeze, mid-June still a short way from summer, but the air feels warm and playful.

Eddie sees shoulders shrugging in a yellow sweater, a smug smile, happy crinkled eyes. 

The still waters of Lover’s Lake shine behind him but no that’s not right he’s still walking down the street, the woods are in the opposite direction. 

Colourful neon lights make it difficult to focus on his face but that’s not right either, this is not San Francisco, this is Hawkins, Indiana.

-- you really are old.

So Eddie keeps on walking, no basketball in sight but a quiet whistling reaches his ears, Fleetwood Mac maybe?

“Oh so your music tastes finally got better at least, that’s a relief”.

Vespertine nostalgia coats the inside of his mouth with smoke and cheap beer and he needs a moment to catch his breath because now it’s the weight of arms around his neck that makes it difficult to keep walking, the weight of a hug he hasn’t felt in a long while too much for his battered back.

“How much longer?”

-- just a little bit more, Sunshine.

Eddie scoffs at the willful unending mission of never acknowledging his Prince of Darkness nature just to fuck with him.

 there’s no darkness in you when you smile at me.

“You’re very talkative today”

-- you’re home, closer now.

Eddie lifts his gaze to meet the rusty gates of the old cemetery greeting him, creaking their welcome. As he goes through them, they merge with the glass sliding doors of a big fancy house, humidity radiating from the pool in front of him sticking to his skin. 

His brows knit in confusion and he stares at the headstones further away. He starts to walk around the pool to reach them, but a soft hand to his chest stops him.

-- no need to, loverboy, just walk beside me.

So Eddie follows and as he looks down, there’s actually no pool, which ok weird, just wet patches of grass, Spring’s late goodbyes he guesses.

“I’m cold.”

-- I know, just a few more steps.

His cane gets stuck in the mud so he drops it, kind of stumbles forward, closing the distance between him and his destination.

             Steve Harrington

October 17, 1966 - March 27, 1986 

       Beloved and dutiful son.

best friend

brother

babysitter extraordinaire

Eddie sits down by the grave, shivering a little. He traces the dates and the scratched cliches devoid of any actual feeling his parents left there, smiling at the way the truer later contributions by the ones who truly loved Steve steal the spotlight.

“I miss you, y’know?”

-- I know, Sunshine.

“I’m sorry I didn't come back sooner”

-- sooner wasn't the right time, rockstar.

“Do you ever think about how things could’ve been different?”

-- no, because they couldn't.

Eddie sighs once more but stays silent, regret is an ugly parasite to eradicate.

-- Life does what life does, nobody could've known. I’m glad you got to live a full life, Eddie. More stories to tell me, now.

Eddie lets a small sad smile fight for space on his wrinkled face. “I guess”.

He didn't even notice the sun slowly spilling into a new day in full force, warming his skin.

-- I wanted to wait so you could feel Summer instead of Ghosts.

Eddie laughs, a hearty low rumble escaping his smoke-fatigued lungs. He lifts a hand and rests it on the gravestone, patting it with affection.

“Oh but you are both, sweetheart. And I dreamed about it for a very long time now”

        Edward W. Munson

June 21, 1965 - June 21, 2035

            Beloved freak.

Sunshine

[curiositydooropened]

Better Off - Part Two

Four years since Argyle's wedding, Robin invited you and the gang to her boss's lake house. Hoping good memories will be made, you're forced to wrestle with some ghosts of your past.

This fic runs in the same Universe as My Whole Life, Too.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader, Eddie Munson x Reader

Wordcount: 14,132

Warnings: second chance romance, angst, fluff, sex and sex adjacent (minors DNI, thanks!), recreational drinking and drug use, mentions of pregnancy and parenthood, mentions of the loss of loved ones

Navigation • Masterlist • Part One

---

Your gaze blurred on ribbons of gold and ivory, stretched and pulled and flipped as a man in candy stripes worked his taffy on its puller. The air smelled sticky sweet of vanilla and lemon and warmth, and you bundled tighter into your sweater with each burst of cold air and ding of a bell at the door. 

Another worker with rolled sweets pressed and smacked them onto the countertop, the scattering of beads pulling your focus and stirring you from your daze. She offered a sample with a kind smile, and you thanked her before popping the sticky sour drop into your mouth. 

It ached at the stress sore just between your teeth and molars, but you supposed you deserved the slight agony. With a sigh, you dropped your shoulders and allowed Robin to shove you gently back to the cobblestones streets, the outside air a misty chill. Large, grey clouds loomed in the distance, the forecasted storm apt weather for your current state of mind. 

“Ugh, I’m sorry,” Robin groaned for the four hundredth time that day.

You managed to plaster on a smile, though you could feel the dishonesty behind it, and gave her a hand squeeze. “Shut up, please.”

“Yeah, Robin, we’re fine,” Nancy agreed sidling up on her other side, that special Nancy-Wheeler-determination etched between her brows. “All of this shit needed to be aired out anyway. You just facilitated it.” 

Robin rolled her eyes. “That makes me feel so much better.” 

You shrugged. “I’m glad it’s all coming out now, when I have you two for support.” 

Nancy’s facade nearly broke then, the glimmer of emotion in her eyes, but she gave a curt nod. “Me too.” 

Robin groaned and started back on your path down the western side of the road. This little lakeside town was full of antique shops and souvenir stores. Every store had something you liked, in a black or navy, or in a Devil red or forest green, smoked charcoal or honeyed yellow. You’d given up a few stores ago now, understanding the Universe was just mocking you. 

Other than the looming storm clouds and the lingering guilt from the night before, you supposed you were having a lovely, if not much-needed girls day. In any other scenario, you’d be delighted to walk such a pristine little village, smelling the early summer buds and tasting at each little eatery along the route. Plus, the company was ideal.

“Robs, I’m coming to visit you immediately, I hope you know,” you linked your arm with hers and fell into step. “You’ll never see me because I’ll spend the entire trip holed up in a bakery, elbow-deep in baguettes, but I’ll be there. You’ll teach me French?” 

“Bien sûr,” she snickered, tugging you into a vintage clothing shop.

The window display had a little black dress á la Breakfast at Tiffany’s, and the place smelled of mothballs and rose-scented perfume. It reminded you a bit of your grandmother, on your mother’s side. She had an oversized hatbox that was passed down to you, chock full of love letters from soldiers in the war.

A similar hatbox sat near the register, pale pink and pressed satin, and you jimmied the top off to see if any secrets lay inside. No love letters, but a collection of multicolored silk scarves. You pulled one from the top, white with thin, navy Breton stripes and tied it around your neck. “What do you think, Robin? Will I fit right in?” 

Robin abandoned her post near an oversized button bin, hands already full, and waggled her eyebrows, dropping her haul to the countertop. “It’s perfect,” she chuckled, caressing it between her thumb and forefinger.

You watched her blue eyes scan your features, smile softening, and eventually her padded shoulders dropped in a sigh.

“You can’t run away to France with me.” 

You smiled at that. “Why not?”

She shook her fringe from her eyes. “Eddie’s not mad at you, you know.”

You swallowed, nodded. “I know. I’m still going to apologize.” 

“And for what it’s worth,” she dug through the box in front of you, avoiding your gaze. “Steve did love you, maybe does love you.” 

You sighed and untied the scarf around your throat, suddenly suffocated by the stuffy air in here. “Steve loves the idea of me.” You pinched at the bridge of your nose, remembering you were talking to his best friend too. “I just mean… I don’t think it’s fair to start something again when I can’t be certain how I’d like to finish it.”

Robin nodded. “I can appreciate that stance. It’s very… mature.” She commented with the flair for dramatics that would put Eddie to shame, pulling a rose-covered scarf from the box with a flourish and tying it around her head.

You snorted.

“Guys,” Nancy’s voice was so meek from the corner of the room, you barely recognized it. When you turned, she was holding the world’s smallest knit sweater, navy blue with a great white whale, and she was crying. 

—

You recognized the calm from ten years of coastal living. That sweet, soft lull in birdsong, the electricity in the air. Clouds blackened the sky, and off-shore docks groaned under whitecaps’ wake. You stood in your room, looking out the tiny window at the billowing tops of trees, fingers idling at the satin ribbon around your neck, Robin’s treat. You couldn’t focus in the silence, only hearing the thrum of your heart against your ribcage. You could sense Eddie in the room next door, could feel smoke and anxiety attached to a string around your finger, reminding you of the atrocities you’d enacted. Calm before the storm.

With a deep breath and a decided snap of tension, you toed out of the room, floorboard creaking with each step toward atonement.

Only, Eddie’s room was empty, door wide, belonging strewn about like he’d moved in. His window was bigger than yours, curtains drawn and window cracked. A cool breeze whipped around your knees, billowing the soft chiffon of your skirt. You sighed and crossed, moving a handmade ashtray from the window sill to the side table. A well-loved copy of A Wizard of Earthsea sat beside the lamp, dog-eared to all Hell. 

You tugged the window down and latched it when something glinted to the North, catching your eye. 

From this vantage, you could just make out the tip of the dock, and the boat in its mooring, rocking mercilessly back and forth. You cursed and turned heel to find Steve waiting in the doorway, hands stuffed into his pockets, eyes turned up at you like he’d been waiting and didn’t know what to say. 

“Did you guys wind the boat up?” You asked before he had a chance to speak. 

He opened his mouth, brows furrowed, and that was enough of an answer to have you shoving past him and down the staircase to slip into your sneakers and out the front door.

“What are you-?” Robin called out from her cozy spot on the sofa.

You waved her off with a “Be right back!” and let the slap of rubber to wood lead you down the winding staircase, past the patio and fire pit, and to the end of the dock. Halfway there, you heard Steve calling after you, heard his curses, the distinct thud of his own feet on your tail.

The boat swayed under its awning. Steve’s voice was lost on the wind. Waves thrashed against rocky shores.

“Hold that steady!” You called after him, pointing to the bow, and he rushed as instructed, wind whipping at auburn hair, the navy collar of his polo.

The boat had been placed under the dock, tied to a safeguard by a tight rope, but you knew that if it wasn’t cranked upwards and out of the water, the metal casing surrounding it could cause some serious damage, depending on the intensity of the storm. And, as you put all of your strength and effort into cranking the oversized metal wheel, the storm began to show you just how intense it could get.

