suzi◟♯ / madly in love with sabrina carpenter

For your first proper photoshoot for a couple that were genuinely interested in your work, it went better than you could’ve expected. They even loved the original photos, without any editing or adjustments, and that alone was one of the best compliments.

As that had gone well, the only worry was getting around and back to your hotel in shape. You weren’t particularly in a rush, because you had a few weeks to edit the photos to the perfect standard, but the crowds were something you weren’t looking forward to getting used to.

Coming into a city as someone who has lived in the suburbs for your whole life was exactly how people described it. There was music coming from every angle as people did street performances, people lining up to take photos, and overall, it was insanely busy. There was never an empty space.

You’re trying to find a quiet route so that you’re not bumping shoulders with others and having to quickly choke out a ‘sorry’. Your camera is pressed to your chest, trying to hold it close to you so that you don’t drop it, and to prevent people from trying to grab it from you, because you’ve heard countless stories about what people are like in cities.

You take a sharp turn around a corner, clutching your camera against your chest with one arm as you look down at your phone, following the map. You’re met with a rough chest against yours seconds after, slamming into you hard enough that your camera gets pushed from your grip, shattering on the floor, completely breaking the screen.

A voice immediately cuts in, panicked, his movements rushed as he glances between you and your camera that’s now on the floor. “Shit. I am so sorry.” He gasped out, crouching down to pick up the camera that’s just barely intact. “Fuck.”

He straightens himself up, inspecting the camera, trying to turn it on, but the screen stays black, pulling a groan from him. Once he looks at you, you pause, your blinks are quick as you stare at him, immediately recognising who he is.

It was impossible to not recognise him, he wasn’t anything like other celebrities that put-on disguises to avoid fans and paparazzi, he was himself. Same glasses pushing his hair back to keep his fringe out of his eyes, blue pair of jeans and a simple, beige jumper. Almost like he’s trying to blend into the crowds, smart.

He’s still panicking, unsure of what to do with himself other than to apologise until he couldn’t speak anymore. “I’m so sorry. God, I feel awful. We can get it repaired.”

Most people would probably glance at you, shrug, and move forward with their day, not bothered as it doesn’t affect them, but he’s in front of you, panicking as if this is his problem to sort. You can’t help but notice how he says ‘we’, like you’re not some stranger that he accidentally bumped into.

Processing thoughts and words was something that you couldn’t do right now, because Joe Keery was stood right in front of you, and you weren’t sure whether you should let it slide or keep staring into his eyes. The more you stay quiet, the more he freaks out.

“Hey, say anything, please. I understand you’re going to be really mad. I get it, I really do. I’m so incredibly sorry.” He says, apologising again, holding the camera in his palm.

You clear your throat, glancing down at the camera in his hands. “It happens, don’t stress it.” You say, unsure whether you should be freaking out over him being stood in front of you, or your broken camera. “Should’ve invested in a camera strap.” You mumble more to yourself.

“I broke your camera.” He sighs.

“Well.” You pause, eyes drifting over him. “It wasn’t intentional. You didn’t really break it. I’m not going to blame you, because I should’ve been looking where I was going.”

It goes quiet for a moment, and he glances down at your phone in your hand. “Were you trying to get somewhere?” He asks, the most obvious question with the most obvious answer.

“Yeah, I’m not from around here. I’m trying to use a map, but I wouldn’t say I’m amazing at following directions.” You say with a small smile, making light of your situation.

He nods, glancing around at the crowd trying to fit on the sidewalk, pushing and shoving at each other. Names are being called, people are shouting, and you’re glad that you’ve had the sweetest interaction.

“I could help you get to wherever you need to go. I wouldn’t suggest following a map whilst you’re walking in the busiest area.” He says with an amused grin.

“I wouldn’t want to be a bother. Are you sure?” You ask.

How you aren’t panicking in front of him was something you couldn’t answer yourself. People were glancing at him as they walked by, quickly patting their friend’s shoulders, angling their phones up high to take photos. A picture of you was going to be plastered somewhere in the media with Joe in front of you.

He flashes you a sweet smile and nods. “Positive. It’s really the least that I can do for you, because, well, you know.” He points down to the broken camera in his hand.

“Okay, yes. That would be nice.” You nod.

He glances around at the crowds. “Where are we headed?”

“The Hilton hotel.” You say, and his hand gently comes up to your upper back, guiding you through the lines and crowds of people to a quieter street.

The walk is a little quiet to the hotel for a while, it’s not kicked in that your camera is broken, but it has kicked in that Joe is walking beside you, helping you find your hotel.

He clears his throat. “Why are you here in LA then?”

“I do photography, and I had a couple contact me to do a photoshoot for them, except they live here, so I had to travel to come see them. I usually do photoshoots in my hometown. I wouldn’t say that I’m well known anywhere.” You reply, keeping up with his pace.

“That’s sweet.” He pauses for a moment, turning to look at you. “How long ago did you do this photoshoot?” He asks, the worry completely written all over his face.

“Oh, like, maybe an hour ago.” You say with a sweet smile.

He nods once, looking unsure. “Please tell me you’ll be able to access those photos still.”

An amused laugh leaves your lips. “Don’t worry, you haven’t completely ruined my career. All the photos are stored on a memory card, so they’re safe in there. It’s just the camera that’s damaged.”

He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “Okay, good. I didn’t want to find out that I completely ruined all your progress. I’ll make sure that you get this fixed. If it’s not fixable, I’ll buy you a new one.”

“No, you’re not.” You say, completely in disbelief, assuming that he’s joking.

“I was the cause of it breaking, so I’m going to make sure you either get it repaired, or you get a new one.” He says seriously, and you blink at him.

“I bumped into you too.” You shrug.

He sighs. “Okay, half of the cause, then, but still, I’d like for you to be able to take photos on something.” He pauses again. “Shit. I’m Joe, by the way. I can’t believe I’ve just gone around talking about your camera and I never introduced myself.”

You laugh, shaking your head. This feels surprisingly normal, and he isn’t introducing himself as who he is known for, but who he really is. You introduce yourself too, earning a small smile from him.

“Do you do this often then?” You raise your eyebrows with an amused smile.

“Do what often?” He asks, adjusting his glasses in his hair.

You tilt your head a little. “Walking around with someone you don’t know, considering this because my camera got broken.”

“No, not really.” He laughs.

He leads you up to the hotel entrance and pauses his movements, standing to the side so he doesn’t block anyone’s way. His eyes flick over you once more before he speaks. “Well, here we are.”

“Thank you, Joe. You’ve done a better job than the map.” You grin.

He smiles at your response, quietly staring at you. “Would we be able to exchange our numbers, in a normal way? I’d like to make sure that your camera comes back to you, new or repaired, either way.”

Your heart missed a beat, even though this was simply so he could pay you back for the damage, but you had no idea how you were meant to be normal about this,

“Yeah.” You replied. “We can.”

Joe slips his hand into his back pocket and pulls out his phone, tapping on a new contact and placing his phone in your hands. You type your number into the contact and pass it back with a sweet smile.

“Thank you. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” He says, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

“I’m expecting a response, Joe, so I’m holding you to that.” You laugh. “No running from it now.”

“Don’t worry, once you get the camera, it will be like nothing ever happened.” He grins, awkwardly resting his hands in front of him.

You glance down at the time on your phone to check the time, then glance back up at him. “Better get in there, they’ll be opening up the doors for food in a few minutes.”

He nods, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Enjoy. I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon, Joe.” You say with a sweet smile before turning on your heel, walking through the revolving door.

Everything that has happened settles in fully when you’re sat at a table on your own, playing around with your food. It somehow felt like the most normal interaction, despite him being a well-known person. You didn’t panic when he was in front of you, you spoke to him like anyone else should be spoken to, and that’s most likely what made him feel comfortable enough to keep talking.

Once you finish up with your dinner, you wipe your mouth with a tissue and your phone buzzes against the table, slightly muffled from the cloth. You pick it up, already grinning like an idiot at the message.

