Ryn🖤

“What the fuck, Damien?” You scoff, pushing his hand off your shoulder—his cheap way of trying to “console” you. 

“Whaaat, baby? No harsh feelings or nothin’. That’s just rock n’ roll. You know how it is.” He smirks, tightening his grip around his new plaything for the night. 

“You can always join, y’know. The more the merrier.” 

Your body revolts merely on principle alone. You weren’t shy to perform that sort of request before, but now it's different. Or was, anyway. To your knowledge, you and Damien had been “exclusive” for about six months. 

At any award show, you were his arm candy. Drunk? His first call. Post-show stress reliever? You were already anticipating his arrival in his trailer. 

There weren’t any official or established labels, but you sure as shit knew Damien Thatcher wanted you and only you, all to himself. Until now, at least. 

His new plaything stared at you with glazed-over eyes, clearly off of whatever good shit Jeff bought earlier that evening, lips curled into a smug smirk. 

You shook your head and waved them off, scoffing before sashaying away towards the living room. When you arrived, to your surprise, the living room was empty, and the band's usual buffet of substances was left unsupervised on the glass coffee table. 

The Corroded Coffin mansion was rarely this quiet; post-show parties were basically a must during tour season. But here you were, sitting on the couch, a massive array of drugs staring back at you, and not another soul in sight. That was until the front door opened. 

Eddie Munson, the band’s frontman, wandered in from smoking his usual every-twenty-minute cigarette. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t noticed him before. That would’ve been impossible, honestly. Not when he looked like that.

The man had become something of a rockstar sex symbol over the last few years, and for good reason. Long dark curls, tattooed body, and a grin that somehow managed to look both dangerous and inviting at the exact same time. He carried himself with the kind of confidence that only came from knowing exactly who he was.

And unlike Damien, who constantly demanded attention from every person in a room, Eddie never seemed to need it. It just found him anyway.

You'd caught yourself watching him more than once during shows, standing side stage with a drink in your hand as he commanded entire stadiums with nothing but a microphone and a crooked smile. He was attractive in the same way thunderstorms were attractive: beautiful, loud, and probably a terrible idea.

Not that it mattered; you were Damien’s girl. Or at least, you thought you were.

Unbeknownst to you, Eddie had noticed you a long time ago. Long before Damien had started dragging you around on his arm. Long before you became a familiar face backstage. Long before he'd ever learned your name.

Because truthfully? You were impossible not to notice. Every venue, every afterparty, it didn't matter where. Eddie's eyes always found you eventually.

Maybe it was the confidence. The way you carried yourself like you belonged wherever you happened to be standing. Maybe it was your attitude; the sharp tongue, the sarcastic remarks, the fact that you never seemed particularly impressed by fame despite spending most of your time surrounded by it.

Or maybe it was simpler than that. You were just fucking gorgeous. The kind of gorgeous that didn't feel manufactured.

Messy lipstick at three in the morning. Smudged eyeliner after a concert. Leather jackets thrown over tiny dresses. Cigarettes shared on balconies overlooking cities you'd forget by next week.

You looked like every rock song he'd ever written and every bad decision he'd ever wanted to make. Not that he'd ever done anything about it; you were Damien's.

And despite what most magazines liked to print about him, Eddie wasn't in the habit of chasing after things that belonged to other people. 

So he'd settled for watching. For knowing exactly which laugh was yours in a crowded room. For pretending he wasn't disappointed whenever Damien draped an arm around your shoulders. For occasionally wondering what a girl like you was doing wasting her time with a guy like him.

Now, as he stepped into the empty living room and spotted you sitting alone on the couch, his brow furrowed slightly. Because for the first time since he'd known you, you looked genuinely and wholeheartedly miserable.

One perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched. “Well, that can't be good.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Fuck off.”

Eddie blinked. That wasn't exactly the response he'd been expecting. Over the years, the two of you had developed something of a comfortable acquaintanceship. You'd traded enough sarcastic remarks and drunken conversations over the years that he knew you weren't usually this hostile. Not towards him, anyway. 

Which meant something had happened.

“Jesus.” He snorted, tossing himself into an armchair across from the couch. “Who pissed in your cereal?”

“Why does everyone always use that expression?”

“Because it's funny.”

“It isn't.”

“Okay.”

For a moment, Eddie figured that'd be the end of it. You'd tell him to mind his own business, and he'd steal a beer and leave. Simple.

Instead, your shoulders sagged, ever so slightly. But enough that Eddie immediately noticed.

“Alright.” His voice softened. “What's wrong?”

You stared down at your hands. The anger was already fading, which almost made everything worse. At least being angry felt productive; now you just felt embarrassed.

Embarrassed that you'd somehow convinced yourself Damien actually cared. Embarrassed that everyone would probably know by tomorrow morning. Embarrassed that after six months of acting like his girlfriend, you'd apparently never been one at all.

“Damien cheated on me.”

Eddie stared. Then he looked away, dragging his tongue across the inside of his cheek.

Because that was not the reaction he was supposed to have, not even a little bit. The correct response was sympathy or outrage.

The correct response was literally anything besides the sudden rush of excitement currently threatening to make him grin like an asshole.

So he swallowed it. “What'd he do?”

You laughed bitterly.

“What'd he do?” you repeated. “Oh, nothing crazy. Just invited me into a room to watch him fuck crack-head Amy.”

Eddie's jaw tightened. “Seriously?”

“Mhm.”

“What'd he say?”

“His exact words were, ‘that's just rock n' roll, baby.’”

For the first time all evening, Eddie looked genuinely horrified. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No, he did not.”

“I swear to God.”

Eddie rubbed a hand over his face. “That's the most embarrassing thing I've ever heard.”

Despite yourself, a small smile tugged at your lips. “Right?”

“Like, forget cheating for a second.” He pointed at you. “That line alone should get him arrested.”

A laugh escaped before you could stop it. And Eddie felt his chest do something stupid, because there it was. That laugh, the one he'd spent years overhearing from across crowded green rooms. The one he'd always found himself listening for without meaning to.

You shook your head. “I feel like an idiot.”

Eddie shook his head in response, plopping down next to you on the couch. 

“Nah, you’re not an idiot. ‘That’s just rock n roll, baby.’” He put on an exaggerated macho voice. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

You laughed again. “I don't know.”

“No, seriously.” Eddie leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I've been in rock n' roll for years. I practically invented being an asshole. And even I have no clue what that's supposed to mean.”

“Maybe it's in the handbook.”

“The handbook?”

“The Official Rock Star Handbook.”

Eddie snapped his fingers. “Right. Chapter seven: How to Cheat on Women and Make it Sound Deep.”

“Chapter eight: Cocaine.”

“Chapter nine: Buy leather pants two sizes too small.”

You snorted. “Chapter ten: Develop a God complex.”

“Chapter eleven: Die at twenty-seven.”

The joke landed with a little less humor than the others. Then Eddie sighed dramatically and reached toward the coffee table.

“Well.”

You watched as he sorted through the various substances scattered across the glass.

“Well, what?”

“Well, we have two options here.”

“Which are?”

Eddie held up a finger.

“Option one: you continue sitting here feeling sorry for yourself over a man who voluntarily chose to say the words ‘that's just rock n' roll, baby’ out loud.”

You groaned.

“See? Already sounds terrible.”

“Exactly.”

He held up a second finger. “Option two.”

Your eyes followed him as he picked up a small baggie from the table. “You do a little cocaine and get your mind off it.”

You stared at him. “That's your professional recommendation?”

“Absolutely.”

“You're a terrible therapist.”

“Good thing I'm a musician.”

A reluctant smile crept onto your face. “Jesus Christ.”

“Listen.” Eddie shrugged. “I'm not saying it'll solve your problems.”

“No?”

“Not even a little.”

“Great.”

“But it might make you stop thinking about Damien for twenty minutes.”

You considered it, mostly because there wasn't much else to do. 

“Or.” He tossed the baggie back onto the table. “We could sit here and talk shit about him.”

That earned another laugh. “That's a little immature.”

“It's extremely immature.”

“And you're offering it as an alternative?”

“I think it's actually healthier than the cocaine.”

“That's a low bar.”

“Still.”

You sat back, then shook your head, reaching across the table to the small baggie. “May I?”

Eddie leaned back, draping both arms across the back of the couch. “Please. Shit talking will be way more fun coked-out anyway.”

His eyes drifted over your face for a brief second before looking away again.

Because now that you were laughing and leaning over the table, he was finding it increasingly difficult to remember why he'd ever convinced himself you were off limits.