Wind rushed between your legs, stretched wide for leverage, slicking your skirt to your thighs as the sky opened up and rain began to pour. A deluge of oversized drops, ice cold, that trampled your hair and soaked your skin, slipping your fingers from their handhold. You cursed, but Steve was right there to help, hair stuck to his temples, biceps flexed as he cranked the boat upward and out of the water.

You hated that you couldn’t look away, frigid wet to the bone, standing between Steve and the house, waves spraying the shoreline, unmoving as he stared back at you, blinking away rainwater, licking it from his lips. 

A crack of thunder startled you both, and you ran, slipped on the wet floorboards of the dock to be caught in strong arms, hands that gripped your cardigan at your waist line and pulled you in close, warm, led you to an abandoned beach hut to wait out the storm. 

The space was musty and dark and damp, and you were uncomfortable under skin-slicked clothes, pressed against a splintering wooden bench with molding life vests in neon orange. Steve hovered over you, breath heavy in his warm chest, droplets from his hair shaken into your eyelashes and across the tops of your cheeks. His hands remained on your waist, a tether, a buoy, anchoring himself to you and you to the ground for each roll of thunder from above.

Rain pelted the tin roof too loud to hear the racing of your heart, too loud to hear your own anxiety screaming at you to leave, to run back up the hill to safety, too loud to stop you. 

Steve’s grip tightened on your waist, tugging at the material of your skirt, and the tip of his nose met your temple, ice-cold, in a line. Then his cheek was pressed to yours, stubble and sunscreen. His breath warmed the lobe of your ear. 

You helped him lift you onto the bench, the whole thing wobbling under your weight, but you had faith in his grasp on you, his weight between your legs as he helped to hitch your skirt up one thigh, material tacky to goose-pimpled flesh. His hands were ice-cold, but you were on fire as he trailed fingertips from your hip to your knee, hooking your leg up higher on his hip. 

Another roll of thunder wracked through his shoulders, a quake around your frame that you squaring him to face you. His expression was unreadable, pupils wide, but lips drawn downward, jaw clenched. His far-off gaze lingered on your lips, and he licked his own, pawing at the underside of your thigh.

This was the moment of no return. You knew it. You knew he could feel it. Something deep inside was clawing its way up, trying to remind you of all of the heartache you’d endured in the last four years, but the rain wouldn’t let up, and his hand kneaded your flesh in a way that felt so right, so familiar, felt like home.

You caught his elbow to stop his movements, and he tensed, shoulders receding in defeat, like he’d just been waiting for you to stop him, like his mind had been racing like your own. 

You breathed his name, like a prayer, and his gaze snapped back to yours. “Touch me.”

Drowning your better judgement, you trailed your fingers down the rope of muscles in his forearm to grasp at his wrist and guide his hand to where you needed him most. 

God, it felt like coming home. Steve’s hands were made for you, a perfect form to all of the places you needed him, as if he’d made you himself. You were plaster, and he Michaelangelo. He flattened creases formed over time from wear and stress, and kneaded them smooth and soft. 

He stretched and hit places that had your eyelids alight with stardust, places you hadn’t hit in years. Your fingernails caught on the breadth of his shoulders and the rain against the roof dampened the sinful sounds pouring from each of your open mouths. He worked you like he’d been born to do it, a sailor devoted to a life at sea, or rather returning from too many years landlocked, eager and determined. 

He muttered affirmations hot and damp against the shell of your ear that had you keening, begging for him to keep going, desperate to stay afloat, until the band snapped and the buoy became untethered, rope unraveling within you.

The rainfall slowed and the sunlight fell in shallow waves across patches in the siding. Your breath evened against the damp planes of Steve’s throat. Clarity began to sharpen the softened edges. A chill wracked through you, soaked through, and you forced him from your space. Gently, you hopped from the bench, skirt falling around shaky knees.

The beach hut door opened with a creak, and you stepped out into the sun. 

—

Your eyes remained unfocused on the candlelight, too warm and itchy under an afghan and dry clothes to listen to the nostalgia being shared in the adjacent seating room. You hadn’t left the dining table, reassuring everyone you were fine, just exhausted, when you hadn’t eaten more than a few bites of your dinner. All you could focus on was Steve’s grip around the top of his beer bottle, condensation dripping between the soft pads of his fingers. 

“Hey.”

You startled at the intrusion, and tried to blink away the residual flickers in your eyesight, focusing instead on the forlorn look on Jonathan’s face as he scooted into the seat beside you, offering a chocolate bar. You took it with a soft smile, peeling back the plastic wrapping and hunkering further into your patched blanket.

“Remember last month when we were eating pizza at 3AM, laughing about how crazy this trip would be,” he released that cheeky half-smile you hadn’t seen since he’d heard the news.

You snorted, snapping off a section of chocolate to let melt on your tongue. You rolled your eyes, passing it back for him to break off a piece. “Yeah, how’re you feeling?” 

He sighed, ran a hand down his face, shrugged. You watched him stare into the flame for a while.

When he didn’t speak, you reached your hand out to take his, and he met your gaze again with a wry smile, squeezing your hand. “At least I’ll be seeing a lot more of you.” 

“You will?” You grinned. 

He shrugged. “Unless Nancy wants to move overseas. But if that’s the case, I suppose we’ll just take you with us.” 

Your heart ached at the sentiment, and you felt your emotions start to stick in your throat. He was moving to be with her. He was dropping everything he loved, everything he had, to be with Nancy, wherever her dreams took her. And although that made you wildly happy for them, it also further drove home that ache in the pit of you, that spot that hurt. 

A pair of knuckles wrapped at the doorway, stirring your attention from Jonathan. Nancy and Eddie stood side-by-side, hands shoved into pockets or hid in the sleeves of oversized sweaters. Nancy mumbled a goodnight, tiny frame dwarfed beside the gangly man beside her, both of their curls haloed in candlelight. 

“I’ll go with you,” Jonathan hoisted himself upright, planting a soft kiss to your cheek before he followed Nancy up the winding staircase and into the darkness beyond. 

Eddie lingered, shuffling closer to break a piece off your candy bar on the table. “Hey,” he mumbled. 

“Hey,” you sighed. You hadn’t spoken to him all day. More accurately, you’d been avoiding him all day. 

Another burst of laughter echoed from the living room. Eddie nodded toward the kitchen and moved the chocolate to his cheek to ask, “Wanna chat?” 

With a swallow and a nod, you pulled your chair out from the table and gathered your unfinished dinner plate to follow him into the kitchen, discarding your blanket at your place setting. 

Eddie sidled up to a counter, silhouetted in moonlight, and he stayed silent while you scraped your scraps into the garbage and rinsed your plate. When you were finished, you hoisted yourself to the countertop beside him, shoulder’s hunched, heels kicking at the baseboard cabinet. The light flickered warm from the other rooms, laughter trickling in in intervals of hushed tones. 

“I’m sorry about last night,” you both simultaneously, followed by a snicker of understanding. You elbowed him, and he swayed dramatically, sinking his weight back into you. 

“Shut up,” you scolded. “I’m actually sorry. I was being a dick. You did nothing wrong.” 

“That’s not true,” Eddie countered. “You didn’t deserve what I said. At least, not the way I said it.” 

You sighed and linked your arm with his, resting your head atop his bony shoulder. You felt the press of lips to the crown of your head, his cheek to your hair. 

“You do know I just want you to be happy, right? And that I love you?” 

“I know,” you smiled, tilting your head to kiss at the seam of his band tee. “I love you too.” 

“I, uh…” He raked a hand down his face, callouses catching on stubble. “I talked to Steve today, while you guys were out. He told me what he said to you.” 

You swallowed. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah. I told him to grow up.”

You pulled yourself upright to see that Cheshire grin poking dimples into pale cheeks.

“And that him hating it just made me want to do you even more. With him watching.” 

“Eddie!” You shoved at his shoulder, and once again he sunk further into you, hiding a cackle behind his hand. “You perv.” 

“Come on, you know he’d be into that.”

Your face heated at the idea. Your mind flashed back to that dark look in Steve’s eyes, in the beach hut, watching you get off on his thick, warm fingers, the bob of his Adam’s apple, the steady rise and fall of his broad chest beneath your palms. 

“I would to,” Eddie elbowed you out of your daydream, and you landed a punch, harder this time.

“Stop!”

He snickered and dodged your next attack, rubbing the sore spot you’d left on his bicep. “You’re fiesty under emotional duress.” He grinned. “What does it say about me that I find that really sexy?” 

“That you need help,” you snorted. 

He caught your wrist and pressed your hand to his sternum, deepening his voice. “Yeah I do, sweetheart.” 

You scoffed as his rumble turned into a laugh, and since you couldn’t take your hand back, you gripped his t-shirt to pull him closer, resting your forehead to his chest. He tucked you under his jaw and released your wrist in favor of wrapping you in a tight hug. Cigarette smoke and sunscreen and rumbled laughter and lithe limbs and still, somehow, it wasn’t enough. Something dammed at your throat, and you clenched every muscle in your body to rid yourself of the anxiety building. 

Eddie began soothing ministrations up and down your spine. “You need to talk to him.” He mumbled into your temple, breath hot and chocolatey against your skin. “I mean, really talk to him. Like just the two of you, hash it out for hours. You get out everything you need to. Let him tell his part. We both know you won’t be able to make a decision until you get everything out on the table and really look at it, as a whole.” 

You swallowed, your throat dry. “Make a decision?” 

He pulled away, pressing soft hands to your cheeks, dark eyes beneath a furrowed brow. “Promise me something?” 

You hummed. 

“Promise me you’ll talk to him sometime this week. It can be right before we leave, for all I care. But I need you to tell me what you figured out before you get on that plane.” 

There was something hopeful in his gaze, features softened to that lost little boy you’d tutored. There were too many meanings behind his words, too many things that spun in your mind and caught somewhere in the ventricles of your heart. “Eddie…” You muttered.

He released your face and wiped nervous hands to his jeans, suddenly shier than you’d seen him in years. “Christ, I didn’t mean it as like an ultimatum or anything. I’m not that guy.” Not like Steve. He scratched at the back of his neck, took a few steps backward. “I just need to know if I need to hide the liquor bottles or if Hawkins’ is getting a new resident.”

God, why did each phrase feel like an extra stab in the gut?

“I’m sorry,” Eddie stammered a laugh, wrapping ringed fingers against the flat plane of his chest. “I think I’ve had too much to drink.” He never drank more than one. 

You reached your hand out, stretched all the way across the gap until the tips of your fingers brushed the silver of his rings. 