It’s Joe. I haven’t left your camera to rot, I promise. When would you like to meet?

His message is simple, something nice that he’s doing for you that any other person wouldn’t do.

I’m glad. Would Friday be a good day?

You type, waiting for his response. The chat bubble pops up almost immediately after.

Sounds perfect to me. I’ll see you then.

You make your way back up to your hotel room, his conversation with you flowing freely in your mind, pushing away any other thought. The buzz in your body was lively, and getting to sleep was suddenly hard.

Friday comes along quicker than expected, mostly spending your week on the bed in the hotel, laptop on your lap as you edited through the couple’s photos, texting Joe in between when you were having breaks. It was simple talk, asking what each other were doing, sending photos of your work, and having general chats about life.

He had asked you to meet him outside of your hotel, to save you from the troubles of getting lost whilst following a map and possibly never being found. It was a sweet gesture, small, but noticeable enough for you to smile at his message.

You had been changing your outfits all morning, trying to work out what’s casual enough for a simple meet-up. Nothing felt right, it felt like you were either overdressing or underdressing with a hoodie and joggers. You wanted to look presentable for him, like you could get something out of this, something that would bring you closer.

You settled on a simple outfit, a blue button up blouse, dark washed jeans, and a small bag, simply for decoration. Choosing an outfit most likely wasn’t a thought on his mind, and you knew that you were thinking too deeply into it.

At midday, you made your way down the stairs and out of the hotel through the revolving door, already met with Joe’s eyes on yours. He stops fidgeting with his watch and walks towards you with a warm smile, standing in front of you.

“Hey.” He says warmly.

“Hi.” You replied with a sweet smile. “You turned up. I was almost expecting to step outside to silence.”

He laughs, shaking his head with an amused look, gently patting your shoulder like he has no idea what to do with his hands. “I may have broken your camera, but I’m not cruel, that’s a promise. You got the camera?” He asks.

Your hand reaches into your small bag, pulling out the shattered camera. “Yep. She looks brand new, look at her.” You say sarcastically.

“Her?” He asks.

“You’ve never gendered an object before?” You ask, raising your eyebrows.

“Good point. I can’t talk.” He grins, turning on his foot and leading you down the streets.

The conversation was an exchange of whatever comes to your head, talking about your hometown, why you decided to become a photographer, your least favourite type of cereal. It could’ve been awkward, but it was far from it. He made it seem like you had been close friends since birth, and it was way easier to talk to him that way.

He turns into a repair service shop, the chimes jingling as he pushes the door open, letting you step in first. You glance around the shop, filled with rows upon rows with different electronics and boxes scattered everywhere. He comes in front of you, walking up to the counter and glancing at you, quiet instruction to place it down.

The man behind the counter inspects the camera, trying the buttons before glancing up at you and Joe.

“Got some pretty bad damage to this. What happened?” The man asks, raising his eyebrows.

You glance at Joe, letting him speak.

“Accidental.” He replies awkwardly. “Bumped into her, and she dropped it.”

Joe’s awkward tone almost pulls a laugh from you, but you keep yourself settled for the sake of not receiving glances from anyone in the shop. The man sucks in a breath, his teeth pressed together.

“Well, unfortunately, I don’t think you’ll be able to put much use to this. Too much damage done.” The man trailed off, tapping the pads of his fingers against the counter. “You can always look around in here. We have brand new cameras that you can take a look at.”

Joe nods before you can say anything, like he’s been waiting for that response. “Perfect, thank you.”

He’s already walking down the aisles, and you jog over to him to catch up, searching beside him. He pauses in front of the camera aisle, brushing his fingers over the boxes as he reads the labels and general sections.

“Joe.” You say simply.

He hums, not taking his eyes away from the boxes. “Yeah? Talk to me.”

“I feel bad.” You whisper, looking down at your shoes.

His head props up and he straightens himself. “Why is that?”

“You’re spending money on me.” You reply.

“For good reason.” He reassures. “I’m more than happy to do this. It’s not like I feel like I’m being held hostage or anything.” He laughs.

You sigh. “If you’re sure.”

He nods and then points towards a camera. “What do you think of that one?”

You follow where his finger points to and you crouch down slightly in front of the box, reading the description. “Looks pretty nice.”

“Would you like it?” He asks, and you go quiet. He notices your hesitation. “Okay, let me rephrase that. Do you like the camera? Does it look good quality to you?” He asks.

You nod. “Yeah.”

“Perfect.” He says, picking up the box and taking it over to the counter without any more thought into it.

The man behind the counter scans the box, typing into the machine and looks back at Joe, telling him the price. Your heart misses a beat hearing the price, but Joe presses his card on the reader, and it accepts, printing out the receipt. He mutters a polite ‘thank you’ to the guy, and turns back to you, carrying the box in his hands.

“You’re insane.” You shake your head, earning a grin from him.

“Yeah, well, brand spanking new camera for you.” He hums, effortlessly carrying the box under one arm, walking beside you.

This isn’t something that strangers go out and do, not that you’re necessarily strangers at all anymore. It didn’t take long for you both to get used to each other, and now he was buying you a new camera, something that he wasn’t at all required to do for you.

He continued to meet up with you, just ‘casual hangouts’, going out for coffee, walking around the park, even going over to his apartment because he claimed that you were going to have to get used to his place at some point.

A broken camera turned into apologies, and that turned into being around him full time as if you didn’t meet in the most random way possible. Sometimes he would invite you to his apartment, and you would sit in silence for hours, watching random shit that he liked on TV, simply enjoying each other’s company.

Between photoshoots with different families, friends, couples, and even at weddings, you were somewhere with Joe.

He had gotten so used to you, that making jokes was a frequent thing, even if his jokes didn’t land in the way he wanted, which was to make you laugh. Still, he managed to pull laughs from you, mostly because his jokes were so unfunny that it was hilarious.

You were curled up on his sofa, completely flat out after a day of doing multiple shoots, which was a new thing to you. Once one photoshoot happened, you were being contacted more frequently, and your social media had a huge boost.

He walked into the room, pausing in the middle as he looked down at you. “Well, don’t you look tired.” He grins.

“I feel like my eyes are melting.” You mumble, pressing your cheek further against the arm of the sofa.

“All these photoshoots are getting to you, huh?” He asks, settling down on the sofa beside you, moving your legs to rest on top of his.

You sigh, closing your eyes. “Three shoots today. I’ve only ever done one per week, lucky if it was per day.”

“You’re in demand. That’s amazing.” He says with a sweet smile, resting his hand on your knee. “Just think about it, you’re getting way more recognition than you got months ago.”

“I am.” You nod.

“You know.” He trails off, waiting for your answer.

You peek an eye open, glancing at him. “Don’t do that thing.”

“What?” He asks.

A dramatic huff leaves your lips. “Just tell me what you were going to say.”

“Since you’re in demand at the moment, would you be open to doing some shoots with me? Completely fine if not, by the way. Don’t feel obligated to do so.” He asks, eyes flicking over you.

“Well, you did buy me a whole ass camera, so.” You whisper.

He rolls his eyes. “I said don’t feel obligated.”

“I’m not, but I feel like I should do something for you in return.” You reply. “Kind of like we’re just constantly offering and returning things for each other.”

“It would be great to see you and Caity collaborate.” He whispers.

“I think that would be the best honour.” You say with a sweet smile.

Silence drags out for a while, and his hand brushes over your leg, not putting much thought into it. The TV plays some cartoon show that Joe likes in the background, but you’re not paying attention to it, it just acts as some sort of noise to fill the quiet.

Then you whisper after a few minutes. “It would be amazing to join you on tour.”

“I’d love for you to come along, not just for taking photos, but to just be there with me.” He says quietly. “I’d also love to bring some attention to you.”

“I think you’re too sweet.” You huff out a laugh.

“Like you said, we give things for each other, that’s our thing now.” He grins, patting your leg gently.

You hum. “You know, I think this has been one of the first times that you’ve properly brought up about your career. It’s like you’ve been avoiding it, but I like that. I like that you’ve showed me who you are, and not who people see you as.”