Especially considering Damien Thatcher had apparently just fumbled the hottest woman he'd ever seen.

The night went like so for hours: Eddie’s long fingers working with practiced ease, cutting two neat lines on the glass table with a hotel key card.

The faint chemical tang already hung in the air, mixing with the ever-present haze of cigarette smoke and spilled whiskey that clung to every surface of the mansion. 

He passed you a rolled-up bill without a word, his dark eyes catching yours for a second longer than necessary.

You leaned in. One sharp inhale, and the world sharpened at the edges, warmth blooming fast behind your ribs.

Eddie did his own line right after, then chased it with a generous pull from the bottle of Jack he’d grabbed from the side table. He offered it to you next, and you took it, the burn sliding down your throat like liquid fire.

“Fuck,” you muttered, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. The coke hit quick; euphoric, electric, loosening the knot of humiliation that had been sitting heavy in your chest.

Eddie grinned that crooked, dangerous smile and slid closer on the couch. Not a safe distance next to you, but right beside you. His thigh pressed against yours, the heat of him bleeding through his jeans. 

“Better?” he asked, voice low. 

You nodded, leaning into the feeling. “Yeah. A lot better.”

He didn’t pull away. If anything, he shifted so his arm draped along the back of the couch was behind your shoulders, fingers brushing the bare skin of your arm where your dress left it exposed.

“You know,” Eddie murmured, tilting his head so his curls fell forward, brushing your shoulder, “Damien’s a fucking idiot. Always has been. But tonight? Christ, he really outdid himself.”

His gaze dropped to your mouth, unashamed. The kind of look that made your pulse jump.

You laughed softly. “You’re not exactly subtle right now, Munson.”

“Subtle’s never been my brand, sweetheart.” His fingers traced a lazy circle on your shoulder, then drifted higher, thumb grazing the side of your neck.

“Been watching you waste six months on that clown. Figured it was time someone reminded you what you’re worth.”

The words hit like another line. You turned toward him, knees knocking together, and he didn’t hesitate. Eddie’s free hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb stroking your lower lip before he leaned in and kissed you.

It wasn’t tentative. It was hungry; months, maybe years, of restrained want pouring out in the press of his mouth. 

His lips were warm, tasting like whiskey and sin, and when you parted for him, he groaned softly into the kiss, tongue sliding against yours with filthy confidence. The hand on your neck tightened, tilting your head exactly how he wanted as he deepened it.

You kissed him back just as hard, fingers threading into those wild curls, tugging until he made that low, wrecked sound again.

Eddie pulled back just enough to speak against your lips, voice gravel-rough. “Fuck, you taste good.” 

His other hand slid down your side, then slipped under the hem of your dress. Calloused fingertips traced up your thigh, achingly slow, until they reached the lace edge of your panties. He teased there for a moment, watching your face like he was memorizing every reaction.

“Eddie…” you breathed, hips shifting toward his touch.

“Yeah?” He smirked, eyes dark. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

You didn’t, obviously.

Instead, you pulled him back into another messy kiss, and he took that as permission. His fingers pushed the lace aside and slid through your slick folds, groaning at how wet you already were. “Shit, baby. This all for me?”

Two fingers circled your clit with practiced pressure before dipping lower, pressing inside you; slow at first, then deeper, curling just right. The stretch and the steady rhythm had you gasping into his mouth, thighs parting wider on the couch. 

“Goddamn,” he muttered against your jaw, nipping at the skin there while his thumb kept working your clit. “You’re so fucking tight. Been thinking about this… about how you’d feel around me.”

Your head fell back against the couch, hips rocking to meet his hand, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet living room. Eddie watched you the whole time, lips parted, curls wild, looking every bit the “rockstar sex symbol” the magazines called him. But this close, it was just Eddie; chaotic, intense, and completely focused on pulling you apart.

He kissed you again, swallowing your moan as his fingers sped up, curling against that perfect spot inside you until your thighs started to tremble.

Then, just as the edge started building, he slowed and withdrew his hand. You whined at the loss, but Eddie only grinned and brought his glistening fingers to his mouth. He licked them clean while holding your gaze. “Such a sweet thing you are.”

You moaned in response, taking his hand out of his mouth and placing his digits in your own. The sound that left his throat made your thighs tremble. You bobbed your head and sucked his fingers until the taste of your sex was gone. He grinned at the sight. 

“C’mon, gorgeous,” he said, voice wrecked. He stood and offered you his hand, pulling you up against his chest. “My room’s upstairs. I’m nowhere near done with you yet.”

His arm wrapped around your waist as he guided you toward the staircase. The door to Eddie’s room barely clicked shut before he had you pinned against it. His mouth crashed back onto yours, all teeth and tongue and zero patience now that you were alone in his domain. 

One hand fisted in your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back and expose your throat so he could bite down the column of it, sucking hard enough to leave marks you’d feel tomorrow. The other hand shoved your dress up around your waist, as if to offend him.

“Fuckin’ finally,” he growled against your skin. “Been waiting fucking months to get my hands on you like this.”

You laughed breathlessly and shoved at his leather jacket until it hit the floor. “Then stop talking and do something about it, Munson.”

Eddie pulled back just far enough to grin at you; eyes blown black, curls messy. 

“Oh, I’m gonna do a lot of somethin’, sweetheart. Gonna fuck you so good you forget that asshole ever existed.”

He dropped to his knees right there in front of the door.

Your panties were ripped down your legs and tossed somewhere behind him before you could blink. Then his mouth was on you. Hot, wet, filthy. No teasing. No slow build. Eddie licked a broad stripe up your cunt like he was starving, then sealed his lips around your clit and sucked hard enough to make your knees buckle.

“Jesus—Fuck—Eddie—”

He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, opening you wider, and groaned like you tasted better than anything he’d ever put in his body. 

Two fingers pushed inside you again, curling viciously while his tongue worked your clit in tight, relentless circles. The wet sounds were obscene. He didn’t care. He moaned into you every time your hips jerked against his face, like getting you off was the only thing that mattered.

“Fuck, listen to you,” he rasped between licks, voice wrecked. “Already dripping down my wrist. Damien’s never made you this wet, now did he?”

You couldn’t even answer. Your head thunked back against the door as he added a third finger, stretching you open, fucking you on his hand while he sucked and licked like he wanted to ruin you for anyone else. The pressure built fast, way too fast, to where your thighs were shaking around his head.

He pulled off right as you started to tip over the edge.

You whined, high and frustrated, and he just laughed, dark and delighted, wiping his shiny mouth with the back of his hand as he stood.

“Not yet, angel,” he said, voice low. “Wanna feel you come on my cock first.”

He manhandled you toward the bed, so much so that you barely got a glimpse of the room (guitars on stands, posters peeling off the walls) before he spun you around and bent you over the edge of the mattress.

The sound of his belt and zipper was loud in the room. Then the thick, hot weight of his cock slapped against your ass. Eddie dragged the head through your folds, coating himself in your slick, teasing your entrance.

“Gonna fuck you so deep you feel me for days,” he promised, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. The other fisted in your hair again, pulling your head back so he could lean over and speak right against your ear. 

“Gonna fill this pretty pussy up. Make sure you remember whose cum is leaking out of you tomorrow when that loser tries to talk to you again.”

He pushed in.

One long, relentless thrust that stretched you wide and punched the air from your lungs. Eddie didn’t give you time to adjust; he bottomed out with a groan that sounded like it was ripped from his chest, then started fucking you like he meant to break the bed.

The pace was brutal. Skin slapping skin. His hips snapping forward hard enough to jolt you up the mattress with every thrust. The hand in your hair kept your back arched, the other sliding around to rub tight circles over your clit.

“Fuck—fuck, you feel better than I imagined,” he panted, voice strained. “So tight. So fuckin’ wet. Taking me so good, baby. That’s it—squeeze me just like that.”

You moaned loudly, pushing back to meet every thrust. Every drag of his cock against your walls felt electric.

Eddie leaned down, chest pressed to your back, and bit at your shoulder. 

“Tell me,” he demanded, hips never slowing. “Tell me his dick never felt like this.”

“Never—fuck, Eddie—never felt like this—”

“That’s right.” He sounded smug and feral at the same time. “Weak-ass little dick couldn’t make you scream like this. Couldn’t make you this fuckin’ messy.” His fingers on your clit sped up. “You’re mine now. Say it.”

The pace was so brutal you could only speak gibberish, which Eddie did not take a liking to. So, naturally, he sped up more than you thought humanly possible and growled into your ear, “Fucking. Say. It.”