He sighed and took your grasp, allowed you to pull him back into you. 

“I promise I’ll talk to him,” you chewed on the inside of you cheek, ducked to catch his gaze. “And I promise I’ll talk to you.”

The dimple tucked into his cheek beside those plump, pink lips, stretched thin in an awkward smile. He nodded. “I’m gonna go to bed.” 

You nodded. “Okay.” 

Then, he leaned to press his lips to yours. It was chaste, soft, a cascade of curls around your face, and lithe fingertips against your cheekbone. Your eyes didn’t have time to flutter closed. Then he was kissing your knuckles and bending his slender frame into a dramatic bow. 

“Goodnight, m’lady.” 

You managed a choked laugh. “Goodnight, Eddie.” 

—

Kneading dough was grounding, cathartic. It made you feel like everything was right in the world. Soft, sticky between flour-caked knuckles, the dull thud against the rolling board, the squeaky wheels of the rolling pin, the sweet smell of apples caramelizing in a nearby mixing bowl, all of it felt like heaven to you. You were at peace with an apron tied around your waist, lakeside wind sweeping in through the opened window, oven making the small space a bit stuffy and warm. 

The others were down at the patio, or out on the water, you weren’t sure. You stayed behind to think, to clear your mind, to distract yourself from the constant tipping of a scale one direction or the other. You’d tossed and turned all night thinking of Steve’s hands and Eddie’s lips and the complications to your life that each one brought. So you decided midmorning should be spent centering yourself, alone with your craft, and at peace.

You’d pressed the dough into its tin, trimming the edges and balling the scraps to be rolled and cut into strips for a lattice work top. You poured the apple slice mixture, all cinnamon and sugar and nutmeg and clove, watching the sun sparkle against their wet flesh. You indulged in licking the spoon, tangy and sticky. Then you sprinkled flour to your surface again to start rolling out the remaining dough, humming to yourself as the birds chirped outside. 

You flattened and cut and worked a lattice and ate the scraps, admiring your handiwork before you placed it into the oven and set the little wind-up timer on the stovetop. It was shaped like an egg. Your mom had one when you were young. It disappeared somewhere over time, or in the move. You contemplated stealing this one. 

You poured yourself some fresh-squeezed lemonade, tart and sweet, and leaned yourself against the countertop. You watched the sparkle of waves just off-shore and sipped and tried not to allow your mind to wander until the subject of your wandering mind entered your kitchen with mussed hair and sun kissed skin, pulling expensive sunglasses from the freckled bridge of his nose. 

“Smells amazing,” Steve smiled, reaching past you for a glass to pour himself some lemonade. You watched his forearm handle the full pitcher with care. You watched the length of his throat as he drank. You watched his tongue dart to lick a drop from the corner of pink lips. He set himself against the counter opposite you, ten feet away and still too close.

“Where’s everyone else?” You asked, praying for Robin to come prancing in with a bucket of ice cold water.

“On the boat. They just left.” He set his glass beside him. “We should talk about yesterday.” 

You turned to start the washing up, sink full of mixing bowls and measuring cups. The counter was white with flour. You turned the tap on hot, and the rushing of water into a metal sink had your brain buzzing with images of rain against the tin roof of the hut. You swallowed. “Yesterday was a mistake.”

You weren’t even sure you said it out loud, didn’t dare look to him for confirmation. You just held your front two fingers under the water to gauge temperature, although to be honest, you wouldn’t be able to tell scalding from freezing right now anyway. 

“Sure, yeah, totally,” his tone was oddly light. Out of your peripherals, you caught him entering your space, sidling up to the opposite side of you now. He smelled of expensive cologne, deliciously Steve. “Or… we could just make some adjustments to our truce.” 

You looked up at him then, caught breathless by the dark look in his eyes. You swallowed. “What?” 

He shrugged, arms crossed over his broad chest. “Well, we agreed to be civil and not bring up the past.” He held your gaze. “We only have a couple of days left. Might as well… I don’t know, make the most of it?” His jaw was firm, but there was something playful in his tone, a fire behind his eyes you hadn’t seen in years. 

You scoffed. “You’re serious?” 

He shrugged again, leaned into your space to brush flour from your shoulder, sweeping your hair back as he did so. God, he was good. “You had fun, didn’t you?” 

“Steve,” you peeled yourself away, scrubbing melted sugar from the rim of a measuring cup.

“Come on,” he boxed you in, his frame folding around yours, warm and broad and strong. “You’re on vacation.” The tip of his nose found the shell of your ear, sending sparks from skull to tailbone. “You deserve to relax, babe.”

Babe. So flippant, so casual. It’s what he called you, before, when it was just the two of you playing house in hotel rooms. You elbowed him off of you, grateful when he respected your boundaries and stood a few more feet away.

With a sigh, you turned off the faucet, only the singular measuring cup squeaky clean. You dried your hands on a hand towel embroidered with dairy cow and its milkmaid, and you turned to face Steve.

He had a fantastic pokerface, to add to the list of vast differences between he and his housemate. Where Eddie showed every last thought that came into his mind, Steve remained stoic, strong brow furrowed, jaw tight, keen eyes watching your every movement. He kept his shoulders squared, but lax, and his strong arms kept him upright against the lip of the counter, strong arms you were desperate to have wrapped around you again. 

“Be civil, no bringing up the past, and have fun while it lasts,” you agreed before your brain caught up with your words. 

All at once, Steve crowded your space again, pressing your backside to the damp countertop, an arm to either side of your hips, dipping his nose to meet yours.

You pressed your fingertips to his chest to push him away a few more inches. “Don’t call me babe.” 

His lips split into a grin at that, and he chuckled a low rumble in his chest. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you want.”

He was eager, so eager, and you felt the buzz in your waist, the flutter under your sternum. You watched his tongue wet soft, pink lips, and were suddenly reminded of the third grade, of Tommy H.’s birthday, of the surprise smooch in a treehouse and of wanting to savor that kiss for the rest of your life. As Steve dipped his head low once more, you turned to face the oven, ducking away.

“And I’m not going to kiss you.” An odd boundary you didn’t know you had until it was there, presenting itself in a panic clawing at your chest. You just knew if you kissed him, you’d be done for. You’d be packing everything you owned into a U-haul and signing the lease next to his name. Just like Eddie said. 

Steve’s stoic facade seemed to falter for a split second before he nodded and pulled away. He eyed you for a beat too long before he lowered his voice to ask, “Am I allowed to kiss you?” And the implications in his tone had your knees weakening. 

You swallowed in a vain attempt to lubricated a parched throat, and nodded.

He emitted a groan from somewhere deep, and you bit down hard on your lip as you watched King Steve Harrington sink to his knees before you, hands traveling up your skirt to knead at the flesh of your thighs like it grounded him, like it made everything right in the world. 

He tugged your shirt free from the waistband of your apron and skirt, watching you, amber eyes painted black. His breath was hot against your stomach, your hip bone. “Can you see the front door?” He asked.

You peeled your gaze from him to look through the entry way to the front door. You nodded. 

“Good. Keep watch for me, sweet girl.” 

— 

“Scale of 1-10, how hot do I look?” Robin did a pose, hair stuffed under a wide-brimmed hat and blue blazer sleeves rolled. 

“Ten,” you and Nancy affirmed simultaneously, blotting your own pink lipsticks in the full-length mirror on the back of Robin’s bedroom door. You wore a low-cut blouse with flowy sleeves, and Nancy looked sleek in black, and she helped stick a bobby pin into your scalp when a curl threatened to fall out of place. 

“What are the odds there’s a single, hot lesbian looking for a hook up?”

“At a country western bar?” Nancy peered back at your friend, and you chuckled. 

“Robin,” you reassured. “I promise there will be at least one single, hot lesbian looking for a hook up.” 

Robin sighed. “Yeah. Me.” 

She’d picked the venue for your night out, spotted it on your walk through town the previous morning, and convinced the group to go after their late evening naps. The sky had started to soak in peaches and golds, and the warmth had cooled from a breeze that billowed curtains and chilled your fevered cheeks. You’d spent the day distracted, praying no one would notice the smile that ached at the corners of your lips. You were thankful for the excuse to be chipper.

“Ladies, I need advice,” Argyle called from beyond the door, and you gently led Nancy to the side so you could open it to meet him. He wore a leather vest with a spearmint button-up beneath it, and in his hands were two ties, one a shocking pink, the other a bolo with a cubic design in brass. 

“Bolo, always,” you confirmed. 

“That’s what I said!” Eddie called from the next room over. 

“Alright,” Argyle nodded and toed back to his own room to put his tie on in a mirror. 

Nancy slipped out beside you to meet Jonathan at the top of the stairs. Your heart ached in your chest when you watched his lips meet her temple, and his hand slip into hers. They shared sweet words and walked down the stairs together. 

Robin shoved past you. “Sorry, gotta brush my teeth. Will you check on Steve for me? You know he always takes the longest.” 

You stood in her doorway for a long moment, staring at the wood of Steve’s bedroom door from across the hall. Your hands clammed up at your sides, but you released a held breath and closed the distance to wrap your knuckles against the panels. 

“Come in,” he called from inside, and you turned the handle and pushed yourself inside.

Steve’s room was a mirror of your own, window facing the water, slanted ceiling, headboard against the opposite wall. His bed was neatly made, pillows stacked at attention just like his mom taught him. The bedside lamp illuminated everything soft and warm.

Steve stood at a dresser putting on his watch, forest green polo taught over the muscles of his back. He glanced up at you when you entered, cheeks turning up in a grin. “Hey,” he greeted.

“Hey,” you breathed back, propping yourself against the wall beside the door. “Robin wanted me to tell you to hurry up.” 

“I’m ready,” he held his hands out to show himself off, and you admired the stretch of denim across his thighs. 

“You look good,” you affirmed, swallowing when he closed the distance between you, eyes flickering to the hallway just to your right hand side. 

When the coast was apparently clear, he placed a hand on your waist. “So do you. Tonight should be fun.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” you nodded. You felt giddy again, like he had you pressed up against the school lockers, hiding from the principal between classes. 

“Yeah?” His voice graveled, and he pressed himself even closer, wedging his thigh between your legs. 

“Dingus! You ready or what?” Robin shouted, and all at once, Steve was gone, his warmth replaced by cool breeze. 

“Yeah, I’m coming,” he groaned, fidgeting with the watch at his wrist. “Thanks for the help,” he waved it your direction, and you furrowed your brow before noticing Robin’s head poked through the doorway. 