“I mean, I already assumed that you knew who I was when I first met you, and I didn’t want to bring all the attention to myself. There’s not much that you need to know about me, everything online for people to see.” He mumbles.

“I appreciate you for yourself, not for your career. If I had mentioned it to you when you met me, we probably wouldn’t have talked at all after that.” You laugh.

“Why, were you suddenly going to start asking for a photo or something?” He asks with a grin.

You shake your head. “No, no. My initial reaction was like, woah, you’re in front of me right now, what on Earth do I say to you, but it helped that you spoke first.”

“I’m glad you don’t see me as my job, that’s really special to me.” He whispers.

“You’re human too. I see you as Joe.” You reply. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

He hums at that, continuing to brush his hand over your leg.

That conversation changed something in him, he felt a flicker of something different, but it was something that he wanted to get used to.

It had been a few days since that conversation, and he decided to do something that was more productive for the both of you, something that wasn’t just being lazy and laying down on the sofa, binging shows and movies that you both recommended. They were equally as shitty as each other, and that’s what brought in the laughter and the conversations.

This time, it was a café, a smaller one at the edge of the city, away from the business that could potentially be distracting and chaotic. It was hard to go out with him sometimes, because people would run over and take photos of him. Not with him, but simply of him, and that felt offensive to him.

He had talked to you about what fans and paparazzi could be like, and it wasn’t a shock because you’d heard about it time and time again, but it wasn’t the most comfortable situation to be in. You just had to sit back and try to ignore the lights flashing and the gasps around the room.

The café was quieter than the others you had gone to before, free of chaos or paparazzi swarming outside the window. You were sat in a booth, side by side, not making much use of the opposite side. His leg was lightly touching yours as he read through the menu, brushing his finger under what he wanted.

“I think I’m going to get a coffee and a millionaire shortbread.” He says, turning to you.

“Oh, a millionaire shortbread sounds perfect right now. I’ll get an iced caramel frappe with a millionaire shortbread.”

He nods, repeating your words. “Okay, two millionaire shortbreads, a coffee, and an iced caramel frappe. Sounds good. I’ll be back.” He says, shifting out the booth and walking up to the counter.

His eyes glance over to you a few times, and it’s incredibly obvious, he does nothing to hide it. The coffee machines buzz, and the faint sound of plates stacking fills your ears. It’s a perfect amount of noise for you, slight chatter, but you can hear over it easily. He walks back towards you with the tray, settling it down on the table and sliding beside you.

He places your drink in front of you, and the small plate with the millionaire shortbread, shoving the tray to the side.

You take a sip from the straw and hum. “I can’t believe we’ve never been here before, it’s perfect in here.”

He nods with a small smile, his voice muffled as he eats his millionaire shortbread. “We can come back whenever.”

“Repeat that again, but after you’ve swallowed.” You laugh, sipping your drink.

Joe rolls his eyes, quickly chewing and swallowing. “I said, we can come back here whenever.”

“Thank you.” You reply. “They have better options than most places have, and it’s not as busy. Win, win if you ask me.”

“I will definitely keep that in mind.” He whispers, leaning back against the plush booth.

You kept your eyes on him as you sipped the drink, and you noticed his gaze drift from you to his empty plate. Without thinking, you shuffle a little closer to him, enough for your shoulders to press together.

He slightly turns his head to look at you, his gaze dropping a few times. “I’m glad that this all went the way it did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask.

“Just how we met, really.” He whispers.

“What, by me completely breaking my camera?” You laugh.

He huffs out a laugh. “Well, that part was very clearly devastating, but I’m glad that I decided to keep talking to you, even though I did break it.”

“How many times do I need to remind you that you didn’t break it.” You shake your head with an amused smile.

“Still.” He replies, going silent for a moment. “Most people meet through work or parties and whatever else, but I think we met in possibly the weirdest and most random way.”

You grin, looking up into his eyes. “Thanks for being apart of breaking my camera, then.”

“Seriously though.” He sighs. “I don’t think I’ve ever gotten close to someone so quickly. It’s like I’ve known you for my whole life, and I love that. You make me feel like I’m something that’s not just my career. You see me as myself.”

“Well, yeah. Of course I’m going to treat you like yourself. Just because we have two different jobs, doesn’t mean I’ll treat you any different.” You shrug.

“I don’t think you know how rare that is.” He mutters.

Your face completely softens, and your eyes flick over him. “I’m very glad I can be that person for you.” You whisper.

He goes quiet again, but he doesn’t take his eyes off you once.

“Am I reading this wrong? Please tell me.” He asks quietly, almost looking nervous.

“Reading what wrong?” You ask, wanting him to say it instead of making you think too much about it.

He groans, pulling his hand down his face. “This. Us. Am I reading us wrong?”

“Well, that depends. How are you reading us?” You ask, giving him no room for quiet answers.

His fingers drum against the edge of the counter. “I don’t know. Well, no, I do know.” He pauses. “I think this is getting past the friendly point.” He admits.

“Yeah?” You ask.

“Yeah.” He says quietly, nodding.

You make a quiet sound and slowly nod back. “Well, what are you going to do about it then?” You ask.

Joe freezes for a second, blinking at you like he’s trying to work you out on his own instead of asking. His fingers brush against your upper thigh, testing to see what will happen. You don’t say anything, you simply look down at his hand, then look back at him with a sweet smile.

He takes this as his opportunity to lean in, slowly, hesitantly. His lips brush against yours slowly, and you can feel how his breathing shudders. Your hands slowly slide into his hair, pulling him closer into the kiss, trying to make this more comfortable for the both of you.

His breathing is rapid, and you slowly pull back.

“Breathe for a moment.” You laugh. “Don’t pass out on me.”

He grins, shuddering before he takes it slowly, leaning back in and pressing his lips to yours, more confident this time, guiding you.

When you pull back again, he’s grinning like an idiot.

“Whoa. Okay.” He mutters.

“Does that give you a rough answer to your question then?” You ask, gently brushing your fingers up and down his neck.

“Very clear answer.” He nods with a grin, lightly resting his hand on your hip. “I was freaking out, honestly. I didn’t want to take any of this the wrong way.”

“You definitely haven’t taken this the wrong way, I’ve been the same.” You admit quietly. “I wanted to be careful.”

His lips brush against your forehead. “You don’t need to be careful.”

“So, was this a date?” You ask with a sweet smile.

“Well, you figured that out.” He laughs.

“You made it too obvious. It’s not often you invite me to come to a few small, not very well-known café.” You whisper, raising your eyebrows.

“It’s the thought that counts.” He shrugs.

You met through the most random way possible, and still, it brought you closer than most people could get with anyone. From the very start, his presence was something that you had gotten used to quickly, it felt normal with him, like you didn’t have to hide who you really were from each other.

By the time you were old enough to understand what people were saying when they lowered their voices as you walked by, they'd already made up their minds about you anyway.

Your father had disappeared when you were seven. Some people said he ran off with another woman somewhere down in Indianapolis, others insisted he'd gotten himself arrested, and there was even an old rumor floating around The Hideout that he'd wound up dead in a ditch halfway across the state. 

Your mother never corrected anyone. Most days she couldn't remember what she'd told one person from the next, usually too busy sitting on the front porch with a cigarette hanging from her lips and something stronger than beer hidden in a paper bag at her feet.

As the years passed, she became less "that poor woman whose husband left" and more "the drunk over on Maple."

Kids snickered when she stumbled through the grocery store. Adults looked away when she nodded off at church picnics. The police knew your address without needing directions.

By association, everyone knew you too.

It didn't seem to matter that you always said yes when Mrs. Henderson needed help carrying groceries to her car, or that you babysat Dustin Henderson for practically nothing because you knew they couldn't afford much more.

It didn't matter that you stayed after class to help clean paintbrushes in art or volunteered at bake sales or smiled politely at teachers who looked at you with barely concealed pity.

