#why are you suddenly stuttering around Eddie?

[heauxplesslydevoted]

Oliver saying Buck has never had to work to get a love interest, oh I want to see Buck so giddy and clumsy and awkward and just completely out of sorts when he finally realizes he has a crush on Eddie. So much so that the rest of the fire fam looks at him like “Boy, are you good???” 😭

[himbosandhardwear]

Steddie I Different First Meeting I NSFW I Public Indecency I 2.8k words

He's planted. Call him The White Tree of Gondor, he's so planted. Nothing and no one could move him from this spot.

He's going to have perfect line of sight to center stage, as long as no one over 6’3” stands in front of him. He's got his good boots on, giving him a solid three inch lift.

Some people come and go, not as dedicated to keeping their spot. Not Eddie. He's planted.

“You think he moved back?” Some chick yells behind him.

“Doubt it,” her companion yells back, “the point was to get closer.”

“Well I don't know if I can deal with closer. It's only going to get worse when the band goes on, and I'm at my limit for men touching me today.”

“I'm pretty sure there's beer in my hair.”

“A fate worse than death,” she mocks him, making Eddie chuckle. “You wanna bail? He can come find us after.”

“I don't know, Rob, he's just a kid. What if he gets scared?”

“Oh my god, he's sixteen.”

“He's short!” The guy yells shrilly, practically in Eddie's ear. “No way he can see over top everyone's head.”

“Okay, then you stay, dingus. I'm going to go pay $12 for a bottle of water. Come find me after.”

“Rob! C'mon, don't- Rob! Ah shit.”

Eddie almost turns to give the guy some reassurance but he can't, making friends in the crowd is how you end up getting pulled into another direction. He can't chance it. He's planted.

Not to mention his friend was right, the more time that passes, the more packed in they become. Once or twice the guy behind him gets jostled into Eddie's back, mumbling apologies each time. Eddie doesn't bother to reply.

He's determined to ignore the guy until suddenly they're pressed front to back, shoulder to calf, the guys massive hands wrapping solidly around Eddie's waist so they don't fall down, and he's fucked. Suddenly the guy behind him is all he's thinking about.

Of course this turn of events sends the poor guy into apology overdrive, hands ripped back immediately as he stutters his excuses.

Eddie waves it off, still not turning away from the front, but the urge is strong. He kind of needs to see if the guy is as hot as that ten second press against him would suggest. Christ on a bike, he even smells good. At least Eddie is pretty sure that's him, the pine/sugar/sweat combo.

A glance at his watch tells him they've got maybe another ten minutes until the show starts. Five minutes ago that would've been all he would've cared about but now he's got Hot Boy Brain Rot and can't focus.

Which is why the next time they get pushed together, Eddie does absolutely nothing to help correct, he lets the guy pull him back and very nearly fall flat on their asses. The only reason they don't is because they fall into the people pressing forward.

“I swear to god, I'm not doing this on purpose,” the guy says with a chuckle that warms Eddie’s already sweaty skin. He hasn't let go yet, his enormous hands hold Eddie upright, skin on skin where his shirt has been cropped.

He's lost his mind completely, because he puts his own hands on the ones circling his waist and squeeze, a soft acceptance of their predicament. It could mean nothing if the guy is straight - maybe, probably, he's not good at judging that sort of thing - but if the hot guy standing behind him is in any way interested, he'll understand.

And praise Dale, raise hell, he does! Long fingers tighten, slide, tighten, before letting go again. He's pretty sure the guy just stuck his thumbs into the indents at the top of his ass too.

Which is when he realizes there's a not zero percent chance the guy thinks Eddie is a girl.

He forgot he's wearing a kilt, which idiots seem to think is a skirt 70% of the time he has it on. Combining that with his hair being down and the fact that he hasn't turned around at all… Fuck.

You're 6’2” right now. Maybe that's enough of a hint. Or your hairy legs? No, it's way too dark to see that far down, no way he-

Eddie squeaks as the guy runs a finger tip along the edge of the kilt. Luckily, it's too loud for the sound to travel, that would've been devastating.

The guy leans forward and whisper/yells, “Is this okay?” into his ear.

Eddie nods, takes a miniscule step back, bringing himself closer. He's gonna take this as far as he can before they either get kicked out for indecent acts or the guy realizes what he's doing and bashes Eddie for ‘tricking him.’ The smart thing to do would be to fucking turn around and confirm his stupid gender but… it's nice feeling wanted for a moment. Nice enough for whatever the consequences are.

An arm snakes around his middle, a fucking nice arm, all sinewy and freckled and brown, causing a surge of giddiness. They're pressed together again, this time on purpose. The guy seems to instinctively know Eddie has this spot picked out because he doesn't let anyone push them or get between. He does, however, laugh every time they get jostled closer together. It's infectious too, makes him smile along every time he hears that giggle. If the guy doesn't stop being adorable soon, Eddie is gonna fall in love.

Whoops. Too late. There's an enormous cock pressed up against his ass; any semblance of control or ability to play it cool goes right out the window.

He's never been more proud of himself for taking up street hockey with Jeff and his cousins than this moment. Some asshole had said to him, years ago now, ‘No one wants a bottom with a flat ass,’ and Eddie let that settle into a deep seated neurosis that pushed him into sports. Casual sports, that actually turned out to be pretty fun, but still…

Anyway, he's got an ass worth pushing against now, which is doing fantastic things for the whole ‘accidently luring a stranger into simulating sex acts at a concert' thing he's got going on.

Good god are they playing with fire right now. Yeah everyone is distracted by the drum tech setting up but it's not like they're invisible here. The guy to Eddie's left is just as close as the one rubbing off against his ass, if he glances down he's gonna see what they're doing. That thought only brings Eddie closer to finishing, untouched, in his underwear. His own erection is being held down by his boxer briefs, which are always a good choice when wearing a kilt. Shit happens in the pit, he's never been keen on flashing his bare ass to everyone if he takes a header.

He's snaking a hand down, trying to be subtle, but he needs to squeeze his dick or he's going to start crying.

His new friend must catch the movement because his right hand follows the trajectory, sliding right along with Eddie’s, until they're both stalled out, cuping his hip instead of his erection. Eddie thinks about passing out, he's so turned on and terrified. Either the guy knows he's about to touch a human penis or he's about to get an unwelcome surprise.

Before Eddie's heart can explode and kill him, three things happen rapid fire:

The lights go completely dark, signifying the start of the show, which makes the already packed stadium lose its collective shit.

Then there's a call from behind, the dreaded, “Heads up!” Eddie only just manages not to burst into tears as his one true love has to let go to support the weight of the asshole crowd surfing above them. He makes sure to pinch the fucker as he takes the weight of his stupid leg as it goes by.

Then, immediately after, there's another crowd surge as the first lick of Blackened rings out around them. Adrenaline pumps through Eddie like a lava flow, two desires waring within him making it impossible to choose. Does he turn to find the man of his dreams or does he stay the course and watch the greatest metal show of all time?

Considering this is the third time he's seen Metallica live, he turns around.

He's gone. The only people behind him now are two chicks with their tits painted white and gold and a middle aged biker.

Awesome.

He keeps looking but no one near fits the right description, not even close. Why the fuck didn't he turn around and just look at the guy? At least then he'd know who to look for after the show.

It's not like his night is completely ruined or anything. He jumps in the closest pit and takes his disappointment on the poor bastards unlucky enough to crash into him, and he has a splendid time with that. It wasn't his original plan, he wanted to stay center stage and actually watch the show this time, but he's too keyed up to stand still now, better to shove his fellow man and get elbowed for his troubles.

By the time James is wailing out the final insane notes of Battery, Eddie is thoroughly beat. It's a slog getting to the back of the stadium but he's determined to beat the crowd to the pissers. The night was fun and all but he's ready to go. Ready to stick his hand down his pants(kilt), relive the oddest and hottest encounter he's ever experienced, and then forget it ever happened.

He's made it as far as the merch line when a familiar voice yells his name. He looks back and sure enough, Dustin Henderson is waving at him like a semaphore code operator. Goofy ass kid, Eddie loves him to death.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He asks after giving him a back slapping hug.

“Surprise early birthday gift, I didn't know until yesterday or I would've told you.” His whole body is thrumming with excitement. It must be his first metal show. You wouldn't know it to look at him, he's got a whole mini-Eddie thing happening, which is adorable.

“That's awesome, dude. You didn't want to stay till the end?”

“I already saw their setlist and calculated the timing just right to get in line before the crowd let out.” Of course he did. “What about you? Taking off?”

“Yeah, I've had…a weird night. Good but weird.”

“You wanna ditch in line? Looks like they still have plenty of T-shirts available.”

He laughs. “Nah, thanks though. I'm just gonna head home. I'll see you Saturday?”

“Totally, wouldn't miss it-”

“There you are! Jesus, Henderson, I thought I lost you. Your mom would kill me if something-”

The guy finally stops bitching but only because he's staring at Eddie like he's seen a ghost.

“Uhh,” Eddie drawls, confused.

“Steve! This is Eddie! You know, from Hellfire, at Tech.”

It would be appropriate for them to shake hands, he thinks, but the guy is just staring at him, going more and more red as the seconds pass. It's a good thing he's pretty because his social skills could use some work.

“Hey dingus, did the beer in your hair finally soak into your brain.” The woman standing to Steve's left knocks on his forehead with a knuckle, making him flinch.

“You guys okay?”

Eddie is too busy being strapped into a roller coaster of emotion to respond to Henderson’s quiry. It can't be this easy, fate has never been this kind or cruel to Eddie, not at the same time. His dream man can't be Dustin's babysitter/big brother Steve. That guy drives a BMW and listens to Supertramp, which he only knows because he followed Dustin out to the parking lot one night. Except, Steve is gorgeous and fun and a good dude who worries about his kids, and is smoking hot.

He knows Steve knows he knows now, his own face has gone beet red, and they're just staring at each other, like some kind of gorgon in a bathroom mirror situation.

“What is this? Why are you being weird?” Steve's girlfriend - Rob? - asks. “Wait, oh my god, is Dustin’s other dad, your imagined arch nemesis, the Guy in the Crowd? Holy shit, he totally is, what are the fucking odds!” She cackles.

Wait. He told her about that? And he knew I'm a guy? And he thought we were nemesis? That's so hot.

Dustin is going on about Steve's apparent low self esteem and how Steve needn't worry about his loyalty and how he loves them both equally, which is sweet, but he and Steve are still just staring at each other.

“I know a good diner around here,” he blurts out when Dustin finally shuts up. “They have all you can eat pancakes.”

Steve's eyes do something devastating, adjacent to cows touching grass for the first time. “I like pancakes.”

“Let's get pancakes.”

“Okay.”

They start walking away, dazed, until Dustin reminds them of his presence, loudly and with much insult. “Steve! You drove us here!”

“Shit.” He turns back. “Right. Sorry. C'mon, we're getting pancakes.”

Dustin looks to Rob, as if to say, ‘What the fuck is going on?’ She replies back with a sort of ‘I don't get paid enough to explain this to children’ and ‘I know, he's hopeless but we love him’ both kinda look.

“What?” Steve asks.

“I'm still in line, dude. I want a T-shirt.”

“But-”

“No buts!” Dustin screeches. “Pancakes can wait!”

Eddie wishes they would figure it out soon, he still has to piss.

Rob, bless her, she's Eddie's new best friend, takes Dustin under her arm and asks Eddie, “Where's the diner?”

“25th and Dudley Ave. Called Roxy's.”

“Got it. Go on, I'll bring your son after he's got his stupid shirt.”

Dustin is the epitome of disbelief. “What! No! Guys, don't leave me with Robin!” He yells, to which Robin responds by putting him in a headlock.

“Go! Run before he figures out what's going on.”

Steve doesn't need to be told twice, apparently, he grabs Eddie's wrist and yanks him toward the exit doors. It’s exciting, running away with Steve, even though they’re only running from Dustin. Still, it leaves them both breathless by the time they get to the end of the block, both laughing about how ridiculous it all is.

“God. Haven't run like that since…well the last time the cops were after me.”

Steve just grins, hands on his knees, looking like a former athlete, all deep breaths and physical therapy style stretching. Fucking hot jocks, ugh.

Eddie wants to mount him.

Which brings them up to the awkward part: acknowledging what happened.

Steve braves it first. “Hey, I, uh, I don't want you to think I go around doing shit like that.”

Eddie, ever the opportunistic asshole, says, “Shit like what?” When Steve's face falls to horror, perfectly timed, and Eddie loses it. “I'm kidding, sorry, I'm just fucking with you. It was definitely me.”

“Dick,” Steve says but he's laughing.

“Yeah, that's me.” They sort of instinctively move away from the street, closer to the less busy side storefronts. “In the interest of honesty, I should tell you, I wasn't entirely sure you knew I wasn't a girl, that's why I sort of hesitated right there at the end, before we got separated.”

Steve looks baffled. “Huh?”

“You know.” He waves at himself. “From the back I could be a tall chick. Cause of the kilt and the hair and everything.”

He shakes his head. “Dude, I saw you from like four rows back. Why do you think I stopped where I did?”

Fuck. Okay. That's…awesome. He jams a whole fistful of hair against his face.

“Also, even if you had turned out to be a tall chick, not a deal breaker. You're fucking hot either way.”

“Okay, Romeo, cool it with the compliments before I make you finish what you started right here.”

Jesus tap-dancing Christ, that smirk should be illegal.

“Right here against the jewelry shop window? I'm not opposed.” Eddie very seriously considers the pros and cons of that but before he finishes, Steve laughs. “Better not. I was promised pancakes. And Lord have mercy if Rob and Henderson get there before we do.”

He's right. God dammit.

“Fine but for the record, which I feel goes without saying, I do put out on the first date.”

Steve laughs. “Never would've guessed.”

By the time they get to Roxy's, Steve has his arm around Eddie's waist, pinkie tucked deep into his kilt.

[loserboysandlithium]

Just Friends: Eddie Munson One shot

⚠️Explicit sexual content. Minors DNI⚠️

Summary: You have a friends with benefits situation with Eddie but he wants you to admit that he owns you.

Word count 1.8k

*****

"We're just friends, Eddie." you say for what feels like the hundredth time.

There was nothing about your relationship that was just friends. Late night snuggles, constant flirting and touching, Eddie's clothes basically belonged to you at this point. Not to mention the sexual favors. But you were always worried about changing the label to something more. Scared it would mess things up. But Eddie wanted more. And truthfully, so did you.

It had started with a drunken make out session one night, quickly turning to both of you needing more. A month later and you've touched each other in every way possible. Apart from going all the way. But you both wanted it. Needed it.

“Just friends." he scoffs, scooting closer to you on the couch.

"Mhmm.." you hum nonchalantly, keeping your eyes glued to the TV.

"Why won't you just admit that we're more than friends, baby?" he pouts, gripping your chin lightly, forcing your eyes to meet his. Those big brown eyes.

"Do friends do this?" he whispers, leaning in closer, his soft lips pressing against yours.

"Sometimes I kiss Trina when we're drunk." you tease and he chuckles against your lips.

“I'd like to see that." he smirks.

"I bet you would." you giggle and he shakes his wild hair before burying his face in your neck.

"How about this? Do friends do this?" he mumbles, planting wet kisses up and down your neck.

"Hmm.. maybe." you breathe, letting your head fall back to the couch, losing yourself in the sensation of his lips on your skin. Sucking and nipping. Driving you completely insane already.

"You're a brat, you know that?" he grumbles, biting down, his teeth sinking into your neck.

"Mmm, you like me this way." you moan softly as he soothes the bite with his tongue.

You inhale sharply as you feel his hand land on your inner thigh. His fingers graze along your skin until he reaches your already damp panties.

"Friends?" he raises an eyebrow, pushing the thin lace to the side.

You ignore him purposefully, gasping as his thumb meets your clit, adding pressure as he begins to tease you with small circles.

"Eddie.." you whimper, reaching out, gripping the back of his neck so you can pull his lips back to yours.

He moans into the kiss as you roll your hips, working to get his fingers inside of you. His tongue meets yours hungrily as he gives in and glides two fingers into your pussy.

You both pant into each others mouths as he speeds up his fingers, effortlessly bringing you closer to the high you were so desperately aching for.

He pulls away breathless, an immediate cry falling from your lips as soon as he parts.

"So close.. Eds, I'm so close." you whine, nails digging into the back of his neck as he curls his long fingers.

"Do friends do this, baby?" he hums deeply, working with precision, his fingers like fucking magic as he takes you right to the edge.

"N-no." you stammer. Eddie suddenly removes his fingers, leaving you pissed off and pouty.

“Eddie, what the fuck?" you glare at him.

"We're just friends." he chuckles darkly.

"You're impossible." you groan, quickly hiking your skirt up and straddling his lap on the couch.

You bring your arms around his neck, tangling your hands in his brown curls as you lower yourself down and slowly begin to grind. You feel his hard cock beneath you, making sure to grind directly on his dick.

"Don’t be a tease, sweets." he warns.

"I know you want me, Eddie." you purr, keeping your pace, rolling your hips slowly.

"Like.. all of you?" His taunting demeanor has melted into a puddle as you tease him with the one thing he hasn't had yet.

"Mhmm... you want to fuck me, Eds?"

"Y-yes." he stutters, his hands creeping up the back of your thighs, landing on your ass.

"We’re just friends, right?" you tease, adding a little more pressure to his clothed cock.

"Yep. Mhmm.. Just friends. Whatever you say." he blurts out happily, making you smile.

"Good boy." you taunt, watching as Eddie's eyes darken just a bit. His fingertips dig into your skin pulling you down even closer, the thin material of your panties allowing you to feel every curve of his cock.

"Someone's ready for me." you coo, reaching down and stroking him through his jeans. A rumble comes from his throat as you palm every inch of him.

"Are we- are we really gonna fuck?" he asks, excitement clear on his face. His big brown eyes are wide, a little pout on his plump lips as he waits for your answer. His large hands are still groping your ass. You stand up from his lap and slide your underwear off, letting them fall to the floor giving him a little nod.

Eddie grins widely, hurriedly reaching for his belt, unbuckling it with ease before wiggling out of his jeans. You climb back on his lap, keeping your skirt hiked up. You can feel him beneath you. Rock hard. Fucking huge. God, I can't wait to feel him inside of me.

You lean down to kiss him and he stops you suddenly. "I wanna see the girls." he grins crookedly, wiggling his eyebrows.

"You're so stupid." you shove his shoulder playfully as his hands pull at the hem of your shirt. You reach down pulling your Rolling Stones shirt from your frame, tossing it to the side.

Eddie's lips instantly latch onto your nipple making you moan. He brings his hand to your other breast massaging gently, rolling your nipple between his calloused fingers, sending a jolt straight to your pussy. He grabs your boobs, pressing them together as he swirls his tongue across both of your nipples, the throbbing sensation between your thighs growing with every flick.

"You're so perfect." he mumbles lustfully, his mouth exploring every part of your breasts. He takes his teeth, biting down softly, causing a sweet cry to fall from your lips.

You take his face in your hands, kissing him once again. The world seemed to fade away as soon as your lips made contact. It had become your favorite thing. Kissing him. Your tongues dancing together. His taste. The way he couldn't keep his hands to himself. He wanted to explore every inch of you.

You lift slightly, reaching under you, taking his cock in your hand. You keep your lips on his as you glide his head along your wet folds. You wanted to kiss him but you also wanted to hear him. His dirty sounds. You couldn't decide what would be better.

You keep your lips brushing against his as you gently lower yourself down, the feeling of him stretching you out already has your thighs shaking. Both of your lips part simultaneously, a gasp from you, a filthy fucking moan from him as you sink down and he fills you completely.

Your name leaves Eddie's mouth in a raspy moan as you start to roll your hips, feeling him deep inside. "Oh fuck, Eddie.."

“You feel so good.. ride my cock, baby. Just like that." Eddie's words of encouragement and the pure pleasure of him inside of you pushes you to increase your speed, grinding on his huge cock wildly.

You ignore the slight pain from his size, focusing on Eddie. Watching as he falls apart beneath you. His hand suddenly smacks your ass hard, the sting making you yelp.

"God, this pussy. I fucking knew you'd be sweet. So fucking good. So fuckin’ wet." he grunts as his fingertips dig in even deeper, guiding you up and down his length, making you bounce.

"You're.. you're so big." you cry, bouncing wildly, allowing him to enter fully every time, your slick coating every inch of him. Eddie begins to lift his hips, fucking up into you rapidly as you rest your hands on his shoulders. "F-Fuck.. yes.. Eddie!"

“You like that? You like when your friend fucks you?"

You just nod, unable to speak as he drives into you again and again.

"Do you let all your friends fuck you like this?" he taunts, swiftly picking you up, laying you down on the couch, his dick staying buried deep.This new position gives him leverage to really pound into you. His hands rest on either side of your face as he rolls his hips, slamming into you repeatedly, your boobs bouncing with every wild thrust.

You grasp for him, nails digging into his exposed skin, your eyes struggle to stay open as he takes you over and over.

He hooks your leg on his hip, gripping your thigh tightly, holding it in place as you sink deeper into the couch cushions.

"I- oh my god, Eddie!" his name pours from your lips on repeat as your eyes begin to roll.

“Fucking look at you. Mmm.. gonna make you cum all over my cock. You wanna cum, baby?"

You nod, pulling him closer, aiming to get his lips on yours once again. He brings his fingers to your clit, swiping across rapidly, sending your body into a fit. You grip his shoulders, legs wrapped around his waist, doing everything in your power to feel him as close as possible.

"Gonna cum.. cum with me. Eddie, cum inside me." you beg, tears flooding your vision from the immense pleasure.

"You want all your friends to cum inside you? Hmm?" he grunts, every thrust is rougher than before. Deeper. Harder.

“No, Eddie! Only you." you cry.

"I'm gonna fill you with my cum, sweetheart. Like a good friend does." he laughs wickedly, his words pushing you to the brink.

"Please..." you plead, tears streaming down your cheeks from trying to hold back. You want him to cum with you.

"You want me, baby? You want me to cum inside you?" In and out, in and out. He's hitting your sweet spot with every roll of his hips, his fingers never resting, quickly rubbing across your clit.

"Yes! Yes, Eddie please!" you scream, your legs shaking wildly, your back arches off the couch, bodies melding together.

"Tell me that you're mine." he burns.

“I'm yours." you breathe.

"Yeah? All mine? Say it again, sweetheart."

"I'm yours, Eddie! All yours!"

"Cum.. cum for me, baby. Soak my fuckin’ cock.”

You let go completely at his words, feeling the rush as your orgasm floods your body and you flood his cock. His lips are on you, kissing your lips, your cheeks, your neck as you spasm around his cock.

Mumbles of adoration and praise come from his plump lips as he fucks you to your highest peak.

"E-Eddie.." you whimper, still needing to feel him.

"Gonna cum, sweet girl." he hums before his lips land on yours, kissing you deeply as his thrusts get sloppy, wet sounds from your drenched pussy making him moan as he gives a few extra hard thrusts, emptying himself inside of you.

Your heart is pounding in your chest as Eddie continues thrusting slowly. Feeling the warmth of your cum mixed together.