She narrowed her eyes your direction, but grabbed Steve’s other wrist to lead him out and down the stairs. 

You took a minute to calibrate, a few calming breaths, before you followed them. When you rounded into the hallway, you startled at the sight of Eddie in his own doorway, lithe frame covered in black, damp curls hung in his eyes. That dimple carved deep into his cheek. 

“You look smoking hot,” he greeted. 

You rolled your eyes but hooked your hand into his elbow and let him escort you down the stairs to meet the others. 

—

Tequila was great after the initial burn. Once the tang of lime shocked your taste buds, you were smooth sailing. The music was live and loud. The room filled with smoke and the sweet smell of alcohol. Wooden walls were lined with neon beer logos and antlers. A dart board sat in one corner, a pool table in another. You were warmed from the inside, tingling fingertips and toes. 

The first round alone had you doing things you ought not, like catching Steve’s gaze over the top of Nancy’s head. He’d been staring, lips glossy and eyes hungry, and you couldn’t look away until Argyle bought round two.

Round three had you on the dance floor, pressed against the warm rumble of Eddie’s chest while he hummed a balad just under the crooning of the band’s lead singer. Flirting with Eddie was another thing you ought not do, but holding back felt impossible, tequila or no. Especially when he held you so close, thigh between your knees, swaying you back and forth to some slow and sultry tune. 

“Have I told you you look smoking hot tonight?” He indulged in another rake of your features, not shy from peaking down your blouse.

You sucked your cheeks between your teeth to avoid the smile aching at them and managed to shrug. “Might’ve mentioned it.” 

He chuckled, shaking his hair from his eyes. “Yeah, I like that top.” 

“I look better without it,” you countered, cocking a brow.

“I know you do, sweetheart.” His dark eyes shone under dim lighting, and his plump lips turned up at the corners. He was all curls, cigarettes and spearmint, and something in his eyes sank your heart. It was Eddie’s heart on his sleeve again, that poker face slipping just long enough to show you the longing beyond the lust. 

You swallowed and placed a hand to his cheek, thumbing over scruff and stubble. His name caught in your throat. 

“Song’s almost over,” he mumbled, nuzzling his nose with yours. “Do you trust me?” 

You nodded, and the air was expelled from your lungs when he dipped you low. He gripped your thigh at his waist, and you felt the trail of his nose up your sternum and throat as he pulled you upright, breathless and warmed.

Your audience whooped and hollered from their high-top.

Stage shy, you allowed Eddie to take your hand and tug you back to the table. His grip was strong, thumb administering distraction circles upon your wrist. Nancy slid you a full glass of iced water, and you thanked her for it.

“Okay, why the fuck are you both so hot?” Robin scoffed, chugging her own red plastic cup of water.

“Born this way, Buckley. Don’t act so shocked.” Eddie reached over to flick her forehead, and she swatted at him.

“She’s right though,” Jonathan pitched in, saucy grin playing on boyish features. He slung an arm around Nancy’s shoulder, and she grimaced before shoving him off. 

“Yeah, you guys should make a porno,” Argyle nodded, mustache turned down in thought before he snapped his fingers. “Baker and the Beast.” 

“Jesus Christ,” you snorted, thankful for the water to hide your warming face. You took a long drink, praying for the ice to cool you down. 

“Sex Dungeon Master,” Robin chimed in, and you nearly did a spit take. 

“Full Metal Banging,” Steve piped in to everyone’s surprise. You looked up at him to see a playful smirk across those sinful lips, and he shrugged, nodded, took another sip of his beer. “I’d watch it.” Something in you ached at the low tones of his voice. 

Eddie shook a ringed finger Steve’s direction. “I fucking knew it! I knew you liked to watch. Harrington, you dirty dog!” 

Steve merely shrugged, pokerface stoic again while his eyes offered you something more salacious. You wondered if the rest of them caught him staring the way you did, wondered if they could tell what transpired between the two of you in the beach hut, in the kitchen. 

A new song kicked on, much faster, more familiar than the last, and Eddie finally released your hand, now cold and clammy, to snap his fingers in Robin’s direction. “Come on, Buckley. Your turn.” 

Robin sighed and extended a hand for him to take. “Fine, but no cleavage licking.” 

“Come on,” Eddie whined, and before they trailed off to the dance floor, you heard him say, “I washed my tits before we came!” 

You laughed and fell into a spot beside Nancy, avoiding Steve’s gaze as you drank your water and attempted to sober yourself up. Maybe three was your limit, maybe two, but you felt just primed enough to give away all of your secrets. 

“Nancy,” Argyle stood from his seat and tightened the bolo around his neck. “May I have this dance?” 

Before the warmth of Nancy beside you had been replaced by air conditioning and the smell of stale beer, a strong hand had slipped itself between your knuckles. 

“Jonathan, watch the table,” Steve said, pulling you onto the dance floor. 

Under a swirl of lights, and to the fast rhythm of bass and drums, you were tucked close to Steve’s front and backed toward the center of the dance floor. People swung and dipped around you, and Steve bobbed and weaved your way through them with laughter rumbling deep in his chest. God, you missed that sound. 

He was wildly off tempo, and a little off-balance, but maybe that was the tequila affecting your equilibrium. He had one hand to the small of your back, the other swinging wildly, and he stepped on your toes more than once. 

“You’re a terrible dancer,” you leaned in to shout into the shell of his ear. 

He pulled back to shoot you an incredulous look before pulling you in close again, breath hot on the side of your face. “You taught me how to dance.”

You shook your head, but released a laugh that bubbled high in your chest. “I did not!” 

“Yes you did,” he argued. “At prom. I told you I didn’t know how to dance, and you promised you’d teach me. So if I’m horrible, that’s on you.” 

You smiled into his chest, and allowed your mind to wander. You wondered what she would think of you now, senior-you, prom-going-you. You wondered how she’d feel, swept around a dance floor in King Steve’s arms all these years later. 

You could still remember walking down the staircase to meet him. You could still see the flush of his cheeks when he saw you, could remember the distinct kick of butterflies in your stomach.

“Hey, dingus!” Robin’s voice sliced through your memories. You blinked back into focus to find her and Eddie beside you. Eddie was using Robin’s hand to swat at Steve’s side. 

“Will you two grow up?” Steve scolded, ever the dad of the group.

“We have a question for you two,” she ignored him, continuing to prod at his bicep and then yours when he spun you to use as a human shield.

“What?” You laughed. 

“What’s the best sex you’ve ever had?” Robin’s voice carried over the music, swam in your head, heated you from the inside out as you felt the stares of intrigue from your dance partner and hers.

You snorted, shook your head, and avoided their gaze. “Yeah, I’m not answering that.”

Robin booed you.

“You’re so drunk!” You laughed.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Eddie grinned, sidling up beside Steve. He had mischief in his eyes. “We can handle it.” 

Steve squared up then, stopped your sway, and his mouth stretched into an equally devilish grin. “Yeah, Munson can handle it.” 

You cocked a brow, still in Steve’s grasp, and looked straight into Eddie’s big, brown eyes, conjuring a memory you knew would earn a reaction from the both of them. “Campsite at the coast? Back of the car?” 

Eddie nodded, big, dramatic, hair swinging in front of his face. He pointed at Robin. “That’s what I said!”

“Holy shit, Harrington, you want some ice for that burn?” Robin cackled, high-fiving you and Eddie both.

When you found Steve’s gaze again, he was blinking back at you, mouth slightly ajar. You tried and failed to bite back the giggle that bubbled in your chest, doubling over into his stunned chest while you wheezed a laugh, tequila taking over. 

You heard Robin and Eddie yell run and squeal beside you, and when you looked up, they were spinning manically away. Steve’s mouth had closed, and he licked at his molars, nodding slowly. You worried for half a second before the corner of his mouth turned up, and he spun you away and back. You yelped, narrowly avoiding a speaker.

You crashed into his chest and laughed the tune of his own rhythmic chuckle, wrapping your arms loosely around his neck to hold yourself steady. 

“If I had known this is what it’d take to make you happy, I’d have gone down on you at the beginning of the week,” Steve grinned.

“Steve!” You admonished, glancing around to make sure no one was around to hear what he’d said. You were far from the table now, and definitely out of earshot. 

“Tell me about the campsite.” When you met his gaze again, it was that same delicious look that set you on fire from the inside out, unwavering.

You breathed his name again, faltering a little on your feet, but he caught you. 

“Come on,” he swayed your hips in his hands. “I gotta study my competition if I want to know how to come out on top.”

You licked your lips, searched his honeyed eyes for any sign of a trap, but he was just as tipsy as you were. Tequila painted the hollows of his cheeks pink. “It was the middle of the day. Campers everywhere. We had to be quiet.”

Steve’s Adam’s apple bobbed. His grip on your waist tightened, and he pulled you impossibly closer. You could feel every ripple of muscle beneath the luxurious fabric of his top. He looked around the room before his eyes trailed your face, your lips, down the front of your blouse and back. “This is a room full of people, and the music’s so loud you wouldn’t have to be quiet.”

His words sent heat through you.“You’re drunk,” you sucked in a smile and glanced back across the room at Jonathan drooping in his seat, a soft smile on his face as he watched Nancy and Argyle dance. Robin and Eddie twirled and dipped in a far-off corner.

Steve pressed the tip of his nose to the baby hairs at your forehead. “So take advantage of me.”

In that moment, you realized Steve Harrington could be dangerous, commanding, a force to be reckoned with. 

—

The hot, sticky glow of three shots of tequila faded to heart palpitations and a burn in your calves. Though, that could be the dancing, the grin that ached at your features, the early morning burrito, or the anticipation that kept you buzzing, bouncing the balls of your bare feet against floorboards while you counted the creaks and footsteps outside your door. 

You turned in earlier than the others, feigning exhaustion related to old age, just to prop yourself against the headboard for nearly an hour before the raucous laughter died down beneath you and the sounds of your compatriots readying themselves for bed filtered in under your bedroom door. 

Anxiety replaced that warm, fuzzy feeling in the pit of your stomach. You listened to Robin’s hiccups on high-alert, pulse thudding to her steady rhythm. You toed to the door, pressed your ear to the wood to listen to the mutterings of goodnight, the faucet running in the bathroom, the steady pad of feet just beyond. 