You were close again, the edge rushing up fast. “Yours—Eddie, I’m yours—”

He growled, low and satisfied, and pulled out just long enough to flip you onto your back. 

Your legs were shoved up and over his shoulders as he slammed back in, folding you nearly in half. The new angle had him hitting so deep it bordered on too much.

Eddie’s hand wrapped around your throat—perfectly tight enough to cut off air and just enough pressure to make your head spin in the best way. His thumb stroked your pulse while he fucked you harder, eyes locked on yours.

“Look at me when you come,” he ordered. “Wanna watch you fall apart on my cock.”

You did. The orgasm crashed over you so hard your vision whited out for a second. You clenched around him, crying out his name, and Eddie fucked you straight through it, pace turning erratic.

“Fuck—gonna come—gonna fill you up—” His rhythm stuttered. He buried himself and came with a broken groan, pulsing hot and deep inside you. His hips kept rolling in short, shallow thrusts like he was trying to push it even deeper, claiming every inch.

He stayed there for a long moment, forehead pressed to yours, both of you breathing hard. Then he kissed you, slower this time, but no less possessive, while he was still buried inside you.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were dark and satisfied.

“Tapped out already?” he murmured, thumb brushing your swollen bottom lip. “Damn. And I’m not even close to done with you yet.” His cock twitched inside you, already starting to harden again.

The night was young, and Eddie Munson had no intention of letting you leave his bed until the sun came up and every trace of Damien Thatcher had been fucked out of your system.

mmmmm this one was......🫣

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People talked about love like it happened all at once. Like it was lightning. Like one look across a crowded room, and suddenly the rest of your life made sense.

Eddie Munson thought that was complete and utter bullshit.

Love wasn't lightning; it was erosion. The kind that wore you down one unnoticed glance at a time until one day you looked up and realized you'd built an entire religion around someone who didn't even know your favorite color.

Everyone knew you.

Not in the way they knew Jason Carver, Jason demanded attention. You never asked for it…it simply just followed you.

Teachers smiled a little wider when you answered questions. Freshmen gravitated toward you on the first day of school like frightened birds, somehow knowing you were safe.

It was infuriating. Not because Eddie disliked you. God, that would've made things so much easier, no. You were kind.

Genuinely, painfully, kind.

The kind of person who remembered birthdays without writing them down. The kind of beauty that had nothing to do with your face. Though...that certainly wasn't hurting anything.

You smiled with your whole body. Your shoulders, your eyes, even your laugh looked warm. Sometimes Eddie wondered if the sun waited for your permission before coming up. Which—

Jesus Christ.

See? This was exactly the problem. He couldn't even think about you without sounding like he'd swallowed a Hallmark card. He'd never even spoken to you. Well, not really.

Sure, there'd been little moments. A borrowed pencil sophomore year. A quiet "thank you" when he'd held a door open. Passing each other in the hallway enough times that nodding became an unspoken ritual.

But conversations? Actual conversations? Those belonged to people who lived on the same planet. You lived somewhere else entirely.

Some place made of honor roll certificates, volunteer hours, and Sunday mornings that probably smelled of pancakes instead of cigarette smoke.

Eddie had long since accepted that there were invisible lines running through Hawkins High. Athletes. Nerds. Burnouts. Band kids. Freaks. You somehow belonged to all of them, while he belonged to exactly one.

Hellfire. The trailer park. The people adults warned their children about. 

Wayne always said Eddie had expensive taste. Not in clothes or cars, but people.

"You always go lookin' at things that ain't yours to carry," Wayne had muttered once while Eddie admired an old cherry-red Gibson through a pawn shop window.

At the time, Eddie thought he meant guitars. Now he wasn't so sure. Because every morning, without meaning to, he'd find himself searching the parking lot before first bell. Just to see if your car was there.

And every afternoon, he'd linger exactly thirty seconds too long outside English because he knew your classroom was across the hall. Not enough to be obvious, just enough to catch one glimpse.

Then he'd spend the rest of the day pretending that was somehow enough, though it never was.

The thing about memories was that they lied. Or maybe they just... polished themselves over time.

Eddie couldn't remember what he'd eaten yesterday. Couldn't remember what movie he'd watched with Wayne the week before. But he remembered that afternoon, every stupid, humiliating second of it.

It had been almost exactly a year ago.

The last bell had rung, sending Hawkins High spilling into the hallways in a tidal wave of backpacks and locker doors slamming shut. Eddie had lingered by his locker, stuffing loose campaign notes into a folder while Gareth argued with Jeff about whether dragons were technically reptiles.

He never heard Jason coming. The locker door slammed shut before Eddie could grab it, the metal rattling loud enough to make nearby students jump.

"Well, if it isn't the freak."

Eddie sighed. "Christ, Carver. Don't you ever get tired?"

Jason leaned against the neighboring locker with that smug grin Eddie had grown to hate. Andy and Chance flanked him like loyal guard dogs, each wearing the same self-satisfied expression.

"Nah."

Jason reached out, flicking Eddie's shoulder with unnecessary force.

"I actually look forward to these little chats."

"I don't."

"Funny."

Another shove. Not enough to knock him down, but just enough to remind him who had thirty pounds and varsity sports behind him.

"You know," Jason continued loudly, making sure the people walking by could hear, "I heard you recruited another freshman into your little Satan club."

Eddie rolled his eyes. "You guys are really obsessed with us."

"Just looking out for the town."

Same script, different day. Eddie had learned years ago that fighting back only made it worse.

So he leaned against the lockers and waited for them to get bored. He almost missed the footsteps approaching.

"What are you doing?" Your voice wasn't loud.

Jason turned first. "So, this doesn't concern—"

"It concerns me now."

You stepped between passing students without the slightest hesitation, your backpack still hanging off one shoulder.

"Move."

Jason laughed. "Excuse me?"

"I said move."

Andy scoffed. "You serious?"

Without another word, you planted a hand square against Andy's chest and shoved him back just enough to force him away from Eddie. Not hard, but just enough to make it clear whose space he'd invaded.

Jason stared at you, his jaw tightening. "What the hell is your problem?"

"My problem?" you echoed. "Three against one seems pretty pathetic to me."

"We're talking."

"No." You folded your arms. "You were cornering him."

Jason took one step closer. "I'd be careful if I were you."

Eddie's stomach dropped.

But you didn't move. Hell, you didn't even blink.

Instead, one eyebrow lifted. "What?"

Your voice stayed infuriatingly calm. "You gonna hit a girl?"

Jason's expression hardened. "I didn't say—"

"No?" You tilted your head. "I mean... you've already got one thing in common with your father."

You paused, eyeing him up and down.

"It'd be a shame if you decided to copy the rest of his behavior too."

Jason's face went red. Not from embarrassment, but pure fury. The kind of fury that made his nostrils flare.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"No?" You shrugged. "Then prove me wrong."

For a moment...Eddie genuinely thought Jason might do it. Might shove you. Might yell. Might finally snap.

Instead, Jason looked around. He couldn't touch you, not here. Not with everyone looking.

Jason just clicked his tongue. "Whatever."

He shot Eddie one last glare. "You're not worth it."

Then to you, "Careful who you stick up for."

You smiled. "I'll keep that in mind."

Jason scoffed before turning on his heel. "C'mon."

Andy and Chance followed without another word.

Eddie realized he'd been holding his breath. "...Thanks."

You turned toward him. For a second, he thought you might say something profound. Something unforgettable.

Instead, you smiled; that warm, easy smile he'd only ever seen from across classrooms.

"Don't mention it." You adjusted your backpack. "See you around, Eddie."

Eddie? Not ‘Munson’? He thought. 

Then you just…walked away. Like standing up to Jason Carver was no bigger a deal than holding the door open for someone. Eddie watched until you disappeared around the corner.

He didn't realize Gareth had come back until someone elbowed his ribs. "Dude."

"Hm?"

"You okay?"

Eddie kept staring at the empty hallway. "...yeah."

A year later...Eddie could still tell you exactly where you'd been standing. Exactly what you were wearing. Exactly how your hand had looked when you shoved Andy away from him.

He'd spent three hundred and sixty-five days trying to convince himself it hadn't meant anything. That you would've done it for anybody. It was probably true. But God knows that didn’t help slow his crush on you down in the slightest. 

There was a reason Eddie loved the Hawkins Fall Flea Market. Sure, half the vendors were selling ceramic geese in tiny bonnets or dusty kitchenware that should've been thrown out sometime during the Nixon administration.