"Yours, Eds. I'm yours." you reassure softly, watching that gorgeous smile spread on his lips.

"Fuck yeah you are." he cheeses, a shit eating grin plastered on his face.

[queenimmadolla]

eddie, “jealous”, angst

𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨

“Why are you blowing this out of proportion?!” Eddie’s voice bellowed from behind you as you stormed out of his room with him hot on your trail.

  The last half hour had been spent arguing, speaking over each other instead of listening and you were tired of it. You didn’t want to listen to him anyways and clearly it wasn’t going anywhere so you would be.

  “SHE LIKES YOU, EDDIE! She doesn’t want to be just a customer, she doesn’t want to be your friend, she wants to fuck you!” You shouted back, as you snatched your bag from where you’d left it on the couch and whirled around to face him.

  He was red cheeked, brows cinched together, mouth set in a hard line; one grimace away from being a full blown scowl.

  Eddie floundered a bit, mouth dropping open and shut repeatedly before he found his ground and stuttered out with his arms flying about to emphasize his frustration, “So? So what!? It’s not like I’m gonna drop my pants the second she’s near!” 

  You could only stare at him in disbelief, absolutely offended that your boyfriend was well aware of her interest in him and could be that fucking stupid or that fucking careless with your feelings.

  So, you snapped.

  “‘So?’” 

  Eddie didn’t bother masking the annoyance in his excessively loud sigh, arms and shoulders dropping back as he raised his face towards the ceiling. He knew that fucking tone of yours and what it meant was coming next. 

  “SO YOU DON’T FUCKING INVITE HER OVER TO YOUR HOUSE TO BUY DRUGS! NOT WHEN YOU’VE GOT A LESS INTIMATE FUCKING PLACE ESTABLISHED TO DO YOUR DEALS AT ALREADY, EDDIE!”

  His hands dug for purchase in his hair, “OH MY GOD! Do you HEAR yourself right now? All this because you’re just jealous?!” You didn’t stop, you were back to talking over each other again, “You want her to think she’s special, Eddie? Did you give her a deal for being pretty and flirty?”

  “MAYBE I DID!” 

  Suddenly, you weren’t talking over him anymore. You didn’t even look mad. And that kind of scared him.

  The anger washed right out of you and you looked disengaged from the conversation in a manner so natural it chipped at Eddie’s heart, anxiety sinking into his belly.

  “Okay, I get it.” 

  Eddie sighed, eyes squeezing shut as realized he’d crossed an obvious line in the heat of the moment. You turned, hand on the door and Eddie’s arms darted out, desperate to stop you when you flinched away, causing Eddie to also flinch back but it was the words you so casually spoke next that made him feel like he’d been shot.

  “Please don’t fucking touch me,” The door was opened, and quietly shut behind you.

  Then you were gone and Eddie stood there like an idiot, staring at the door and hoping you’d come right back through it.

[oneforthemunny]

I heard something about angsty fics around here? Am I right? I'm not sure about the plot, but it has to be cowboy eddie!

Pretty please. Something about sweet girl keeping a secret, but a totally innocent one, just to not concern him. But he found out accidentally, and all was a misunderstanding. He talked to her really harshly, accusing her of cheating and not being trustworthy. Something like that plz plz plz

"Thanks, Gare. I think he's gonna love it." You whispered, cradling the landline to your ear. You could hear the creak of the screen door followed by Eddie's heavy boots on the wood floor, heart skipping.

"I gotta go. Thank you. Talk to you soon." You slid around the kitchen wall's corner, slipping the phone back on the hook as silently as you could, wincing at the small click of the phone settling.

"Hey, honey." You greeted, slinking towards Eddie sweetly. "You done already?"

Eddie grunted in response, stripping his socks, tossing them in the laundry room.

Irritation consumed you, though you tried to mask it. Eddie had been so moody lately. You assumed it was because of his birthday. He always got weird around his birthday, which is exactly why you were determined this year to make it a good one.

"Are you hungry? I kept your sandwich in the fridge, since you didn't come in at lunc-"

"-Who were you on the phone with?" A piercing, furrowed brow gaze met yours suddenly. Canopied by matted curls from a day's work, you could still see the deep lines on his forehead, furrowed.

"What?" You chirped, eyes wide, round in caught surprise. Shit, he'd heard you. How the hell had he heard you? You'd been so quiet, so careful, wanting to surprise him. The look of pure shock, it would be priceless.

You expected to see his lips curl in a smirk, shake his head at you, tell you something along the lines of, "c'mon, baby, can't get anything past me, y'know that".

It never came.

Instead, Eddie's eyes flashed in fury- hurt. Nostrils flaring in a deep breath he tried to swallow down, tried to keep his anger from flaring.

"Who were you on the phone with?" Eddie gritted, an eerie steadiness to his tone that had you shuddering, stomach twisting in fear.

"I-I was- I was just calling to check on my prescription." A stuttering of a lie fell from your lips, nails digging into the palms of your hands. "Just calling to see when I needed to go into town to pick it up-"

"-Y'know," Eddie huffed, standing to his full height, looming over you. "If you're gonna fuck around on me, you could have the decency not to do it in my home."

My home. The words, the tone of his voice, it sent icy waves of fear down your spine. The last time Eddie had called the home "his place" was before you moved in, since then it had been shared with the two of you. Our home, our place, ours.

"What?" Your own brows furrowed this time. "I'm not fucking with you-"

"-No, no, no." Eddie shook his head, taking a striding step towards you. "That's not what I said. I said fucking around on me." There was a beat, your face falling in hurt, his steeling in fury. "Because that's what you're doin'? Aren't you? Fucking around on me?"

"Are you out of your goddam mind?" It was your turn to scoff, angry and insulted. "Did Medusa kick you in your fucking head or something?"

"Don't!" Eddie's voice boomed, hand smacking against the doorframe, a loud echoing of a hit. You stilled, eyes wide, he'd never been this angry- not with you at least. Not at you.

"Don't you come in my fucking house, fucking around on me when I've done nothing-nothing but love you!"

"I'm not fucking around on you, Eddie! Christ, have you lost your mind?" You shouted back, taking a furious step towards him, the two of you in a stand off. "I mean, what is the matter with you? You think I-I'm cheating on you?"

"You think I'm stupid?" Eddie sneered, jaw tight. "You sneakin' around, makin' phone calls all day? Runnin' off into town? I might be a lot of things, honey, but dumb ain't one of 'em."

"You are dumb." You snapped bitterly. "Stupid, even. If you think I'm cheating on you. What the fuck is the matter with you?"

"Who is he?" Eddie's hands gripped the door frame. "Huh? I deserve to know. Who is he?"

You gawked, baffled, furious, embarrassed. Eddie thought you were cheating? Cheating? How did something so kind, so thoughtful that you were trying to do for him, backfire to this? It made you feel hurt, insulted.

"Who is he?" You scoffed. Eddie's face didn't move, expression not softening, not falling. You could feel the burn filling your chest, your nose, suffocating you.

Stomping over to your purse, you flipped it upside down, dumping the contents of it out. There, amongst the change and hair ties, you snatched the receipts you'd shoved to the bottom of your purse. Business cards, a small neon invitation, and wadded receipts from the party stores, balling them in your hand, flinging them at Eddie's face furiously.

"You want to know who I've been talking to?" You sneered, watching Eddie scan the receipts, face slowly falling as he read the item- a birthday cake written confirmation note order with the small note added, "Happy Birthday, Eddie!" in red piping. The date for next Saturday, his birthday.

"I've been on the phone with Gareth." You spat, trying to swallow the tears already brimming your waterline. "I've been sneaking around and trying to plan you a surprise party, because I wanted you to have a good birthday for once."

Eddie felt sick, a wave of nausea crashing over him, head spinning in a dizzying ache. A small invitation, "Shh! It's a secret!" in bold, funky lettering on the invitation, Gareth's address written below.

"Oh." Eddie croaked. His eyes met yours again, though this time, he wore the rounded look of shame. "I, um, I-I didn't me-"

"-You're a fucking asshole." You spat, blinking through tear stained vision, stomping up the stairs in a hurt fury, ignoring his cries and pleas that you cut off with the slamming of the bedroom door.

[italiansteebie]

He heard the news, and suddenly everything was moving 1,000 miles an hour. The only thing Steve could think about was Eddie. Was he scared? Did he run? What happened? And suddenly they’re in the boat house, poking around one minute, the next, a jagged piece of glass was pressed to his jugular.

“Steve?”

And then it was over, Eddie dropped the broken bottle and slumped against his chest, heaving sobs making their way out, body wracking as he cried. “Shhh, it’s okay, Eds.” He soothed, pointedly ignoring the confused glances from the rest of the group.

They sunk to the floor together, Steve caressing Eddie’s hair. “It’s okay, babe. Breathe, just breathe with me.” Eddie’s sobs stuttered to an end, “She broke in front of me, Steve, I- I knew you said this shit bad but, damn it, Steve.” His voice came out wrecked and broken. Steve sighed, “That’s exactly why I didn’t want you getting mixed up in this shit with me, Eds. I- I can’t lose you.”

Eddie reared back, “And you think I can lose you, Steve?! I can’t.”

“Ed-”

“No! I can’t. Okay?”

Eddie cradled Steve’s face, tear tracks drying and breath returning normal, Steve reached to wipe away a stray tear, tucking Eddie’s hair behind his ear. They were lost in the moment until Dustin broke the silence, “What the fuck.”

“Language.”

“Watch it, Henderson.”

Dustin eyed them, “Okay. Now I see where you guys get it. Weird. Um. Do you want to explain?” Dustin and Robin watched as they silently communicated, eyes flicking towards each other in confusion. “We-” They started in unison, giggling at each other before Steve continued. “We’re dating.” Dustin blanches and Robin looks like she’s about to pass out.

“You’re gay?”

“Bisexual,” is the unison response, “We- Uh. How’d you meet?” Dustin splutters, watching the blush spread across Steve’s face. Eddie grinned, “Stevie here got himself locked inside the mall last summer, and it was just his luck that I was there graffitiing the side of it and heard him crying. I was his white night.”

Steve scoffed, “I was NOT crying,”

“Pfft. Stevie, you were weepin’ like a baby, sweetheart.”

Dustin gags at the pet names, and Robin is just staring at them, starry eyed.

“So there’s… I’m not,” Steve smiles softly at her, “Yeah, Robs. You aren’t alone,” She gives a soft smile back before the lightbulb goes off. “Wait! That’s why you reacted so well to Tammy!” She’s spinning around, and suddenly there’s a finger in Steve’s face, “You had the NERVE to make fun of Tammy, when you're dating HIM?”

“Hey!”

“Shut up, Eddie. Does that mean- Does he know?”

Steve shrugs, “I didn’t have anywhere to go after the russians. I hadn’t told him yet but… The truth came out when his uncle Wayne was patching me up.” Robin’s gaze on Eddie turned thankful.

They were all caught up in a soft moment when the sirens of a cop car broke the peace, “Oh, fuck, I forgot I’m running from the cops.” Eddie says, a little shell shocked.

“Don’t worry, we can go back to my place,” Steve reassures, and never the serious, Eddie waggles his eyebrows at this, to which Dustin and Robin share simultaneous gags, and Steve pushes at his shoulder.

“What? Oh, yeah. Running from cops, don’t make jokes Edison.” He’s muttering to himself as they move to Steve’s car, ducking down and dodging suspicious eyes. Once in and buckled, Dustin gives a pointed look towards the metal head in the passenger seat.

“Edison?”

And the tense atmosphere lifted ever so slightly.

[livwritesstuff]

ok you heathens here's the full hopper&steve 'okay dad 🙄' fic bc y'all liked this post so much

snippet below the cut

“Oh, because every girl who’s into dudes is into you? A little cocky, are we, Harrington?” Eddie grins.

Steve grins even wider, “I dunno, Eddie, you tell me.”

The smile on his face and the way his eyes keep darting to Eddie’s lips tell a pretty overt story of exactly how Steve would like for him to do that, but –

“Your sister’s in the next room, man, I don’t–”

Steve makes a face.

“Obviously we’re not gonna, like, do anything. That’d be so fuckin’ weird, but we can just, like, make out a little, I dunno. That’s just as good to me.”

And Eddie has to fight the urge to gape at Steve like an idiot because what does he mean making out is as good as sex? Eddie had known Steve was a romantic at heart but Christ alive was Eddie not at all prepared for exactly how revealing this night would be.

“C’mon,” Steve continues, “Why’d you even come over then?”

Again, Eddie has to fight the urge to argue that point of his, because why did he agree to come over if he really thought nothing was gonna happen? How can he explain that there’d been a voice in his head urging him to take Steve up on the offer purely for an excuse to spend time – any kind of time – with the guy he’d sworn up and down would only ever be a hook-up.

He can’t, obviously.

“Fine,” Eddie sighs as he lets Steve pull him up onto the bed. He acts all resigned about it too, like he’s doing Steve a favor even though Eddie would be lying through his damn teeth if he tried to say he disagreed with Steve’s whole thing about making out.

On the contrary, he’s learning these days that there’s just as much intimacy in kissing as there is in sex – if not much more. Eddie has had his fair share of hook-ups with a partner who refused to kiss him because it’d be taking things too far. Not Steve though. Steve’s got nothing but enthusiasm as he hauls Eddie up onto the bed, one hand slipping under the hem of his t-shirt, the other curving around the back of his neck as he tugs Eddie forward and collides their lips together. No, he’s nothing but alacrity as he licks into Eddie’s mouth, his hands roaming wherever they can reach, and it’s not like Eddie’s not into it, so he has no trouble matching Steve’s enthusiasm, the kiss turning sloppy and wet, and Eddie grabbed low on Steve’s waist, basically the hinge of his thigh, because he knows Steve likes when he does that, and he dislodges the hand Steve has beneath his shirt and pins it above his head because he knows Steve likes that too.

Eddie lets himself get lost in the kiss, in the way Steve’s free hand is tangled up in his hair, and his hips are stuttering up against Eddie’s thigh every now and then, and while Eddie’s not grinding against Steve, per se, they’ve definitely got a rhythm of something going on, and so Eddie really has no idea they’re being interrupted until someone is shouting, “Hey!” and suddenly Eddie is being shoved off of Steve

[ladykailitha]

Grief (A Friend Indeed) Part 1

Hello! Sorry it's been nothing but one-shots lately, but as I said in this post here I haven't abandoned anything, my life has just got a little crazy lately.

This was conceived because my sister's former mother-in-law passed away due to massive heart failure a week ago and I chose to write this story as a way with dealing it. I didn't know her well, but I did know her and that's enough I think to feel some grief at her passing. She was a year younger than my dad.

Summary: Eddie and Wayne have to go back to Kentucky when Eddie's grandmother (and Wayne and Al's mother) passes. Steve comes along when Eddie suggests that he would feel better if he came. Along the way they learn about each other's pasts and find out that they are each other's future.

***

Eddie walked into the Family Video and had to stop and gaze fondly at the sight before him. Steve was draped over the counter reading a magazine and steadfastly ignoring the bell above the door that announced his arrival.

He got up to the desk and greeted affectionately, “Hey, Stevie.”

Steve bolted straight up and ran his fingers through his hair. “Oh hi, Eds. I didn’t realize that it was you.”

Eddie smiled for the first time in days.

Steve grinned back. “You know, a boy could start to think you were avoiding him. You know, since I haven’t seen you around in days.”

Eddie winced, shoving his hands into his jean pockets. “Sorry, man. I had family stuff.”

Steve’s teasing grin slid off his face. “Shit. I’m sorry. That was a dick move.”

Eddie waved his hands. “No, no. There was no way for you to know. In fact, that’s why I’m here. To make sure you don’t think that I’m avoiding you. Because I wouldn’t. You see Wayne and I have to go back to Ashland for a funeral.”

Steve’s already contrite expression softened further. “Oh, Eds. That’s awful. Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

Eddie’s eyes welled up and before the first tear could fall, Steve was over that counter and wrapping him up in his arms.

“I’ve got you, Eds,” Steve murmured. “I’m here now.”

Eddie sobbed and sobbed as Steve just gently rubbed his back until he calmed down enough to talk.

“It’s Uncle Wayne’s mom, my grandma,” he explained, clutching Steve’s shirt like a life line. “She was just the sweetest old lady and now she’s gone. I’m going to miss her.”

“Oh, Eds,” Steve murmured. “I’m sorry. That must just be awful for you. If there is anything I can do, just let me know.”

Eddie chuckled into Steve’s work vest. “Too bad you can’t come with. I think I’d feel braver about seeing all Dad’s family again if you were there.”

Steve grabbed his biceps and pushed him back gently. “Done.”

Eddie stuttered and sputtered. “Stevie, no...”

Steve picked up the phone on the counter and dialed a number. “Stevie yes.”

And Eddie watched in awe horror as Steve’s eyes suddenly welled up with tears and he rubbed his nose.

“Keith?” Steve said, his voice rough as if he had been doing the crying. “Yeah, I just got a call from my mom. My grandmother has died and I have to go to Kentucky for the funeral.”

Eddie’s jaw dropped. He didn’t even know that Steve knew where Ashland was.

“Yeah, my mom is from Lexington,” Steve said with a wink at him. “A real southern belle. I’ve seen pictures of her debutante ball and everything.”

Eddie snorted, because of course she was.

“I would need at least a week,” Steve was saying. “With the reading of the will and all.”

Eddie scoffed. If there was a will, he very much doubted there would be anything as formal as a reading of the damn thing.

“Oh thank you so much,” Steve sniffled. “I’ll even call Robin and let her know about her needing to pick up a few shifts.”

And like that Steve had gotten the week off.

“And the award for best crocodile tears to get out of working goes to Steve Harrington!” Eddie said, waving his hands back and forth. “Holy shit, man, how did you do that?”

Steve snorted. “As any good actor will tell you in order to cry on command, you just need to think about something that makes you cry.”

Eddie frowned. “What did you think of?”

Steve just shrugged. “What time are you guys leaving?”

“Tomorrow, early,” he said. “But serious, dude, even after that stellar performance, you don’t really have to come. Take the week off. Enjoy life for a change.”

Steve shook his head. “I would just be at home worried about you. Don’t make me stay. Please. Not when you said you would feel better with me there.”

Eddie’s shoulders slumped as he gave in. “Of course I want you there, but I would be selfish to take you away from your family for so long. Robin, Dustin...the rest of the them all need you too.”

Steve sighed heavily. “You’re part of that family, Eds. And I’m not dumb enough to think that they aren’t going to make a run for it the second they’re able to. As they should. I have to live my own life and not be afraid to go places.”

Eddie threw his arms in the air. “I hate when you make sense.”

Steve grinned. “Now the only remaining question is which vehicle we’re taking, Wayne’s truck, your van, or my car?”

Eddie laughed. “God, Stevie. I am so glad you’re coming with me. I needed that. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Steve’s grin turned soft and fond. “Let’s hope you never have to find you.”

“Damn straight.”

*

“I can’t believe you’re leaving me,” Robin groused when Steve called her after Eddie left.

“What was I supposed to do when he asked?” Steve questioned, twirling the phone cord around his fingers. He leaned against the counter, keeping an eye on the door.

The last thing he needed was Keith finding out he fucked around after giving him the week off.

Robin scoffed. “Not go?” she questioned. “He obviously wasn’t serious about you coming with.”

"You know I would do the same for you," he said with a sigh. "For any of you. Plus his life has already been turned upside down enough, don't you think?"

Robin sighed. "I'm not really mad," she said. "It's just that this will be the longest we've been apart since the Russians under the mall."

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just think of it as a trial run for when you go to college."

"Yeah okay," she said resigned. "Just call me before you leave and again when you get there, okay?"

"Aye, aye, captain!" Steve said with a grin.

Robin giggled. "Shut up!" She paused for a moment. "I'll miss your stupid face, dingus."

“I’ll miss yours, too,” Steve said with a sigh. “I’ll call as often as I can okay?”

“You better.”

They talked a little bit longer until a customer came in and he had to hang up.

*

When he got home he started calling all the kids and packing for a week long trip. He wasn’t sure what he should bring in terms of clothes and ended up calling Eddie.

Eddie who laughed when he asked. “Just bring what you would normally wear this time of year.”

Steve chewed on his lip. “So I won’t get mercilessly teased about my preppy clothes?”

“Oh no, you will,” Eddie confirmed. “It’s just you don’t have to change yourself to fit in with a bunch of assholes who would make fun of you. Okay?”

Steve let out a slow breath and his anxiety went with it. He could handle that. Those assholes had never met a bitch like Steve Harrington before.

“Yeah, okay,” he said after a moment. “You and Wayne decide which vehicle we’re taking?”

“Yeah, he suggested we take his truck and your car,” Eddie said. “He knows he’s going to be taking a lot back and thinks your car will make it better than my van.”

“Sounds good,” Steve murmured, a little disappointed. “So who will you be riding with for the trip down?”

He could almost feel the grin from here. “With you, of course, darlin’.”

Steve laughed. “Yeah okay. What time do you need me at your house?”

There was a beat and then two before Eddie said, “I was thinking that you should spend the night so we could leave first thing in the morning.”

Steve’s heart sped up as his breath caught in his chest. “Yeah. Sure. That’s a good idea. I’ll show up at eight tonight, give myself a little bit more time to pack.”

“Sounds good,” Eddie replied. “Wayne suggested it because it’s a six hour drive and we want to leave as early as we can so it’s not too late when we get there.”

Steve felt a jumble of emotions at that statement. It was a relief that it was a practical reason, but at the same time it was a disappointment that it wasn’t Eddie’s idea.

He took a deep breath. “I hear that. I remember the trips to Lexington when I was kid before we started flying. They were a bitch.”

“It really surprises me that you have family in Kentucky. I don’t know why, a lot of people in Indiana do, it’s just...”

“Harringtons are so entrenched in Hawkins it’s weird to think we have connections outside of it?” Steve supplied.

Eddie laughed. “Yeah, that.”

“My parents met in college and I didn’t move to Hawkins until I was eight,” Steve said.

“Wait,” Eddie said. “No way. You aren’t a Hawkins native?”

Steve chuckled. “Nope. I’m more like you and Dustin then the Wheelers and the Byers. And the Sinclairs.”

“Huh,” Eddie said after a moment. “You certainly have hidden depths, my friend.”

“You have no idea,” Steve teased.

“Then I’ll just have to use this trip to dive deeper,” Eddie teased back.

“I have to pack, you dork,” Steve said fondly. “I’ll be over at eight.”

“See you then, Stevie.”

***

Part 2|Part 3|Part 4|Part 5|Part 6|Part 7|Part 8|Part 9|Part 10|Part 11|Part 12

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[upsidedownwithsteve]

PART ONE

Eddie Munson x fem!reader[33K] summer camp, a few almost kisses, that friends to lovers shit and your own personal rule: no boys.

I’m beggin’ you to beg me 

By the end of week four, some kids were complaining of homesickness and the younger campers had taken to latching onto some counsellors for comfort, which is how you found yourself with a new buddy. Seven year old Olivia Fredrickson held your hand at any given moment, her free one grasping at a teddy that looked like it had seen better days but the girl refused to leave it in her bunk. 

She also refused to leave you. 