Your hand hovered over the lock on your brass knob, but you snatched it away, pacing to the foot of your bed and back. Once, twice, three times. You caught your reflection in a mirror above the bedside. You’d left your makeup on, curled hair falling around your shoulders in tendrils. The bra you wore beneath an oversized t-shirt pinched at the skin under your arm, but it was the prettiest you’d packed in periwinkle lace to match the panties hiding beneath plaid night shorts. 

You were making a mistake. Throat dry, you crossed back to the door, reaching for the knob to lock it and turn yourself in for the night. 

The cool brass turned under your touch, and the door swung your way, narrow, allowing a shadowed figure to step into the honeyed glow of your bedside lamp. 

“Hi,” Steve smiled, towering over you, breath fresh and hair mussed.

You swallowed. “Hi.” 

“Sorry,” he hissed, closing the door behind himself. The click emitted feather-light. “Robin wouldn’t let us go to bed. I was worried you fell asleep.” 

You shook your head, managed a weak smile. “Nope.” 

“Good,” he said. “Are you cold?” His warm fingertips ghosted the skin beneath the hem of your shorts, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in their wake. 

You shivered, shook your head again, allowing your eyelids to go heavy as his other hand came to cradle to your cheek. 

“Do you still want to do this?”

He had the power to see right through you, always had. You released a shaky breath, shoulders to your ears in a shrug. You swallowed. “I don’t know.” Honesty spilled out. You hadn’t felt this vulnerable with him since Louisville, not this nervous, not this jittery. 

A crease tucked between his brows, and he dropped his hand from your thigh to catch your fingertips in his. “I’m not going to push you.” 

“I know,” you squeezed his knuckles, hands dwarfing yours. “You never have.” 

He smiled at that, nodded toward the bed. “Want to just hang out?” 

You nodded and drew him to soft covers and an old mattress. It sunk under your weight, a burst of air puffing out between you as Steve plopped himself down, hands resting on his chest, hair splayed against patchwork. You were drawn to him, fingers itching to run themselves through his hair, to trace the bridge of his nose, connect-the-dots with his freckles, but you hesitated, tucking your knees to your chest. 

He turned his head to look at you, lazy smile crossing beautiful, dark features. “I’m glad I sobered up.” 

“Yeah?” You were on the fence.

“Yeah.” He groped around the blankets until he found your hand at your side. He massaged at your wrist, your palm, wide stroke with his thumb that smoothed aching joints and eased your mind. He pulled you ever-closer, before trailing your pointer finger over the bridge of his nose. His lashes fluttered closed, and he hummed as you painted his cheekbones with your fingertips, catching on the stubble of his jaw. “I missed you.” 

“I missed you too,” you whispered. He brought your fingertips to his lip, soft and pink and damp. You exhaled his name. 

He looked at you then, eyes dark, and placed a kiss to your palm, your wrist, the flesh of your forearm, tugging you gently from your fold until you leaned over him, your hair a curtain separating you both from the glow of the bedside lamp. “Do you want me to leave?” 

Your throat was dry, your breath staggered. You shook your head. 

Steve’s hands found your waist, smooth dregs of his palms up your ribcage until his thumbs met the underwire of your bra. “Do you want me to stay?” 

You nodded, sucking in a breath when his hands worked higher, palming at silk and lace.

“I need to hear you say it, babe,” his voice was hoarse, thick.

You faltered on the pet name, a rule broken, his eyelids heavy, warm hands on your breasts, but you didn’t want to think anymore, didn’t want to worry or panic. So you washed it all away, pushed guilt to the back of your mind, and threw a leg over him to straddle his slender waist. “I want you, Steve.”

He sat up, pushing you both upright to drag the soft cotton of your top up and over your head. He groaned at the sight of you, and you felt his lips find purchase at the crux of your throat and shoulder, his mouth wet and warm. 

You sunk your fingertips into his scalp, indulging in the vibrations of his voice against your skin. 

He pushed the lacy straps down your arms, pressing soft kisses into the bits of flesh that were creased and red. He reached around to undo the clasp, and relief flooded your waist from where the elastic bit at your skin. You released him, allowing the scratchy fabric to fall to the ground at the bedside, and Steve lowered himself back to the mattress. 

You felt self-conscious, suddenly, as he drank you in, hands ghosting the bits of your flesh that were marred or torn, burn-scarred, pock-marked. You wondered if you’d aged since he last saw you like this, if you had more wrinkles, more pudge, if the weight of you sank different onto his slender hips. You wondered if your boobs sagged, if the flesh of your thighs doubled over your panty line. 

Steve’s eyes didn’t give anything away as he raked your frame, hands molding to you like they were meant to, and after too long of a moment, he spoke. “Shit, babe. My memory doesn’t do you justice. You’re fucking perfect.” 

A chill caught on your spine, a chuckle of embarrassment building at the compliment, and you folded yourself back to him, squirming under the scrutiny. “You think about me often, Harrington?”

His nose brushed yours in a nod, and he palmed the swell of your thighs beneath your shorts, grinding you down onto him. “Every single day.”

The honesty stuttered your breath, his fanning your lips, and you knew if you didn’t back away now, you’d be lost to him. As he leaned forward to close the gap, you turned your head, cursing yourself when soft lips met your cheekbone. 

You avoided his gaze, moving instead to press a kiss to his jaw. Stubble scratched your lips, you chin. You nosed at his throat until he turned his head, and you wrapped your lips to his soft earlobe, delighting in the rumble of his chest against yours. 

His hips snapped into you once more, hardened length pressed to the inseam of your thigh. 

“Then we better give you something to remember,” you hissed into his ear.

Before you could act on your promise, Steve had you rolled over, pinning you to the bed with his hips. His lips were on you, hands kneading, frantic, eager. He pressed himself upright to strip his t-shirt, collar first, and when it hit the ground, you both heard the pad of footsteps on the floorboards outside.

You froze, suddenly remembering where you were, who occupied the room all around you. Your pulse thundered in your skull, anxiety licking at every inch of you, until you felt Steve Harrington’s perfect teeth graze your nipple and everything coursed through you like livewire. 

“Can you be quiet for me?” He hissed to your skin, gathering your wrists to pin above your head, and you gave a fervent nod, swallowing the saliva flooding your mouth. 

Steve was trouble, danger, desperate kneading hands and the rhythmic snap of hips. He was brute strength and roped muscles and demanding. He worshiped and praised God and you and mumbled praises into the crux of your throat, your sternum, building you to the highest high before crashing down on you like a wave. 

Even after all this time, he knew how to work you, how to mold you, bend you, command you in hushed tones, hand over your mouth to keep your sinful sounds from spilling between his fingers. He delighted in the challenge, wanted you begging but silent, asking if you wanted more, asking if it was good with his chin to your shoulder, your face buried into his to muffle your moans.

He was strong, confident, delicious, salt-to-the-wounds and salt of the Earth, and you fell apart on his hands, his lips, the crash of his hips like waves across a rocky shoreline. Your eyelids sparkled, the ceiling spotted with starlight, and you came down with the weight of his head on your chest.

Steve placed a chaste kiss to your collarbone and looked up at you, a smug grin etched upon his features. He rolled himself to the side, breath ragged. You closed your eyes and listened to the deep in-and-out, trying to match your inhales with his, to slow your heart rate, to stop the pulsing of every muscle now aching in your body. 

“How was that?” He whispered into your neck, turning to wrap his arm tightly around your waist.

You huffed a laugh, shrugged. “Top five, at least.”

He gnawed at your throat and squeezed you tighter into him, both of your bodies sticky with sweat. 

Sleep tempted you, darkening your vision, weighing you further and further into the warm squish of the mattress and your pillow. Steve’s breathing calmed against your back, his nose tucked under the shell of your ear, and you wondered if you’d fallen asleep so easily in the last four years. 

Steve muttered your name, and you hummed, drifting on the edge of bliss. “I do still think about you every day.”

And you wish he hadn’t said it, wish he hadn’t broken the spell, wish he hadn’t reminded you why you were here, what this was all about. The moonlight filtered in through treetops out the window beyond, and you tucked the blanket higher around your shoulders. Maybe there was no harm in late night truths whispered between lovers. 

“The campsite wasn’t the best ever,” you confessed, voice weak. Steve loosened his cradle. You turned to face the ceiling, staring up at vaulted shadows. “Remember that first night in Louisville? I hadn’t seen you in so long, and we were tiptoeing around each other all night, but then the door’s closed in that elevator…” 

Steve had propped himself up beside you, cupped your cheek. You felt the soft pad of his thumb against your lower lip. “I really want to kiss you.”

The only rule left to be broken, and your heart ached for it. You took a deep breath and avoided his gaze. You couldn’t do this to yourself again, couldn’t do it to him. It was selfish of both of you. You slipped from his grasp and out of the covers, digging through the dark for your t-shirt and sleep shorts. “The other’s will be awake soon.”

—

The sun cast the tops of your cheeks and nose in warmth, golden light filtering through your eyelids while you bathed in a lounger, allowing your Munson-special pancakes to settle. Your friends seemingly revived from breakfast, splashed a level below you, voices and laughter filtering up the wooden walkway. You battled the melancholy of your final full day with memories from the night before that had a smile aching at your lips. 

You sighed and let your mind drift to the weight of Steve’s body against yours, the slam of his hips, the tight grasp of his hand to your wrists above your head. 

“I’m heading up to take a shower,” his voice sliced through your daydream, graveled from a late night. “You guys need the bathroom before I go up?” 

Nancy shook her head beside you, glancing up at him from above the sunglasses perched on the soft bridge of her nose. 

Steve looked to you, and you squirmed under his gaze, shaking your own head with a smile. “Kay,” he smiled back. “Be back in a bit.” And you couldn’t resist in watching the slope of his thighs as he climbed the hill beside you to walk into the house.

“Holy fucking shit,” Nancy slammed her book down on her lounger.

You jumped and sat upright, glancing around you for something to cause her reaction, a giant bee, a severed arm. 

“You slept with Steve.” 

You halted your search and slowly met Nancy’s gaze. Her lips were pursed, and there was something twisted in the way she looked at you, like she was both pissed and proud she’d cracked the case.

You cowered under her gaze, picking at a sliver in the lounger, and fumbled through an excuse. “I don’t know what - ”

“Don’t bullshit me,” she snapped. “I saw him walking out of your room at 5AM when I got up to puke, and that little exchange you two just had confirmed it.” She waved her finger in the air to exemplify her point. 