But every now and then...Someone's grandfather died, and suddenly there'd be a box full of first-edition fantasy novels.

Or vintage dice. Or a stack of Dragon magazines someone didn't realize were worth something. Treasure hunting. That's what Wayne always called it.

"You never know what you're gonna find."

Eddie had been elbow-deep in a cardboard box labeled COMIC BOOKS - 25¢ for nearly twenty minutes before giving up his search for anything remotely Dungeons & Dragons related.

No dice…literally.

With a dramatic sigh, he wandered farther down the rows of tents, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket as he smiled to himself. It wasn't exactly exciting, but it was comfortable.

He almost walked right past the record stand.

It was tucked between a vendor selling antique fishing lures and another covered in old comic strips and movie posters. Milk crates overflowed with vinyl records while wire racks displayed cassettes in crooked little rows.

Naturally...Eddie wandered over. His fingers skimmed over faded album covers. Thin Lizzy. Rush. Van Halen. Not bad. Then—

"...No way."

He hadn't meant to say it out loud, but there you were. Standing on the opposite side of the rack, your brows pinched together in concentration as you thumbed through a crate marked HEAVY METAL.

You wore an oversized forest-green sweater with the sleeves pushed over your hands, faded jeans, and beat-up Converse he'd never seen you wear to school. Your hair was tucked behind one ear as you carefully flipped through albums like you actually knew what you were looking at.

There was no universe in which this made sense. You belonged in the classical section. Or maybe folk, something acoustic. Not Iron Maiden. Motörhead. Judas Priest.

He blinked hard, almost thinking he was staring at a mirage. Nope, still there.

You looked up and caught him staring again. A smile spread across your face almost instantly.

"Oh." You laughed softly. "Hi, Eddie."

His mouth opened, but nothing happened.

"You... um..." Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. "You like... music?"

God, just bury him now.

Your smile only widened. "I dabble."

"I just..." He gestured helplessly toward the crate. "I wasn't expecting..."

"Me?"

He nodded.

"I wasn't expecting me either." You grinned to yourself before looking back down at the albums. "My dad's the reason."

"You've got a metalhead dad?"

"The biggest."

You laughed. "He swears everything made after 1984 is garbage."

"Smart man."

"I told him you'd probably say that."

Eddie's head snapped up. "...You've talked about me?"

The words escaped before he could stop them.

You looked equally surprised. "I..."

A tiny laugh escaped you. "I mean..."

You ducked your head for a second. "You know... around school."

Right, of course. Don't be stupid, Munson. The thought that your family even knew his name made something warm bloom in his chest.

You continued sorting through the cassette, then suddenly stopped.

"Oh."

Your fingers landed on one. Without hesitating, you slid it free from the rack and held it toward him. "I think you'd like this."

He looked down. Mercyful Fate.

Eddie stared at the cassette, then back at you. "You know Mercyful Fate?"

"I know enough." You shrugged. "My dad played this one so much I practically know it by heart."

Eddie took it carefully, almost afraid it'd disappear if he moved too fast. "You've heard this?"

"'Come to the Sabbath' used to scare me when I was little."

He barked out a laugh. "You've gotta be kidding."

"Nope."

"You don't exactly scream..." He motioned vaguely toward you. "...Mercyful Fate."

"And you don't exactly scream honor roll."

He blinked. "...Fair."

You smiled victoriously before turning back to the rack. After another moment of searching, your face brightened. "There it is."

You pulled out your own cassette. The Cure: Disintegration.

"See?" You held it up proudly. "I have range."

Eddie laughed. "I'll allow it."

"I appreciate your approval."

The older vendor wandered over. "You kids find everything?"

You nodded. "I think so."

As the man rang up your cassette, Eddie was still standing there holding the Mercyful Fate tape in both hands like you'd just gifted him the Holy Grail.

You paid, tucked the cassette into your canvas tote bag, and looked back at him. "I'll see you Monday?"

He swallowed. "...Yeah."

"Don't wait too long to listen to that." You pointed toward the cassette still in his hands. "I'd like to know what you think."

Before he could ask exactly how you planned to do that...you were already walking away.

You lifted a hand over your shoulder. "Bye, Eddie."

He watched until the crowd swallowed you whole. Only then did he glance back down at the cassette.

"You gonna buy it?"

The vendor's voice startled him. "Huh?"

"You've been holding it for five minutes."

"Oh."

Eddie looked down at the cracked plastic case, then toward the direction you'd disappeared. "...Yeah."

He smiled to himself. "I think I have to."

The cassette wasn't rare. He'd seen three copies of the same album over the last month. It wasn't even his favorite Mercyful Fate record. But this one? This one had your fingerprints on it.

By Wednesday, Eddie had listened to the Mercyful Fate cassette four times. Not because it had suddenly become his favorite album, it hadn't.

But every time King Diamond's voice crackled through the speakers of the van's cassette player, Eddie could picture your smile across that flea market record stand.

"I think you'd like this."

Wayne noticed by Tuesday night. "Ain't this the same tape you played yesterday?"

"...Maybe."

"You finally wear out your Sabbath tapes?"

"...No."

Wayne glanced over the rim of his newspaper. "...Girl?"

Eddie nearly combusted on the spot from how red his face was.

The cafeteria buzzed louder than usual as homecoming week had officially taken hold at Hawkins High. Construction paper streamers hung lopsided from the ceiling.

The student council had somehow convinced the administration to decorate every available surface in orange and green, making the cafeteria look like it had exploded.

Eddie hated it. He hated pep rallies, football, and he especially hated homecoming. And he especially especially hated listening to Jason Carver talk about the "spirit of Hawkins."

"So," Gareth said through a mouthful of fries, "we skipping the pep rally?"

"We're legally obligated to."

Jeff nodded solemnly. "It's in the Hellfire constitution."

Mike frowned. "We have a constitution?"

"We do now."

Laughter bounced around the table. Then Dustin elbowed Eddie. "Dude."

"What?"

"Twelve o'clock."

Eddie looked up. You moved from table to table carrying a thick envelope and a clipboard tucked against your chest. Homecoming tickets, of course.

You stopped at the basketball table first. Jason smiled, and you smiled back politely. Professional and nothing more. Then the band kids. Then the theater kids. Then—

Hellfire...and Eddie's heart immediately forgot how to function.

"Hi, guys."

You smiled at the whole table before your eyes landed on him.

"Hi, Eddie."

God. You always said his name like it belonged in your mouth.

"Uh... hey."

"So," you said, setting the envelope on the table. "I'm making my rounds."

You held up two small orange tickets. "Homecoming tickets. Five dollars."

Jeff snorted, Mike looked horrified, while Gareth dramatically searched his empty pockets.

"We're allergic."

"I figured."

Then you looked back at Eddie. "Oh."

Your smile softened. "Did you ever listen to the cassette?"

His brain completely abandoned him. "...Yeah."

"And?"

"It was..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "...Really good."

"'Really good?'" You looked mock offended. "I thought it'd at least earn a 'life-changing.'"

"I was trying not to sound insane."

"So you liked it?"

"I—" He smiled before he could stop himself. "...Yeah. A lot, actually."

"I knew you would."

Something warm settled in his chest. You knew. Not hoped, not guessed, knew.

Which is why, when he said, without thinking, "I'll take two."

Silence, which even made Eddie freeze. What?

Your eyebrows lifted slightly. "...Two?"

He stared at the tickets. Abort mission. Abort mission. FUCK! Too late.

"Uh..." His hand was already digging into his pocket. "Yeah."

He slapped a crumpled ten-dollar bill onto the table before his brain had the chance to intervene. "I'll take two."

You looked at him for a second longer than necessary, then the smallest smile tugged at your lips. Then, you handed him the two orange tickets. 

"Our music committee isn't nearly as good as Mercyful Fate."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"I'll see you around?"

"...Yeah."

You gave the table one last smile. "Have a good lunch, guys."

Then, you disappeared toward the next group of students, and the second you were out of earshot...

Five heads slowly turned toward Eddie.

"...What the hell was that?" Dustin snaps.

"What?"

"You hate homecoming."

"I don't hate—"

"You called it," Gareth interrupted, "'capitalist propaganda with crepe paper.'"

"I stand by that."

Jeff leaned across the table. "So why," he asked carefully, "did you just buy..."

He held up two fingers. "...two tickets?"

Eddie blinked. "...Did I?"

"You were there." Mike snorted. "I'm pretty sure you even paid for them."