And that’s how you found yourself being led across the camp, leaving the rest of your group with Chrissy in the gym hall as they attempted to master the cartwheel. Little Olivia edged towards the music workshop with a quiet nervousness, looking up at you with big, glassy eyes and a trembling lip. Her camp t-shirt was still a little too big, the hem of it near the bottom of her sunshine yellow shorts and she clasped her teddy to her chest as she quietly asked you for the fourth time that morning:

“Is it time to go home yet?”

You sighed sympathetically and crouched down, shins almost brushing the forest floor and you poked a soft finger to the girl’s nose. She was all blonde curls and flushed cheeks and despite her sadness, you couldn’t feel a tiny bit jealous. 

You hadn’t missed home at all. 

“Hey,” you spoke softly, voice kind and sweet, “don’t you wanna go play some instruments? With the other kids?”

Olivia shrugged. 

“You know, it’s almost time to go home,” you told the young girl. “But there’s still lots of fun things to do first.”

From inside the cabin, you could hear the muted sounds of xylophones and pianos being played, off tune and a little haphazardly but the kids inside were laughing and Olivia’s ears perked up. 

You followed her curious stare and gave her hand a little squeeze. “Why don’t we go inside and see what we can try, huh? And then later, we can ask Mr Hopper if we can call your mom, yeah? You can tell her all about your day?”

Maybe Eddie had happened to look out the window, maybe he just sensed you like some kind of magic, like some kind of magnet, but the boy appeared behind Olivia at the door. He lifted a hand in greeting, smile soft and brows furrowed a little in confusion but your stomach flipped and suddenly the sticky hands that slammed on the keys inside didn’t sound as jarring. 

“Hey,” Eddie called out, smiling kindly at the younger girl. “Y’comin’ in?”

Olivia scooted closer, tucking herself and her bear into your chest. You straightened up, hands on her shoulders and you grimaced at Eddie and he nodded in understanding. 

“You know Eddie, right, Livvy?” You shuffled forward, coaxing Olivia with you and she stared at the boy with wide, unsure eyes. “He’s gonna teach you to play some music, isn’t that cool?”

Eddie hunkered down to Olivia’s level and smiled wide and easy, dimples showing and he coaxed the girl forward with an exaggerated gasp. 

“Is that your teddy bear?” He asked. Olivia nodded, her bear pressed under her chin and when she was assured you weren’t leaving, she took another step toward Eddie. “He’s real cute. D’you wanna see mine?”

Olivia looked intrigued, gazing up to you for more encouragement and when you nodded and smiled, she stepped towards Eddie and peered at what he was pointing at. He was plucking at his shirt, the tiny teddy bear patch on display by his name and Olivia lit up with delight, small fingers poking at the bear's nose. 

“What’s his name?” She whispered to Eddie, smiling more than you’d seen her in the last few days. 

“Oh, uh, well,” Eddie stuttered and his gaze flickered to you as you tried to hide your grin. He seemed flustered, pink around the cheeks and it was almost too much to handle. “His name is, uh, Bee— Beelzebub?”

You snorted out a laugh that you had to hide behind your hand. “Jesus Christ,” you muttered under your breath. 

“Beez, for short,” Eddie explained quickly but Olivia’s attention span had waned and she was too busy looking over Eddie’s shoulder at the kids who were inside, sticky hands and concentrated stares set on multicoloured xylophones and mini drum sets. 

“Can I try?” She asked politely, already edging through the door. 

“Yeah,” Eddie grinned, pleased at her change of attitude, “yeah, ‘course you can kiddo, go grab something to play.”

Olivia disappeared into the crowd and the noise, teddy bear dragged behind her by one grubby paw and you turned to Eddie who looked triumphant. 

“Beezlebub?” You grinned and he groaned, batting at your hand that reached out to poke at his side playfully. “Really?”

“Shut up,” he grumbled but there wasn’t any heat behind his words. “I panicked.”

“I noticed.”

Eddie shoved his hands in his pockets and you tried not to notice how he was a little more tanned than last week, the summer spent outside finally making him less pale than normal, the flush of his cheeks making his eyes look like honey. 

“You doin’ anything?” He asked, squinting at you like the sun was too bright but you’d come to learn that he did it when he was nervous, when he wanted to come across more casual than he felt. 

“Uh, not really, I guess?” You cleared your throat, kicked at a pinecone and shit, maybe you were as bad an actor as Eddie was. “Chrissy is finishing up at the gym and I was supposed to help Joyce with some filing later but…”

“But?” Eddie raised his brows, expectant. 

“I have some time,” you told him quietly. 

Eddie beamed. 

A crowd of campers passed you both on the path, two by two and followed up from Steve as he led them back from a hike and the older boy spotted you both, doe eyed and staring at each other. He snorted to himself, kept an eye on the kids as they made their way back to the campfire circle and he only hesitated once before he cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled out:

“And I can’t fight this feeling anymore!”

Eddie’s eyes snapped from you to his friend, back straightening and cheeks on fire as he glared at Steve. It really didn’t help when the kids just assumed he was starting some weird kind of singalong, and a girl called Susie sang the next line. 

“I’ve forgotten what I started fighting foooor!” She looked too proud at knowing the lyrics and Steve cackled, leaning down to slap his hand to hers in encouragement. 

You didn’t get a chance to ask questions when Eddie flipped Steve off, face beaming with pink as he ushered you inside the music workshop with a hand in the small of your back. 

You spent the next hour there, flitting between helping kids play twinkle twinkle on the xylophone and standing too close to Eddie, laughing at his stupid jokes and pressing a hand to his chest when he tried to coax you into learning the guitar. 

But the tannoy for lunch sounded and the mess hall doors opened as the kids ran out, sunshine bouncing off of their heads and then you and Eddie were alone. Instruments were strewn across the floor and Olivia had forgotten her teddy, the bear splayed across a tiny keyboard and the sight made you smile. 

And then Eddie was coaxing a guitar into your arms again with a grin and despite your weak protests, you took the shiny red thing into your hands and smiled too. Maybe it was the quiet that had settled over the camp, maybe it was the feeling of being alone in the mess, the room scattered with sunlight and the shadows of the trees, maybe it was the warmth. 

Maybe it was just Eddie. Maybe that’s all it took. 

‘Cause the boy was leaning against a table as he nodded his head encouragingly at you, telling you chords and letters that didn’t mean anything to you, not really. And his voice was soft and gentle, fingers pointing out strings and where to place your hands until eventually he was coaxing you forward, his hand curled around your wrist and you followed without any hesitation. 

You let him guide you into him, every movement slow and gentle, waiting for you to stop him, giving you the chance to pull away. But you didn’t, you just held your breath and grasped the guitar a little too tight as Eddie spread his legs and manoeuvred you to stand between them, your back to his chest. 

Despite the heat outside and the sun that had no clouds to hide behind, he smelled like a summer storm, like fresh rain and pine and something spicy. His curls tickled your cheek and he glanced at you from the sides of his eyes, a fleeting gaze under his lashes before he hooked his chin over your shoulder and brought his arms around your sides. He rested his hands on yours, fingers twining, moving you from string to string as he murmured softly about scales and open chords. 

You didn’t take any of it in. You hardly heard a word. You let him move you like putty, soft and pliant under his touch, getting warmer by the second at the feel of him behind you. Eventually Eddie stopped talking and he stopped playing pretend, both of you acutely aware you weren’t paying attention, but still, he kept his hands over yours, used your fingers between his own to pluck out a pretty tune and you felt his smile against your cheek the entire time. 

You couldn’t remember a time where you’d felt like this before. When your body felt electric, live wires for veins, when you felt like a kid with your first crush. So you leaned back into his solid frame, kept your eyes on his rings, the glint of them that had turned gold in the sunlight. Eddie hummed a tune you didn’t know, didn’t recognise, but it was soft and smoky and sweet and it sounded like it was just for you. 

You decided it was your new favourite song. 

You only broke apart when Robin slammed a hand against the window, a smug grin on her face as you heard her muffled laugh behind the glass, her eyebrows raised at Eddie’s pink cheeks, your wide eyes.

“Hey, lovers,” she called out and her voice sounded tinny from outside. “Hop’s calling a meeting, ten minutes.”

So Eddie cleared his throat and hung up the guitar as you tried not to meet Robin’s knowing gaze, both of you stumbling around each other until the boy opened the door and you both fell into the sun. 

—————

Hopper’s cabin was almost full, Joyce, Bob and Jason still chaperoning in the mess hall but the rest of the counsellors tittered and snorted when you and Eddie rushed in, still looking flushed. 

Hopper sighed and rubbed his eyes, not wanting to know why Eddie was blushing and your chest was heaving but Murray looked up from his clipboard and took you both in with narrowed eyes. 

He set Jim with a knowing stare before going back to his list and asking mildly, “do we need another jar?”

The room exploded, muffled laughter hidden behind hands as Eddie turned beetroot and Steve rolled his eyes. You turned to ask if you’d missed another joke but Eddie looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him, so you decided against it. 

“It was one kayak,” Hawkins muttered from the windowsill, sitting cross legged with her fingers tucked into Steve’s collar. 

“Two,” Hopper shot back. 

The girl opened her mouth to argue back but seemed to remember something that brought a flush to her cheeks and thought better of it. 

“Anyway,” Murray announced, tucking his clipboard under his arm and clapping his hands together. “Quick meeting ‘cause the gremlins will be released in five minutes and God forbid they wander the wilderness unsupervised.”

“God forbid,” Hopper muttered quietly from behind his computer screen. 

Murray pretended he didn’t hear and continued, “the big game starts tomorrow and after too many complaints that hide and seek is going on far too long—”

“That’s ‘cause some people think that hiding on the gym roof is a good idea,” Nancy rolled her eyes. 

“Hey, that was a great idea,” Argyle countered. “Y’all are just jealous that you lack the creative and imaginative ingenuity that comes with smo—”

“No roofs,” Murray cut in. “And no smoking, Jesus Christ. In fact, we’re mixing it up and we’re playing sardines this year. Anyone who doesn’t know how to play, better learn damn quick.”

And without any other explanation, the man grinned and brandished a bunch of straws, holding them out in his fist until every camp counsellor had picked one. There were a few whispered celebrations amongst groans as shorter and shorter straws were drawn. But your face fell as you held out a straw that was barely an inch long and Murray’s grin widened. 

“Go fish.”

—————

“So I’m the only one hiding?” You asked Robin for the third time. “This isn’t some hazing thing for the new person, is it?”

Robin snorted and shook her head, pulling Will backwards by the scruff of his shirt before he walked straight into a clump of poison ivy. The kids were restless, rippling with excitement and too much energy as they congregated by the unlit fire pit, the afternoon sun beaming down on everyone. 

“No,” she told you with a grin, “besides, you’re five weeks in, Michigan, you’ve survived, you’re not the new kid anymore.”

You certainly didn’t feel like it, the weeks of summer giving you long days, light nights and an achingly familiar feeling of something you’d thought you’d once lost. Camp felt like childhood, the other staff members greeting you every morning like an old friend, strawberry smoothies in the mess hall, pancakes on Fridays and Sundays spent waist deep in the lake. 

And even though Robin and Nancy had explained the rules to you twice before, you still listened when Murray announced the rules, standing on a rock in front of the crowd of kids and counsellors, bullhorn in hand. 

“Okay, we’re having two games only, ‘cause lord knows how long these things drag on, okay? If the game ain’t done by nightfall, we’re leaving you all outside for the coyotes.”

The kids all jeered and yelled their protests at this, which made Murray smile, one that was noticeably more fond than you’d seen before. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Murray droned, “that’s illegal, we know. Anyway! Two games, one hider from the kids and then one staff member!” He shot out a hand that pointed to you and he grinned, “we’ve already got sardine number one, who’s gonna be our second little fishy?”

The kids clamoured, yelling out names and raising their hands as they tried to get Murray’s attention until he eventually clamped a hand over his eyes and pointed blindly into the crowd. 

Some cheered, some groaned, but Will stepped forward with a push of encouragement from Mike and Max. He waved, tried to look brave and Murray ruffled his hair. 

“Okay! Byers is up first! You know the rules, Will is gonna get a minute to hide before everyone else gets let loose. When you find him, you gotta hide too, so Will, be smart about it. Last one to find everyone else gets thrown in the lake.”

Joyce appeared at Murray’s side, looking affronted. She grabbed the bullhorn and shook her head, speaking in a panic. “No! No, no, no one is getting thrown in the lake. We don’t do that, Murray, for god's sake—”

But Murray just grinned and grabbed the megaphone right back. “Don’t be stupid about it, no roofs, no vehicles, don’t actually go into the lake for the love of god and Christ, stay out of the kitchen too. Bob will have my head.”

And then the game started on a whistle, the entirety of the camp facing the lake in a crowd of rippling excitement as Will took off running in the opposite direction. Everyone counted to sixty, a heavy chant that built the tension in the air and as everyone hit forty four, you looked across the sea of kids and found Eddie, already looking at you. 

He smiled and you grinned, unabashed and unable to help it, biting your lip when he beamed wider, winking for good measure. But then the counting got louder as the numbers got lower and suddenly everyone was yelling ‘one!’ 

You were pushed as the kids scattered, laughing with the rest of the staff as the campers took off across the forest floor, weaving in and out of buildings as they searched for Will. It was a surprisingly quick game, with Steve taking one for the team and deeming himself the loser, the boy humming to himself as he wandered around the camp, blindly pretending he didn’t see the sixty or so kids lined up behind the kayak stands, legs sticking out and trainers stuck in rope lines. 

And then it was your turn, much to the kids' enjoyment. Eddie appeared at your side as everyone ran back to the lake, ready for another countdown and the boy placed a hand on the small of your back, a barely there touch with just his fingertips but it was searing. 

“I don’t wanna brag, but I’m pretty sure I’ll manage to find you,” he whispered with a smile, crowding down a little so his lips could find your ear. 

You tried to act cool, tried to act casual, but it was hard not to smile around the boy, that cheeks sore, eyes too bright, kinda grin. And Eddie saw right through you anyway, smiling at you the same way until you cracked and rolled your eyes at him, pushing him away playfully just as an excuse to put your hands to his stomach. 

“What if I wanted you to?” You answered, feeling braver than you ever had and maybe it was ‘cause the sun was setting, maybe it was because you still feel the way Eddie’s hand had felt against the smell of your back. 

Maybe it was because you’d never been able to stop thinking what it would be like to kiss him. To try. 

Eddie stared, lips parted, brows raised, looking a little shocked, a little dumb, but just as pretty. You watched him blink, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed and before he could say something - say anything - Hopper’s whistle blew shrilly in the air. 

“Munson!” Hopper barked and the kids jumped. So did Eddie. “I don’t have any more damn jars. Get in line.”

Eddie stumbled off, looking back at you over his shoulder, a smile appearing as well as a rosy flush across his cheeks, your words registering with him more and more. He stood amongst the kids, gazing at you one last time before everyone had to face the lake and count and god, he looked like a man on a mission. 

The kids started counting and you felt giddy with it, your chest tight as you tore across camp, old leaves and called pine cones crunching under your feet. The sun was only just starting to set, the cabins turning gold, rainbows on the glass windows, the shadows of the trees a navy blue, a deep lavender. You felt ready to burst, a new kind of excitement curling around your bones and oh my god, you didn’t know if it was because of the game or the boy. 

And maybe you knew the answer already, subconsciously or not, because you didn’t hesitate to turn through the trees, past the mess hall, past the gym, jumping over fallen logs and leftover puddles, heading straight for the music workshop where Robin had stolen you from hours before. 

You could hear everyone counting as you squeezed in behind the shelving unit, tambourines and tiny cymbals tinkling at your movements. But half of it was hidden with an old chalkboard, rolls of forgotten music posters, a broken amp or two and the space behind it all created a narrow alley of shorts for you to shuffle into. So you pressed yourself there, against the wall and the mess until the chanting got louder and you felt like you were ready to scream with it all. 

‘Five!’

You liked Eddie Munson. 

‘Four!’

You liked him a lot. 

‘Three!’

You really, really wanted to kiss him. 

‘Two!’

And that was okay. 

‘One!’

You were allowed to feel that way, you told yourself. It was okay. Suddenly, the voice in your head started to sound more like your own and less like your mothers and Jesus Christ, the realisation made you blow out a shaky breath, laughter coating the edges of it. 

Eventually, after a deathly quietness after the last number was shouted, you heard the faint sounds of tiny feet running across the forest floor. Some yelled to their friends, others whispered and you froze when you heard the door open, three pairs of sneakers coming into view from between stacked books and broken xylophones. But whoever had entered the workshop, deemed it empty, and all three ran back out without spotting you. 

This happened another two times, kids running in, too excited to take their time, only checking the obvious spots like the storage cupboard and under tables, behind Eddie’s drum kit. The sun kept setting and the lights were off, the workshop looking very much closed for the night as the day turned rosy, the last of the sunlight streaming through the windows to paint hazy, pink stripes across the walls and floors. 

The door opened a fourth time, a slow squeak, and the footsteps that entered seemed heavier than before. They were slow, calculated and you held your breath, wondering, waiting, wanting. 

Black converse came into view, too big to belong to a camper and you peeled out from behind a stack of textbooks, catching sight of Eddie as he leisurely weaved his way between tables and stacked chairs, the drum kit and the guitar stands. 

He was smiling, you could see it, and it made you smile too ‘cause you knew that he knew, that you were there and it made him feel like you were waiting just for him. 

Eventually, Eddie walked towards the shelves you were hiding behind, fingertips running over the ledges of it, rings catching at the stored instruments every now and then, making them sing for him. And once he reached you, he found your eyes in the gaps and grinned, leaning all causal against the shelf. 

“Well look at that,” he tutted, all faux disappointment. “Looks like it’s just you and me so far.”

You smiled, leaned back against the wall and set him a gaze that made his chest go a little tight. “Oh no,” you deadpanned, trying your best to hide how pleased you were. 

You smothered your laughter as Eddie tried to squeeze in beside you, cursing under his breath as more kids ran past the cabin, close to the windows across from your hiding spot. But none came in, some shouting at others to start checking the bunks and Eddie sidestepped his way towards you, his back to the wall. 

There really wasn’t a lot of room. 

“You know why they call it sardines?” He asked quietly as he made his way carefully towards you. 

He was getting closer, knees brushing posters that became more creased than they had been but Eddie didn’t seem to mind. 

You swallowed, hands curling at your sides, skimming your bare legs as you fiddled with the hem of your shorts. 

“Why?”

Eddie waited until he was settled into place beside you before answering, turning with a little difficulty until he was toe to toe with you, only a breath apart. He smiled, close enough that you could smell his cologne, leftover smoke, that storm weather scent that seemed to stick to him. 

“S’cause you gotta pack in together real close.” He whispered and his breath across your lips felt like a kiss. Your lashes fluttered, your lips parted. “Like a tin of sardines, get it?”

You nodded, not willing to speak for fear of your voice wavering and Eddie seemed to sense some sort of nervousness, an uncertainty and he mistook it for something it wasn’t. He backed off, one foot behind the other as he tried to move away, stumbling a little. 

“Sorry, too close, my ba—”

He was cut off when you caught him, a hand reaching out to pluck boldly at the front of his shirt, fingers curled there as you coaxed him back. You tugged, gentle, eyes a little wide as you looked up at him and hoped he got the message. Eddie froze, looking at you with the same wonderment that he did before, when you told him you wanted him to catch you. But he came to a lot quicker this time, righting himself before moving back to you, until his shoes brushed yours and your hand was pressed between your body and his. 

The kids were still yelling outside but it sounded like they were underwater. Or maybe you were, you weren’t sure. Eddie held your gaze and you felt the way his stomach flexed under your touch, his chest heaving and falling as he tried to right his breathing. He whispered your name and you closed your eyes. 

You felt rather than saw him crowd you, his T-shirt riding up his waist as he stretched his arms out to lean against the shelves behind you, closing you in, coming closer still. Every movement was slow and careful, like he was prepared for you to stop him, to push him away, but your hand only tightened in his shirt, the cotton trapped in your closed fist and you wondered what it would take for you to let him go. 

“I’ve been thinking,” you whispered, licking at your bottom lip and you dared open your eyes, gaze heavy and Eddie was so close, you could see the way the sunlight caught his lashes. 

Eddie followed the movement with hooded eyes, copying you without realising, his tongue peeking out and swiping across his lip too. “Yeah?” He prompted. He sounded hopeful, nervous. 

“That maybe it’d be nice to try,” you started, voice soft and quiet like you were telling him a secret and you hoped then more than ever that you’d never be found, wanting to be trapped here forever, pressed against Eddie. “More than nice,” you corrected and god your throat felt thick and your tongue felt too clumsy in your mouth. 

“More than nice,” Eddie repeated and he was smiling, smiling so wide and you could hear it in his voice, the happiness, the shy kind of flirt that made your toes curl. “That sounds promising.”

His hand found yours, fingers tangling to pull your grip from his shirt, only to hold your palm against his. You wondered if he could feel your pulse, your heartbeat that seemed to thrum through your entire body.  You weren’t sure how, but he pulled you closer. 

“It does, doesn’t it?” You smiled, leaning in, chest pressed to Eddie’s, foreheads kissing like they had in the front seat of his van. You liked the word, ‘promising’. It sounded hopeful, it sounded new and different, like it could offer up a whole other world for you. 

Maybe it could. 

You weren’t sure who closed their eyes first, maybe you, maybe the boy. But you both went on touch, on sense, instincts telling you which way to tilt your head, noses bumping in the softest way, pushed to cheeks as Eddie’s hand squeezed to yours and it felt like he was telling you it was all okay. 

He spoke, eyes still shut, lashes brushing over yours, lips almost almost almost grazing your own with each word. 

“I don’t want you to do this if you don’t want to, if you’re not ready,” he whispered and his voice cracked just a little, brows furrowing even though you couldn’t see. A curl brushed your cheek and you leaned in closer, legs bumping his, knees knocking. “I don’t wanna rush you or make you feel like you gotta—”

“You’re not, Eddie,” you urged softly, forehead pressed to his, like you were willing him to believe it. “I just— I just started thinking about all the things that I wanted for a change.”

He waited, lips parted, head tilted to yours. He breathed in what you breathed out and your grip on his hand got tighter, ‘cause suddenly everything felt so intense you were scared you’d float away, that you’d have to let him go. It might’ve taken you a couple of weeks, but shit, you realised that you really, really didn’t want to let Eddie go.  

“There’s a voice inside my head,” you told him, “and not to sound crazy, but it’s starting to sound a lot kinder now. More like myself, like it used to sound a long time ago.” You felt the uptick of Eddie’s cheek against your own, a smile you couldn’t see because it was so much easier to pour your heart out when your eyes were closed. 

Eddie hummed, a sweet reassuring sound that made you sway into him, your top lip catching the edge of his chin and his breath hitched and you held yours and everything was burning burning burning. 

“What’s it saying?” Eddie asked and his hands left the shelf, left yours, so they could come to rest at your waist, gentle at first, almost too soft to feel. But you let out a little noise, and Eddie seemed to understand, ‘cause he gripped you a little firmer, fingers splayed wide across your sides before they dropped at your shirt and held you close. “This nice voice?”