You felt your face heat. You didn’t appreciate the accusation in her tone. “Okay, so? We’re consenting adults.” 

Nancy stuffed her arms under her armpits and turned to face you. “So are the two of you back together?” 

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, the ragged rate of your breath speeding your pulse, or maybe it was the other way around. “No,” you huffed. “We’re just having fun while we’re here.” 

Nancy rolled her eyes. 

“Hey, no, don’t come at me with that. What about you and Jonathan, huh? Or should I say Robbie?” It was a low blow, and the moment it fell from your lips, you wish you could it all back. 

Nancy sucked her lips between her perfect teeth and turned back in her sun lounger, hands flattening against her lower abdomen. “Yeah, well we learned our lesson, didn’t we?” 

You blanched at the thought and shook your hair from your eyes. “Jesus, Nancy. I’m sorry.” You mumbled.

She didn’t respond for a long minute, looking out on the water, listening to the chirp of birds along the tree line. Then, she turned her head to face you, sun sparkling off the chrome tint of her sunglasses. “Do you remember that summer after Louisville? That night out on the Cape, just us girls?”

You barely remembered it, a drunken night out in a bar where everything smelled like the country club Steve’s parents frequented. You remembered sequins sticking to your face on a tiled floor. You remembered watching couples spin on a dance floor and wanting to splash your drink in the face of every single one of them. You remember feeling empty, broken, lost. 

“I don’t think I realized how in love you two were before then.” She continued, turning back to sunbathe, as if this was the easiest breeziest of topics. “I mean, I knew you were close. You always spoke about him like family. And we all knew you were fucking, even though you tried to hide it.” She raised an eyebrow at you. 

You swallowed.

“But that night’s when I realized how heartbroken you were.”

You closed your eyes, released a shaky breath, tried to maintain the happy memories that were quickly slipping from between your fingers, an anchor of your past traumas rocketing you to the bottom. 

“I can’t begin to imagine how he felt.”

“Nancy,” you chided, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Come on,” she argued. “He won the fucking jackpot with you. Plus, he’d been burned too many times by other self-hating idiots to let himself get close enough to you. That’s why he never asked you to be his girlfriend, why he never left Hawkins to be with you. He was terrified you’d bail, and then he realizes he can’t live without you and what do you go and do?” 

That hit somewhere deep, a dull ache that spread like hot liquid through your chest. “I didn’t…” 

“Of course you didn’t know,” she muttered, offering an innocuous wave to Jonathan who swung his arms in the air from the level beneath you, perched atop Argyle’s shoulders in the shallow water, Robin atop Eddie. “You guys haven’t talked in four years. And it wasn’t my job to tell you. My job, as the best friend, is to tell you you don’t need him. That you’re strong and beautiful and independent. My job is to cheer you on through your accomplishments and listen about your escapades with new and exciting men.”

God, you loved her, and you didn’t want to cry because she was right, you were strong and confident and independent, and you didn’t want to cry because Nancy wouldn’t cry, but you couldn’t help the emotion damming at your throat.

“He was supposed to tell you all of this, but clearly you two are incapable of communication.” She sat upright in her chair again and scoffed. “You know what? No. You’re going to talk to him, right now.” 

You blinked, heart racing at the idea. “What? No.” 

Nancy stood from her seat and grabbed you around the elbow, hoisting you upright. “Yes, right now. I’ll distract everyone else. This can’t go on any longer, or we’re all going to implode. You’re going into that house, and you’re going to hear his side of it. Because we all know you won’t be able to make a decision until you do.” 

—

The floorboards creaked under your weight, a groan at each step to remind you of where you were going. Your bare feet, sun soaked, stuck to the finish. A breeze caught gossamer window dressing, but did nothing for the slick of sweat beading your upper lip, the creases of your palm, your lower back. The steam from Steve’s shower framed the bathroom mirror and permeated the upper floor with his scent, squeaky clean and expensive. 

Your hands trembled against the surface of his bedroom door. You heard the shuffle of fabric on the other side, and a low, soft hum. You’d almost forgotten that about him, the way he sang when he thought no one was around. If he had an ear worm, or just felt happy about something.

You took a deep breath, pressed your forehead to the door, and knocked.

“Yeah, come in,” he called, and then “Hello?” after your lengthy hesitation. 

You turned the brass knob and entered, clicking the door behind yourself. Steve stood across the room, nearest the window, tugging at his watch straps again. His white t-shirt was speckled grey across his shoulders where his hair had dripped into a freckled pattern. When he saw you, his honeyed eyes lit with recognition, something hungry in them.

“Hi,” you managed, and there must have been sheer terror in your eyes because Steve’s face flashed with alarm, and he made a slow cross your way.

“What’s wrong?” His tone reminded you of too many late night phone calls, his voice keeping the nightmares at bay. 

You swallowed, allowed him to lead you to the edge of the bed, felt his fingers slot into yours, tried to ignore how soothed you felt already. “We need to talk about Louisville.”

He searched your eyes for a moment before he turned his attention to your hand in his, tracing your knuckles, brushing a thumb over your nails. “What about it?” 

“I want to know what happened,” you sighed, allowing yourself to flop backwards onto a hand knit throw, the mattress swishing beneath you. “I want to know where it all went wrong, why I lost you. I guess I just need some insight, Steve. Because I’ve been wracking my brain for four years trying to figure it out.” 

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he sighed, and you saw his teeth chew on his bottom lip. Then he brought his nail beds to his mouth, a bad habit from his youth. 

You stopped his wrist, pulling his hand back into yours. “You were my best friend, and then you just quit calling.” You don’t think you’d let the hurt sink in until that moment, heard it catch in your vocal chords. You stared at the ceiling, a blur of white plaster and amber beams.

“I thought you didn’t want me to,” his voice was just as small as yours.

You shrugged, didn’t let the wobble in your jaw deter you. “We had fights before, bigger than this one. I figured we’d get over it.” 

“You told me you didn’t want to marry me.”

You propped yourself on your elbows to face him. “Steve, come on. You weren’t serious. You didn’t want to marry me, not really. You were just at that stage in your life where you thought that’s what was supposed to happen.”

He rolled his eyes, shook his head, pulling his hand from yours to run through his damp hair. Flecks of water marked your skin. “Will you quit saying that? Quit invalidating my feelings like that. I didn’t just want to settle down out of convenience. That’s always bugged the shit out of me.” He snapped. 

You barked a laugh, wry. “Okay, you had feelings for me. I get that. You know I love you too, but you can’t just spring a marriage proposal on a girl because she’s naked in your hotel bed. You didn’t even have a ring.”

Steve stared back at you for a long moment, and something in his eyes excited you. You hadn’t sparred in ages, hadn’t talked your genuine feelings out with your best friend in four years. 

“Fuck it,” he said and stood from his seat beside you to cross to his opened suitcase, everything neatly folded and tucked inside. “If I show you this, you have to promise me you won’t say a word until I’m done talking. Alright?” He held something behind his back and pointed a finger your direction. “Not a God damn word.” 

You rolled your eyes but held three fingers his direction and pretended to zip your lips. Then you caught a little black box he tossed at you. Your heart began to thunder in your chest, fingers trembling around velvet. You blinked at it a few times before looking back at him.

Steve was stone faced, if not a little pale, and his arms were crossed over his chest like he was waiting for you to say something. When you didn’t, he took a step forward, and then back, shifting weight on the balls of his feet. Then, he gestured to the box in your hand, a curse spilling from his lips. “I bought it the second day,” he said, “in Louisville.” 

You couldn’t move, breath short, hands a vice grip on the box in your lap, terrified to look at it.

“We had that first night, the one you mentioned with dinner at that cantina, and we took that long walk past all those big houses, and I felt like I was holding my breath all day. And I can hold my breath for a long time, I’m a damn good swimmer. But sometimes with you, it feels like I’m drowning.”

You could remember every second of that night, had thought about it a thousand times, compared every date to it, hell every happy moment. 

“And I think I just realized I couldn’t tread water with you anymore. Sink or swim, Harrington,” he groaned, scrubbing his hand down a freshly shaven face. “So the next day, while you were at your conference, I went to a jewelry store and bought that.”

Once again, your attention was drawn to the tiny box in your hands, and although your curiosity was piqued, you were still too terrified to open it. 

“I chickened out pretty much the entire weekend. I think I just didn’t want to ruin the fun, and then on that last morning, I panicked. I freaked the fuck out because we were going home, and I didn’t want to be away from you anymore. So I said what I said, and we fought, and I kicked myself the whole way home.”

You were glad you’d promised not to speak, glad you’d zipped your lips, because you didn’t think you had words anyway. Too many thoughts and emotions and memories zooming through your headspace like speedboats, leaving casualties in their wake. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t go to Argyle’s wedding,” his voice was soft, and his arms found their spot across his chest once more. “I know I promised you I’d go, but I think dancing with you at someone else’s wedding felt like a twisted joke.”

You swallowed, nodded. 

“Please don’t think I brought it here because I thought I could win you back, or whatever,” he hurried as an afterthought. “I honestly wasn’t sure what would happen this week. I was shitting myself that I’d somehow make everything worse, which maybe I have.”

You shook your head.

“I just keep it in my suitcase,” he gestured to the box again. “I don’t care what you do with it now. Hock it, pawn it, chuck it into the lake. You know, do what you want with it because it’s yours. It always has been.” 

You watched as he crossed to you, taking a slow and awkward seat beside you, just beyond your reach. 

“That it,” he sighed, shoulders slumped. “That’s my piece, I guess. You can talk now. Or not, if you don’t want. No pressure. At all, about any of this,” he glanced around the room. “If you want to go back to the way things were, I totally understand. I meant it when I said I just wanted a truce for this week. We agreed you reserve the right to live your own life.” 

“No,” you croaked. You cleared your throat and shook your head. “I don’t want that. I mean, I want you in my life.”

The corners of his lips turned up at that, and he let out a sigh of relief. “Good. Me too.” 

“This is all just…” You clasped the box until your knuckles whitened, just to stop the trembling. “It’s a lot to take in.” 

“Oh yeah, totally,” Steve stood from next to you. “I’ll give you a few minutes, or you know, whatever you need. I uh… I actually think I need some air.” He thumbed to the door.

You stood on shaky legs, nodding. “Yeah, me too. Water, I think, might be good.” 

“Totally,” he held the door open for you, and the two of you walked side-by-side to the top of the stairs. The floor groaned beneath your feet. 