You ironed your own clothes because your mother wouldn't. You packed your own lunches. You left early enough every morning to stop and make sure she hadn't fallen asleep with the stove on or a cigarette lit. You did everything in your power to prove you weren't her.

Still, every time attendance got called, somebody found a reason to laugh. "There she is."

"Bet her mom's plastered already."

"My dad says their electric got shut off again."

"I heard she steals."

The funny thing was, you never actually defended yourself anymore.

You'd tried when you were younger. Tried explaining, tried arguing, tried insisting they were wrong, only to discover that people who enjoyed believing the worst about someone rarely changed their minds because of facts.

So eventually you just kept your head down, smile, take your notes, go to work after school, come home, repeat. It was easier that way.

Or at least it had been until one Tuesday afternoon when Tommy Hagan decided the cafeteria was a suitable stage and announced to half the room, "Wonder who her mom will sleep with next. My money's on Carver's dad. He's always had an infatuation with the less fortunate."

The laughter came exactly when expected, almost comforting in its consistency. You looked down at your tray, swallowed hard enough that your throat hurt, and simply kept walking.

No comeback. No tears. No scene. Just another Tuesday. You were halfway to the table by yourself when somebody else spoke instead.

"Damn."

The voice was lazy, amused in that way that always made it impossible to tell if Eddie Munson was joking or dead serious.

"What an asshole."

Tommy rolled his eyes. "Mind your business, freak."

Eddie looked around theatrically before pointing at himself. "Me? I thought I was minding it just fine."

A couple chuckles scattered through the room. Tommy scoffed and walked away with his little entourage, deciding it wasn't worth getting into another screaming match with Hawkins High's resident freak. 

You figured that was the end of it. It wasn't.

The next day you sat down at your usual empty table near the windows, unpacked your lunch, and had barely taken one bite before someone dropped onto the bench across from you with all the grace of a falling tree.

You looked up. Messy curls and a grin that looked entirely too comfortable on someone who was supposedly as intimidating as everyone insisted. "Hey."

"...Hi."

He pointed across the cafeteria with his carton of milk. "That guy's still an asshole."

Despite yourself, a tiny smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. "I've noticed."

"I heard what he said yesterday."

"So did everybody."

"Doesn't make him less of an asshole."

You shrugged and peeled the corner off your napkin without really thinking about it. "People say stuff."

"They say stuff about me too."

You let out a tiny laugh through your nose. "Yeah, but you're Eddie Munson."

"So?"

"So... you don't seem to care."

He leaned back, studying you for a second before giving the smallest shake of his head. "Nah."

The answer came so quickly you almost believed it. He reached over and stole one of your fries before you could protest. "I care a lot."

Your eyebrows shot up.

"I just figured if everyone already thinks I'm Satan reincarnated, I might as well give 'em something interesting to gossip about."

That earned a real laugh, quiet but unmistakable. For a second, he just looked at you, then he smiled too. "There it is."

"What?"

"I've seen you around for like... two years? First time I've seen you produce a real smile."

Your face immediately warmed. "I smile."

"Nope. Not like that."

"I do."

"Haven't seen it."

"Maybe you're not looking."

"Nah, sweetheart." He popped the stolen fry into his mouth and pointed at you like he'd solved some impossible equation. "I think you've just been trying way too hard to convince everybody you're not who they already decided you are."

You looked down at your lunch again. "...Maybe."

Then, almost casually, he shrugged. "For what it's worth..."

You glanced back up.

"I don't think you've gotta convince me."

It became something of an unspoken routine after that. Nothing dramatic, nothing anybody else would've noticed if they were looking in from the outside.

Eddie would throw himself into the seat across from you at lunch like he'd been doing it his whole life, steal a handful of fries or half your dessert if you happened to bring one, complain about whichever teacher had irritated him that day, and somehow manage to make you laugh at least once before the bell rang.

He never asked to walk you home, never pried. Never asked about your mother or why your sleeves always smelled faintly of laundry detergent, or why you looked perpetually exhausted by first period.

He just... sat with you. It was strange, really. Most people in Hawkins saw you as a cautionary tale. Eddie looked at you like you were actually a person.

A week later, after another particularly bad evening of listening to your mother cry over somebody who had been gone for nearly ten years, you found yourself doing what had quietly become your own ugly little habit.

You waited until she finally passed out on the couch. Walked three blocks with your jacket pulled tight around yourself. Slipped behind the abandoned picnic shelter at the park where nobody could see you from the road.

Then, after checking over your shoulder twice despite knowing there was nobody around, you dug into your pocket and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes.

You hated them. You hated the smell. You hated the taste. You hated the way your fingers smelled after.

Every single drag made your chest ache and your eyes water. But for five minutes, all you had to think about was breathing in and breathing out, nothing else.

The lighter clicked as the end began to glow orange. You leaned back against one of the support beams, staring out into the empty darkness beyond the playground.

"You know those'll kill you."

Your entire body jerked so violently you nearly dropped the cigarette.

You whipped around to find Eddie standing a few feet away with both hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket, looking almost apologetic.

"Oh, my God!"

"Sorry."

"You scared the shit out of me."

"I gathered."

Your face immediately flushed as you instinctively tucked the cigarette behind your back.

For a second, he just looked at you before reaching into his own jacket pocket and pulling out a pack.

"...Really?" He held it up, "I feel like we're past pretending."

Your shoulders relaxed just enough to pull your own hand back into view. He wandered over and leaned against the wooden railing beside you, taking a drag before looking out over the empty park.

"I always figured you hated me."

Your eyebrows pulled together. "What?"

"You look at me like I'm contagious."

"I don't."

"You kinda do."

"No, I..." You laughed quietly to yourself. "I just thought you thought I was pathetic."

He turned so fast he looked genuinely confused. "Why the hell would I think that?"

You shrugged. "'Cause everybody does."

He stared at you for another second before huffing out a laugh through his nose. "Jesus."

"What?"

"You really believe that, don't you?"

You didn't answer, so he looked back out into the darkness. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Why do you care so much what these assholes think?"

You looked down at the cigarette between your fingers. "I don't."

"Bullshit."

"I don't."

"You apologize when people bump into you."

"...So?"

"You help every old lady in Hawkins carry groceries. You volunteer for school shit nobody wants to do."

You sighed. "So?"

"So, none of it's for you."

Your jaw tightened. "I'm just trying to prove that I'm not..."

He finished it for you. "...your mom."

You stared at the ground. "My dad left."

He nodded once. "I know."

"I just..." You swallowed. "I keep thinking if I can just be good enough then eventually people will realize I'm not gonna end up like her."

Eddie actually laughed, not meanly, more out of disbelief.

You frowned. "What's funny?"

"They won't. They already decided who you are."

You looked over at him.

"They've had your whole life to change their minds. They haven't."

You hated how quickly tears threatened your eyes. "So what am I supposed to do?"

He looked over at you like the answer was obvious. "Fuck 'em."

You blinked. "What?"

"Fuck. Them."

"Eddie—"

"No, seriously." He flicked ash onto the pavement. "You could cure cancer tomorrow, and half this town would still whisper about your drunk mom."

You stayed quiet.

"You could save somebody's life. You could become valedictorian. You could go to church every Sunday. And Tommy Hagan's still gonna call you trailer trash because it makes him feel better about himself."

You stared out into the empty darkness.

"So stop trying."

Your eyebrows knit together. "...Stop trying?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

"That's terrible advice."

"It is."

"You know it is."

"I do." Another tiny smile tugged at his mouth. "But tell me I'm wrong."

You couldn't. Because somewhere deep down, in the place you tried very hard not to look at, you knew he wasn't.

He turned to face you fully now. "You spend every damn day trying to prove to people who don't care that you're worth something."

His expression softened just a fraction. "They don't get to decide that."

He nudged your shoulder with his. "You know what I'd do?"

"What?"

"I'd give 'em something to actually bitch about."

You looked at him like he'd grown another head.

"I'm serious, “ he grinned. "Skip class."

"No."

"Steal a stop sign."

"No."