He dropped his head, eyes half open, heavy and hooded and he nosed at your jaw, smiled when you let the motion tip your head back for him. You were softer than butter under his touch, your hands coming to fist at the material just under his collar, eyes scrunched shut and lips parting. Eddie ran the tip of his nose along your jaw, barely touching, no kissing, but it was enough for you to cling to him. 

Someone outside yelled and there were footsteps on the stairs, a thudthudthud that you both barely heard before they turned and ran the other way. The forest was in chaos but you and Eddie didn’t seem to notice. 

“C’mon sweetheart, you’re awfully quiet,” he whispered and maybe it was the small space, maybe it was the broken guitar stand that was digging into your back but you shifted until Eddie’s knee slipped between your own.  

You didn’t do anything, neither did he and it was dirty, not really. But Jesus Christ, it was far from innocent too.

You swallowed, thick sound that you were sure Eddie would’ve heard and it made your cheeks burn hot. Opening your eyes, you found him closer than you remembered him ever being, all wild curls and dark brown eyes, gaze bouncing from yours to your lips and back again. 

“It’s saying I could go to art school,” you whispered and your voice shook but you kept your eyes open this time, looking up at the boy through your lashes. You felt your heart rattling in your ribs, a vibration that made everything buzz and shit, maybe you could feel Eddie’s too. “That I could leave Michigan, find someplace new.”

Eddie smiled, a real, soft, genuine smile that made your heart ache and he nodded, nose brushing and he hummed, the prettiest sound. You pressed to your toes, eager, growing needy for something you hadn’t yet been given.

“Anything else?”

You grinned, head tipped back and face tilted up to him, cheeks aching with the joy of it all, that feeling of floating, flirting, all of it without shame or guilt or consequence. You pulled him closer still, wishing you could tangle yourself around him, wishing you felt brave enough to push your fingers into his curls but but but… not yet. 

“It’s saying I could kiss that boy I like, maybe let him take me on a date, if he wanted to.”  You said it so shyly, as if you weren’t wrapped around each other, like Eddie’s lips weren’t hovering over yours, stealing every word you spoke like they were only for him. 

They were. 

“If he wanted to?” Eddie asked and his voice was lower and raspier, like whisky and honey, sweet and sticky. “Sweetheart, he’d have to stupid not to.”

You shrugged, eyes bright, stomach swooping. “He has his moments.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh, quiet and happy and you wanted to swallow the sound whole. “You’re mean,” he teased but there was nothing but affection coating his tone and it made you softer against him still, hands moving up his chest to cling to his neck, fingers catching curls with the intention of bringing his face down to yours. 

“M’sorry,” you whispered back and you really didn’t sound sorry at all, not when Eddie was letting you guide you to his lips, not when he was gripping your waist that little bit tighter, arms around you to pull you to your toes, body flush against him. 

He said your name, soft and lovely, a pretty, pretty noise and you could practically taste it. You sighed, longing, wanting. 

“Eddie.”

Your lips touched his, a brush, a barely there kiss, heads tilting, hands gripping almost too hard but you didn’t care, how could you? ‘Cause Eddie was letting out a small sigh, a moan and it sounded like your name again. 

And then:

The sound of the door slamming against the wall, the stomping of feet, the shrill, high pitched shriek of a whistle. You leapt back, with hardly any room to move, the shelves rattling, tambourines and old drumsticks falling on top of you and the boy. Eddie yelped, grabbing at your waist before you could fall backwards and despite the way Hopper was glaring at you through the spaces in the shelves, you couldn’t find it in yourself to think of anything but the way your lips were tingling. 

“You didn’t hear the whistle?!” Hopper yelled, face red, eyes wide. “Office! Now!”

—————

“Twenty minutes!” Hopper fumed, leaning over his office desk in exasperation, “twenty minutes I blew that goddamn whistle. You could’ve been dead for all we knew.”

Murray, who was lounging on the sofa, snorted. 

“Okay,” Eddie grimaced, “that’s a little dramatic, no?”

You were too embarrassed to argue, half hiding behind Eddie who had no problem waving his arms about and talking back to Hopper. But he was as flushed as you felt, cheeks pink and eyes still a little dazed looking. 

“You’re both supposed to be responsible counsellors, looking after the kids,” Hopper said, his voice a low growl and god, the vein in his forehead was pulsing. “Not making out against the stacks!”

You cringed, stepping out from behind Eddie to wince at Hopper’s stare. “We weren’t making out, I swear—”

“Not yet, you weren’t,” Murray muttered. Eddie spun to glare at the other man but before he could say anything, Murray patted his shoulder and stood next to Hop. “Calm down, curls, you’re still lookin’ a little flushed.”

And before either of you could retort, Murray chucked the marker onto Hop’s desk and grinned, staring at you both with smugness as he slammed down his creation. Another jar, a little smaller than the one it sat next too, with a fresh sticker on the front. In sharp, bold letters, it read:

‘Therapy $$$’

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie muttered, eyes rolling and before you could ask what the deal was with the goddamn jars, Hopper straightened up and sighed, pointing at his office door. 

“Out,” he demanded. 

“Hop, look—”

“Out.”

So you let Eddie grab your hand, feet shuffling and lips bitten to hide the smiles that Murray could see. You both tumbled out the door, into the forest, where the night had taken the day, the lake a mirror, the sky a deep shade of violet. 

You met Eddie’s gaze and you saw the grin there, your favourite one that took over his whole face, sunshine even when the moon was out. He barked out a laugh, sharp and sweet, laughing even harder when you groaned and covered your face with your hands, embarrassment leaking out. 

But then Eddie’s hands were wrapping around your wrists and pulling, his smile meeting yours and he was kissing you kissing you kissing you. A real kiss, one that made your bottom lip slip between his, your hands catching over his own, smoothing over them until you managed to grab at his jaw and pull him down to you. 

He tasted like cherry cola, like smoke and mint gum. Like sunshine and rain storms and a first crushes, like something hopeful, like everything you’d wanted for so long. 

It was the sweetest of kisses, tentative and shy until it wasn’t, noses pressed too hard against each other's cheeks ‘cause close wasn’t close enough. Eddie’s hands were in your hair, over the slope of your jaw, the back of your neck, the dip in your waist. And you were walking backwards, pulled flush against him, lips on parting to breathe against the other's mouth and suddenly it wasn’t as shy as before. 

You were lucky it was dark, the campfire pit barely still burning, a faint glow in the patch of black before the lake. You could hear the kids, but couldn’t see them, the hushed dim of whispers and the electronic beeps of handheld games coming from the cabins and you were thankful Eddie knew the camp better than you did. He led you through the forest, away from the main paths that wound their way through the bunks, past the windows of the campers. 

He avoided each fallen log, laughed into your mouth when you squeaked and almost kicked a too big rock but you clung to him tighter in response and god, he fell quiet at that. Big hands on your waist, fingertips sneaking out to brush over the skin under your shirt, his lips on your neck, feet stumbling with yours. 

“My cabin is empty,” you whispered into the kiss, lips parting for Eddie when he nipped at them, tongue soothing over the sting and you realised you’d stay out here all night with him if he asked you to. “But yours is closer.”

So you both stumbled through the cabin door like wrecking balls attached at the mouth and making Steve yelp in surprise. There was no kindness to the way Eddie yelled at him to get out, just impatience mixed with Steve’s panic, his fright leaking into a smugness that made your face flush but still, you clung to Eddie as the boy chased his roommate outside. 

It was comical, the way Steve dodged Eddie’s hands and feet, edging around the furniture as he grinned wildly and grabbed his shoes, his sweater. Eddie cursed and Steve laughed, diving into the small bathroom for his toothbrush as he yelled at you both. 

“And I can’t fight this feeling anymore!”

“Harrington, get the fuck out.”

Steve ignored him. “Is Careless Whisper on the mixtape?” He didn’t give Eddie a chance to answer, instead throwing himself into a awfully high pitched rendition of the guitar solo. 

The boy didn’t leave until Eddie manhandled him out, muttering about last summer and how he owed him this. Steve let his friend shove at him, belongings clutched to his chest that he was most likely taking to his girlfriend's cabin and he grinned at you cheerfully. 

“Use protection!”

Eddie slammed the door, locking it for good measure as he leaned against it, eyes on yours and his cheeks flushed. 

“I am so sorry—”

“There’s a mixtape?” You smiled, squinting at the boy shyly, like you were afraid to ask in fear of being told no. 

Eddie nodded, looking pinker than ever. 

“Is it for me?”

The boy nodded again, stepping away from the door to cup your neck in his hands, goosebumps erupting as he smoothed your hair away with gentle fingers. “I was supposed to give you it ages ago,” he murmured. “But I chickened out.”

“Does it have Careless Whisper on it?” You asked, biting down on a smile when Eddie groaned and rolled his eyes, all fond and affectionate, squeezing gently at the back of your neck. 

“No, it doesn’t,” he huffed but he was fighting a smile too, nose scrunched, dimple showing. 

“What about REO Speedwagon?” You ventured, grin threatening to break free cause Eddie flushed pink and pressed his face to your hair, groaning even louder. 

“Yes,” he admitted, “shut up.”

You beamed and Eddie’s heart throbbed with it, ‘cause you were all lit up in the prettiest way, uncaring, all affection, touching him and letting him touch you. 

“That’s not very metal of you, Teddy,” you teased, smoothing your hands up his chest, over his shoulders and neck, pushing up on your toes as you brought him back down to you. 

He  didn’t need much coaxing. 

He grumbled, but it sounded too soft and his nose pushed against yours, a sweet gesture that you weren’t sure you’d be able to get used to. , “Don’t you start that,” he said but there wasn’t as much annoyance behind it as he wanted, in fact, there was none at all. 

“Oh, so only Dustin gets to call you that, huh?” You smiled, tapping the little patch on his chest. “I see how it—”

Eddie cut you off with a kiss, one that was slower than the rest, deeper, softer, more sure, more intense. He licked at the seam of your lips, groaning quietly when you parted them for him and you felt the sound in his chest, the vibrations of it under your hands and it made you push yourself closer. 

He kissed you lazy, languid, tongue licking over yours, hand coming up to cradle your jaw so he could tilt your face the way he wanted to, the way that would let him kiss you deeper still. 

He pulled back, just for a second, just enough to press his forehead to yours and tell you with half lidded eyes, “I’d let you call me whatever you wanted, you have no ide—”

The confession was enough for you to push yourself back to him, mouth pressed to his as you coaxed him backwards, hands in his curls until his knees hit his mattress and he sat on the edge of the bed. It was easy to follow him, to drop into his lap and let Eddie pull your waist until your knees were digging into his rumpled sheets and you could feel all of him underneath you. 

It was even easier to kiss him until your jaw ached, until your lips were swollen and kiss pink, matching Eddie’s cheeks, his hair wild from the way you’d been tugging at it. And he was hard against you, so, so hard; his cock trapped under the denim of his jeans and you couldn’t help but rock yourself over the outline of it, fingers fisting his shirt in your hands every time he made a pretty noise for you. 

Maybe it was the noises you were making for him too, desperate and needy, maybe Eddie was just getting braver but his hands slipped from where they were balanced on your hips, skimming down the denim of your shorts until he was grabbing handfuls of your ass and moaning low into your mouth. He pulled you over his lap, a slow grind that made you whine and the boy tipped his head back, panting heavily. 

“Is this okay?” He gasped out, “shit, we don’t have to— fuck, is this too much?”

Maybe it was. Maybe more time needed to pass between you deciding that you should’ve never given yourself rules and throwing yourself at the boy, but Jesus Christ, you found that you didn’t care. You had a week left of camp, a week left with Eddie and this is what you wanted. There were no consequences to having fun, no one to tell you off, no one to break your heart — ‘cause how could he? When he was looking at you like that?

Like you’d hung the moon, like you’d given him the sun, the stars, tiny glittering gifts just for him. 

You were panting like he was, chest heaving, lips swollen and parted, leaning back into him like you didn’t dare be apart for too long. You shook your head, lips brushing over Eddie’s and you smiled at his sigh, swallowed it with another kiss. 

“No, no,” you whispered, “s’not too much. But— d’you, do you wanna stop? We can stop if you wanna stop.” You were rambling. 

Eddie whined at the idea of it, gripping the soft dough of your flesh a little tighter, like he didn’t wanna let go. His fingertips skimmed the hem of your shorts, pressing into the bare skin where your thighs met your ass and it felt searing, like a brand. 

He shook his head, eyes darting from your lips to your eyes and he looked a little wrecked, pupils blown wide and jaw tensing.  “Don’t wanna stop,” he whispered back. “Wanna make you feel good.”

You sighed, breath stuttering and eyes fluttering shut at the thought of Eddie touching more of you and you were melting for him, head tilting back too easily as he moved his face to the crook of your neck. You felt like cotton candy, fizzing at the feel of his lips on your throat, all sugar sweet. 

Eddie pressed kisses to the line of your neck, over your jaw when he ran out of room, soft, slow, open mouthed pressed of his lips and you felt his smile against you when you shivered. 

“Can I do that?” He asked you softly, a barely there question that you felt on your skin rather than heard. “Can I make you feel good? Can I try?”

You sucked in a breath and nodded, let Eddie kiss you soft and sweet in reply, his lips moving over yours in a way that made you dizzy. And then he was shifting under you, letting you slide from his lap and onto his bed as he turned, coaxing you down until you were lying against his sheets. 

You made a noise of disapproval when he tried to move too far from you, hands on his jaw as you tried to steal more kisses, his smile obvious against your lips. So he gave you what you wanted, kissed you slow and soft until you relaxed under his touch and he could smooth his hand over the soft of your stomach without you tensing underneath him. And when you turned greedy again, breath hitching and teeth nipping at his bottom lip, he flattened his palm and ran it over the waistband of your shorts, fingers stopping at the button. 

“Can I?” He asked, pulling away to look at you, expression sincere and earnest. Eddie licked his lips, chasing the taste of you, his whole body vibrating with the way you were looking up at him, hair wild, eyes wide. “Is this okay?”

You nodded, suddenly nervous, ‘cause you wanted this - you really did - but it had been a while since you’d been touched this way, since you’d been in bed with someone, since you’d had hands and fingers on yourself that weren’t your own. 

Maybe Eddie sensed that, maybe he was just as nervous as you were, but he took it slow, kissed you sweet and senseless, his fingers trailing over the seam of the denim before he popped the button. It was the loudest sound in the room, the loudest sound you ever heard and your body was electric, Eddie’s touch a shockwave. 

“Jus’ tell me to stop, if you want,” Eddie murmured, forehead pressed to yours as he gazed down at your, brown eyes searching, looking for regret or discomfort or any sign that you didn’t want this. 

He couldn’t find any. 

His fingertips skimmed the edge of your underwear, the cold of his rings flat against your tummy and you arched up to kiss him, once, twice, reassuring both him and yourself. “Keep going,” you told him quietly. 

Slow and gentle, Eddie slid his hand down, stretching out your underwear, all cotton and lace as his hand snuck underneath. His hand was warm and almost too big, cupping the entirety of you and you gasped at it, at the feel of the slight pressure pressed against your cunt and Eddie froze, staring down at you, wide eyed. 

“Y’okay?” 

You closed your eyes, embarrassed, overwhelmed, nose scrunched and lips tucked between your teeth before you were able to speak. “Yeah, fuck, yeah, s’good, Eddie — s’just been a while.”

He smiled, soft and understanding and he nodded, kissing at your cheek, your nose, the corner of your mouth until you relaxed against him. “S’alright,” he assured, “it’s been a while for me too, I’ll go slow, yeah? C'mere, sweetheart.”

Eddie coaxed you closer, shuffling on his narrow bunk until he could slip his free arm under your head, letting you slump in against him, soft and lazy with pleasure. He moved his other hand, fingers pressing a little more until they slipped through your folds and he moaned at the feel of you, wet with want and anticipation. 

You made a soft noise for him, face pressing into his chest as you clung to the front of his shirt and Eddie watched you, head tilted down to take in the way you scrunched your features in pleasure, knees falling apart a little more. 

“There you go,” he whispered and god, he sounded pretty, voice hoarse and low and a little rough, like you’d already ruined him. “Tell me what you like, yeah? Tell me what to do, babe.”

Babe. 

His fingers found your clit, sliding over it soft with two fingers; easy, gentle circles that felt hypnotising, making you sink further into the bed, further into the boy. Eddie listened to the way your breath hitched and the way you gasped, obeying immediately when you whined quietly and told him: “higher, please.”

His fingers swept up, just a little, pressing down a little more firmly when you keened in approval and Eddie pushed his hands further into your shorts so he could slip a digit inside of you, swearing at the way you immediately clenched down on his finger, taking it right down to his ring. 

“Yeah?” He asked and you nodded, quick enough that he huffed out a laugh, but it wasn’t unkind.

You took a minute to pull back from where you’d hid in his chest, gazing up at him with glazed over eyes and a slack jaw, breathing growing heavier the more he pumped his finger in and out of you. Eddie looked just as fucked out, cheeks all flushed and he couldn’t stop staring, eyes roaming over your face and the way your chest rose and fell faster and faster, how your thighs tightened around his wrist. 

It was the most innocent thing, the way you were both fully dressed, your shorts unzipped and Eddie’s hand pushed into your underwear, nothing uncovered, nothing to be seen. But he was looking at you like he was about to lose it, thumb circling over your clit the way you told him you liked as he pushed another finger to join the first and the stretch of it was hot and wet and it made you moan something filthy. 

It was innocent in the dirtiest way. 

And then you were keening higher and higher, breath a gasp, forehead pushed to Eddie’s as you pulled him back to you, making him hover over you as he quickened his pace. You pressed your lips to his, a kiss that wasn’t a kiss but Eddie swallowed your moans anyway, rocked his hips into the side of yours, trying to catch some friction ‘cause he was hard as all hell watching you fall apart for him. 

“Close?” He asked and his voice was strained, a low rasp and he groaned wickedly when you nodded. “Shit, sweetheart, that’s it.”

It didn’t come to a surprise to you that Eddie would run his mouth, that he would babble and talk quick and fast and dirty to you as you chased the high you knew he was going to give you. 

“You look so pretty, y’know that? Feel so good — sh-shit — want you to let go for me, yeah? What d’you need, huh?”

You took his offer and crashed your lips to his, twisting so you could press yourself up against him, tongue diving past his lips without any of the gentleness that you’d given each other before and Eddie swore into the kiss, fingers hooking up and into you, pressing so sweet against the spot that had you crying out. You scrambled to grab at him, one hand on his jaw, the other in his hair as you squeezed your eyes shut too tight and let it all swim over you. 

It crashed like a wave, upupup, until the coil in your tummy snapped and it all unravelled, crashing back down with a roar. Eddie’s free hand cupped the back of your head, holding you to him as you moaned into his mouth, lips parted against his and he was rocking into you, pushing himself up against where his hand was hidden in your shorts until he swore and buried his face into your neck, kissing the skin there. 

You felt like your lungs were going to explode, like you’d run through the camp twice over and then offered yourself up for a hike. You were panting, letting Eddie smooth a hand over your hair as he pulled back to hover over you, his own chest heaving. He winced as he slipped his fingers from you, whispered an apology when you cried out a little softly at the loss of him. 

“You okay?” He asked and he sounded shy again, nothing like the boy who’d been whispering unholy things to you minutes before. “Good?”

You nodded, rolling into the boy, cheeks flushed, pressing your face into his neck before you spoke and when you did, your voice was unsteady. “Yeah, yeah I’m good. That was really good, fuck.”

You didn’t see the way the boy grinned, proud of himself, but you certainly sensed it. You huffed out a laugh, pushed at his chest and let him kiss your cheek 

“Don’t be smug,” you chastised but there wasn’t much heat behind it, there couldn’t be, not when Eddie was looking at you like that. You turned in his arms, peering up at him from your lashes as you asked, “did you, uh, did you—?”

Eddie snorted, leaning down to kiss you quick on your lips, deciding it was enough and kissing you again. He smiled, pushed his nose to your cheek and hummed in agreement. “Did I come in my pants like a teenage boy?”

You stared at him. 

“You’re damn right I did, sweetheart.” He grinned and shrugged, not looking the slightest bit embarrassed, and he shouldn’t have, ‘cause his confession made your thighs clench together all over again. “M’barely holding it together after watching you do that.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you laughed, a sharp, bright sound that made him smile wider and you were pulling him into you all over again. His hands snuck up your shirt, only to lie warm and rough against your back, like he just wanted to feel you and you nudged your hand at his jaw until he dropped his chin for you and you kissed him like it was the only thing you ever wanted to do. 

Like you’d been waiting to do it all summer. 

I want you. 

“Well?”

Eddie was woken up with a pillow to his face, the sun from a new day streaming into the cabin through the already open curtains. He hadn’t heard the tannoy, he’d barely heard Steve return, a banana and two stolen muffins in his hands. 

He threw one to Eddie as the boy stirred, turning to lie on his back and scowl at his friend. He caught the offering, blueberries staining his fingertips a violent purple and he swore. 

“Fuck sake, Harrington, what time is it?”

“Six thirty, don’t bitch at me,” Steve shot back, pulling the sheets from Eddie, “tell me what happened, c’mon, get up.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie grunted, shifting until he was pressed against the wooden headboard and setting the muffin on the nightstand. “You wan’ me to plait your pigtails too?”

Steve scoffed but didn’t retaliate, flopping down on the end of Eddie’s bed uninvited, half of his breakfast already stuffed into his mouth. He tapped at his friend's calf, impatient and gesturing at him to spill. 

“What?” Eddie laughed softly, “what d’you want me to say? That we made out?”

Steve snorted, rolling his eyes. “Well, no shit, dude. I kinda witnessed that part.”

Eddie kicked at him, pulling back the sheets from under Steve as he did, ignoring the way the other boy muttered an annoyed ‘ow.’ Eddie sighed, a smile spreading across his face ‘cause he was waking up properly and his pillow smelled like you and he could remember the way your hands felt on his neck, pulling him into you, onto you, just as greedy and eager as he had been. 

You’d tasted like blue raspberry jolly ranchers, smelled like sunscreen and campfire smoke from earlier in the night and you’d kissed him breathless, kissed him slow, kissed him desperate. 

Eddie shrugged, and he knew he looked foolish, a lazy, dopey grin on his face that Steve didn’t miss. He had a bad bedhead, curls sleep mussed and tangled from your fingers, a tiny, lilac bruise on his collarbone that matched the shape of your mouth. 

He felt lovesick, missing you already even though it had only been a few hours since he walked you back to your own cabin in the dark. You’d lay in bed with him for an age after it all, laughing as you’d watched him shuck off his jeans, heading for the tiny bathroom with pink cheeks, his hands covering the stain on the crotch of his boxers. 

He’d given you his sweater, his camp one, the one that said ‘Eddie’ on it with the teddy bear patch and he’d acted like it wasn’t deliberate, like it just so happened to be the first thing he’d grabbed for you but you smiled at him like you could see right through him. 

Perhaps, Eddie had thought, you could. 