“Come find me later?” His voice was soft, warm, forehead creased with concern.

You smiled, nodded, and watched as his lanky frame retreat down the staircase and out the front door.

—

A batch of cookies baked in the oven, caramelized brown sugar and butter permeated the air. Three other cookie sheets sat prepped at the ready on the countertop nearby. You’d washed and dried your mixing bowls and measuring cups and hung the apron on its hook inside the pantry door. Your glass of lemonade lay untouched, glinting in the afternoon sunlight.

The small black box rolled in your pruned fingertips, and you glanced around the kitchen for any signs of onlookers before cracking open the seal, hinge groaning, for a peak at what rested within the pink satin lining.

You nearly dropped it, throwing your hand to your lips to contain the gasp that rattled when you saw the perfect diamond in its fitting on the perfect, most delicate little band. It was everything you would have wanted, subtle and sleek and sweet. You wondered if you had mentioned the details, mumbled into Steve’s chest after a night out, senses liquored and secrets spilled. 

Or maybe he just knew you, better than anyone else could.

You glanced around the empty house once more before risking to pull it out of its casing and slide it over the summer-swollen knuckles of the ring finger on your left hand. It was the perfect fit, sparkling in honeyed sunlight, casting rainbows against the cabinets and countertops. 

“Smells amazing in here, dudette,” Argyle entered the small kitchen.

“Thanks,” you choked a laugh, shoving your hands behind your back to greet him. “How’s dinner coming?”

“Good, good,” he bobbed his head, long hair swishing against a broad chest. He sidled up to the counter opposite you. “Came here to check on you though. It’s our last day. It’s not the same without you.” 

“I know,” you smiled, waving at the cookies with your right hand. “Let me finish these up, and I’ll be right out.” 

“Sure,” he saw right through you, a grin forming beneath his mustache, a glint in his eye. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right? I’m here for you.” 

The honesty there cut deep. You nodded, wondered how much he knew, felt guilty for not telling him more, or for taking too much vacation time with your petty drama. 

“Can I tell you a story about me and Eden?” His eyes lit up when he spoke of her, a big grin formed across soft features.

You nodded again, toyed with the ring around your finger behind your back. “Please.” 

He scratched an itch at his mustache, and you saw him twist his own ring around his finger, gold, outdated, oversized. “Remember that day in the military tent? When we were all waiting for orders, and Steve pulled you in so we could explain what the Hell was going on?” 

You swallowed. You’d never forget that day, though you were grateful you thought about it less and less as time went on. 

“Sorry to bring it up,” Argyle nodded, held a hand up in apology. “I only do because I remember it more vividly than any of those days. I mean, I was high for a lot of everything before, and everything after felt like one big firefight. But I remember that day specifically because you lost your mom and Steve brought you into that tent, and he just held you.”

The emotion that had been rising all day started to spill, a causeway that rolled warm down your cheeks, and you were frantic to stop the flow, trying to push back those awful memories, the flashes of orange and camo, Steve’s strong arms wrapped around your collapsing body, knees gave way. You nodded to encourage Argyle to keep going, to reassure you were okay. 

He reached a hand out anyway, pulled you into the cushion of his shoulder, rubbed at your arm. “We were all so young and so dumb, and I just wanted to go home.”

You sniffled and hugged around his middle because you understood.

“Not home to Lenora, but home to this girl I met a week earlier with brown hair and brown eyes because the moment I saw her, I knew I’d do anything for her. I wanted her to hold me the way Steve held you.”

Home, this place you’d always had in Steve Harrington, a place you always would. 

“That’s the day I realized she was my one-and-only.” He always waxed so poetic about his wife, and until this moment you’d always rolled your eyes with fondness for the man. Until this moment, you never really understood. “Are you picking up what I’m laying down?” 

You nodded, laughed wetly. “I think so.” 

The wrap of knuckles against the doorframe grabbed your attention, and you looked up to find Eddie. His hair was frizzy from air dry, and he looked impossibly lanky in a black tank top and red shorts, and the handsome smile from his face fell when he saw the tears in your eyes. “Everything okay in here?”

Your heart sank.

“All good, my dude, just talking to her about my beautiful wife,” Argyle gave you one more tight squeeze before releasing you to stand at his full height. He gave you a wink before pushing past Eddie to head back outside to be with the rest of your friends. 

The two of you stood in silence for a few minutes, the breeze trailing in to float his air from his eyes. You weren’t sure how to start, what you could say to make it right, but you didn’t have to. 

Eddie let out a whistle, long and low, and crossed the room to meet you. “I always knew Harrington had good taste.” Before you realized you were fidgeting with your ring, he took your hand into his, holding it up to catch the light like you had done earlier.

You swallowed, watching the subtle hurt etched between his brows. Eddie Munson, heart on his sleeve. You whispered his name. 

He shrugged, dimples poking through his goatee, and shook his hair from his eyes. “I’m a big boy. I can handle it. I just want you both happy.” He ducked his head then, inches from yours. “Are you happy?” 

You thought to all of the friends that had held you throughout this week, throughout the past twelve years, throughout your life, and you nodded, fighting back the new tears that threatened to spill. 

Eddie caught them with the calloused pad of his thumb, a chuckle rumbling low in his chest. “I’m never going to stop loving you.” 

“I know,” you laughed, closing your eyes as he pressed soft lips to your forehead. 

“You know? Wow. A bit full of yourself, sweetheart,” he teased, and you swatted at him. He dodged your aim and grabbed you by the waist to pull you into a bone-crushing hug, jaw pressed to your temple. 

“I love you too,” you whispered into his neck, cigarette and spice and sunscreen. 

“Have you told him yet?”

You froze, shook your head. 

The egg timer went off, shrill and loud, and in that exact moment, under the honeyed glow of the late afternoon summer sun, with the room smelling of your mom’s chocolate chip cookies, you felt like she was sending you a sign. 

Your hands shook, and you mopped at the tears in your eyes and pointed at the oven. “Can you take those out?” You asked Eddie, breathless, heart thundering in your chest. 

His lips split into that Cheshire grin, and he waved you off. “Go get him, sweetheart.” 

The rubber of your soles squeaked against every wooden step on your way down. The patio was empty, sounds of splashes and crackled firewood and laughter could be heard from the shore, and when you rounded the little tin roof beach hut, you saw your friends, your family, roasting kababs and drinking beer and smiling. Nancy and Robin shared a log to sit on, while the boys stood around the grill with hands in their pockets, breeze ruffling their shirts. The smell of ash and smoke and meats rose to your nostrils, something that just felt like another sign.

Steve was the closest to you, his back turned, broad shoulders in navy blue, running his hand through his hair. You hit sand and called his name, and he turned to face you with a squinted gaze, hand up to see your approaching figure. 

You closed the gap in four strides, dragging him down by the collar to press your lips to his, the final rule broken. 

A sound of surprise turned low when the realization hit, and you felt his hands snake around your waist and hips, lifting you on the balls of your feet to kiss him deeper. Your hands found his hair, one of his cupped your cheek, and all at once you felt at home. Once lost at sea, now you’d found your mooring. 

You breathed a laugh that mirrored his, the tip of his nose pressed to your cheek, and it wasn’t until the ringing in your ears stopped that you noticed the ruckus of friends around you.

“Is that a diamond ring!?” Robin screeched somewhere behind Steve. 

You sucked back a smile and pulled your hand from Steve’s hair to admire the ring on your finger. Steve looked back at you glassy eyed, mouth open to speak without words. You shrugged, smiled, allowed the diamond to sparkle in the sunlight. 

“Yeah, I guess it - ” You were cut-off when Steve planted another kiss on you, lifting you into his arms. 

—

The windows had been closed for the night, pale yellow curtains no longer flowing in the breeze. Your hair smelled of campfire, and your eyelids grew heavy from an eventful day. You were full of kabobs and Mom’s chocolate chip cookies, and you squished onto the tiny couch between Steve and Robin, who were flicking each other inches above your head. 

“You’re both children,” you snorted, swatting their hands away as they began to flick you instead. 

“Wheeler, are you crying?” Eddie’s voice turned all of your attention quickly to Nancy, who sat between Jonathan’s legs, mopping at the tops of her freckled cheeks.

“No, fuck off, Munson,” she scoffed.

You scrambled to sit upright, leaning across the coffee table to take her hand in your own. Jonathan gripped you both. “What’s up?” You bit back a smile, seeing Nancy’s eyes roll in annoyance at being the center of attention for something she’d rather keep private.

“I just never thought we’d be here.” She sighed. 

“Yeah, Kurtis was really generous leaving his house with a bunch of assholes like us,” Robin agreed. 

“Shut up,” Nancy groaned when you all laughed. “I just meant… after all this time, I’m really glad I still have you guys.” 

“Can’t get rid of us that easy, Nance,” Steve grinned, swinging an arm over your shoulder. You leaned into him with a sigh.

“It’s true, dude. We’re like parasites,” Argyle piped in, mouth full of cookie. 

You tried not to let her words seep in, tried desperately to tread water, to fight back the current of emotions that prickled when you realized you didn’t know the next time you’d all be together like this. Robin was off to France. Nancy and Jonathan had their own adventures, baby in tow. Argyle lived across the country.

You met Eddie’s gaze, warm browns and Cheshire smile. “Besides, we’ll all be together again soon. I heard there’s going to be a wedding in Hawkins.”

You cocked a brow, ready to retort, but Steve beat you to the punch.

“Hard to plan a wedding in a place we don’t live.”

---

A/N: This fic was definitely a labor of love for me. I actually had this planned before I wrote My Whole Life, Too. And I have so many other details of their lives and pasts that I'd love to dive back into. Thank you so so so much for reading xo xo

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[finkinthisfrew]

Anything (pt.1)

A Matty Healy Fanfiction

cw: nightmare, boring plot set up (I promise Matty comes in, pls bear w me)

Chapter 1

I woke up shivering. Sweating. Stomach-churning. Sitting up and shaking my head, I grabbed the book from my nightstand and started reading to distract myself before I could register what I had dreamt and let the tears that had welled up in my sleep fall. I knew the pattern well and I wasn't going to let it ruin yet another morning. Thankfully these dreams happened less often than they used to, maybe once or twice a month now, yet somehow they never seemed to upset me any less.

After a few minutes of reading, I picked up my phone- 48 minutes until my alarm was meant to go off. 

Well, I guess it could've been worse. I sighed to myself. 