"Spray paint Principal Higgins' parking spot."

"Eddie."

"I'm brainstorming."

Despite yourself, a laugh escaped, and he pointed at you immediately. "See? You’re considering it!"

You rolled your eyes. "You're a bad influence."

He smiled wider. "Nah."

He bumped your shoulder again. "I just think life's a hell of a lot easier when you stop begging people to like you."

You looked back down at the cigarette between your fingers. Then quietly asked, "And if they hate me?"

His answer came so fast it almost overlapped the question. "They already do."

You frowned, and he shrugged. "So you might as well have some fun."

By the time you got home that night, your mother's bedroom door was shut. You didn't bother checking if she was asleep; you already knew she was.

The television droned quietly from the living room, throwing blue light across the peeling wallpaper while an empty bottle sat on its side where she'd left it earlier in the evening. 

You stood there for a second, keys still dangling loosely from your fingertips, looking at the familiar scene with the same detached exhaustion you'd carried for years before quietly setting your bag down and making your way toward your room.

You should've done your homework. Should've packed your lunch. Should've folded the load of laundry that had been sitting in the dryer since yesterday. Instead, you sat on the edge of your bed and stared at your bedroom window.

"So stop trying."

The words refused to leave your head. You'd spent so much of your life worrying about what people thought of you that the idea of simply... not caring felt impossible.

You almost laughed when you got to the picnic shelter and found him already there.

Eddie was sitting on top of one of the weathered tables with one boot planted on the bench beneath him, lazily flipping a guitar pick between his fingers like he'd been expecting you all along.

The second he noticed you, the corner of his mouth curled upward. "I was beginning to think you were responsible."

"I am responsible."

"Ah. My mistake."

You rolled your eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"Hanging out."

"By yourself?"

"For about..." he checked an imaginary watch on his wrist. "...forty-seven minutes."

"That's kind of sad."

"It is."

You stood there awkwardly for another second before shoving your hands into your jacket pockets. "So..."

"So,” then he suddenly hopped down from the table. "Wanna commit a crime?"

You blinked. "...Excuse me?"

He pointed dramatically toward the road. "Nothing huge."

"Eddie."

"Nothing illegal-illegal."

"Eddie."

"Victimless." He grinned, "Mostly."

You stared at him, and he stared back. "...I'm kidding."

You visibly relaxed.

Then he added, "Unless you say yes."

"I am not committing a crime."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself."

He started walking anyway. Curiosity got the better of you after about twenty feet.

"...Where are you going?"

He glanced over his shoulder. "Benny's."

"The diner?"

"The abandoned diner."

"It's closed."

"Very observant."

"Eddie."

"What?"

"We can't just..."

He raised an eyebrow. "...Walk inside?"

"Yes."

"Sure we can."

"No, we can't."

"We absolutely can."

"No."

He looked at you for a second before smiling that stupid smile again. "You comin' or what, sweetheart?"

You should've gone home; you knew that. You knew it with absolute certainty. Instead, after one quick glance up and down the empty road...you followed him.

The chain-link fence surrounding the old property had long since been bent out of shape in one corner, creating an opening just wide enough to squeeze through if you turned sideways.

Eddie slipped through first with practiced ease before holding the fence open for you with an exaggerated little bow.

"M'lady."

"This is trespassing."

"It absolutely is."

He didn't even sound concerned. You ducked through anyway.

The parking lot was cracked apart with weeds growing through the pavement, faded yellow lines barely visible beneath years of neglect. The old sign still hung crookedly above the building, half the letters missing, while dark windows reflected only the moonlight overhead.

You suddenly became very aware of how quiet everything was.

"Eddie..."

"Hm?"

"What if somebody sees us?"

"They'll think we're teenagers."

"We are teenagers."

"Exactly."

He reached the side entrance and gave the handle a tug. Locked.

He frowned dramatically. "Foiled."

A second later, he leaned down, reached beneath a loose cinder block, and triumphantly pulled out a rusty spare key.

Your jaw dropped. "Eddie."

"What?"

"How did you know that was there?"

He slid it into the lock. "I have my secrets."

The door creaked open with enough noise to make you physically cringe.

Dust floated lazily through the beams of moonlight pouring in through broken windows while overturned stools still rested upside down on counters exactly where they'd been left years before. Everything smelled faintly of mildew and old coffee.

You looked around slowly. "This is..."

"Kinda cool?"

"Kinda creepy."

"I'll take that."

The two of you wandered quietly through the empty diner, your fingers ghosting over chipped countertops and faded booths, every little sound seeming amplified in the silence.

You paused in front of one of the old menus still bolted to the counter.

Cheeseburger. $2.15. Coffee. 40¢.

You smiled to yourself. Then all the lights overhead suddenly flickered.

You froze. "Eddie."

No answer. "Eddie?" Silence.

You slowly turned, and he was gone.

"...Eddie."

A low voice echoed somewhere deeper inside the kitchen. "You should not have entered this place..."

You immediately covered your mouth, trying not to laugh.

"...for many years..." The voice dropped lower. "...the spirit of Benjamin has wandered these halls..."

You rounded the corner to find Eddie standing half-hidden behind the old serving window with both hands raised dramatically in the air, eyes rolled upward in what had to be the worst ghost impression ever performed by a human being.

"...searching eternally..."

His voice deepened another octave. "...for the teenager who last desecrated this place."

You snorted. He continued anyway. "...many have entered..."

He slowly pointed toward an old stain on the floor. "...none have survived..."

Your shoulders were already shaking. He took one giant theatrical step forward. "...except Gary."

You blinked. "...Who's Gary?"

He pointed randomly toward an overturned booth. "I don't know, some virgin, probably."

Another pause. "He seems alright."

That was it. A laugh burst out of you so suddenly and so loudly that it echoed through the entire empty building, the kind that made your stomach hurt.

When you finally caught your breath enough to look back at him, Eddie wasn't talking anymore.

He was just standing there with his hands shoved awkwardly into his pockets, looking at you with the tiniest smile you'd ever seen on him.

"What?"

He shook his head once. "Nothing."

"What?"

"I just..." He looked down at the floor before letting out a quiet little laugh. "I don't think anybody's made you laugh in a really long time."

The smile faded from your face, replaced by something softer.

"...No."

He nodded as if he'd already known the answer. Then he looked around the abandoned diner before grabbing an old salt shaker off one of the tables and setting it carefully on top of the jukebox.

You frowned. "What are you doing?"

He looked back with complete seriousness. "Leaving evidence."

Your eyes widened. "Eddie."

"Gotta keep 'em guessing, hon."

Looking back on it later, you wouldn't have been able to pinpoint the exact moment things started getting out of hand. There wasn't some grand declaration, no dramatic pact.

No night where you suddenly decided to become a completely different person. It happened the way sunsets happened, so slowly you didn't notice until it was already dark.

The first "crime" had been wandering through Benny's abandoned diner and leaving a saltshaker on the jukebox as “proof of entry”. 

Then it was climbing onto the roof of Hawkins High after midnight just to watch the stars because Eddie insisted they looked better from up there.

Then it was buying one gas station soda and sharing it because neither of you had enough money for two. Then it was skipping the last period on Fridays because "Coach barely takes attendance anyway."

Then somehow...

You found yourself sitting on top of Skull Rock with your legs dangling over the edge, a warm beer balanced between your knees while Eddie attempted to explain why Black Sabbath was objectively superior to every other band in existence.

"I don't think objective means what you think it means."

"It absolutely does."

"No."

"It does when I'm right."

"You are impossible."

"I'm also correct."

You took another sip and immediately grimaced. "This tastes disgusting."

He looked genuinely offended. "It's beer."

"It's awful."

"You'll acquire the taste."

"I don't want to."

"You will."

"I won't."

Three weeks later, you'd stolen half of his can before he'd even asked. The scary part wasn't that you were changing; it was how easy it was.

One Saturday afternoon the two of you wandered aimlessly through Starcourt with exactly eleven dollars between you, neither of you intending to buy anything because neither of you could afford to.