You’d kissed him some more, let yourself be kissed by him back, all lazy and soft and sleep filled. The night was warm, Eddie’s bed warmer, legs tangled in each other’s and the sheets, the chirp of the cicadas the only other noise in the cabin apart from the tiny hitches of breath passed between your mouths. 

He’d walked you back to your cabin at around three o’clock in the morning, the night still yawning over the camp in an inky blue cloak, the lake glittering as he guided you through the trees and over all the fallen logs that had always been too heavy to move. 

Eddie had kissed you by your cabin door like he’d wanted to do since the first week of camp, since he’d bumped into you after dinner and walked you back, talking about music and work and how you were finding things. And then last night you’d held his hand all the way home and he’d glowed with it, felt your touch on him long after he’d left you with a kiss that went on too long, one that was more than sweet and still not enough. 

Eddie blinked and cleared his throat, side eyeing Steve as he shoved his muffin into his mouth, wondering if he was as flushed looking as he felt. By the boy’s answering grin, Eddie assumed he was and he swore. 

“Shit, you’re totally gone on her, huh?”

Eddie swallowed, taking his time to answer Steve who was waiting impatiently, eyebrows raised and grin stretching across his face. 

“So far gone it’s stupid, man,” Eddie finally answered. “Dude, I can’t stop thinking about her and it’s only been…” he looked at his watch and almost laughed. “Jesus, three hours since I saw her.”

Steve smiled and shrugged, softening a little from the way he’d been pushy before. His friend looked like he’d been hit over the head in the best way, eyes dazed, lips still too pink and plush from god knows what he’d been up to the night before. He remembered that, that feeling of realisation, that moment of, ‘oh holy shit, this girl has my whole fuckin’ heart.’

“So? You just gonna keep hangin’ out ‘til the end of camp? Swap emails?”

Eddie faltered, forgetting that the end of camp was looming, something that he normally didn’t mind ‘cause six weeks was a long time to be kicking around after dozens of kids, and eventually the bug bites got a little annoying. He’d miss Wayne, miss the city, miss playing the songs he wanted to play on his guitar, missed band practice and the noise of the city that never really died down. 

But Michigan and Pennsylvania were further apart than Eddie would’ve liked and a ten hour drive each way didn’t seem as easy as walking to your cabin. 

You hadn’t talked about what was next, not apart from art school but who knew where. Maybe it was stupid of him to want more after one night together, after six weeks and some stolen moments, but Eddie’s chest got a little tighter at the idea of not seeing you every day. 

So he looked at Steve with unsure eyes, shrugged again and pulled himself out of bed before the conversation could continue. There wasn’t long left until the kids would have to pack and the parents would start to arrive and Hop would tell the staff to start hauling tables and chairs and sports equipment back into storage. 

Maybe there'll be next summer. But Eddie thought about your sketchbooks and your drawings, the way your eyes lit up when you told him that art school seemed like more of a possibility than ever and the boy decided that maybe there would be bigger and better things for you next year. 

“C’mon,” Eddie told Steve, pulling fresh clothes out of his drawers, “help me set up for guitar lessons?”

—————

The rest of the days went by in a blur, much, much quicker than the weeks before. The heat soared, the days drawing out longer still, until it was pushing half past ten and the sky was still lilac and cotton candy pink, stars on the horizon and the moon opposite the sun. 

Eddie’s private lessons wrapped up and he came to you on his lunch break, smiling politely at Nancy who just grinned, skirting past her to ask you for help with something. You spent the afternoon with him on the floor of the craft room, cutting out certificates for each kid, writing their names neater than he ever could, gold stars and tiny, coloured guitars around the border. 

Eddie was more than pleased, pink in the cheeks and you could see all of it with his hair pulled back in a bun. He’d leaned over the mess you’d both made, kissed you sweet on the lips and ducked his head when Nancy had cooed at you both from the storage cupboard.  

You called him Teddy when no one else was around, whispered it soft enough that it made his brain short circuit, head going fuzzy until he could only respond by dragging you away somewhere quiet to kiss you until you were as dazed looking as he felt. It was his new favourite thing, stealing you away, ‘cause you let him every time, a grin on your face and you looked at him like he was made of gold. 

He’d sit you on top of one of his amps, pushing his way between your legs, moaning in approval when you’d hitch them around his waist when he kissed you stupid, a hand on your jaw so he could tilt you this way and that, so he could slip his tongue past your lips just the way he wanted to. Eddie discovered how you loved having your neck kissed; slow, delicate touches of his lips down your throat, how you liked it when he bit and sucked at it when he was in your bed with you at night. 

But you loved it even more when he kissed you sweetly on the cheek in front of your friends, in front of his. Like it was no big deal, like it was easy, like he’d always done it. You liked the way he’d do it quick when he said goodbye, when your schedules took you to opposite sides of the camp from each other and you adored it when he turned pink when everyone “awww’d” at him in response. 

He spent more time in your cabin than his, gave up his lunch breaks to hang out with you and your group of kids, feigning innocence when they asked him if he was your boyfriend. He’d look to you, unable to stop himself from smiling and he’d grin something stupid when you’d hit your lip and tuck your chin to your chest, as if that would stop him from seeing the way you flushed. 

And on the nights when neither of you had dinner duties, you’d meet Robin at the back door of the kitchens, taking the stolen pizza slices with a thank you before dragging Eddie back to your bunk. You’d play music for each other, the volume low as you swapped stories and secrets, and Eddie would try to make you laugh with tales from summers before, all the stupid shit he and Steve would get up to, how the boy and his now girlfriend used to hate each other… apparently. 

When you got braver and kissing the boy got easier, as easy as breathing, you returned the favour and unzipped his jeans, wrapping your hand around him and watched him lose it, whispering your name over and over and over again as he threw his head back into your pillow and fisted the cotton of your sundress in his hands. He was a mess when you leaned down to kiss across his stomach, the tattoos there you’d never been able to properly look at before, his shirt pushed up his chest so you could mouth over the soft skin, adoring the way the boy babbled aimlessly for you. 

You liked that you could reduce him to a mess, whether it was with your mouth on him and your bra on his cabin floor, the back of his van, or simply by waving at him across the mess hall, standing in your denim shorts and his sweater, name badge and teddy patch to boot. 

Steve was right, he was gone on you. 

Even Billy knew, ‘cause he’d pass you both by and roll his eyes, motioning to the way you liked to hook your fingers into the boy’s front pockets, pulling him to you. Billy would gesture to the scene, announcing to anyone who was nea by, staff or kids - he didn’t care. 

“See!” He’d half yell, smug, “fuckin’ called it, didn’t I? M’comin’ back next summer with a pair of damn wings and a bow.”

The last night of camp, Eddie stole you away from the fire, where you’d been sitting with Robin and Chrissy, sharing a bag of chocolate pretzels. The girls had made fun, cooing and laughing when Eddie flushed and flipped them off, but you went willingly, a grin on your face as he took you by the hand. 

He led you past the cabins, where the kids were inside packing up and the rest of the camp looked uncharacteristically bare, the kayaks put into storage, the flags from games week taken down from the tree branches. 

Eddie gestured to his van, sitting squint behind the gym building. He smiled, all blue shadows and dark eyes in the night. “Wanna get out of here?” He asked. 

You grinned, ‘cause he’d asked you that before and Eddie smiled like he remembered too. So you nodded, leaning into him to whisper the same thing you’d said to him all those weeks ago. 

“Are we allowed?”

Eddie kissed you in response, a slow, too sweet slant of his lips over yours, once, twice, three times, before he pulled back to nudge his nose to yours. 

“No,” he whispered back and it sounded like sin, like summer, like mischief and everything you didn’t want to let go. 

“Well,” you murmured back, hooking your fingers into his jean pockets and pulling him into you. You pressed another kiss to his lips, an extra one to the line of his jaw for good measure. “Let’s go.”

He took you to a lake, away from the camp and any towns, where the only light came from the stars and you lit up when he pulled out a couple of blankets from the back of the van. Eddie helped you onto the roof, laughing when he grabbed a handful of your ass to push you up and you squealed at him. But everything turned softer and quieter when you lay beside him, his arm under your head to cushion it, both of you staring up at the sky that was more than just black, more than just a navy tint. 

Eddie whispered constellations to you, pointing out lines and shapes above and he told you how Wayne had taught them to him, when the trailer park's generators would break down, how he’d take him up onto the roof and tell him all about the Milky Way and Orion’s Belt. 

He relished the way you clung to him, buried into his side with your arm wrapped around his waist, fingers tracing his hip bone under his shirt, chin hooked onto his shoulder. 

Then he trailed off, shifting to pull something from his pocket and he cleared his throat, scrunching his nose like you now knew he did when he was nervous. 

“Uh, here,” he smiled shyly. “This is for you. It’s stupid, I know, but it’s somethin’ for the drive home, right?”

You sat up as he handed you a mixtape, the one he’d spoken about. It had some songs on it from bands you didn’t recognise, some that you’d assumed would’ve been too heavy metal for your taste but it didn’t escape you that a few of them had the word ‘love’ in the title. REO Speedwagons ‘I Can’t Fight This Feeling,’ had been written twice, the first once scored out as if Eddie had changed his mind and it made you hiccup a laugh. 

There was an email address on the other side of the paper, tucked into the case beside the tape and you glanced at the boy, tears gathering at your lash line ‘cause you hadn’t been looking forward to this talk, this quiet goodbye where the two of you could be alone. 

“I, uh, I don’t have a computer at home,” Eddie explained quietly and he sniffed, leaning in to gather your hands, “but I can go to the library most days and we can talk, you can tell me about art school and, and, you know, life n’ stuff.”

You sniffed and nodded, smiling even though it was tinted with a sadness that you couldn’t explain. There was a longing that was wrapping around your chest, growing between your bones and the spaces between your ribs like wildflowers until they grew roots and you wondered if it would ever leave. You missed the boy already, even though he was bringing your hands to his lips, pressing kisses to your knuckles as he whispered for you not to cry. 

“Yeah,” you agreed, “life and stuff.”

—————

The last day of camp was as hectic as the first.  

Kids poured from their bunks as they greeted their parents by the fire pit, bags left in places they shouldn’t as other kids (and Hopper) tripped over rucksacks and pillows. Nancy did the rounds with Murray, checking each cabin for lingering campers, a missed shoe or a forgotten book and you were surprised at how sad you were to see them lock up each door as they left. 

You watched over a crowd of kids as Eddie knelt down to accept a bone crushing hug from some of his students, a few of them clutching a new set of drumsticks they didn’t arrive with. Some campers were sniffling, clinging to the legs of their favourite counsellors, only consoled by the fact that all the adults were telling them they’d be back next summer. 

Next summer. 

The paycheck in your front pocket felt too heavy for just a piece of paper. It had some nice numbers on it, more than you’d anticipated, enough to add to your savings, enough to put down a deposit on an apartment. So where new, a different city, maybe a different state. You thought about the textbooks you’d need for school, the set of mechanical pencils you’d asked for your birthday but never received. 

You thought about the applications to art schools that would be sitting on your desk waiting for you when you arrived home. 

You looked at Eddie again, with the same cut up shirt he’d worn the first day you’d met him, tattoos on show to scandalise the parents, all wild curls and soft smiles. He melted even more when he met your gaze and the thudthudthud of your heart was from excitement, not nerves. Not anymore. 

Eddie Munson made you feel the best kinda way. 

So when the parents left, kids in the backs of cars, hanging out of open windows as they yelled and waved goodbye, and the rest of the staff were saying their own farewells, Eddie took your hand and smiled. 

 It was sad, a soft, puppy dog kinda smile that made your chest ache ‘cause there were no plans made, no definition, no label on what you were, who he was to you. And that was okay, you’d both thought, ‘cause it was so, so new and shit, two weeks ago you weren’t even supposed to be looking at boys. 

But something changed, something snapped, something fell into Place and it felt so good. 

Who were you to argue with that? 

“So, what now?” Eddie asked, all quiet and soft and just for you to hear. He moved into you as you leaned on the side of your car, still wearing his sweater, hands in his front pockets to keep him from straying too far. As if he ever could. “Art school, yeah? My little Picasso.”

You snorted, ducking your head ‘cause he was too lovely, too sweet. You shrugged and acted coy, not knowing how to say it, not knowing how’d he take it ‘cause it was new and it was fresh and it was scary. 

But it was Eddie. And he’d wanted a fall wedding, hadn’t he?

You nodded and smiled, taking a deep breath before you looked up at him, squinting a little against the sun that was in the sky behind him. He was backlit against that hazy morning glow, the light still a little peachy, a pretty rosy kinda day. 

“Yeah, I guess so,” you told him and Eddie smiled like he was happy for you, and god he was, he really was. 

“M’proud of you,” he whispered and he pressed a kiss to your hairline, sweet and soft and god, this boy. 

You grinned, letting him love on you, pushing your face to his neck so you could kiss him back before you pulled away and shrugged. “Not applied for anywhere just yet.”

“Yeah, well, you’ll get into any school you go for, sweetheart.”

You grinned, scrunching your nose in the hopes that it would disguise your nerves. “Yeah? You think?”

Eddie nodded, nothing but solemn seriousness. “I know,” he told you. 

Your heart stopped and stuttered before it picked back up again, dancing against your ribcage. You hooked your fingers deeper into Eddie’s pockets, tugging until he laughed and let you move him closer, his body flush with yours. Eddie cradled your face in his hands, fingers splayed over your jaw as he pushed lovely at your cheeks, his rings cold on your too warm skin. 

“You can go anywhere you wanna go, babe.”

“I heard there’s a really great art school,” you swallowed, tongue feeling too clumsy for your mouth. You were flushing, chest tight, but fuck it, no one was there to tell you that you weren’t allowed to try anymore. “In Philly. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

Eddie froze, gazing down at you with his hands still clutching at your face with a softness you didn’t ever want to be without. Maybe he’d stopped breathing, maybe you had, and then he was smiling, grinning, beaming, that slow, spread of his lips across his face that made the entire fucking world light up. 

He was brighter than the sun. 

“Yeah?” Eddie asked, and he sounded softer than you’d ever heard him, like he couldn’t quite believe it, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to. 

You shrugged, bottom lip tucked between your teeth, trying not to smile, not to get too ahead of yourself ‘cause you needed to apply and actually get in and get an apartment and tell your mom you were moving out of state andandand —

“Yeah,” you said and you sounded more sure than you’d ever felt before. 

Eddie’s thumb pushed lovely at your cheek, still grinning and he smelled like the campfire smoke, like the forest and a rainstorm. He looked like a dream, like something you’d conjured up from a sketchbook. 

He was too pretty, too perfect, all guitar string scarred hands, teddy bear patches and bad boy tattoos, silver rings and wild hair, a cotton candy personality to boot. 

No boys? Who were you fucking kidding?

 “Shit, sweetheart, maybe I’ll see you around.”

[ghost-proofbaby]

SO SCARLET (IT WAS MAROON)

CHAPTER THREE: ALL TOO WELL

AND I KNOW IT'S LONG GONE AND THERE WAS NOTHING ELSE I COULD DO, AND I FORGET ABOUT YOU LONG ENOUGH TO FORGET WHY I NEEDED TO.

☆ pairings: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

☆ warnings: no use of y/n, strong language, angst, description of panic attack, minors dni

☆ WC: 5.7K+

☆ A/N: it'll be a short fic, i said. short and sweet and simple, i lied to myself.

thank you to my love @hellfire--cult for the divider!

masterlist

The moment your name leaves his lips, you swear the world halts on its rotation. 

This was real. Every fear and every anxiety you had wrestled with over the last twenty four hours wasn’t for naught – he was here, sitting before you, breathing your name out like a sigh of relief when all you felt was pain. Stabbing, radiating pain. It’s even worse than looking at pictures and headlines of a stranger on a phone screen. Something about him suddenly being tangible, suddenly being real, sends you reeling. 

Lydia looks wildly between your showdown with the ghost of a man before you, “I’m sorry… Do you two- do you know each other?”

Not anymore.

“I-” you choke on your stutter. You’re frozen under his stare, going ashen as your head spins. Leave the room. Think of an excuse, get out of this room, run away. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

It’s the world’s most pathetic excuse, but the only thing you can spit out before you’re turning heel and running, just as your body had so desperately craved. You nearly bump into one of the security guards you’d just bravely had a confrontation with. 

They’d demanded your phone, you had put up a fight. You had stood your ground. Had held your chin high, dared them to push further even once they had your cell phone in their grasp, and displayed all that self-assuredness you had curated in the last two years. Only to end up scampering past them like a wounded animal mere seconds later.

Pathetic.

Lydia calls out something after you, but it reaches deaf ears as you blaze down the hallway. Your chest is squeezing, as if someone had wrapped it in shrink-wrap and sucked all of the air right out of it, swathed so tightly you could feel every pounding beat of your pulse racing. Your eyesight completely blurs, not quite from tears but rather a mere loss of focus. You nearly knock over one of the god forsaken fake plants Lydia insists as a primary form of decor, hardly being within the right mind to reach out and right the oversized bush of green plastic. 

But you don’t have to. Right as your back collides with the wall off to the side of the plant, breathing only coming in short and miserable pants, a different hand reaches out to catch the plant. A ringed hand. 

When Eddie says your name again, it’s not a sigh. It’s laced with panic as you support your full weight against white plaster and stare at where knuckles wrap around faux wooden stems. 

“Hey,” he stresses, hand leaving your line of sight as he puts a large palm on each of your shoulders. You can’t look at him, not yet, “Hey, can you breathe for me? C’mon, big breaths.” 

This close, you can smell the cologne. It’s not even the same woodsy drugstore scent that had lingered on the pillowcases he’d left you to cling to while on tour. Even that, something so miniscule as what cologne he now wore, had changed. And the new and unfamiliar scent chokes you, turns your desperate gasps for air even more futile. 

You had walked out of that apartment two years ago, without any intention of ever being this close to him again. You’d sworn to yourself you’d never be this close again. 

“You’re having a panic attack,” he squeezes your shoulders within his hold ever so slightly, as if attempting to ground you, “You need to breathe.” 

Your eyes nervously find his brown ones. For a second, you recall summer days when the sun would hit them just right, turning them into molten honey for your tasting. Soft and glowing, warming you from the inside out so effortlessly. 

But there’s not a single shred of sunlight in this hallway. The dark brown falls flat against your vision. 

“I’m fine,” you very clearly aren’t, struggling to even get the words out into the air between you two, “I’m- I’m fine.”

He doesn’t fight you when you reach up to swat away his hands. He lets you, hands falling away with ease, touch retracting as if it had never burned you. You take the chance to look over the metal now settled on his fingers, and you realize he still wears all the same ones you remember so vividly. A cross, a pig’s face, an animalistic skull. But there are new ones added to his collection, adorned on his right hand rather than the left. Unfamiliar and odd, the bulky metallic additions are more plentiful. A silver snake wrapped around his pinky, a large spider with the body of a Magic 8 ball on his pointer, a bat spread eagle on his middle. There’s a chunkier one on his thumb, thinner ones added above a few of his second knuckles, but you can’t clear the haze of your vision long enough to pick up on the designs. You choose to focus back on the familiar ones instead, old and comforting even in your panic. 

New rings, new cologne, new habits – the Eddie before you is not the Eddie you once knew. 

“Okay,” he’s whispering now. You’re not even sure what excuse he used to follow you out here without causing a scene. Maybe he did cause a scene, surely a grander one than you. He had that privilege now; he was an untouchable rockstar, he could afford to raise a ruckus. “I… Are you sure?” 

It’s hard to believe there was a time he was a familiar comfort when all that remains now is the awkward distance between the two of you.

But when he takes a step back from you, the new cologne leaves your stratosphere and the new rings leave your field of vision, and the breaths finally come just a tiny bit easier. Still not enough to satiate your lungs, but enough that the headrush begins to pass. 

“I’m sure.” 

You try to insert such finality in those two words. As if whatever had just happened would fade and never exist, as if you could walk back into that conference room and take yourself off this project. You can’t. Eddie has a sense of control, a grip on his reality and the reigns of his choices, but you don’t. If you were to demand Lydia remove you from the project, you’d be risking termination. You’d be risking everything – and it may not be much, but you’d built it brick by broken brick these last few years. You’d salvaged what you had been able to out of the ashes of what had been, but it hadn’t been enough. It had hardly been enough for a foundation. You’d built up the person that now stood before him from practical scratch.

The weight of just how much you had to lose hits suddenly – the realization that this was happening and you had no control of it. 

But Eddie did. He had to. 

“You need to go back in there,” you start, voice still shaking and eyes still averted, “And you need to demand that they reassign you guys. You… You need-” you begin to stutter and fumble to find the right words. You could have lashed out, could have tried to pour salt in a wound you weren’t even sure still existed so that Eddie made the choice on his own. But your mind is muddled and you’re desperate, “Someone else can take on the project. You need to go and demand that someone else takes on the project.” 

“What?” Not the response you wanted. Not the response you needed, “I- No.” 

Two years later, and he still found a way to do significant damage. 

Your eyes snap up, “What do you mean no?” 

“I mean no.”

“I haven’t asked anything of you. Not back then, not after everything happened, I-”

He cuts you off with a scoff. “Can’t ask for anything if you just fall off the face of the fucking earth.” 

You hadn’t noticed before, but as his walls begin to build, you realize that the prior interaction had been something vulnerable. Something where neither of you were on the defense quite yet like you’d always imagined a reunion would go. All that had mattered ten seconds ago was you being okay, him coming after you, making sure you were fine. He’d allotted you all the care and attention you had craved so terribly two years ago, nearly begged for until your knees had bled for. 

“Eddie,” you whisper, getting too distressed to think straight, “Please, for the love of God, just make them reassign the project-”

“I can’t,” he interrupts, shaking his head, “Do you think I’d put myself through this if I could help it? I fucking can’t. I have absolutely no control in there. I didn’t even-” he cuts off his sentence, looking you in your eyes, leaving more to be said. 

He didn’t even what?

“I can’t do anything about it,” he says instead of whatever had been on the tip of his tongue, “Trust me – if I could, I would. But I can’t. So why don’t you say something?” 

It’s your turn for scoffing and disbelief, “I can’t. I’m not the one with all the power and glory-”

“Is that what you think I have?”

“That’s what I know you have.” 

You both go quiet as a battlefield fills the distance between you. All anger, all regret. None of the love or care that had once existed between you two exists here in this quantum plane of sharp words and deadly jabs. 

“Just- please ask for a reassignment,” you try with one final plea, eyes hard on him, “Say that that first impression left you unimpressed, I don’t care. She won’t fire me for that.”

“Once again, no. As it turns out,” his voice is low, dangerous, unfamiliar. A tone he had never used before with you, “Even the one with all the power and all the glory can’t make miracles happen. Sorry, doll.” 

He doesn’t await your response, leaving you on your own as you stay pressed against the wall and he’s walking away. 

What is the saying? ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’? 

You were certainly feeling scorned.

You felt ripped wide open, beaten and bruised and damn scorned as he leaves a conversation you weren’t finished with. You can’t tell which limb aches the most – the shoulder where his now strange hands had held onto you, your fingers that had curled into pained fists at your side to show you were prepared for a fight, your rib cage that still struggled to expand and accommodate the air now vacant of his cologne that you needed after your panic attack, or the legs that had once carried you away from Eddie Munson only to lead you right back to him. 