Eddie looked down at the tickets in his hand as though they'd magically appeared there.

"...Huh."

Gareth burst into laughter. "'Huh?'"

"'Huh?!'"

"You bought two!"

"I know!"

"Do you?!"

Dustin reached across the table and plucked one from Eddie's fingers.

"'Homecoming Admission.'"

He looked around dramatically. "Guys. I think Eddie the Banished has suffered a traumatic brain injury."

Jeff nodded. "Only explanation."

"You've spent three years talking about how dances are government mind control."

"They are."

"So, who are you taking?"

Eddie opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Because...he hadn't thought that far. He hadn't thought at all. He'd just wanted another excuse or another thirty seconds of hearing your voice.

"...Nobody."

Five skeptical expressions. "Nnnoooobody?" Gareth echoed.

"Nope."

"So you just bought two tickets..."

"Yep."

"...For fun?"

"...Sure."

Mike deadpanned, "That's the stupidest thing you've ever said."

Dustin slowly smiled. "Oh."

"Oh no," Eddie muttered.

"Oh, no."

Dustin pointed across the cafeteria, where you were still making your rounds. "You bought two tickets because you're gonna ask her."

Eddie nearly choked on his Coke. "I am absolutely not."

"You absolutely are."

"I absolutely am not."

Jeff grinned. "Dude."

"You've been listening to that cassette all week."

"You don't know that."

"Wayne told my mom."

Eddie's head whipped toward him. "...Wayne, what?"

"My mom was at the trailer dropping off your uncle's casserole dish."

Jeff shrugged innocently. "He said—and I quote—'Boy's been playing the same damn tape for three days. Must be love.'"

The entire table erupted while Dustin pointed triumphantly. "Called it."

Eddie dropped his forehead onto the cafeteria table with a groan.

By the time Hellfire finished packing up their campaign books in the theater room, basketball practice had just let out. Which meant letterman jackets, inflated egos, and Jason Carver. Perfect.

Eddie spotted them before they spotted him, or so he thought.

"You boys have another séance today?"

Gareth groaned.

"Just keep walking."

That had been the plan. Until Tommy H stuck his foot out, and Gareth caught it too late.

His books were scattered across the pavement, dice bouncing in every direction. One tiny d20 rolled nearly twenty feet before coming to rest beneath a parked truck.

"Oh, my bad," Tommy said without sounding sorry in the slightest.

Gareth muttered a curse beneath his breath as he knelt to gather his things.

Eddie was already moving. "The hell's your problem?"

Jason shrugged. "Gravity."

"You tripped him," Eddie says, pointing between Jason and Tommy. 

"I don't know, Munson." Tommy grinned. "Looked pretty clumsy to me."

Jeff and Dustin immediately stepped toward Gareth, helping gather his books. Eddie stood between them and Jason.

"C’mon, man. At least pick on someone with a fighting chance."

Jason smiled as he chimed in. "I am."

The shove came so fast that Eddie barely had time to react, his shoulder slamming into the side of a parked car. The metal echoed.

"Jesus, fuck—" Eddie shoved him back, causing Jason's smile to disappear.

"Oh. There he is."

The first punch caught Eddie across the jaw, causing white to explode across his vision. He stumbled back, so Andy grabbed his jacket from behind. Then, Tommy landed one on his ribs. Someone else kicked the back of his knee.

Three against one, again. He heard Dustin yelling, Jeff trying to pull somebody off, and Gareth shouting Eddie's name.

"...Enough!"

Everything stopped as a familiar voice cut through the chaos like a knife.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Eddie blinked through blurry vision and saw you.

You were marching across the parking lot faster than he'd ever seen anyone move as your backpack swung wildly against your side.

Jason scoffed. "Stay out of it."

"No."

You shoved Andy away from Eddie so hard that he stumbled backward. "I said that’s enough."

Tommy laughed. "Oh, here comes Wonder Woman."

You ignored him completely. Instead, you crouched beside Eddie. "Are you okay?"

He tried to answer, but instead, blood dripped onto his shirt. Your face tightened as you looked back up to analyze the scene: three basketball players, one bleeding boy, and his friend's reactions somewhere between horror and panic. 

"You should be proud of yourselves."

Jason rolled his eyes. "He was acting insane. He pushed me for Christ's sake."

"That's bullshit."

Jason took a step closer. "What do you care?"

"I care because you three are acting like a bunch of fucking neanderthals. And for what? What the hell did he ever do to you?"

He laughed. "You really gonna defend this freak?"

You stood slowly until you were eye level with him. "I'm defending someone who can't fight three people at once."

Jason clicked his tongue. "You're wasting your time."

"No." You shook your head.

"You know..." You looked Jason up and down. "For someone who talks so much about honor..."

Your eyes drifted toward the gym. "...you sure need a lot of teammates when you throw a punch."

Jason's jaw clenched. "You should go."

"You first."

You kept your gaze fixed on Jason, putting on the best ‘don’t fuck with me today’ face you could muster.

His eyes dart between you and Eddie, a small and almost sinister grin forming. Then, he scoffed.

"C'mon. This freak show isn’t worth our spots in Friday's game.”

The last of the basketball team disappeared across the parking lot. Jason threw one final glare over his shoulder before climbing into Tommy's truck.

"...Jesus Christ." Your voice was barely above a whisper. Eddie looked up just in time to see you drop to your knees again beside him.

Your eyes darted over his face: the split lip, the scrape across his cheek, the beginnings of a bruise blooming beneath his eye.

"Dustin!" you called over your shoulder. "Go to the nurse's office!"

Dustin looked between you and Eddie before immediately taking off toward the school. "I'll get an ice pack!"

You nodded once before turning your attention back to Eddie. "Can you sit up?"

He managed a small nod even though every rib protested. You slipped an arm beneath his shoulder, helping him lean back against the brick wall of the school.

"So much for keeping your pretty face."

Eddie let out a weak laugh. "...Didn't know I had one."

You rolled your eyes. "Shut up."

Your backpack slid into your lap, frowning as you rifled through its contents. "No..." You dug deeper. "No..."

"Ah! There."

You pulled out an old black T-shirt, faded nearly gray with age. Eddie recognized the logo immediately: Iron Maiden, The Number of the Beast tour.

He blinked. "You just carry band shirts around for fun?"

"My dad leaves them in my car." You shrugged, "Guess they make good makeshift paper towels."

You hesitated. "Can I?"

He nodded before he even knew what you were asking. You folded the shirt into a small square before gently dabbing at the blood on the corner of his mouth; your touch was impossibly careful.

With your face inches from his, he’s embarrassed about how many times he imagined being this close more times than he cares to admit.

"You know..." You sighed, "...That was really stupid."

"Hm?"

"What were you thinking?" You wiped another streak of blood from his cheek. "There were three of them."

"They were picking on Gareth."

"I know."

"So..."

"So you decided to get yourself killed?"

"I wasn't gonna let them jump him."

"I know." You say with an exaggerated sigh.

You make another careful swipe of the shirt across his lip, "You don't always have to be the one who saves everybody."

He watched you instead of answering. Your brows were pulled together, bottom lip tucked between your teeth in concentration.

"Eddie?"

He hadn't realized he'd been staring. "What?"

"You okay? You keep looking at me and, like, zoning out. Do you feel dizzy?"

"Oh." His voice came out embarrassingly quiet, "Uh, no. Sorry."

"Oh." You reply, a tiny smile tugging at your lips.

“Huh?” He swallowed.

His brain screamed at him to say literally anything else. Comment on the weather. Ask about homework.

"I think I really like you."

You froze mid-wipe of his cheek, eyes quickly meeting his. 

Eddie groaned and closed his eyes. "Fuck—Forget I said that."

"Oh."

Fantastic. She sounds uncomfortable. Wonderful.

"I didn't mean—"

"No." Your hand gently caught his wrist before he could keep spiraling, "I just..."

He opened his eyes, and to his delight, you were smiling.

"I've been wondering how long that was going to take."

His eyebrows knit together. "...What?"

"I was starting to think you were never going to say it."

"...Say what?"

"That."

You laughed quietly. "I've liked you for over a year, Eddie."

His brain stopped. "No, you don't."

"I do."

"You can't."

"I can."

"You..." He searched your face for the joke, "You've liked me?"

"Since you helped that freshman find the theater room on the first day of school last year."

"...That's why?"

"You spent fifteen minutes walking him around the building."

"He looked lost."

"I know." You smiled, "That's kind of my point."

He stared, then laughed, a disbelieving and breathless laugh.