Trying to ignore my exhaustion, both emotional and physical, I tore off my sheets and hopped out of bed to start my day. 

Shuffling into the bathroom in my oversized sleeping shirt and thick knit socks, I turned the tap on and plugged the sink, letting the water pool. Splashing water on my face I tried to shake off the sleep that still bogged down my mind. 

The dreams definitely didn't help much with my terrible sleep schedule, though they weren't always the cause of it. I'd always struggled with sleep, ever since I was a child. I was always an anxious kid growing up which led to countless restless nights. I'd gotten better as I'd grown older, but my recurring nightmare set me back into my old habit of staying up too late and waking up too early. Unfortunately, it's something I've grown accustomed to.

As I looked up at myself in the mirror, I saw two green eyes with dark circles under them staring back at me. My dark brown curly shag haircut was messy from the tossing and turning in my bed, the ends dripping wet from the water I'd splashed on my face. 

Suddenly I wasn't there anymore, my vision was replaced with a flashback to my dream, black eyes staring back at me. 

Gone as quickly as it appeared, I once again stared back into my own green eyes, now filled with panic. I dove back into the basin to splash more water on my face. 

I took a deep breath and turned back into my bedroom. Determined to not let my recurring nightmare dictate the rest of my day, I decided I would treat myself. Today I would put on my favourite clothes, do up my hair and makeup and take myself to my new favourite coffee shop.

I opened up the door to the beautiful handpainted wardrobe I'd just bought last week and began to sift through all the hanging fabrics. Picking out my favourite jeans and a long sleeve shirt, I closed the door to my wardrobe and stepped back to admire my new apartment.

I had just moved to London a month ago for a six-month-long residency at an art gallery. I had been shocked when I was first offered it but jumped on the opportunity immediately. A six-month trip to London with free housing and endless hours to work on my art? It was a dream come true. 

The housing that the gallery supplied me with wasn't anything extravagant, but it was definitely charming. My apartment was on the top floor of a three-story walk-up, boasting giant slanting windows that brightened the single-room apartment even on the gloomiest of London days. I had found various charming vintage pieces of furniture and art to spruce up the bland basics I'd originally been supplied with, and it had finally started to feel like a home away from home. 

As I glanced one last time into the full-length mirror, I admired my outfit. My vintage light-wash perfectly worn-in Levi's fit me like a glove, and my new beige fitted long-sleeve mock neck looked effortlessly sexy, the semi-sheer knit material showing my black bralette in a casually immodest way. After I put my thin black sunglasses over my now brown smokey eyes and slid on my black vintage cowboy boots, I popped my AirPods in as I locked my apartment door.

Singing along to the opening lyric of an upbeat playlist, I started to get excited about my little trip to the coffee shop. I had just discovered it last week, finding out that they sold what I believed to be the best cookies I'd ever had in my life. Noticing the sun peaking through spotty clouds, I quickened my step down the stairs into the tube as I decided I'd take my coffee and cookie to a park to finish my book and maybe draw up some new ideas for pieces to make. 

Twenty minutes later I found myself saying "I'll have three cookies please" to the friendly barista, trying and failing to not blush at the fact that I knew that the extra two cookies I was buying for later wouldn't even make it home. 

Excited that they hadn't run out of cookies yet, I stood at the counter, humming and letting my toes tap along to the music in my ears while I waited for my iced latte. Considering how my day had started, I was positively chipper. 

I had already begun to daydream about some new pieces I wanted to sketch out as I stepped out the door of the coffee shop. I was about to turn to walk towards the park when suddenly something slammed into me and I lost my footing, falling straight to the ground. 

Disoriented, I gasped for breath as the air had been knocked out of me. Looking around to see what had hit me, I was met with a pair of chocolate-coloured eyes. 

"Oh fuck! I am so sorry! Are you okay, darlin'?" the eyes asked me earnestly.

I opened my mouth to answer yes before I noticed the searing pain that engulfed my entire chest. 

I winced, and then, I blacked out.

[li-nox]

On Autumn Days

“You got something—” Evan chuckles and splashes bright pink paint on Tommy's face. Tommy stares at him in mock shock; the next second thick paint is dripping from Evan's hair. The floor, or rather the plastic sheeting, is already a total mess with countless splothes of paint.

“You’re a work of art,” Evan grins as he shamelessly examines Tommy from head to toe. He then grabs Tommy's face with both hands and pulls him into a fierce kiss. Tommy gently shoves Evan back, causing him to slam against the wall, almost knocking over a paint bucket.

Tommy’s lips curl into a smile. “And you’re amazing, baby,” he murmurs between kisses, slipping his hands under the worn shirt. Paint still cling to his fingers, marking the fabric and skin beneath. Evan sighs at the touch and presses his upper body against him, hands buried in Tommy's hair. The rain outside softly taps against the window, and the light filtering through the clouds creates a beautiful, motley atmosphere in the room.

The radio, which Evan discovered at a vintage flea market last week and has been sitting on the windowsill since then, only crackles with static. But for the two of them, it is nothing more than a quiet background noise drowned out by their amorous giggles, just like any other clear thought.

Tommy chuckles, “You even got paint on your nose!” His face beams with a grin, revealing his adorable dimples. “And here...” He teasingly taps Evan's lower lip with his index finger, grinning from ear to ear. Evan blushes deeply and mumbles an indistinct response before pulling Tommy by the hand behind him down the stairs.

Finally, he spins around and wraps his arms around Tommy’s neck. “Y’know, I really really like you,” he says, blushing, and nudges Tommy’s nose. The response is a deep kiss that makes Evan’s breath hitch in his throat. “Glad to hear that,” Tommy says with an excited grin before he pushes him toward the bathroom.

“Go take a shower, I'll chill the beer!”

Smiling, he watches Evan until the bathroom door slams shut. Then he turns and starts to collect the empty take-out containers from the kitchen counter and toss them in the trash. Last night, they were too– caught up to care. Tommy grins as he remembers how eager Evan was to try new things. He can still feel Evan's hands under his shirt, slowly pushing the fabric up until it gathers over his waist, sending a pleasant shiver down his spine.

He's just about to put two cans of beer in the fridge when the doorbell rings. “Huh...?” Surprised, Tommy takes a few steps back, the refrigerator door slamming shut with a muffled sound. He hesitates for a second, not sure what to do. Evan's voice echoes over the noise of the running water as he sings a very off-key, but lively rendition of ‘It's Raining Men.’

With a shake of his head, Tommy heads to the door, and as soon as he opens it, Eddie storms past him, carrying a full plate of cake. “Sorry for barging in like this,” he says, tossing his keys onto the kitchen counter. “I would have used my key, but as you can see... I'm a bit loaded...” He laughs, still a little breathless.

Only now does Tommy notice not only scads of cupcakes but Eddie's appearance: messy hair, bright eyes, flushed cheeks, and splashes of batter on his tee. “Ed, what…”, Tommy's gaze flits restlessly back and forth between the counter and Eddie's face.

Eddie shrugs. “Chris is obsessed with ‘Percy Jackson’ at the moment,” he explains, looking a little sheepish. As he continues, the corners of his mouth twitch into a wry smile. “It's on a constant loop these days, and Chris wanted to bake Blue Velvet cupcakes today, for the ‘vibe’…” He wiggles his fingers, drawing quotation marks in the air. “The whole thing got a bit— out of hand…”

Tommy stares at him, blinking in bewilderment. Still, he can't help to smile at the chaotic scene.“They look great,” he says, carefully removing the plastic cap from the plate, “Evan will love them…”

As a cue, the bathroom door bursts open with a creak, revealing Evan in all his post-shower glory, the droplets of water still glistening on his skin as he vigorously towels his hair. His chiseled physique is on full display, with only a white towel nonchalantly cinched around his waist.

Tommy’s eyes widen at the sight, and he quickly glances sideways at Eddie, hoping his reaction has gone unnoticed. To his surprise, he observes that Eddie has deliberately turned his head away, his gaze now fixed on the window. Tommy frowns, but his thoughts are interrupted by Evan's voice: “Babe, what do you say we get some board games out? And later I could knead your back...”

“Evan, hun,” he begins in a raspy voice. Blood rushes to his ears, and he clears his throat. Evan finally turns to face them, and for a split second confusion is written all over his face. Then he spotted Eddie standing outside the windows and Tommy could have sworn he saw him blush in record time.

“Eddie, w-were we s’posed to meet?” Evan stammers, hastily adjusting his scanty clothing. An awkward silence hangs in the air until a jolt goes through Tommy's body. “Eddie brought us cupcakes, look,” he says, lifting the lid with a grand gesture. Evan's face immediately lights up as he lunges for the pretty treats.

“OhmyGod,” he moans, mouth full, greedily licking the icing off his fingers. Tommy's mouth suddenly goes dry, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out loud. Handsome as he is, Evan sometimes seems unaware of his own sex appeal.

“The way these taste, I may let you in the kitchen more often,” Evan winks and pulls another of the tiny cakes off the plate as if to confirm it. Passing by, he pats Eddie on the shoulder before disappearing upstairs.

“Still. Maybe I should have phoned first,” Eddie mumbles as soon as Evan is out of sight. He stares down at his feet as if he wants to burn a new pattern into the floor tiles with his eyes alone.

“Bull,” Tommy wipes away his comment and gives him a wry smile that Eddie doesn't return. From upstairs comes the muffled sound of a sliding door opening, and suddenly Eddie seems in a terrible hurry to end the conversation.

“Sorry again, bro. I—, um, I'll give you a call,” he says, slurring his words as he speaks. The keys slip from his fingers, clattering to the floor. Eddie desperately bends down to grab them, and when he gets up, Tommy reflexively grabs his wrist.

“Eddie, it’s all right,” he reassures him and, without realizing it, strokes his pulse point soothingly with his thumb. Indeed, Eddie seems to relax, running his free hand down his face.

“Well, OK…”

“Say hi to Chris when you get home, yeah?” Tommy smiles before letting go of Eddie's arm. The boy has been back from Texas for almost six weeks, and Tommy knows from countless late-night talks how much pressure Eddie is under. Even now, Tommy can see Eddie's jaw clenching.

“Can’t do,” he replies, sounding incredibly tired. “He’s staying at Hen and Karen's tonight…”, he adds as Tommy tilts his head to one side in question, and lets out a heavy sigh. “Mara hasn’t even seen Percy Jackson yet and of course, Chris and Danny have to change that. That's why the cupcakes…”

[read full story on AO3]