There’s nothing you can do, though, beyond composing yourself. You take the same big, deep breaths that Eddie had tried to coax out of you moments before. Your fists slowly unfurl and your palms rake against the side of your jeans in an attempt to wipe away the sweat of the interaction. 

Fine. If he wouldn’t help you, you could handle this. You could manage this project, plan a goddamn party for your ex-boyfriend’s new single. You would treat it just as you did every other previous project you had excelled at, and you would avoid all unnecessary contact with him just as you had with previous clients. 

As a matter of fact, you could probably get away with avoiding all contact. 

He hadn’t hired you. His management had. And, according to him, he had no real power in this situation. If he had no say in the matters, then there would be no reason to reach out to him.

You could do this. You could handle this. 

It’s a mantra of salvation that you repeat to yourself internally as you take confident strides back to that conference room, not even stopping for the guards this time before you burst back into the room when your imminent doom awaits. 

The repetition falters a bit when all eyes land on you as you take your first steps into the room. 

Your name comes out of Lydia’s mouth like a hiss, her teeth locked into a smile that would better pass into a grimace as she asks, “How nice of you to join us again. Please, take a seat.” 

“Of course,” you can’t look her in her eyes for very long, immediately rushing to sit at the chair she’d motioned towards. You haven’t spared Eddie a single glance – you haven’t spared any of the boys you’d once known a look. Instead, you look up to direct an apology at the only face you don’t recognize before you, “I’m truly sorry.” 

The older gentleman, wrapped in a certain kindness and warmth below his professional attire, smiles. And in an instant, his face isn’t quite as unfamiliar, “No worries. When Nature calls, right? Regardless, I’m Matt. Nice to meet you.” 

You can guess which hole in Eddie’s life he’s attempting to smother, which shoes this man serves to fill. He has more hair than his predecessor, but the grin is the same. 

If you picture the man he reminds you of back in Hawkins, you’ll surely begin to ache. 

When you reply with your name, you can hear a fragment of your youth in your voice. Better days spent in Forest Hills trailer park, loitering about a trailer as Wayne Munson asks you how well of an eye you’ve been keeping on his nephew. You’d always lie, say you were keeping him in line when you knew you’d spent the day following him right into trouble, like some sort of lost puppy. Like some sort of loyal soldier. It occurs to you that that’s who you had always been; a fierce soldier over the shoulder of Eddie, ever the brave commander. You would have followed him into battle without a second of consideration, you did follow him all the way to New York without ever taking a final glance at your hometown. 

You wondered if he had tried to replace you as well. You imagine it; the new and fresh face that replaced yours in picture frames, that laid beside him at the end of each night he returned home, that heard a whisper of I love you over the line to the backtrack of a sound rehearsal. 

Were there ever any bloody wars between him and his new lovers that could compare to the battles never fought between you two? Did anyone else in this world know the wounds of his gun never fired? 

The smoke clears. You still don’t look at Eddie, afraid to only see the commander you once knew. You force a smile, putting on a soldier's bravado that doesn’t fit quite right anymore. 

Bullets never fired, triggers never pulled, but the blood stained the same.

“So, where shall we begin?”

—

Matt does most of the talking for the next hour. Sheet after sheet of paperwork is laid down in front of you, your hand beginning to cramp from signing your name so many times, and the details are discussed.

A new single, set to release in three months. A release party that needed to be grandeur and garner the type of attention that Matt feared had been waning from the band due to radio silence on their music front. The outlines of the project were clear cut, simple enough, and you had yourself fooled just well enough that this would be easy.

You kept your eyes set on the prize and never once noticed the tomfoolery occurring between the band members. The words on the tip of their tongues that Eddie keeps quiet through quick kicks to their shins beneath the table, the individual hurt reflected in each of their eyes as you treat them no better than strangers. That treatment of Eddie, they understood. But them?

They could never understand. 

“What’s the name of the single, if I may ask?” you question as you look over one of your copies of the paperwork. Lydia had been eerily silent, allowing you to take the lead. 

Despite the rough start, it was paying off. Having a switch for your emotions can be a good thing, as it turns out. 

“You may,” Matt nods before turning to the boys. It’s the first time he's looked to them for answers during the entire meeting, “Shall I do the honors, or would you boys rather do it yourselves?” 

It’s a chance for all the members of Corroded Coffin to open their mouths without silent reprimanding from Eddie beneath the table, but he beats them to it.

“Dial Tone.”

You freeze your reading. 

There’s something in the way he says it that forces you to look up. As if he’s only speaking to you, and the rest of the room is a faded mirage for him to send away for these private moments. Still a commander, even when his bravest soldier has left him. 

“Sounds… interesting,” you murmur, taking a few seconds too long to meet his gaze, unsure of what to say, “Rolls off the tongue easily.” 

“It certainly does. Which, ironic, given the situation that inspired the song.” 

“And what would that be?”

You’re both wearing masks in front of an audience half made up of people painfully aware of your history, and the rest being painfully oblivious. 

Does Matt know about you? Lydia certainly doesn’t know about Eddie. 

“Words never said. Answers never given. Phone calls missed and never… returned.”

You’re not stupid, but you wish you were. It feels a bit selfish, a bit self absorbed, to so quickly assume you’re the inspiration. 

But how could you believe anything else when Eddie is looking at you like that?

Hollow eyes, devoid of all the honey you once reveled in. Not so much of a stain of sweetness you swear you still taste on the back of your tongue. He’s looking at you with blame, well-deserved anger, and yet not an ounce of the guilt that should exist somewhere in those depths. 

“How riveting,” you play along, trying to swallow down the waves of emotions, “Sounds like it’ll really draw in your audience. Might even be relatable to a few.”

Answers never given. Like how someone could stop saying they loved someone they’d spent years planning their life with, like how he could stop calling so easily, how he could leave so easily. 

“Fingers crossed,” his forced smile in return is almost sinister, and you know it was the right choice to avoid speaking to each other until this moment.

There will be no contact. You know now that if you take on this project, which you technically have through law-binding contracts, that you won’t be able to be civil with Eddie. There is a history that can never be erased, mistakes made and wounds inflicted by both sides. Two worlds of hurt caused by opposing sets of hands that can only clash when they try to meet in the middle. 

But then Matt, sweet Matt that you had come to actually like during this meeting, has to burst your bubble.

“Right, well, the good news is the boys aren’t on tour for the time being, meaning there will be plenty of time to talk about the small details and how the single will come into play during planning,” he explains, happily and still so unaware, “As a matter of fact, I would like to emphasize just how much I would appreciate you including the boys, especially Eddie, in this ordeal. His participation would be very helpful.” 

Some silent form of communication happens between Matt and Eddie, glinting eyes and sudden frowns meeting raised eyebrows and fake smiles, but it’s not your concern. 

The last thing you want during this project is Eddie’s involvement. 

“Of course!” You need to think of an excuse, push for a way to keep him out, “But if Eddie is too busy, I’ll completely understand. I know that a single usually means an album, and that can be very time consum-”

“He won’t be too busy,” Matt interrupts, still staring at Eddie as if he’s daring him, not even questioning you singling him out as he does the exact same.

You recall what Eddie had insisted in the hallway, that his reach of control wasn’t as far as you had been assuming. 

Swallowing hard, you see another relic of Wayne Munson in this man – he wasn’t someone to argue with, “Right, of course. Eddie will be involved. Absolutely.” 

All the power and all the glory – but did it really rest in Eddie’s palms like you assumed?

“She has a point,” Eddie finally finds his voice, leaning back in his chair, trying to relax the tension from his shoulders, “I do have the album to work on.” 

“And now you have this. I’m sure you can find a way to multi-task.” 

Your comparison was accurate. It had been a while since you had seen another grown man capable of shutting Eddie down so quickly, tearing down his walls of affinity for challenging authority and reducing him to nothing more than a shell of his younger self. Matt and Wayne would have gotten along well. You doubt that they’ve met, but you know a bond would have formed between the common denominator of being able to subdue the once-rambunctious boy before you. 

Eddie pouts nearly the complete remainder of the meeting. And those foolish, bitter shards within you become determined to be the bigger person. To smile and nod along, even when you disagreed with certain terms discussed. To be agreeable, to be good, to be better. This new version of you has something to prove; that you’ve done better without Eddie, that you’ve changed into something that no longer aligns with who he is. 

It’s all for show, but you tell yourself no one can see through the cellophane disguise. 

The only remaining signatures aren’t required from you but the rest of the boys. A single contract is passed down the line, and each of them sign themselves away to the agreement. Line after line of swooping black ink locks the five of you into an entrapment, a crowded dance of newly made strangers who have no choice but to play pretend. 

Eddie makes it a deliberate point that he’s the last one to sign. Forces Grant to slide the prettily detailed paper right in front of him until it’s clear he’s making no move to pick up his pen, and the poor guy has to stretch a bit further and let Gareth take it rather than the stubborn rockstar. Only once Jeff’s own night-shade of ink has looped over one of the many lines does it return back to Eddie.

He looks you in the eyes for several seconds too long, pen crooked beside the paper on the table. You can’t take a single breath as you register how lifeless his eyes remain. 

He’s not the person you once knew, but you are no longer the girl that once saw the world in him. 

You will not drop to your knees before him, you will not worship the ground he walks on, you will not break. Certainly not first. Certainly not at all. 

There’s no final words before hands donning unfamiliar rings pick up a pen amongst the silence. Just the click of bringing the ink to life, and the soft scratch of promises that will not be kept. It’s nothing new amongst the two of you.

As a matter of fact, if the scratch of the pen could echo, it might just resemble the sound of the door on that haunted and vacant apartment closing for the final time behind you two years ago. 

—

“Do you two know each other?” 

You had been waiting for this moment. Once Matt had called for a quick break so that he could organize and make copies of all paperwork, you knew Lydia would be chasing you down. 

“What do you mean?” you question airily, topping off the small paper cup of water you had used as an excuse to dismiss yourself into the corner of the room, “Me and Matt? No, I’ve never-”

“Not you and Matt,” she moves to stand in front of you, your back to the room and the band, as she continues in an authoritative whisper, “You and the band – you and Eddie.”

“Why do you think we know each other?” 

Please don’t catch on. Please don’t notice. Please don’t make me admit it. 

Please don’t fire me. 

She retrieves her own water, moving as if she wasn’t having such an intense conversation with you at this moment. All a show for the clients, no doubt. You weren’t the only skilled actress in this room, “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the way you ran out of this room when you saw him, maybe the way he ran after you without a word. Maybe the way the two of you spent a good ten minutes alone in that hallway, and how the rest of that band has been looking at you like you’re a ghost. Please don’t tell me you had a fling with Eddie before this. I really need my best person on this project, but I can’t have personal relationships interferin-”

“No, we don’t know each other,” you cut her off, ignoring the compliment and taking a sip to give your chance to formulate a better addition to the lie. It wasn’t really a lie, though, was it? “I promise it’s nothing, and it won’t interfere. I just…” I just hate him. I just miss the version of him I used to know. I just need you to take me off this project as quickly as possible for a reason that won’t make you think less of me or affect my future career here. “I don’t like the band, you know this.” 

“I knew you weren’t a fan of them, but…” she trails off and looks over your shoulder, no doubt surveying the band. When you stood up from the table, they’d all been feigning boredom as if they hadn’t been taking turns staring you down so intensely. You felt like an animal under observation. “I thought it would be a good thing. To have a neutral party take this on. Why, exactly, don’t you like them?” 

“ I don’t think he’s a good person.”

He as in Eddie. It goes as unspoken knowledge. And, technically, it isn’t a lie. Based on the headlines, based on his coolness this entire interaction, you don’t think he’s a good person. Not anymore. 

You can feel the four sets of eyes on you even now. Your exchange with Lydia has been too quiet for them to hear, but you know you’re still being watched carefully.

“You don’t have to think he’s a good person, but you do need to play nice,” Lydia reminds you. You open your mouth, prepared to argue that you had been playing nice when Lydia waves her free hand to stop you, “I know, I know. I’m not saying you haven’t been perfectly professional. You have been, aside from your… bathroom break at the beginning, but please just remember that.” 

You nod, stiff as ever. She was giving you more grace than you deserved if you tried to look at it from an outsider’s point of view. 

“Of course,” that tone of professionalism, that mask to hide the whirlwind of emotions. You could do this.

You had to do this.  

Choice is an illusion when Matt returns with the copies of paperwork, dividing the files up between himself and Lydia. Choice is an illusion as fake smiles are exchanged and pleasant goodbyes are offered. Choice is nothing but smoke and mirrors when all is said and done, and the entire group of you all stand outside the conference room, ready to part ways with a promise of next time, meaning the next meeting.

You never had a choice in any of this. Eddie did, somewhere along the line, but you didn’t. 

Lydia and you both hand over business cards to Matt’s waiting hands, a deliberate move on your part. You bypass Eddie’s expectant glare entirely. The quicker this is over with, the faster he’s exiting the building and no longer occupying the same room as you, the better. 

“We’ll be in contact,” Matt promises as he tucks the cards away carefully. 

“I look forward to it,” you assure him, as if you weren’t dreading every second of what those contracts had detailed.

Three months. You had just signed on to guarantee Eddie Munson being back in your life for three months. The thought makes you nauseous. 

Matt, ever the normal person, takes it as his queue to leave. Lydia has nodded, turned and began her short trek to her office as the band’s manager starts his journey to the elevator. Most of Corroded Coffin scampers after him, gazes on the floor as they retreat to a private space that will certainly be filled with questions. You almost wish there was a way for you to hear what will be said. The topic of conversation, undoubtedly, will be you. You and Eddie, Eddie and you. A pair of intertwined souls that had taken a sharp knife to your connection only to end up with Fate cruelly retying it on this dreadful day. 

Fate, and Eddie, it seems. 

His hand reaches out and catches your upper arm before you can escape the exchange properly. 

“Can we talk?” You stare at him blankly to hide the racing of your heart and pounding in your mind. Those hands on you, skin on skin, leaving an inevitable mark. An inevitable stain. “Go for coffee, go for lunch, just-”

“No.”

You don’t have to think about your answer. Your pause was only born out of shock. 

His eyebrows furrow, “No? What do you mean no?” 

It feels like a pathetic repeat of your interaction in the hallway, when you had begged him to save you from this doomed union. Except now, you hold the cards in your hand. The first sense of control you’ve been offered this entire time. 

“I mean no,” you repeat yourself clearly. Matt is halfway down the hall, and the boys trailing right behind him seem to fumble over their steps for a second. Jeff even goes as far as to look over his shoulder at the brewing storm appearing behind them, but clearly thinks better of intruding, “I don’t want to talk. I don’t want coffee, and I don’t want lunch.” 

End of story. 

Except, it isn’t, because Eddie’s face only twists further in pain, “We have to talk at some point-”

“Actually, we don’t. I’d prefer we didn’t. I think we can both agree it’ll be better, easier, for both of us to keep this strictly professional until we can go our separate ways again.”

He looks as if you had physically reached out and struck him. The force of your words nearly makes him rock backwards, face falling and mouth agape as he tries to grapple with the determination in your words. 

If you were a fool, you’d mistake it for a flash of disappointment. But it’s not possible – it couldn’t be disappointment, only arrogance. He had obviously been assuming you would just give in. Your change just hadn’t become clear enough to him yet. It would, in time. 

And now, the two of you seemingly had too much of it to endure. 

“Actually, I think we can both agree that’s a load of bullshit,” he crassly argues back once he’s regained composure, “You know that’s not possible.”

You shake your head, suck in a bit of the skin of your inner cheek between your molars as an internal encouragement to stand your ground, “It is. It’s not only possible, but is exactly what’s going to happen.”

“You heard Matt. We have to talk at some point, even if it’s just about this and not us.”

“And we will. We can talk about this project all you want, Eddie. But not over lunch, and not over coffee,” you swear you draw blood from your cheek as you take back on that tone of professionalism, ice cold and completely disconnected, “My preferred form of contact is email. I usually respond in a timely manner, even after hours-”

“Don’t do that,” he stops you.

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m just another one of your clients.” 

The metallic flavor floods the deepest corners of your mouth, overtaking the aftertaste of a honey you once knew on the back of your tongue, “That’s exactly what you are. One of my clients.” 

Just a client, and nothing more. A boundary must be drawn, or else there will be more blood spilled than a mere drop from biting your inner cheek. And you aren’t prepared to bleed for him – not again. Never again. 

He opens his mouth, as if he has more to dig out of the grave of this conversation, when Matt’s voice calls from down the hallway, “Eddie! C’mon! There’ll be time to talk later, we’ve got a meeting with the producer across town now.” 

His stance goes rigid, annoyance rolling off him in waves, eyes still focused on you. 

Maybe the reminder of time, the three month timeline, hurts him just as much as it hurts you. Maybe, just possibly, his arm has also been twisted in carving out a space for you in his life once more, whether strictly professional or not. 

He deeply exhales through his nose, “I don’t even have your email.” 

“Matt does. He has my card.”

“Yeah, he does. I don’t. How am I supposed to reach you through your preferred form of contact without it?”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way.” 

You mean to smile at him just as you would the owner of the bakery opening on Third Street, or the mother of a bride trying to share the weight of responsibilities for a wedding. It doesn’t come off that way, though – you can feel the sadness of it tickle the corners of your mouth before he’s even slowly turning from you.

You watch the figure of Eddie Munson walk away from you, and you begin to wish he were walking out of your life rather than only out of the building for the time being.

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[loveinhawkins]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

They cling to each other for a long time. Gradually, Eddie’s breathing stops catching with sobs, and he becomes aware of other impressions: the water dampening his jeans as he sits on the tiles, the muffled chaos on the other side of the bathroom door—people calling desperately for loved ones, hospital staff shouting orders.

And as Eddie calms, he feels when the hug shifts, when Dustin starts to shake, and it turns more into Eddie holding him than the other way around.

Eddie takes a few deep breaths, only stuttering slightly. Swallows and tries to gather himself. “What happened to your face, man, you okay?”

Dustin nods over his shoulder. “One of the windows blew at Ste—at the house when the… when the gates...”

“Shit.” Eddie pulls back a little, and he can see the evidence of it now, little pieces of glass littering Dustin’s hair. “Where’s everyone else?”

“They’re fine, they stayed there. It was just one window, the house barely got hit compared to…” Dustin trails off with a shrug that Eddie takes to mean compared to the whole town. “There was an old bike in the garage, so…”

“You biked here? By yourself?” Eddie had half been hoping that he’d somehow hailed a cab or something equally miraculous, can’t fathom just how dangerous it currently is to travel alone, so exposed, if the whole town is anything like the trailer park—

The ground splitting, blood red light, Steve’s blank eyes—

Eddie shakes his head. “Jesus, Henderson. You’re damn lucky you didn’t break something.” Or worse.

“I don’t care.” Dustin lets go and fixes Eddie with a fierce stare, eyes wet. “I—Eddie.” His voice breaks. “I said I hated him.”

They’re both avoiding using Steve’s name, like saying it out loud will mean they have to face the terrible reality of it.

Eddie pushes down another wave of grief. Dustin needs to hear this. “That’s—Dustin. He knew that wasn’t true.”

“Yeah.” A harsh laugh of self-loathing, and Eddie’s heart breaks at the sound. “But I still said it. That—that says—”

“That doesn’t say anything about you,” Eddie says fiercely. “You hear me? Not a fucking thing. You…” He pulls Dustin into another hug, feels the tremors of him crying. Squeezes tight. “You were just scared. No crime in that, all right?”

“Sorry, Eddie, I—I’m just. I’m really fucking scared.”

He has no idea if Dustin is really listening, wonders distantly if this is how Wayne has felt over the years, when faced with him. He just holds onto Dustin, hopes that it’s enough, hopes that it says all that he means. Christ, kid, can’t you see how much he loved you? He’d have done anything for you.

Eddie strokes a hand through Dustin’s hair, carefully removing pieces of glass. Oh, he’d have done anything for you.

And he did.

It’s only when they pull themselves up off the floor that he notices Dustin’s limp.

“You did break something.”

“I don’t think so.” Dustin stands on the foot experimentally, then winces with a quickly stifled cry.

“Hey, don’t! Here, just…”

He gives Dustin his arm to lean on, and they walk in silence. Eddie finds that he doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what balance to strike. His usual joking would just ring false, but what he actually wants to do, which is keep double checking that Dustin is okay, feels too close to… to something that Steve would do.

He doesn’t want to be a reminder of all that they’ve lost.

They find Robin waiting for them outside the restrooms. Her face is pale, blotchy, and when she runs to Dustin, wraps her arms around him, Eddie remembers—

Robin’s arms tight around his chest, holding him back. He had caught the ambulance driver glancing at his watch, realised it was to check for the time of death, and now he's making a mournful keening noise he didn’t know he was capable of.

Denial flooding him, painful, overwhelming. He can’t accept it, suddenly, even though another part of him repeats ‘he’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone’ like a lament; wants to scream, “You don't understand, he can’t be—he was just talking to me—”

“Why are you just—someone fucking help him!” He's reaching for Steve, but Robin's grip is strong; he just brushes Steve’s fingers, and they’re cold, why are they—

“Eddie,” Robin is whispering brokenly. “Eddie, stop, it's—it's not him anymore.”

Eddie breathes, presses his back against the wall as Robin takes Dustin’s weight with a concerned expression.

“He needs someone to take a look at that,” Eddie says, nodding at Dustin’s leg. His voice sounds normal, if a little flat. Oh. He’s numb, he thinks.

When Robin replies, she sounds similar, looks grateful at being given a task, something to do. “They're taking minor wounds on the floor below.” She gives ‘minor wounds’ a skeptical air quote with one hand.

They start heading towards the elevator, and then Eddie sees it out of the corner of his eye. Denim jacket, a flash of plaid.

He makes sure Robin is still holding Dustin before he starts to run. People jostle against him, unseeing, slamming into his shoulders, and he keeps fighting against the tide, because—

“Wayne!” he calls desperately, feeling suddenly very young.

Up ahead, someone turns. And then there is a familiar warmth around him, ushering him to the side, away from people.

“Eddie,” his uncle says, and he looks exhausted and shaken, but otherwise unharmed.

The sight of him triggers a rush of emotion all over again, and the only thing Eddie can say is a choked, “I didn't kill her.”

Wayne’s eyes soften. “C'mon, son. You know me better than that.”

Eddie’s breath hitches again. Wayne holds him, holds him like he did when he was a child and had bad dreams, a hand cupping his head like there, now. We’ll make this right.

And then Wayne pulls back, eyes flickering over Eddie. “Christ, Eddie. You hurt?”

There’s a split second of confusion; Eddie glances down at himself, sees the blood and vomit on his shirt. Sways a little, and Wayne grabs onto him in alarm.

“No, it's not—I'm fine, Wayne. Promise.” He breathes through a lump in his throat and gets out, “A friend died,” which feels so inadequate for the enormity of what had happened.

Wayne stares at him for a long moment. Then he says, very gently, “This is something big, ain't it?” He gestures to the thronging corridor, to the windows. “What you got mixed up in?”