"I've spent an entire year convincing myself you were completely out of my league."

"I've spent an entire year waiting for you to realize I wasn't.”

His heart nearly flew out of his chest just then.

"But then..." You shrugged, looking almost sheepish. "You bought the second homecoming ticket, so I just assumed you found someone else to ask."

"...WHAT?"

The word exploded out of him so loudly that a flock of birds scattered from the nearby trees.

You blinked. "What?"

"No!" He sat up a little too fast before immediately grabbing his ribs. "Ow—Jesus Christ."

"Eddie! Jesus, would you calm d—"

"No, no, listen." He pointed emphatically toward the school. "I bought the second ticket because you were standing there."

"...I know."

"No, I mean—" He groaned. "I wasn't thinking."

"I've noticed."

"I just wanted an excuse to keep talking to you."

You stared.

"So my brain went..." He mimed throwing something across the parking lot. "'Buy two tickets.' But uh, I didn't have a plan after that."

A laugh bubbled out of you. "So..."

He continued, growing increasingly animated. "...then Gareth asks, 'Who're you taking?'"

"And?"

"And I realized..." He buried his face in his hands. "...I had absolutely no idea what I was doing."

Your shoulders started shaking. "Oh my God..."

"I panicked."

"I can tell."

"I said I bought them for fun."

"You told them..." you managed between laughs, "'for fun?'"

"I know!"

"That's the worst lie I've ever heard."

"I KNOW."

"They believed you?"

"They absolutely did not."

You laughed even harder, and he found himself laughing, too.

"I have spent," he said through a grin, "the last four days wondering who the hell I was supposed to ask because apparently I'd already committed."

Your laughter slowly faded into something softer.

"So..." You looked at him carefully. "...Who were you planning on asking?"

He gave you the most incredulous look. "You."

"Really?"

"You literally just admitted you thought I found somebody else."

"I know, but..." You smiled. "I wanted to hear you say it."

Eddie shook his head in disbelief. "You're evil."

"A little."

"You've been letting me suffer this whole time?"

"I thought it was kind of cute."

"Oh, that's cruel."

"It was a little cruel." You say, shrugging.

He smiles the biggest smile he can muster, considering the pain shooting through what feels like every inch of his body, and releases a deep sigh. 

"So..."

"So?"

He reached into the pocket of his denim vest, wincing as his bruised ribs protested.

After a second of fumbling, he pulled out the slightly crumpled orange homecoming ticket, holding it out between two fingers.

"I know this isn't exactly the most romantic timing."

You looked down at the ticket, then back up at him.

"But..." His smile turned nervous, "...would you maybe wanna go to homecoming with me?"

You could’ve just verbally said yes, but fuck that.

You broke the final inches of distance between you, your lips meeting his. He kissed you back instinctively, one hand finding your waist, smiling into the kiss. You smiled too.

"Hss—" Eddie jerked back with a sharp wince, immediately bringing a hand to his mouth.

"Oh, my God!" Your eyes went wide. "Shit! I'm so sorry!"

"No, no—" He laughed despite himself, carefully pressing two fingers against his split lip. "I just forgot I got punched."

"You idiot."

"Yeah..." A grin spread across his face, "...Worth it."

You rolled your eyes, but he caught the smile tugging at your lips.

"This time," you murmured, leaning closer again, "try not to throw yourself into it like you're storming a castle."

"I make no promises."

"I know." You cupped his cheek, much gentler now. "So let me."

This kiss was much slower; you barely brushed your lips against his at first. He practically pulled you into his airspace, completely ignoring any stinging sensation because, hell, he’d thought about this at least a thousand times. 

Afterward, he rested his forehead against yours, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.

"I've wanted to do that," he admitted softly, "for... probably an embarrassing amount of time."

You laughed. "Me too."

He looked at you like he was trying to memorize your face. "So..."

"So?"

"Does this mean you'll go to homecoming with me?"

You pretended to think about it. "Hmm..."

"Don't do this to me."

"I suppose."

He let out the most dramatic sigh of relief. "Thank God."

Before you could tease him for it, he was kissing you again. His hand found your cheek, thumb brushing gently along your jaw as he smiled into it, and you smiled back.

Then you felt the subtle tension in his hand. The way his fingers tightened ever so slightly against your skin. The sharp inhale he tried, and failed, to hide.

You pulled back just enough to look at him. "You're hurting."

"I'm surviving."

"Eddie."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

He grinned, lopsided because of his split lip. "I've imagined kissing you about a thousand times."

You laughed softly.

"And not once did Jason Carver punch me beforehand."

You rolled your eyes, your thumb carefully brushing beneath the bruise blooming under his eye.

"You are unbelievable."

"I've been called worse."

"I'm sure you have."

His forehead rested against yours, his smile refusing to leave. "I don't think anything could ruin today."

"...Ahem."

The two of you froze and slowly turned your heads.

Dustin stood a few yards away, an ice pack dangling from one hand. He looked from Eddie to you, then to the fact that you were still sitting impossibly close together, practically entangled. 

A slow, knowing grin spread across his face. 

"...I guess you don't need that ice pack then?"

missed u guys sm:,) more coming soon, pinky promise <3

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“Y/n, could you pass me the sulphuric acid?” Reed asked flatly, not taking his eyes off the glass test tube in front of him.

Y/n had been Reed Richard’s assistant for roughly five months. After Franklin was born Sue was adamant he couldn’t do it all by himself anymore, and he met Y/n at a class he was teaching on quantum physics at her university. It was practically serendipity. He asked her to work alongside him straight after class, which, of course, she accepted before he could even get out the words.

By this point, she was practically part of their family. She stayed for family dinners most nights. Sue insisted she didn’t eat enough, so would send Y/n home with bags of leftovers. To say she had been lucky, was an understatement. She wouldn’t trade them for anything.

“ah, there are my two favourite dorks.” A familiar voice called out from the lab’s entrance, Johnny Storm’s, Sue’s little brother who had made a habit of coming into the lab just to sit on the counter and annoy Reed by incessantly asking pointless questions. His interruptions weren’t entirely awful, especially when he wore that skin tight team t-shirt that rides up just enough to see how ridiculously toned he was under it when he lifts his arms above his head, which, of course, knowing Johnny, it was definitely deliberate. He was the biggest flirt she’d ever met. Of course, she gave it back, it had always just been banter, and she enjoyed watching him flush from time to time, it was a welcome distraction.

Y/n quickly grabbed the beaker for Reed, not replying to Johnny, who was now right next to her. She could feel his eyes on her as she began walking over to where Reed was. She had almost reached Reed’s workstation when Johnny fell into step beside her.

“You know, that lab coat really brings out your eyes. Has anyone ever told you that?” Johnny hummed, not taking his eyes off her as she let out a small laugh.

“Weirdly, yes, I have. You told me that about three days ago, Johnny, but thank you for the reminder.” Y/n sighed, pausing to look at him, tilting her head slightly as she spoke. He looked thoroughly amused by her response, his eyes scanning her up and down obviously. She rolled her eyes before turning and walking over to Reed, placing the glass tube neatly down next to him.

“Johnny, do you have a reason you are in the lab?” Reed questioned, his full attention still on the test tubes in front of him, clearly miffed by Johnny’s presence.

“Actually, my dear brother in law, I do,” Johnny said smugly, leaning on the counter.

“Great, what exactly is it?” Reed said flatly, finally looking up at him, clearly not having time for this.

Johnny paused, looking at Y/n, then back at Reed, clearly just buying time. “Sue wants you.. right now. Something about Franklin?” he said with a casual shrug. Reed immediately straightened, taking off his goggles and placing them on the lab table.

“I’ll be back. Y/n, just keep Johnny away from those beakers for me, please?” Reed sighed, heading for the lab doors, quickly disappearing.

They stood there in an awkward silence for a moment.

“So I was thinking- ” Johnny begun.

“That’s something you can do? Huh, weird. You learn something new every day. ” Y/n cut in, knitting her brows together, tilting her head.

“Ouch, I take it back, forget I said anything,” Johnny replied, crossing his arms and leaning against the lab counter.

“Okay, fine, what were you thinking about, Jonathan?” Y/n said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, followed by a small giggle. His face softened watching her. He opened his mouth before closing it again and taking a small breath.

“Are you free Friday?” He asked, almost hesitantly. Y/n froze, her words making her whole face flush. Was she crazy, or was he asking her out? Then reality set in, she was standing in front of one of the most notorious playboys in all of New York.

“No,” She blurted out almost instinctively. Johnny straightened at her words.