You drifted through little novelty shops, picking up snow globes and cheap plastic rings and tiny stuffed animals before putting them back exactly where they belonged.

Eddie stopped in front of a rack of ridiculous keychains. He picked up one shaped like a tiny rubber chicken. Held it up, looked at you, looked back at the keychain, then quietly slipped it into his jacket pocket with all the subtlety of someone hiding a television.

Your eyes widened. "Eddie."

"What?"

"You just stole that."

"I did no such thing."

"I watched you."

"You have no proof."

"I literally saw it."

He leaned in conspiratorially. "Allegedly."

Five minutes later, he casually dropped the little rubber chicken into your hands while pretending to examine baseball caps. "For you."

You looked down at it. "...Why?"

He shrugged. "It looked stupid."

You laughed. "I love him."

"I knew you would."

The next store over, your eyes landed on an embarrassingly ugly pair of fuzzy six-sided dice hanging from a rotating display. Purple. Covered in silver glitter. Absolutely hideous.

You looked around once, twice. Your heart hammered so loudly you were convinced everybody could hear it. Then your hand darted out almost involuntarily before shoving them into your pocket. You practically speed-walked out of the store.

By the time Eddie caught up with you outside, your face was bright red.

He stared. "...Did you?"

You silently pulled the fuzzy dice from your jacket. For exactly three seconds, he looked completely speechless. Then he started laughing so hard he had to lean against the side of the building.

"You committed a felony for ugly fuzzy dice."

"I know."

"They're hideous."

"I know."

"I love them."

You shoved them into his chest. "They're yours."

His smile softened almost immediately. "For me?"

"They looked like something you'd hang in the van."

He looked down at them, then back at you, then quietly looped them around his fingers. "They're the nicest thing anybody's ever stolen for me."

From then on, it became something of a game. Nothing valuable and certainly nothing useful. Just tiny, ridiculous little things.

A plastic dinosaur. A guitar pick with flames on it. A novelty lighter that barely worked. A little ceramic gnome. An ugly pin with a smiling hot dog on it. Cheap friendship bracelets. A pair of sunglasses with one cracked lens.

Each one ending up in the other's pocket with no explanation beyond, "Saw it. Thought of you."

It wasn't about having things; neither of you really had anything. It was about choosing something absurd and deciding that it belonged to the other person.

The biggest offense came a month later. You and Eddie sat in the grass across from the Hawkins water tower while he shook a can of black spray paint absentmindedly.

He looked at it, then at the tower, then at you, then back at the tower. "...Terrible idea."

"Horrible."

"We absolutely shouldn't."

"Nope."

Silence.

"...Wanna?"

You looked at the water tower, looked back at him. Thought about every report card you'd brought home. Every teacher you'd smiled politely at. Every grocery bag you'd carried for strangers. Every time someone had looked at your mother's face and decided they knew yours too.

Then you looked back at Eddie. "...Yeah."

The climb was terrifying; your knees shook the entire way up. Halfway up, you almost turned around. So, when he noticed your hesitation, he reached down, grabbed your hand without saying a word, and helped pull you onto the platform.

Your breathing hadn't settled by the time he handed you the spray can. "You do it."

Your eyes nearly popped out of your head. "No."

"You should."

"I can't."

"Sure you can."

"I've never spray-painted anything."

"So make it memorable."

You looked over the sleeping town stretched out beneath you. Every little house. Every little street. Every little person who thought they already knew exactly how your story ended.

Your thumb pressed down as the black paint hissed into the cool night air. In embarrassingly uneven letters, you wrote exactly two words.

FUCK 'EM.

You stared at it. Then immediately covered your mouth with both hands as laughter escaped you. Not because it was particularly funny, but because it felt impossible.

Eddie looked at the words, then started laughing too. The kind that echoed into the darkness. When the laughter finally died down, he bumped your shoulder with his.

Quietly, almost fondly. "I like you a lot better like this."

You looked over. "...Like what?"

He smiled at the town below. "The version of you that isn't apologizing for existing."

One day, Eddie's shoulder would brush yours, and you'd think nothing of it. Next, you'd find yourself looking around the cafeteria for him before you even realized you were doing it. Then suddenly every stupid thing he did became inexplicably funny.

Every time he walked into a room, your eyes followed him without permission. Every time he leaned over your shoulder to point something out in a comic book or hand you the lighter or steal your cigarette, your brain seemed to short-circuit for reasons you couldn't quite explain.

You tried very hard not to think about it. Mostly because it was Eddie; everybody knew Eddie flirted with everyone.

Everybody knew Eddie called half the female population of Hawkins "sweetheart." Everybody knew Eddie was just... Eddie.

Besides, you had more important things to worry about than some embarrassingly obvious crush.

Which was exactly what you were trying to tell yourself while staring at him instead of paying attention to whatever story he was currently in the middle of telling.

He stopped midsentence. "...Hello?"

Your eyes blinked. "Hm?"

"I lost you."

"I was listening."

"You absolutely were not."

"I was."

"What did I just say?"

You looked at him confidently. "...Something profound."

He burst out laughing. "Sweetheart, I was talking about Wayne accidentally super-gluing his fingers together."

"See? Profound."

He shook his head. "You are hopeless." The unfortunate part was that he wasn't entirely wrong.

By the time Founders Day rolled around, the rest of Hawkins seemed determined to spend the afternoon pretending the town was charming.

Children ran around with balloons tied to their wrists. Families wandered between food stands. Music drifted through the streets. Little American flags poked out of flower pots and storefront windows.

You and Eddie were approximately as interested as two stray cats.

Instead, the pair of you disappeared into the woods behind one of the nicer neighborhoods bordering town, settling beneath a cluster of trees, swapping what seemed like endless amounts of joints back and forth. 

The conversation drifted lazily from one topic to another, interrupted every few minutes by laughter over absolutely nothing.

At some point, Eddie had ended up stretched out flat on his back beside you, one arm folded behind his head while the other lazily pointed up through the branches.

"I still think that cloud looks like Ozzy Osbourne."

You squinted. "...That's a squirrel."

"A very metal squirrel."

"It has ears."

"So does Ozzy."

"I don't think that's his defining characteristic."

He looked over at you. "I think you're judging me."

"I absolutely am."

He clutched dramatically at his chest. "How rude!"

The breeze pushed through the leaves overhead while somewhere in the distance fireworks cracked faintly against the afternoon sky. You rolled onto your side to look at him, but he was already looking at you.

Neither of you immediately looked away. Your stomach did something deeply inconvenient. So naturally… you blurted out the first ridiculous thing that came to mind.

"...Let's go swimming."

He looked around. "In...the forest?"

"No."

"Okay."

You pointed vaguely through the trees toward the expensive houses on Loc Norah beyond them.

"The rich people."

His eyebrows lifted. "The rich people?"

"They all have pools."

"They do."

"They're all at Founders Day."

"They probably are."

"So..." He slowly sat up. "...Are you suggesting we trespass?"

You smiled innocently. "No…I'm suggesting we very politely borrow their pool."

He stared at you for a long moment, then a grin spread slowly across his face. "Holy shit."

"What?"

"You've officially become the bad influence."

"I have not."

"You absolutely have."

"I think it's community service."

He laughed so hard he had to put his head in his hands. "Community service."

"They aren't using it."

"You are unbelievable."

"So are you coming or not?"

He stood up, brushing leaves off his jeans. "I'd follow you into active traffic at this point."

The neighborhood was eerily quiet. Massive houses sat empty beneath the afternoon sun, perfectly trimmed hedges lining pristine walkways that looked like nobody had ever actually walked on them.

You both crouched behind somebody's decorative bushes, trying very hard—and failing—not to laugh.

Eddie whispered, "We're gonna get arrested."

"No, we're not."

"We absolutely are."

"We're invisible."

"You are giggling."

"I'm whisper-giggling."

"That's somehow worse."

You covered your mouth, shoulders shaking anyway. Finally, you reached the backyard fence.

You looked at Eddie. "...Well?"