Eddie almost laughs at that. From Wayne’s phrasing, it sounds like he just got mixed up in the wrong crowd at school, when really, just a few days ago, lost in despair, he'd somehow found the strangest, best people in the world.

And now, he's lost one of them.

“Fuck, Wayne, there's—there's so much I want to tell you,” he says. “But I—I don't know if I can. Not yet.”

It hurts to say; Wayne’s always upheld the fact that Eddie can tell him anything and everything. He can see that Wayne is about to reply as much, but then he must spot something on Eddie's face, sense the fear.

“All right, Eddie,” he says calmly. “Not yet.” Then his eyes widen a fraction, and he moves forward, as if to shield him. “Aren't the cops still looking for you?”

“I...” Eddie shakes his head. He recalls having a very distant thought that he might get arrested as they arrived at the hospital, but it had gone as quickly as it came; because he’d seen Steve—seen the body get covered with a sheet, and Nancy's hand had gripped around Eddie’s wrist like she needed an anchor, nails piercing his skin.

“Not sure,” he finishes honestly. “I—I don't think so. I don't know why.”

Wayne studies him, then sighs. “All right,” he repeats. He doesn't sound happy about it, but he can read Eddie, read that there's somehow even bigger things to worry about. “You got people here?”

“Yeah.” Eddie blinks away the image of Steve's glassy stare, thinks of Dustin—Dustin, who still needs him. “Yeah, I...”

Wayne nods. “Go. Some folks got banged up at the plant, one of the nurses said they need volunteers.” He lets go of Eddie with reluctance. “Stay in the building, all right? I'll come find you.”

Eddie nods. It’s one of the hardest things in the world, to walk away from Wayne. He didn’t think he’d ever have this back. “I love you.”

Wayne tsks, brings Eddie in for a brief, fierce embrace. “I love you, too.”

-

It’s not Dustin that Eddie finds first as he retraces his steps, but Nancy, taking a call. He sees her lips move: “Mike.” Something changes. She goes very still, her grip on the phone tightening. Then, whatever she’s saying is delivered rapidly; she slams the phone down and runs right into Eddie.

“Woah, where's the fire, Wheeler?” Eddie says. His heart is already in his throat at the sight of her; she’s white as a sheet. What fucking now?

She breathes in and out, then grabs his hand. “Come on.”

They run together. Nancy doesn't provide any explanation as they hurtle up the staircase, as she leads him to a very quiet corridor in the ICU.

“Just...” She takes a breath, collects herself. “Wait here. I'll be right back.”

And she storms through another set of doors. Eddie stands there, frozen. It’s the longest fifteen minutes of his life. When she comes back, she’s much slower, and she sits down opposite him, puts her head between her knees.

“What's...? Shit, Wheeler, you're scaring me.”

She looks up. Surprisingly, her eyes are dry. “I'm about to tell you something,” she says, “and... Eddie, I'd only tell you if I was sure.”

Eddie blinks. “Shoot.”

“Okay. They—Steve. He was being taken away. To the...” Nancy's eyes dart to a sign, and Eddie fights back nausea. To the morgue. “But then they... They've found a pulse.”

The words take a while to truly hit Eddie, as if they come from a long tunnel. When they do, he feels his legs buckle, and he slides down to the floor. He's glad Dustin isn’t here; hope, false hope, is cruel.

“Nancy,” he says, through gritted teeth. "That—that’s not possible. I—I felt him—” He can’t even say it. I felt him die.

Nancy leans forward, puts her hand on one of his knees and squeezes. “I know,” she says simply. Then she stands. “Come with me.”

But Eddie doesn't want to move. He wonders if it's all been too much, if this is a trick, if Nancy’s had enough and is finally turning him in. But then he remembers how she had held onto him as they celebrated the communication with Dustin in The Upside Down. And he sees her eyes now, sharp and earnest.

So he lets her guide him onwards.

He comes to a halt outside a room. Feels a weight in the pit of his stomach, like he’s at a turning point; that maybe this is all in his head, and he'll go right back to his bedroom, and Steve will—Steve will—

Nancy’s hand slips into his. She raises her eyebrows, and it’s not quite a smile she gives him, but the expression seems to say, Together?

As one, they walk inside.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie whispers.

In a bed lies a body that looks remarkably like Steve Harrington. There’s a cast on one of his legs, but what draws Eddie’s attention is his face, the waxy pallor of it, the mask fitted tightly around his mouth. That awful stare has gone; someone has closed his eyes. Eddie doesn’t realise that he’s holding his breath until he sees the slightest movement of Steve’s chest, the weakest rise and fall... but it's there.

Eddie turns away and retches. Nothing comes up. Nancy rubs at his back.

“I spoke to some... there’s doctors who—they know about. Everything. They told me that they're not really worried about his leg, it just seems like a normal break,” she says. Her voice wavers slightly, like she's fighting tears. “The... the bites on his stomach stopped bleeding, but... it's his lungs, they think.” She nods at the mask. “They're giving him the same stuff they gave Will, after he was in The Upside Down. They say it's the best chance he's got.”

Eddie thinks about Steve throwing up. His gasping breaths. Panicking. Fuck, he can’t breathe. Then—

“He was coughing,” he says. The memory feels hazy, as if it happened years ago. “When we were… on the bikes, to my trailer. I could hear him.”

He feels shaky again. Nancy draws up two chairs, close to Steve’s bed, and they sit.

He is aware, suddenly, of a slow but steady beeping. A heart monitor.

It doesn’t feel real. Eddie pinches the skin on the back of his hand hard, half expects to see a clock instead of…

“Fucking hell, Wheeler,” he sighs. “What are we gonna do?”

“Make sure he’s not alone,” Nancy says.

They keep a silent vigil. At some point, Nancy rises, flits out of the room. Eddie hears hushed conversation just outside, and then Dustin and Robin come in, Dustin hobbling on crutches. Robin makes a wounded noise, reaches forward and holds Steve’s hand so gently.

Eddie doesn’t dare touch him. Something in the back of his mind whispers that he might break the spell, that Steve might crumble away into nothing if he so much as—

“It doesn’t look like him,” Dustin says. He sounds torn between anger and despair. “He looks… gone.”

Eddie sucks in a breath. “I know.” Because Dustin has voiced his precise fear: that this is all that remains. A different death, but a death all the same.

-

It happens much later, when Dustin has been shepherded back to Steve’s house by Nancy and Robin. “We’ll check on the kids,” Nancy had said, “and then we’ll be back.”

“Take your time,” Eddie told her, noting the sunken, fatigued look to all of them.

They’ve been gone for just over an hour when Eddie, fighting sleep, realises that he hasn’t told Wayne about the state of the trailer. He almost wants to search for him, but he doesn’t dare leave the room, even if he can only really look at the hospital sheets, his eyes darting away from Steve’s face. Dustin’s right; he looks gone.

He hears it half in a dream, eyes closing despite himself. A radio, faintly, from another room, a cleaner leaving the door ajar.

Leaving nothing but the dead and dying back in my little town. Nothing but the dead and dying back in my little town.

He jolts awake sharply, as if his body is already aware of something before his mind has understood. Still blinking away sleep, this time he does not look away when his eyes land on…

It’s barely there. But Eddie sees it: the faintest of creases on Steve’s forehead.

Eddie stares. Then it clicks.

“Holy shit,” he says, hushed, afraid that if he speaks too loudly, it will all stop. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry—he ends up doing a mixture of both. “Harrington, is this your fucking song?”

The sound of the radio fades away, and with it so does the tiniest of frowns. Desperately, Eddie picks up the chorus himself, stumbling over the words in his haste; and this time, he sees it happen, the change from an unnatural laxness to…

A little pinch in between Steve’s brows, subtle, but there.

“Fuck, it’s really you,” Eddie says. “You’re still in there.” His eyes burn with tears. He reaches for Steve’s hand, holds on despite the lingering coldness to his skin. “Christ, please keep fighting, man. Please.”

[steventhusiast]

steve as an autistic person with ARFID (avoidant restrictive food intake disorder) TW: disordered eating, internalised ableism

--

moving in with eddie is the best decision steve ever made. he wouldn't change the decision for anything, he loves eddie and he loves sharing his life with him.

but.

now that the move is over, he finds himself hiding away from eddie a lot, cheeks flushed red with shame or embarrassment when he gets caught with one of his meals. it's hard to explain, but his relationship with food is... rocky to say the least.

it's always been that way, ever since he can remember, but it was easier to handle when he was younger. being a picky eater is cute up to a certain point, but eventually steve's mom had stopped chuckling at him spitting out new foods she got him to try, had stopped comforting him when he cried because he didn't know what he wanted to eat. but even when his mom would reprimand him for his pickiness, she would still help without knowing. she would decide what meals he would eat, and when, and that took so much off his shoulders.

because everything about food is overwhelming for steve. the choices, the textures, the preparation and cooking, the sensation of the food sitting in his stomach. so it was nice, for the choices to be taken care of, and for the preparation and cooking to be done for him.

and then his parents started going on their business trips when he was twelve, and suddenly food was something he had to be in charge of.

with no guidance, and a lot of anxiety, he developed some eating rituals that he knows aren't healthy, aren't good for him, but it's all he can manage.

so he hides from eddie. because hiding away while he eats his childish safe meal (cheese sandwich with an apple cut meticulously into slices and a single storebought cookie) twice a day as he adjusts to the change from living alone to living with his boyfriend, is better than eddie seeing how badly he handles being an adult.

eddie lets him get away with it at first, because he understands steve's anxiety around big changes to an extent. but after a bit, eating alone clearly takes somewhat of a toll on him, because he seeks steve out three weeks after they've moved in together.

it's 5:20pm, so steve is having his sandwich, apple slices, and cookie hidden away in the spare room they've turned into a shared study. it's not that every single day that meal is all he eats, but for the past few weeks he's been anxiety ridden at the changes happening, and it's all he's been able to manage. today, he's bravely added some roast chicken to the sandwich and counts it as a win.

when eddie quietly pushes open the door, steve flushes red with shame. the meal isn't even that bad, that obviously a bad sign without knowing it's all he's been able to eat recently, but the second eddie's eyes land on the plate and all the food that's kept distinctly separated on it steve hears his mom's voice in his head, nagging him about nutrition and being childish and immature and pathetic.

"you gonna tell me why you're always eating in here, sweetheart?" eddie asks after a few moments of watching steve, and steve sags in the desk chair a little. he doesn't really know how to explain.

but he looks up at eddie's face, meets his eyes for the few seconds he can bare it, and sees only earnest concern on his boyfriend's face. he tries to find the words for it anyway, talks in stuttered half-sentences as he pushes the food around on the plate. eddie doesn't talk until he's done.

"it's just.. it's embarrassing. i hate that i'm like this. i'm twenty years old, i should be able to handle taking care of myself." he finishes, and finally takes a bite of his sandwich. he winces at the new texture introduced by the chicken, but is hyperaware of eddie's eyes on him, so he forces it down. he feels like he has to prove to himself that he can eat it.

"good thing you don't have to handle that alone anymore." eddie says simply, and takes a couple steps toward the desk, pulling up the spare office chair from where it usually sits in the corner so he can sit by steve.

"what?" steve asks, brows furrowed.

"we're a team now, stevie. and if food is.. hard for you, then i can try and help. we can- we can set goals at the beginning of the week, an ideal meal plan, and then i can take care of the cooking and keep it to similar times each day, and you just have to worry about the eating part." eddie's always been good at coming up with plans on the spot, but hearing him brainstorm how he can help steve makes tears well up in steve's eyes for some reason.

"that'd be.. that'd be really nice, eds." he says softly, makes himself take another bite of his sandwich.

"great. food can be my thing, and washing the dishes can be yours, 'kay? just the thought of touching food in the sink makes me wanna gag." eddie pats steve's arm gently as he talks, and steve blinks away the overwhelmed tears as a smile creeps onto his face. god, he loves eddie so much.

"deal." he whispers, and gets a smile in response.

eddie leans over to press a kiss to his shoulder, and watches him suffer through two more bites of his sandwich before making another suggestion.

"why don't we go watch tv while you eat, hm? take your mind off it?"

and the suggestion sounds good, reminds steve that he doesn't have to hide in the study anymore to eat. so he gets up, picks up his plate, and follows eddie out to the living room.

leaving the study feels like a big moment, and taking a bite of the sandwich on the couch instead of the office chair feels like an even bigger one.

but eddie's right next to him, murmuring commentary about the random tape they'd put on into his ear to keep his mind off of the task ahead of him.

so it's not quite as scary.

-

part 2 / part 3

[deceptive-daydreams]

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 | Ch. 14 |

Smoke Signals

Chapter Two - Dainty

W/C: 4.6K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

You need a job, The Bourbon needs a server. The math is there but the owner won't acknowledge it. How will you win over such a crabby man that only sees you as a gnat forcing its way into his space?

A/N: The response I received on the first part fic was so unexpected but I'm so glad everyone liked it!! I can't wait to get deeper into this story

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I’m sorry for running out so fast yesterday.

No.  Too forward.

I think we got off on the wrong foot, by we I mean me.

No, not sincere enough.

I just wanted to apologize for leaving so abruptly—

“Excuse me, dear?”

Your train of thought was dissolved within seconds as you turned your focus to the older gentleman that had called for your attention.  A hum in place of an answer as your brows raised expectantly but ever so friendly awaited his follow up question.

“Can I just squeeze past you to grab that jar of peaches?”  He asks, wrinkles around his eyes upturned in perfect harmony with his smile.

“Of course.  Yes!”  Panicked, you rush to the other side of the aisle, the older man waving you off, insisting that it was ‘quite alright’ while he reached for his beloved peaches.

You’d been bouncing back and forth, up and down between several opening statements to provide Donnie, a sour taste left in your own mouth at the way you left her hanging the day before when she was merely being kind to you.  It was something you couldn’t stop, the anxiety eating away at your flesh like bacteria from the fact that you could’ve caused someone to be less than satisfied with their interaction with you, as if you were some kind of service.  People pleasing was a disease.

Sometimes the affected party was blind to its symptoms, oblivious to the way their illness consumed them.  And that’s why you found yourself purchasing a single pack of gum, eyes large and sorrowful before you were even next in line.  Various ways to get the point across were mentally rehearsed and the closer you got to the register, the more you focused on one singular sentence, clinging onto the desire to not stutter or mess it up.  

“Hey you’re back!”  Donnie greets.  “Thought for sure we’d scare you off by now.”

With a wince, you hand her your pathetic excuse of a conversation starter, a pack of spearmint gum with your trembling hand.  If she notices she doesn’t bring attention to it, instead she gracefully takes the pack and rings you up. 

“N-no, no.  I don’t scare that easily.”  You try to convince yourself more than her.

You note that the shop is nearly empty once again just after a handful of customers had done their shopping and went on with their day.  A few patrons still linger, carefully picking out each item from their weekly grocery list; however, you wouldn’t know they were there if not for the squeak of their carts every few feet as they inched forward.

“Could’ve fooled me.”  Donnie respectfully hands back the gum in exchange for your cash.  A crinkled five that had seen better days.

For a moment you debate fleeing once again, nerves tingling and breathing becoming shallow before internally reprimanding yourself.  You can cry all you damn well please in private but right now you need to stand up to the little voice in your head.  “Yeah.  Um, I just–I wanted to say I’m sorry for running out so suddenly like that.”  It didn’t come out as smooth as you’d planned but you’re hoping it came across as sincere enough.  If you could at least look forward to a friendly face at the supermarket every week, well it would be a win.

“Honey, I don’t get offended easily and it seemed like you had places to be.”  She waves a dismissive hand in the air at your apology, not unkindly, more so letting you know you didn’t need to be so formal with her.  And yet you couldn’t help yourself, an unwanted backstory spilling from your lips almost like second nature.  Excuses plucked from the top of your brain.

“I didn’t–I didn’t mean to leave and just not introduce myself.  I just got caught up, with moving and all–”

“You don’t owe me an explanation.  Just your name and we’ll call it good.”  A genuine smile stretches across her face, contagious enough that your lips tug upward as well as you offer your name, a proper introduction this time.

Your shoulders relax ever so slightly, not fully letting your guard down but no longer feeling the need to tense every muscle in your body.  It’s then that you realize that this is the only grocery store that you ever found visually appealing, with its darker toned walls and red checkered floors, the lighting not being so fluorescent and in your face, a bit dim even.  Which for some may be a flaw but for you it was perfect.  You don’t feel so exposed and couldn't be perceived so clearly, the ideal cocktail of a situation for someone so socially anxious.

“I, um, I saw your sign.”  You gesture to the letters reading ‘help wanted’ posted against the window.  If you could land a decent job then maybe living wouldn’t feel so terrifying.  Then again, several things would come into factor other than just your means of income.  

Donnie’s expression turns empathetic and you can feel your breath hitch in anticipation for a brutal rejection.  To be told that you had it all wrong, that you were too unprofessional and too meek and that your help was most definitely not wanted here, that you shouldn’t have even stepped foot in this town to begin with.  The five stages of grief practically take over in mourning over the loss of a potential job.

“I’m real sorry but we already filled the position.  Tom was supposed to take that down around two weeks ago.”  She sounds irritated at the mention of what you assumed to be her coworker.  “Can’t rely on anyone.”  She sighs, striding over to the window and pulling the sign from its temporary home only to abandon it behind the shelf that displayed several boxes of cigarettes.  

“Oh I’m–”

Before you can even begin to apologize for something completely out of your control, Donnie’s eyes light up at something, or rather, someone behind you.

“Hey, Ed!  Isn’t The Bourbon hiring?”

All she receives in return is silence and when you dare to peek over your shoulder behind you, you briefly meet the eyes of the neighbor you had the displeasure of running into twice the day before.  Today he fronts with a black leather jacket and the same black jeans with rips in the knees.  The only thing noticeably different is the chain now dangling at his side and the band shirt you’re unable to read, the letters obscured from your view.  Oh, and a few chunky rings decorating his hand that should make him look tacky as hell but somehow they pull the look together.  

“I dunno, who’s asking?”  He counters, brow raised as he glances at you once more.  You’d barely even spoken a few words to the guy and he was acting as if you committed the most heinous act against him.

“Ed.”  Donnie warns.

“Don, she wouldn’t last a day.”

You were beginning to think that this so-called ‘Ed’ was going to turn into an issue…fast.  Who was he to judge a stranger who he knew absolutely nothing about.  His audacity startled you and while you should step in and defend yourself, you can’t bring yourself to do it, tongue tied in every literal sense, words caught in the back of your throat like they were physical refrigerator magnets lodged in place.

“You don’t know that!”  She grins at him, a grin that silently says ‘watch it’.  “Honey, you got any work experience?”  Attention shifting to you, you felt as if you were burdening two people who had everything figured out in their quaint little lives, guilt plaguing your mind at the fact that you’d shaken things up between what seemed to be good friends or maybe even just well acquainted individuals.

“I–uh–yes.  Yes, I’ve worked at the–at the library and-and–”

“The library?”  Ed questions.  You didn’t dare answer, knowing very well he wasn’t seeking a response.  “What good would that do me in a bar?”

“Well I–”

“Think The Bourbon’s too rowdy for someone like you.”  He continues, only fueling your inner rage as well as pricking the embarrassment that held a permanent home within you, your cheeks flushing hot and palms becoming clammy.

“I’ve also worked at a diner.  Back home.”  Somehow you find a voice, one that isn’t shaky and timid but rather more calm and collected regardless of the absolute fear that pounded in your heart.  

Both Donnie and Ed stare, seconds passing that only feel like lightyears.  Ed still seems bored beyond comprehension, opening and shutting his wallet as he narrows his big brown eyes.  You aren’t sure what to do next, if you should make a dramatic exit once again or continue proving yourself to some stranger who had no business even making you do such a thing in the first place.

“A diner.”  

He says it like a statement rather than a question, as if to mock and discredit you.  

Tears are not an option, tears are not an option.  

“See she’s got experience!”  Donnie attempts to mend the situation, acting as an unofficial moderator.

“Don, no offense but I came here to buy the usual, not recruit.”  Some cash is slapped onto the counter, his patience clearly wearing thin by the way he begs with his eyes.  Donnie’s tolerance appears to be at a dangerously low level based on the glare she forces upon him.  You were beyond unprepared to witness a standoff in the middle of the supermarket at 5:00 PM on a Wednesday.

“Thought you were desperate for a server.”

There’s some bite behind her words, focus never wavering, the two seeming to have a telepathic conversation right before your eyes until Ed breaks the stillness in the air.

“Not in the slightest.  Can I have my shit now?”

Donnie’s sigh lets you know Ed has won and in the process, drained her energy.  Reluctantly, she snatches the cash from the counter and opens the register before grabbing a pack of cigarettes from the shelf behind her and handing them to him along with his change, an unfriendly exchange.  It doesn’t seem to bother him as he clutches the cash and the pack in his hand, not even sparing you another glance on his way out.

Clearing your throat, you pull Donnie’s attention away from the insufferable man now making his way down the cobblestone sidewalk outside.  “It’s okay.  I’m sure other places are hiring.”  

She rolls her eyes and you know it’s not meant for you but you can’t shake the paranoia that screams that she might be fed up with you as well.  “Don’t mind Eddie.  He acts like a hardass but he’ll come around.”

So his name is Eddie.  You only nod in response, unsure of where to steer the conversation from here.

“He’s like a scary dog.  He’ll roll over for the right people.  So if he doesn’t take to you, don’t take it personally.”  She advises.

“Yeah.”  You whisper.  

You were so going to take it personally.

–

As it turns out, no one in Knife’s Edge was hiring, not a single soul seeking a random girl from out of town who urgently needed a job.  Not that you could blame them, they had it all figured out.  Many of the shops were owned by families thus being run by said families and not requiring the additional expense that would come with hiring another person.  And those that did seem to hire outside of their family had already filled in every necessary position.  

Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.  This is what you get for uprooting your life and sticking it somewhere it probably didn’t belong.

And now you were moping along the cobblestone, trying to figure out how to pay the bills, working out how much of your savings you could survive off of until you’d run out.  Then The Bourbon came into view.  Almost like it wanted you to see it, the beaming red lights spelling out its name specifically for you to see.  Mainly because it was the only place you knew to be hiring despite what Ed–or–Eddie–whatever his name was, had said in his unpleasant remarks from earlier.  It seemed to be your only shot at employment.

The bar had a few neon signs flashing in the window, one being the very obvious ‘open’ sign and then of course one that read ‘happy hour’ with a margarita.  The rest appeared to be different beers they might have on tap.  It didn’t look like anything fancy but didn’t seem like a hole in the wall either.  The exterior was paneled in wood just like almost every other building in the area, giving it a cabin feel without actually being a cabin.

Dread settled in the pit of your stomach from just staring at the place so if you were going to act, it needed to be now, before said dread morphed into pure panic.  This was going to determine your foreseeable future, if you couldn’t land this job then you might as well toss yourself right back down that mountain with no money and no plan, right back to square one.