“No?” He repeated like it was a foreign language. “You’re not free?”

“No?” She said like it was a question. Johnny closed his eyes for a second, trying to follow what was happening.

“Wait.. No, you’re not busy, or no, you are?” Johnny questioned, sounding lost. Y/n’s brows furrowed as she processed his words.

“I mean, Johnny, I refuse to be just some new sexual venture and risk my place here and with your family,” she rambled sternly.

“Woah, woah, I never even got my question out, and now you’re assuming that I was trying to get in your pants,” Johnny defended, raising an eyebrow he leaned in closer, heatedly scanning over her face.

“Okay, great. I misunderstood what you were going to ask,” Y/n inquired, a smile playing on her lips, confidently making direct eye contact. As soon as she finished her sentence, he narrowed his eyes and went completely speechless. Now that was a new one for him. “by all means take your time thinking of an excuse but y-“

Before she could finish rambling, he leaned in, placing a hand on her cheek and kissing her. His lips were warm and tasted vaguely of peppermint. She wanted to pull away just to prove a point, but against her better judgement, she melted into the kiss. He tentatively placed a hand on her lower back, pulling her closer and flush against him. Her arms moved from her sides to around his neck as if it was muscle memory. He pulled away long enough to take in her reddened cheeks and wet lips before kissing her again, he groaned as she pushed him toward the counter.

Her hands travelled up to his hair, running her fingers through it as he began leaving small kisses across her neck before sucking on her sweet spot. A soft involuntary groan left her lips as a small mark formed.

“Johnny, I just asked Sue what was wrong and she said she hadn’t even seen you to-“ Reed began before stopping dead in his tracks at the sight in front of him, his mouth agape in complete and utter shock.

They all stood frozen, staring at each other like deer in headlights. Y/n bit down on her lower lip, that still tasted like Johnny.

“I’m going to walk back out, then walk in again, and we are all going to pretend I didn’t see this,” Reed calmly said, looking between them before turning on his heel and walking back out of the room.

“So about Friday?” Johnny casually asked, tilting his head.

“Shut up,” Y/n flatly replied, completely mortified.

“I’m going to take that as a yes,” he hummed with a small grin forming, looking at the blushing mess in front of him.

“Whatever,”

B = Best Friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Johnny is that best friend where people are surprised you are, but it somehow just works. Besides the constant bickering and threatening to throw each other off Baxter Building, you and Johnny know you'd run in the line of bullets for each other. There are jokes between you that the rest of the Four don't understand--which can be annoying when debriefing or in the middle of a presentation. But again, he's your ride or die and you're his.

The friendship would start when you were employed at Baxter Building. You were visibly annoyed during a meeting in which the Four and the department you worked for were present and the head of your department kept undermining the data you gathered that was crucial for a project the teams were working on. Johnny saw this and stood up for you, telling the department head that without the data they'd be at a loss, and he needed to make sure everything was consistent. Afterwards he introduced himself and you two went over the files and before you knew it you were friends with the flying, fire wielding man.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Say the word cuddle and Johnny is throwing you over his shoulder to haul you either to the couch or bed, whichever is closer, and taking you prisoner in his arms. This man loves a good cuddle and thrives on the feeling of your skin against his. Once his body hits the bed/couch and he's comfy do not expect him to leave for hours. And if you need to pee you'll just have to wait or physically pry yourself from him to which you'd receive groans of discontent.

Johnny prefers holding you as the big spoon but dabbles in being the little spoon from time to time. That usually takes place after a long day or a mission gone array where Johnny is still feeling the effects of nearly losing his life or the people he cares about. You'll hold him close; his head pressed against your chest and lull him asleep with the gentle beat of your heart. "I got you, baby, I've got you. You're safe now."

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?) 

He definitely sees himself settling down in the near future. Probably when the Fantastic Four have reached a period where they can relax and be able to settle without the fears of it backfiring. but make no mistake, this man sees and needs you in his future. He wants the whole shebang and if that means leaving the Four then he'll do it.

This man can cook and he knows how to clean up after himself. You'll wake up to him making breakfast or coming back from the lab to find the most gourmet looking meal prepared. "What's all this for, hotshot? Don't tell me I forgot an important date?" "There does need to be an occasion for me to cook for my lover. Now bring your sweet ass over here before it gets cold." And you never have to worry about a dirty apartment. Johnny makes sure it is in pristine condition. Of course you do your part and if you happen to have the day off and he's working then you tidy the place. But it's nice to live with someone who values a clean home just as much as you.

E = Ending (if they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Johnny breaking up with you would likely because you were in danger. A villain they were dealing with had discovered you, threatened your life, and Johnny could not live with himself if something happened to you. So he did the only thing he could and that was to break both of your hearts by ending things. There'd be tears, yelling, and you'd fight with him on it. Insisting that you'd be better off with him than without."

"I don't understand, Johnny--you said you love me!" "I do love you! So much that I'm doing this so you can live without the fear of being killed because I made enemies with the wrong person." "All this does is make me vulnerable. You want me safe? Then stay by my side because they are just waiting for us to be apart to actually do something."

F = Fiancé(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

He's already got the ring picked out 💀 Expect to be proposed within the first year of dating because Johnny WILL put a ring on it.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Surprisingly Johnny is very gentle with you. His touch is light, his words are soft. He'll sit and listen when you vent to him about work and people in your life who've pissed you off. He'll tend to you on days you're sick and encourage you to do the things you love.

On your bad days, where you feel like the world is out to get you, Johnny will run you a bubble bath and cook your favorite meal. He'll sit on the edge of the tub to wash your hair, hold you while you cry, and dress you before carrying you to the bed for some cuddles until sleep overtakes you. Despite the powers that make him rival the sun, Johnny is a teddy bear who will put you first above all else.

H = Hugs (do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Of course he likes hugs, in fact he craves them. You'll be at your desk working, in the lab, or making food when Johnny will come up behind and wrap his arms around you. Perching his chin on your shoulder while you work simply because he wants to hold you.

I = I love you (how fast do they say the L-word?)

Look, this man is a simp and when he's in love he makes it known. So he probably thought it within the first month of dating, but did not say it until you made it to three for fear of saying it too fast and causing everything to crumble. But once you both say it is like a weight lifted off his shoulder and Johnny is shouting it from the terrace of Baxter Building.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He'll never outright admit but he gets jealous. Who could blame him when he has a catch like you and everywhere you go there are people trying to flirt with you and get under his skin. When this happens he'll usually go quiet and glare at the person, but his frustration is never at you. He knows better than that and understands jealousy is something he needs to work on. Honestly it flatters you, and you can't help but tease him, bringing his mouth to yours in a possessive, passionate kiss. "Take that frown off your face, hotshot. You know I only have eyes for guys made of fire.'

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Kisses with Johnny take your breath away. They are soft and tender. Sometimes rough and sloppy when tensions rise and the fire in his veins mixed with the love for you consumes him. He'll pull you close, leaving no room for you to escape, cupping the back of your head while cradling you as he kisses you until you have to break for air.

Johnny's favorite places to kiss you, besides your lips, is your jaw and neck. He'll trail his mouth along every bit of skin it can find and nibble when he's feeling frisky causing you to erupt in a heap of giggles. You on the other hand, bring Johnny to his knees when you kiss his temple. It's so soft, makes him all fuzzy inside where he's practically begging for you to do it again. He doesn't know what it is about the way you do it but your lips to his temple and forehead have him in a chokehold.

L = Little ones (how are they around children?)

Johnny is a pro around children. He adores them and the sight of Johnny in his suit around kids makes your heart flutter. Even if he does not see having his own children in his future, Johnny knows how to deal with kids whenever the moment calls for it.

Plus he's had to risk his life on more than one occasion to save them when an enemy decides to use them as collateral.

M = Morning (how are mornings spent with them?)

Expect to be up bright and early every morning because Johnny has places to be, people to save, and things to do. Whether it is training, missions, or running errands. He is up on his feet the moment the sun touches the sky to drag you out of bed so that he can get it all done in record time and have the rest of the day to sit on his ass and relax.

Now on the rare occasions that he gets a day off or a super villain decides to not cause chaos, Johnny is catching up on all the sleep he can. You'll wake up past noon to him half on top of you, face tucked in the crook of your neck and pretty much in a puddle of sweat thanks to the godly levels of heat radiating off this man. He'll moan and grumble when you decide it's time to be productive--going as far to lay a love tap to his ass and bribe him with coffee and breakfast...or threaten to tattle tell.