He vaulted over first before reaching a hand back for you. The second your feet hit the grass, the two of you looked around one last time before dissolving into another fit of laughter for absolutely no reason other than the absurdity of existing there.

Eddie looked over at the perfectly still water before glancing back at you. "So... now what?"

You shrugged. "I don't know."

"We didn't exactly think this through."

"No."

Then, with absolutely no warning whatsoever, you kicked your shoes off and sprinted across the backyard.

His eyebrows shot up. "Wait—" You didn't.

You reached the edge of the pool and jumped anyway, the splash echoing through the quiet neighborhood before your head broke back through the surface a second later, immediately pushing your soaked hair out of your face.

The first thing you saw was Eddie still standing exactly where you'd left him, staring at you in complete disbelief.

You grinned. "C'mon!"

"We are absolutely getting arrested."

"We're already trespassing."

"Fair point."

He looked around one last time before muttering, "Fuck it," kicking off his own boots and launching himself in after you.

The resulting wave soaked both of you, earning another uncontrollable fit of laughter as he surfaced, coughing dramatically and slicking his curls back out of his face.

"Oh, that's cold."

"It's the middle of July."

"It's still cold."

You rolled your eyes. "You're ridiculous."

"I've been told."

For the next ten minutes neither of you did much of anything besides drift lazily around the pool and make complete idiots of yourselves.

You splashed him, and he retaliated by creating a tidal wave large enough to drench your face. You accused him of attempted murder. He insisted it was self-defense.

At one point he disappeared entirely beneath the water only to grab your ankle a second later, making you shriek loud enough that both of you immediately froze and looked toward the dark house.

Nothing happened. The silence lasted exactly three seconds before the two of you were laughing all over again. Eventually the laughter faded on its own, and the water settled with it.

You floated onto your back, staring up at the stars beginning to appear overhead while distant music from the Founders Day fair drifted faintly through the trees.

For a little while, neither of you spoke. You were just... there. Weightless. Peaceful. You turned your head just enough to find Eddie floating only a few feet away, looking over at you instead of the sky.

"What?"

He smiled. "Nothin'."

"No, what?"

He shrugged. "I just don't think I've ever seen you look..."

He searched for the word. "...happy."

Your expression softened. "I don't think I have been."

He drifted a little closer without seeming to realize he was doing it. "So..."

"So?"

"I'm glad you're here."

Your stomach immediately betrayed you. "I'm glad you're here too."

The distance just seemed to disappear all on its own until your shoulders brushed beneath the water, creating tiny ripples that spread lazily across the otherwise still surface.

You looked at him. His curls were dripping into his eyes, his denim vest abandoned somewhere in the grass, his stupid rings catching little flashes of moonlight every time his hand skimmed through the water.

He looked back at you with that same familiar softness he'd somehow always reserved just for these quiet moments.

His voice came out barely louder than the water around you. "...Can I kiss you?"

Your ears turned pink. "I was kinda hoping you'd ask."

The kiss itself was awkward in the sweetest possible way, interrupted almost immediately by the fact that neither of you had accounted for the simple logistics of trying to kiss while floating.

You bumped noses. He accidentally laughed into your mouth. You both pulled back, laughing just as hard, trying again only to nearly lose your balance and send another wave sloshing between you.

"Oh, my God."

"I'm trying."

"I can tell."

"I'm doing my best here."

"You suck at this."

"I've literally never kissed you before."

"Fair."

He looked at you for another second before gently reaching up and brushing a wet strand of hair away from your face. Then, slower, he leaned in again.

Just the quiet press of his lips against yours while the water rocked softly around you and fireworks bloomed somewhere beyond the trees, hidden from view. When you finally pulled apart, you stayed close enough that your foreheads rested together.

Then Eddie let out the tiniest laugh. "So..."

The water lapped gently around your shoulders as you stayed close, foreheads still touching, breaths mingling with the faint chlorine scent and the distant pop of fireworks. 

Eddie’s eyes were dark in the low light, that familiar mix of chaos and softness that always made your chest ache in the best way.

“So?” you echoed, voice barely above a whisper, a small smile tugging at your lips.

His thumb brushed your jaw, slow and reverent, like he was still processing that this was real. “So… I’ve been wanting to do that for a stupid amount of time.”

“Yeah?” You tilted your head, letting your nose graze his. “Took you long enough, Munson.”

He huffed a laugh against your mouth and closed the distance again. This kiss was less clumsy, and more certain.

His hand slid into your wet hair, holding you steady as the water rocked you both. Your arms looped around his neck, bodies pressing closer beneath the surface, legs brushing in the cool depths. 

Somewhere along the way, it turned hungry, tongues meeting in a slow, exploratory glide that sent heat pooling low in your belly despite the chill of the pool.

He tasted like summer and stolen moments, and when he nipped at your bottom lip, you couldn’t help the soft sound that escaped you.

Eddie pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours again, breathing hard. “Fuck… you’re gonna kill me.”

You grinned, fingers tracing the damp curls at the nape of his neck. “Not yet.”

Another kiss, messier this time, laughter bubbling up between you as you both tried to stay afloat without completely tipping over. His hands roamed down your back, over your hips, pulling you flush against him.

You could feel him, half-hard already through his soaked jeans, and the realization made you bold. You rocked against him experimentally, earning a low groan that vibrated through his chest.

“Sweetheart…” he murmured, his voice rough. He glanced toward the dark house, then back at you, eyes gleaming with that reckless spark you loved. “You wanna do something really illegal?”

Your pulse jumped. “Define illegal.”

He jerked his head toward the cabana at the far end of the pool: a fancy little pool house with wide glass doors, loungers visible inside, probably some rich asshole’s private oasis.

“In there. With you. Right now.”

You bit your lip, heat flooding your cheeks even as excitement coiled tight in your core. “Yeah. I do.”

He kissed you once more, quick and fierce, then helped boost you out of the pool. You both dripped across the grass, giggling like idiots as you tried to stay quiet, shoes forgotten somewhere behind you. 

The cabana door was unlocked, because of course it was in a neighborhood like this, and Eddie ushered you inside first, sliding the door shut behind him with a soft click.

A wide daybed took up most of one wall, piled with towels and cushions. Eddie turned to you, water still dripping from his curls, his expression suddenly softer.

“You sure?” he asked, voice low. “We can just make out. Or not. Whatever you want.”

You stepped closer, peeling your soaked shirt over your head and letting it drop with a wet slap.

“I’m sure. I mean, I haven’t, like, done it with anyone else before. But I’ve… you know.” Your voice dropped, a little shy but steady. “I know what I like.”

Eddie’s eyes widened. “Shit. That’s… yeah. Okay. Fuck, that’s hot.” He reached for you, hands gentle on your waist as he walked you back toward the daybed. “Tell me what feels good, alright? We go slow.”

Clothes came off in a tangle of wet fabric and breathless laughs. Your shorts and underwear, his jeans sticking stubbornly until you both nearly fell over trying to help. Naked, he was all lean muscle and ink and those damn rings he didn’t even think to take off. 

He laid you down on the soft cushions, hovering over you, kissing you deeply as his hand slid between your thighs.

You were already slick, and when his fingers found your clit, circling with surprising patience, you arched into him with a gasp. “Eddie—”

“Like that?” he murmured against your neck, kissing down to your collarbone. He took his time, learning you, adding a finger when you rocked against his hand and whispered for more. 

The stretch was new but welcome, especially with the way he praised you in that wrecked voice, so good, so wet for me, fuck you’re perfect, until you were trembling on the edge.

When you finally tugged him up, legs wrapping around his hips, he looked at you reverently. “Still good?”

“Yeah. Want you inside me.”

He groaned, reaching down to line himself up. The first push was slow, careful, the blunt head of his cock stretching you open. 

It burned a little, but you breathed through it, hands in his hair, urging him deeper.

“More,” you whispered, surprising even yourself with how steady you sounded. “I can take it.”

Eddie’s hips stuttered, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “Jesus Christ, you’re gonna ruin me.” 