The door was heavy, built out of metal and a bell ringing just above, notifying any staff and patrons of your presence which you could do without but you had to push yourself.  If they were staring, your gaze was glued to the ground and you didn’t notice, too occupied in rehearsing an improvised script in your head.  Some kind of rock or metal song blasted through the bar and you weren’t sure if it was overstimulating or comforting.  Your initial thought was that for being in a small town, they would be inclined to play country music so it only relieved you that your possible future workplace wouldn’t be subjecting you to the unbearable twang you just couldn’t seem to stand.  You’d endure it when all was said and done but it was appreciated that it was one less nuisance in your life.

It was a standard bar, the atmosphere mellow with dull lighting and a haziness smelling of tobacco swirling throughout the room.  What immediately drew you in was the obvious game of bingo, suddenly shifting what was a designated spot for happy hour and a cheap therapy session with the bartender into a retirement home full of seniors.  A man that looked to be in his fifties sat on a stool on the tiny stage in the corner, calling out numbers, which elicited a few victory yells from those who had obviously been having better luck.  

However odd the scene may be, several senior citizens occupying the tables of a bar at happy hour, business still seemed to be booming considering that it was a weekday.  Aside from the group of elderly yet energetic individuals, there were also what looked to be the regulars perched on their assigned stools at the actual bar.  They paid no mind to the intense game happening behind them, sipping away at their beers and mixed drinks leisurely.

A vacant seat called to you, two more on each side guaranteeing that you could sit comfortably without awkwardly scooting in next to someone and disturbing their possible winding down time, no doubt trying to blow off some steam after work.  That’s why people came to bars, right?  It was lost on you, this wasn’t your scene and if you’re truthful, you’re not even sure you should be here begging for a job in the first place.  That Ed guy clearly didn’t take a liking to you and though you didn’t exactly have any knowledge on his role within The Bourbon, he seemed like he had a say in the day to day operations just based on the tiny snippets of information you picked up on.  Hopefully someone with the same level of authority would be working now and actually respect you as a person enough to at least give you a chance.  

Playing it cool—as cool as one could be with constant nagging thoughts and shot nerves, you decide to plant yourself down on the stool, the worn leather material partially squeaking in protest as you wiggle into a comfortable enough position, setting your bag in your lap and clutching it in paranoia.  A glance from the left to the right and back to the left lets you know that no one seems to mind your presence though you still close in on yourself regardless, taking up the least amount of space possible.

The bartender, a man maybe in his early twenties who had short dark hair seems preoccupied as he shakes a drink while balancing a conversation with another man at the end of the bar, the two laughing every other sentence like old friends.  And so you wait.  Never intentionally draw attention to yourself and never disturb anyone else’s night until you find it polite to chime in when the bartender doesn’t seem as busy.  Even then, he doesn’t hear your small ‘excuse me’ every time he rushes by onto his next task.

A sad little ghost settled among lively customers, you don’t seek pity, only a glance your way so that you could get this over with and either face rejection or anxiously resume the job search.  Though no one seems to bother looking your way, you can’t help the heat traveling to your cheeks in pure humiliation, the fact that you’re the only thing out of place weighing heavily on your mind.  More celebratory howls and yells sound from behind you, the room erupting into laughter shortly after from a joke you didn’t care to understand.  Even a few select chuckles are heard from the men scattered along the bar.

“Do you just not listen?”

A familiar voice breaks through your thoughts, forcing you to peek up from where your focus remained on the bartop, where moments before you’d seemed entranced by the surface.  In reality you were running in circles in your head, hoping to make sense of your current situation.  Through your lashes you saw him.  Ed.  Or Eddie.  You didn’t put much effort into feeling too bad for not remembering his actual name, especially when he’d never even had the decency to ask for yours.  His leather jacket was absent from his torso, now only showing off a plain black t-shirt that also allowed you a view of various tattoos scattered along his arms.  You were first drawn to the faded bats on his forearm before becoming puzzled by what seemed to be some kind of a doodle on his inner bicep, not a very good one at that.  And then you remembered he’d asked you a question.

“I’m not allowed to have a drink?”  You ask innocently.  Genuine innocence.  No sarcasm.  You weren’t brave enough for that.

“Only if you’re not here to also beg for a job.”  He grumbles.  A man a few stools over gestures down for another round and in response, Eddie nods coolly.  With a certain kind of smoothness, he pulls a new glass out before slamming it down on the counter.  “If you are, the answer is still no.”  The way he quickly pours liquor into the shaker seems so effortless, measurements probably burned into his brain that allow for more efficiency on busy nights.

“Can I at least speak to someone in charge?”  You do your best to keep your voice steady and unwavering in the presence of someone with infinitely more confidence than you, his eye contact never breaking.

“You’re lookin’ at him, doll.”

His voice drips with his signature condescending tone, the corner of his mouth pulled up slightly in a smirk.  One that tells you that you’ve hit a dead end. 

“You—oh.”  Like an idiot, you swallowed any words that bubbled in your throat, unable to find it within yourself to at least come up with a snarky comeback.

“We’re not hiring.”

“That-that’s not what Donnie said.”  Lousy.  The argument just seemed to fall from your tongue involuntarily, not much thought put behind it before coming to fruition.  It would only give him more ammo.

His eyes further surveyed you, meticulously analyzing your every move, every twitch of every muscle in your face.  An unwanted spotlight shining on you, revealing every flaw in your approach to the current conversation.  You wanted a job and he wanted nothing to do with you, your last statement only sealing your fate, only giving him more reason to deny your advances.

“Donnie doesn’t work here does she?”  Without expression, he begins expertly shaking his concoction, forearms flexing with the movement.  He was a character, some kind of figment of your imagination.  He had to be.  You’d never encountered someone so standoffish, so ill-tempered, especially toward someone he’d never even met before, already passing judgment on you based on seconds of interaction.

Ignoring his rhetorical question, which came off as more of a deterrent than anything, you pursue a fair conversation, a deserving interview at the very least.  “Listen, I’m a really hard worker and—“

“And a fast learner right?”

The interruption was unwelcomed though you gave no indication that it was, face set in a straight expression as you processed his uncivil personality.  You couldn’t even find it in you to convey shock, your brain malfunctioning upon his words, outdoing himself with every sentence he uttered.

“Well, yes.”

“Of course.  And you can multitask too I bet?”

This wasn’t the interview you were hoping for, this was downright degrading.

“If you would just let me talk.”  You plead, fingers digging into the wood of the bartop.

“Listen, kid.”  The liquid he had been shaking for quite some time is poured into the glass, an amber colored liquor filled to the brim.

Kid?  

If you had the guts you would degrade him right back.  But you were you and you could only sit and take each hit to your fragile mental state with as much grace as possible.  And soon after the tears would come.  Not yet, though.  Not just yet.

“You look like you’re about to cry and you haven’t even been hired.  What makes you think you can handle a full house on a Friday night?”  The drink is topped off with an orange twist and a black cherry before he slides it to its awaiting consumer, not a drop spilling over the edge of the glass, clearly a perfected craft that he was proud of.

When he’s met with silence you gather that he thinks he’s won just by the smug look on his face, barely there but still evident nonetheless.  That little voice inside your head screams at you to keep pushing, keep bugging him until he has to give in.  Even if by pure annoyance.  And although you can feel yourself trembling in terror, something urges you to just gulp down the fear and prod at the arrogant man just beyond the bar.

“I work well under pressure, I’m very organized, I’ll clean on my down time…”  You begin to list off your abilities and if he wanted to stop listening, the way he glared at you wasn’t convincing you that he was going to.

This time his response is delayed rather than the other way around, suddenly at a loss for words as his large eyes take in your sudden change in demeanor.  Your slight assertiveness takes him by surprise, you can tell from his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish.  It’s all a front for you to at least get one foot in the door but as they say, ‘fake it ‘til you make it’.

“No.”  He answers suddenly, sternly.  His disinterest is obvious when he pulls out a rag and starts wiping down the counter, no longer letting his gaze fall on you but instead, the droplets he works vigorously to clean up.

If he wants a fight, then a fight he shall receive. 

“I’m a team player, I’m super reliable, my time is flexible, if you need me in a pinch consider it done–”

“Do you understand social cues?”  

Ouch.  If you had an inflated ego it would’ve surely been destroyed by now but you were already working with close to nothing.

“Yes.”  You reply, not a trace of sarcasm, only an honest answer.

“So I think by now you’d understand.  We.  Are.  Not.  Hiring.”  Each word is enunciated and slathered thickly with bitterness, topped with the intention to send you running like a dog with its tail tucked in between its legs.  

What he doesn’t know is that your soft spoken voice and bashful exterior isn’t all there is to you and that deep down, if you wanted something, you were stubborn and able to manipulate the situation should it be required in the most dire of situations.  Whether it would work on him seeing as he was also just as stubborn, if not more, you weren’t sure yet.

“Are you turning me away because I’m a woman?”  

The pure horror in his eyes almost makes you chuckle because now you know you have the upper hand and had anyone overheard, they would probably question their beloved local bartender’s work ethic.  

“I mean–not that I’m accusing you…”  You were definitely accusing.  “I just don’t see any other women working and–”

It doesn’t have the effect you’re hoping for as he leans toward you, forearms resting on the bar, his eyes returning back to their spiteful nature while he taps his clunky rings against the surface in thought.

“I’m turning you away because you don’t belong in a place like this.  Things can get rough and you’re…too dainty.”  His voice is much more hushed than before but his expression remains serious, without a trace of that stupid smirk.

Dainty?  Dainty.  Noted.

“What–you don’t think a woman can handle–”

“It’s not about you being a woman.”  He seethes.  “It’s about the fact that you are dainty.  Polite.  Shy.  I can’t have that when I’ve got a few drunks refusing to leave at 2:00 AM.”  

“I know when to hold my own.  Especially if it's for a job.”  You attempt to convince him.

“What, so you’re just gonna respectfully tell them to leave, then what?  These guys get out of hand, I can’t be babysitting you, I’ve got a business to run.”  He reasons, straightening his posture, conversation already forgotten as he starts to turn away before you speak up again.

“At least let me prove you wrong before you dismiss me.”  You quietly demand, hands clasped in front of you.  “Think I can handle a group of senior citizens.”  You motion to the intense bingo game still going strong behind you.  

With a roll of his eyes, he seems to ponder his thoughts, bouncing them around in his head.  An exasperated sigh escapes his parted lips while a hand drags down his tired face.  

“One night.  A trial.  If you can handle it, fine.  You’ve got a job.”  He finally declares.  “But if I have to stop what I’m doing to babysit you or you so much as–”

“I’ll find another job.  Promise.”  You nod persuasively, a glimmer in your eyes that he doesn’t miss but quickly ignores.

“Good.  Tomorrow night.  Eight.  And just this one time you can park in the back lot.”

He tries to dismiss himself again but your next question forces him to linger a little bit longer.  He was patient, you’d give him that.

“Wait–what, what’s the dress code?”  You ask sheepishly, a contrast to the business woman you’d molded into just seconds before.

He does a once over, as if to judge your fashion choices but what he ends the conversation with only leads you to think that he favors one word way too much.  

“Casual.  Nothing too dainty.”

~end~

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tags - @gravedigginbbydoll @ohauggieo @spicysix @lunatictardis @ali-r3n @batkin028 @mrsjellymunson @witchwolflea @emma77645 @emxxblog @eddiemunson95 @angietherose @lottie-90 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @pullingattheroots @avalon-wolf @vintagehellfire @cryingglightningg @foreveranexpatsposts @winchester-angel

[queenimmadolla]

For the one word prompt ♥️

Eddie, friendship, angst (i feel like being sad tn lol)

𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬

“So, that happened.” Eddie’s knuckles rapped against his knees, an obvious sign of nerves.

The two of you were in Nancy Wheeler’s basement, surrounded by junk food and atrocious party hats to celebrate Argyle’s birthday. Pizza had arrived a couple of minutes ago, and everyone had suddenly decided eating upstairs was more appealing. Everyone, except you.

Your stomach was still turning from the event that took place three days ago. That, coupled with the other person involved also being in attendance of your friend group’s get together made for some unsettling waves in your belly. Some alone time would have been beneficial.

Then Eddie came back down before the rest of them and you wanted to die.

“Y-yeah,” you stuttered out, gaze focused on the television where Kim Carnes was so aesthetically crooning out about Bette Davis’ eyes, “I didn’t think they’d actually do it. Pretty sure they shaved a couple of years off their lifespan.”

Jonathan and Argyle, both cross faded, decided it would be a good idea to see who could handle eating a spoonful of salt better. Jonathan had coughed his out and stated his chest hurt.

“You know I wasn’t talking about that.”

You could feel the heavy weight of his gaze, face heating up while you picked at your nail polish.

When you didn’t say anything else, you heard him sigh and sink further into his chair.

“We slept together, Bits. That’s a pretty big fucking deal.”

Oh god. Why’d he have to say it outloud?

“I know, I was there.” You snapped, recalling how you’d gone over to his trailer to return a cassette of his—like you’d done a hundred damn times—with not a single fucking ulterior motive, and ended sweaty, naked and plastered to Eddie well into the night and early morning.

See, you had no trouble blowing a single moment of weakness over, that wouldn’t destroy your friendship. Make it a little awkward for a couple of days, but you’d be fine.

Unfortunately, it hadn’t been a single time. The two of you had reached for each other throughout the night and he’d been inside you for a large majority of that time.

You’d internally freaked the fuck out when you woke up, but Eddie was a heavy sleeper so you’d been able to make a quiet escape. Once you realized how much trouble that could have caused, you’d gone back over to Eddie’s only to see Steve’s car parked out front, and you’d overheard the conversation between the two through his open bedroom window, with Eddie stating he’d been glad you left in the morning.

You didn’t stick around after that.

“Not for long,” came his catty reply and you finally glared at him to find him already scowling right back; eyebrows pinched, chocolate brown eyes hardened and irritation written clearly all over his face.

“What do you want me to say? We both already know it shouldn’t have happened, so why talk about it?”

Eddie felt a sharp pang in his chest, but he refused to allow you to see how vulnerable he really was, not if you’d be breaking his heart tonight.

He’d been ecstatic when it happened, when you kept wanting him. The group would constantly tease him about you, all of them sure you would inevitably get together but Eddie was a pessimist. You’d been friends for a while and yeah—sometimes, it felt like you wanted the hugs the two of you would exchange to last as long as he did, but he never caught you staring. It was always the other way around and his wishful thinking would only get him hurt.

Then it wasn’t wishful, not that night. All Eddie knew was bliss and the pessimist in him was happy to retire until he’d woken up and you were gone. He felt a mixture of emotions and called Steve over to vent; while he was somewhat relieved you’d gone home—simply because he was terrified he would have said something stupid by talking out of his ass with nerves and end up driving you away—Eddie was eager to see you again but anxious on what to say.

With the pep talk from Steve, and how the two of you were obviously meant to be if the universe had finally brought you together like this, Eddie was ready for the talk.

Except, it didn't happen because you’d been actively avoiding him. He knew what that meant. Pessimist, remember?

“Because if we don’t talk about it, I’m afraid you won’t talk to me again.”

Your stiff posture relaxed, guilt sinking into your bones because you knew he was right, you had been ready to avoid anything but small talk with him and you hated it because he was one of your friends. You would have been in the wrong because you couldn’t face the consequences of your actions.

But. But, but, but…you knew you would have caved.

Eventually.

“That’s not true, Eddie.”

“Isn’t it?”

God, you also hated how he seemingly knew the way this conversation would play out, expecting every single one of your responses.

“It’s not,” you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, vulnerability was not something you liked to share. You liked to be the upbeat, chipper, groovy friend. Even when you weren’t. It was easy that way, keeping everything to yourself, “This is so embarrassing to say, given what got us into this, but I can’t stay away from you. You’re my friend and our friendship means everything to me.”

Eddie was your friend, who didn’t want you. Not like you wanted him. And he didn’t have to.

“I don’t want to lose you, Bits.” Eddie’s resolve melted away, no longer was he the intimidating metal head who looked unapproachable. He was your friend again, “Especially, over this.”

Over you not wanting him; not wanting to kiss him, not wanting to intertwine your fingers, not wanting to sleep in his bed, not wanting to love him the way he loved you. It hurt. 

It hurt like hell and he felt like he was bleeding out but if it meant you’d stay in his life, he’d bleed out for the rest of it. 

“I don’t want to lose you, either, Eddie. Can we please be Bits and Eds again? Without the hormones ruining it?”

What you meant was, can you please forget about how nice I said it was to have you hold me?

You could see how glassy his eyes were and you were sure yours were no better. 

He gave you a small smile, arms opening up for a hug, “Of course.”

What Eddie meant to say was, I should’ve dealt with the awkward morning after and been awake to keep you from leaving. 

When you got up to curl into his lap for a hug–heart aching–the thought of how nice it was to be in his arms popped up again.

You shot that thought down and blew the smoke away from the barrel, your own heart bleeding in your hands.

[vegasol]

«3! 2! 1! Happy new year!» Everyone screams excitedly all around them.

Then, as they tend to do, all the couples kiss. And for a stupid second, it feels like the whole world consists of only couples. It makes Eddie feel like there’s a giant spotlight on him, pointing him out in the crowd. Look, there’s the single guy. The virgin, with no one to kiss.

He looks at Steve, who’s right next to him. Steve’s got his arms around Robin, she’s got her arms around his neck, and they’re just done giving each other a kiss too, a big ol’ smack of puckered lips. Eddie wonders if he should look away, but then they release each other and Steve turns to look at Eddie, catching him looking.

So Eddie just hovers, awkwardly frozen in place by Steve’s gaze.

“You alright, Eddie?” Steve prompts, reaching out a hand to place it comfortingly on Eddie’s lower back. It feels so warm, makes Eddie feel all fuzzy. Or maybe that’s the champagne.

“I don’t have anyone to kiss,” he blurts, tongue loosened by alcohol and way more honest than what is good for him. “I’ve never kissed anyone before,” he adds lamely, because his drunk self apparently thought that was an important amendment to be making.

“Uhh..” Steve stares at him, confused. Like his gears are grinding away ever so slowly. He’s had plenty of the champagne too, Eddie knows.

“You could kiss me? I don’t mind,” Steve offers, and it suddenly feels simple. Yeah, why shouldn’t he? Steve’s just offering to help, it doesn’t have to mean anything. He kissed Robin too, so it’s no big deal, right?

He lets Steve’s hand on his lower back pull him in gently. They’re the same height, no need for Eddie to bend his neck at an awkward angle or anything. He just steps right into Steve’s space, their lips suddenly just an inch away from touching, their breath suddenly mingling.

I don’t know how, Eddie is about to say, but he doesn’t have time to before Steve closes the rest of the gap. His lips are soft and warm and plush as he puckers them against Eddie’s. It’s nice. And Eddie thinks that’s going to be it: just a sweet, chaste, innocent kiss among friends, before Steve will pull away again. He’d be okay with that.

But instead of pulling away, Steve presses his lips harder to Eddie’s. In surprise, Eddie parts his lips, to draw a breath, to say something maybe, and again Steve surprises him by catching Eddie’s bottom lip in his. Eddie’s breath stutters and he forgets everything about everything. He forgets that people are watching, he forgets that this wasn’t going to mean anything. He forgets how to stand on his own two legs, so he sinks into Steve’s arms, holding on to him desperately as he lets Steve deepen the kiss.

It's like fireworks are going off, not just in the sky all around them, but inside Eddie, too.

When Steve finally breaks the kiss and lets him go, Eddie feels like a changed person. New year, new Eddie. Now that he’s tried it, he never wants to stop kissing Steve.

And Steve, King Steve, he’s gotta know, the way he’s looking at Eddie grinning all smugly. It must be written clearly all over Eddie’s face.

“Maybe you can return the favor next year,” Steve says, and Eddie can only nod.

“Uh huh. I will.”

[zerokrox-blog]

'I WAS A CHILD!' the sound cutting through the dining room, all conversation ceased. Steve's voice was furious, and filled with a fury that nobody had ever heard from him. The Hopper-Byers house was full, the Christmas party had been in full swing. The Sinclair's, the Henderson's, the Munson's, the Wheeler's, as well as Robin Buckley and Steve Harrington had spent the day here having a great time. At some point right before dinner Steve's parents, Richard and Margaret Harrington, had surprised them all by showing up unannounced. Steve had barely interacted with them at all.

The younger kids had moved into a different room as the conversation between the adults had turned to their kids and their childhoods. Joyce had mentioned Jonathon's favorite toy had been a red firetruck, and it had broken when Will was two. She had been so pleased to talk about her fond memories. Margaret Harrington had mentioned that Steve's favorite toy had been a stuffed tiger and her husband had smiled and told them proudly that he had 'gotten rid of it'. And the two Harrington parents talked about the three toys Steve had been given as a child that had mysteriously vanished when he was four as punishment, while the other parents had looked uncomfortable and tried to change the topic. Steve had been quiet but the anger was mounting. And suddenly it was too much, and the words he had been holding back burst out of him.

'Are you going to include the part where you beat my ass so bad I couldn't sit for three days? Or the part where you forced me to watch as my only toys were burned? Or the part where you smacked me because I was crying? Is that also included in this fond nostalgia?' his voice was cold.

Richard Harrington floundered for a second, 'well son you had to be taught manners.' he started to say. 'It was-'

But Steve interjected, 'I WAS A CHILD!' he yelled. 'too young to understand why my toys were taken away. Too small to fight back! Too little to understand why my parents were taking away my presents! But that doesn't matter does it? So long as I was a perfect, quiet, obedient childlike doll for you to show off.' He stood up. He glared at his parents, 'Sometimes I wish you had aborted me before I was born. I wish you had thought about abandoning a child would do to it, about what smacking and hitting and freezing out your child would do. But instead I had to pretend to be fine. Never telling anyone because Harringtons don't have emotions and don't cry.' he mocked. 'just stay the fuck away from me.' He walked out of the room and out of the house before either parent could say anything more.

Steve got into his car and drove off. Speeding as fast as he could away from the house.

Once he was gone, Sue Sinclair looked at the Harrington's, in a tone so cold she stated, 'I don't find it funny or cute to beat my children. Especially if they were that young.' Her eyes held a burning rage that nobody had seen before, 'I hope that boy is ok. But you best stay away from him. That's my kid's older brother you were talking about.' Margaret Harrington suddenly realized what they had been talking about and before anymore could be said she grabbed her husband's arm and tried to get him out of the house.

But Hopper's voice, emotionless, stopped her dead in her tracks, 'anything else you want to add? Maybe the part where you left him alone for months and weeks at a time when he was younger? Maybe more about beating him? I, for one, am curious what else you can be put in prison for, being as I am the police chief.' Richard Harrington's face went white. And he stuttered out an awkward reply and the Harrington's left the house.

Eddie waited until they were both gone, he grabbed his keys and slipped out with Nancy, Argyle, Robin, and Jonathan. They drove around in silence, looking for him. As they drove past the quarry, they saw his car parked, but it was empty. They parked beside his car and carefully walked around the area and found him sitting on the ledge, watching the water, fave blank but his eyes were red-rimmed and puffy like he'd been crying.

Robin took the first step towards him and sat down beside him. None of them spoke, nothing needed to be said.

Maybe it won't get better anytime soon. But for now he had his family around him. His actual family. It was Christmas, he'd be ok sometime soon. He slumped against Robin and Eddie, letting his eyes slide shut.