"Get your hot ass up before I tell Sue you stole the last Coca-Cola from the fridge." "You wouldn't dare!"

N = Night (how are nights spent with them?)

Let's be real, nights are long and rarely quiet. Johnny is exhausted. Dragging himself to the bathroom to shower off the days work. You'll either join him if he's in the mood or set up the television to watch your favorite film. After he's done you'll cuddle up on the couch before one of you falls asleep first to ultimately drag the other to bed, or you'll both knock out right there since it's too comfortable to move.

"Who's pussy is this?"

"Y-Yours, Johnny," you whimpered as his hips pistoned into you from below, holding you still with a tight grip on your hips.

"That's right, bunny. My pussy. Only I can make you feel this good."

If it was anyone else you'd roll your eyes and scoff, but the fact that your eyes were already rolled back in your head from four, no, five orgasms proved his point for him. No one had ever made you feel this good before. No one made you feel this wanted, this cared for, this loved until Johnny came into your life. Sure he was cocky and a bit of a brat, but he was always there with a smile and his arms open wide for you to run to, to hold you and comfort you like you were his whole world. His everything.

"Give me one more, bunny. One more. Need to feel you squeeze me dry, baby."

Your legs shook around Johnny's trim waist as he bounced you on his cock, his fingers rubbing at your oversensitive clit.

"Johnny!"

You bit into his shoulder as you came, collapsing against his sweaty chest.

"Fuck," Johnny growled as his hips jerked and his cock spilled his spend into your tight, wet heat. You could feel pulse after pulse, seemingly endless until it slipped out around his cock, dripping onto his balls and the couch below.

Reed enters the kitchen with a yawn, tying the belt of his robe into a knot at his waist. H.E.R.B.I.E. has already started to prepare breakfast — eggs and bacon sizzling on the stove, slices of toast stacked neatly on a plate, the juice maker churning fresh orange juice and, most importantly, coffee steaming in the carafe. He grabs a mug and fills it to the brim to combat the exhaustion Franklin’s middle of the night cluster feeding has caused.

“Good morning, H.E.R.B.I.E.,” he says after a sip. The robot beeps back at him as he rolls by with a stack of plates and placemats to set the table. Reed finds the morning paper in its usual spot on the counter and flips through it, skimming the headlines between more sips of coffee. H.E.R.B.I.E. beeps to let him know the table is ready and he looks up, brows pinching together when he notices a fifth table setting.

“Does your programming need to be updated again?” He wonders aloud. H.E.R.B.I.E. responds with a series of beeps that Reed interprets as “no” and “guest”. “We don’t have any guests coming,” he adds.

H.E.R.B.I.E. beeps again, robotic arm pointing up. Reed frowns, unsure of what it means. 

You tip toe down the stairs, your shoes clutched in one hand and your bag in the other, dressed in the same clothes from the night before, now slightly wrinkled from being left in a pile on Johnny’s bedroom floor. 

Staying the night is not usually part of the routine when you visit Johnny at the Baxter Building. The risk of getting caught together was too high, given the fact that he shared the apartment with his family, but for the first time since starting whatever this thing between you was, he had asked you to stay. And you, being a sucker for his big blue eyes and warm hands and sinful mouth, agreed. He kept you wrapped up in his arms all night, his face pressed against your neck and his legs tangled with yours beneath the sheets. 

Pulling yourself away from him this morning had been torture, especially when Johnny let out a little whine when you escaped his hold, but with the sun already up and the chances of making a clean escape dwindling by the minute, you knew it had to be done.

You reach the bottom of the stairs and peek around the corner, cursing to yourself when you saw Reed Richards, Mister Fantastic himself, standing in the kitchen with a cup of coffee. You press yourself back against the wall, trying to think of an alternative. Maybe you could just go back upstairs and hide in Johnny’s room until the coast was clear?

You take a couple steps back in the direction you came from, heading for the stairs, but freeze when you hear Reed clear his throat. Turning slowly, you find that the man is now standing a few feet away, watching you curiously.

“Uh…hi,” you say, giving a little wave. Beside Reed, H.E.R.B.I.E. beeps, waving back at you. He looks down at the robot.

“This is the guest?” He asks. The robot nods. Reed’s attention returns to you. “Hello. I’m Reed Richards.”

The idea of Reed Richards introducing himself to you, like he’s not the most well known man in the world, is almost enough to make you laugh but you bite your tongue and introduce yourself.

“Reed, honey, who are you—“ 

Sue Storm appears behind her husband with her son on her hip, looking far too beautiful for how early it is. She’s dressed for the day in a smart pair of pants and a soft looking sweater, hair already styled and makeup applied, though the dark circles beneath her eyes are becoming harder to cover as Franklin’s sleep regression wears on. Her sentence trails off when she sees you. 

“Hello,” she says, lips curling in a knowing smirk. “Who’s this?”

“She’s a guest,” Reed says, sharing a look with his wife. Some unspoken communication passes between them and you wonder if maybe the universe could help you out and produce some sort of emergency that would call the Fantastic Four away from this painfully awkward encounter. 

“What’s cookin’, H.E.R.B.I.E.?” A booming voice asks, heavy steps coming down the stairs. 

You look over your shoulder just as Ben Grimm appears, stopping short when he spots you. He looks toward Reed and Sue, who must also be able to communicate telepathically with Ben, because his confusion morphs into understanding, rocky mouth now tilted in a sly grin. 

“Come sit,” Sue says, setting Franklin into a high chair at the head of the table. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose—“

“H.E.R.B.I.E. makes a mean breakfast,” Ben chimes in, pulling out one of the chairs and gesturing for you to take a seat. You blink at him.

“Okay,” you acquiesce, sinking onto the chair and setting your stuff on the ground by your feet. “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

“Of course,” Reed says, taking a seat beside Franklin’s high chair. “Would you care for some coffee? Or fresh squeezed orange juice? We also have milk and tea.”

“Coffee would be great,” you reply. 

H.E.R.B.I.E. rolls up beside your chair a moment later, balancing a tray with a mug of coffee, a pot of sugar, and a tiny silver container of creamer that he sets on the table. You take the mug and add a couple scoops of sugar and a splash of cream. 

“So,” Sue says, sitting down on the other side of Franklin, across from Reed. She gives you a friendly smile. “Tell us about yourself.”

The family listens attentively as you tell them about working as a librarian at the public library. Between bites of eggs and toast, Reed follows up with questions about your educational background when you mention that you have a degree in chemistry in addition to your Master’s in Library Science. Sue, while spooning oatmeal into Franklin’s mouth, asks to hear more about the outreach programs you’ve helped implement.

It’s Ben who asks the question on everyone’s mind.

“So, how’d you meet the hotshot?” 

Your cheeks feel warm as they wait for you to respond. “He comes into the library a lot,” you reply honestly. 

“Really?” Sue asks. Her surprise is mirrored on the other family member’s faces. “Huh. Imagine that.”

Footsteps on the stairs announce Johnny’s arrival. He turns the corner into the dining area, arms stretched above his head and eyes squeezed shut as he yawns. You pretend that your gaze isn’t immediately drawn to the strip of skin revealed when his shirt rides up. 

“Morning,” he says, blinking the residual sleep from his eyes. H.E.R.B.I.E. rolls up with a mug filled with creamer and a hint of coffee, just the way he likes it. He scratches the robot on the head. “Thanks, HERB.”

It takes him a moment to realize that everyone is staring at him and that, more importantly, you’re seated at the table. 

With his family.

Eating breakfast.

His lips stretch into a wide grin as he rounds the table and bends over to plant a kiss on your cheek. You stare at him, wide eyed with surprise, while he settles into his seat. 

Sue hides her smile behind her mug. Reed busies himself with wiping oatmeal off of Franklin’s chin. 

“Nice of you to finally join us,” Ben says, voice smug. “We were just gettin’ to know your friend here.”

“You mean my girlfriend,” he corrects, shoving a forkful of eggs into his mouth. “She’s great, right?”

“Sure is,” Ben replies. “What’s she doin’ with you?”

Johnny glares at his friend, flicking his next bite of eggs in his direction. Ben laughs and Reed asks him a question that drags his attention away, allowing you to lean closer to Johnny.

“Girlfriend?” You whisper. He looks over at you, gaze soft and sweet. Your heart pounds in your chest.

“That okay?” He asks, blue eyes suddenly filled with uncertainty. You smile at him, closing the distance between you and kissing him softly, aware of the others at the table attempting to sneak glances at the two of you.

“More than okay.”

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