He sank in inch by inch, gentle but relentless, until he was buried to the hilt. You both stilled, foreheads pressed together again, breaths ragged.

“You okay?” he asked, voice strained.

You rolled your hips experimentally and moaned at the full feeling. “Move, Eddie. Please.”

So, he did. Slow, deep thrusts that built steadily, his mouth on yours, on your neck, whispering filthy-sweet things between kisses.

You surprised him again when you clenched around him deliberately, nails digging into his back, urging him faster. 

The gentle rhythm shifted, turning hotter, needier. He hit that perfect spot inside you, and you cried out, legs tightening around him.

“That’s it, baby. Let me hear you,” he panted, one hand slipping between you to rub your clit. The pressure coiled tighter, and when it finally snapped, you came hard around him, pulling him over the edge with you. 

Eddie buried his face in your neck, groaning your name as he spilled deep inside, hips jerking through the aftershocks.

For a long moment, you just held each other, hearts pounding, skin slick with pool water and sweat. He kissed your temple, lazy and soft. “Holy shit.”

You laughed breathlessly. “Yeah.”

Then, the backyard floodlights snapped on with a harsh buzz. Voices carried faintly from the house. “What the hell—?”

“Shit!” Eddie’s eyes went wide. You both scrambled up, grabbing clothes in a frantic tangle, still half-naked and laughing hysterically as you bolted for the door. 

He yanked it open, you shoved his jeans at him mid-run, and the two of you sprinted across the grass toward the fence, wet footprints and discarded shirts left in your chaotic wake.

“Run, you beautiful criminal!” he wheezed between laughs, boosting you over the fence first.

You dropped to the other side, heart racing, adrenaline singing in your veins as he landed beside you. Hand in hand, still giggling like maniacs, you disappeared into the night, clothes askew, bodies buzzing, the stolen moment burning bright between you.

You'd never run so fast in your entire life.

The second somebody inside the house had shouted, every coherent thought in your brain had completely evaporated, replaced entirely by blind panic and the overwhelming instinct to get as far away from the expensive neighborhood as physically possible.

"Eddie!"

"I'm running!"

"I can see that!"

"Then why are you yelling my name?"

"Because I'm freaking out!"

"So am I!"

You were both laughing despite yourselves, tripping over roots and ducking beneath low branches as you tore through the woods with absolutely zero concern for where you were actually going.

Somewhere behind you, a dog barked.

You immediately grabbed Eddie's arm. "Oh, my God."

"It's fine."

"What if they're following us?"

"They're definitely following us."

"Eddie!"

"I'm kidding!"

"You are the least reassuring person alive!"

He reached back long enough to catch your hand, practically dragging you over a fallen log before the familiar outline of his van finally appeared through the trees.

"There she is," he breathed dramatically.

"My hero."

He fumbled with his keys, somehow dropping them twice before finally getting the door unlocked.

The second you both climbed inside, he slammed the doors shut, and the silence that followed seemed almost deafening.

You just sat there trying to catch your breath, exchanging one look before immediately dissolving into helpless laughter all over again.

"I cannot believe we just did that."

"I cannot believe we got caught."

"I cannot believe you said we were 'politely borrowing the pool.'"

"We were!"

"Eddie."

"We gave it back."

You laughed so hard your stomach hurt. He reached behind the driver's seat and blindly started digging through the pile of jackets, shirts, and miscellaneous clutter that permanently seemed to live in the back of the van.

Eventually, he triumphantly pulled out an old Hellfire shirt and tossed it into your lap. "It's clean."

You held it up skeptically. "...How clean?"

He paused. "...Cleaner than the floor."

"I'll take it."

You disappeared behind the open side door just long enough to tug it on before climbing back inside, the oversized sleeves swallowing your hands almost entirely.

The shirt smelled faintly of laundry detergent, weed, and whatever incense Eddie occasionally remembered to fumigate the van with after cyph sessions.

It was strangely comforting.

When you looked back over, he was already looking at you, and there was that stupid grin again.

"What?"

"Nothin'."

"Eddie."

"Nothin'."

"You keep looking at me."

"'Cause you're wearing my shirt."

"So?"

"So..." He rubbed the back of his neck with a laugh, suddenly looking far less confident than usual. "Looks nice."

Your face warmed immediately. "You think?"

"I know."

The adrenaline had started wearing off, replaced by something quieter. Something that suddenly made the cramped little van feel very small.

Eddie leaned back against the driver's seat, studying you with an expression that was almost disbelieving. Then he let out a quiet laugh to himself and shook his head.

"What?"

He looked at you again. "I've been wanting to kiss you for, like..." He paused dramatically, "...an embarrassingly long time."

You smiled. "I noticed."

"And now I finally can." His smile widened.

"...Yeah."

He reached over, tucking a strand of wet, messy hair behind your ear with surprising gentleness before pressing another quick kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then finally another soft one to your lips.

When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours for just a second and muttered with a little laugh, "Fucking finally."

You couldn't help smiling. "Took you long enough."

He looked mock-offended. "Me?"

"Absolutely you."

He pointed at himself. "I was being respectful."

"You were being a coward."

He gasped dramatically. "I have a reputation to uphold."

"You have many things."

"And?"

"Coward is one of them."

He laughed, nudging your shoulder. "Yeah..."

His voice was quieter this time. "Worth the wait, though."

hope you all enjoyed<333

dividers by @dividers-are-us

overall taglist is open:) !!

taglist:

@lnnn1n @youngbrokefab @ludachrissy @sisteramycatherine @izzycstairs @britttzy267 @eddiemunsonsimpp @powerpuffedbjtch @sariahs-stuff @cciessuzi @lilyquinnmunson @julxsxx @kozume-ko @obsessed-eddie @doomdabss @leelei1980 @hexqueensupreme @ches-86 @plaidamoosette @bobiverses @meadows-of-asphodel @whitakerstorm @brrrainst3w @serendipdipity01 @hypersexytoptobottom @m-art000 @walleloveseve @camsmunson101 @flavorfullsteve @peachpuffs25 @micheledawn1975 @whitakerstorm @cciessuzi @blackqueenie-18 @ggdawgg @velvetdimond @enne02  @ludachrissy @izzycstairs

@abbysleftbicepp @britttzy267 @ssculker @eddiemunsonsimpp @powerpuffedbjtch

“Yeah, sure.” You said, lifting the eye mask to place it over his eyes, feeling his breath hitch as your fingers brushed his ears. “Okay-” you said once the fabric covered his vision, “can you see me?”

“No.” He said, turning his head as if to check he couldn’t see out of the sides.

“You sure? How many fingers am I holding up?” You asked, lifting your middle finger up, knowing that would make him laugh when he watched it back.

“Uh, three?” He guessed, shifting in his chair as you reached for the first bottle, a chipotle barbeque sauce.

“Ooh. Close.” You said, squeezing the sauce onto a spoon and then lifting it to his mouth. “Okay, open.” You pushed the spoon past his lips as they parted, and he shifted again, like he wasn’t expecting it, even though this is what he had asked you to do.

“Oh.” He said knowingly, nodding a few times, “thats, uh, oh yeah thats the bar- the chipotle one.” He smiled as you wiped off the spoon, glancing at the camera before bringing your eyes back to Kurt as he licked his lips clean.

“Ready for the next one?” You asked, watching as he nodded, his lips slightly parted in anticipation. But you didn’t pick up a sauce this time, instead, you leaned forward. You hesitated slightly, but eventually brought your lips to his.

“Mmph!” He startled as your lips connected, shocked by your soft skin, and your hand lifting to his jaw, your fingertips brushing against his skin. “What’re y-” He mumbled, his voice muffled against your lips as you shifted closer. The movement made him realise that this was intentional, that you were kissing him on purpose.

His hand lifted to the eye mask and pulled it off, staring at you with wide eyes flicking between yours before grabbing your face and pulling your mouth back to his. His kiss was clumsy, like he'd never really done it before, but sweet all the same. When he eventually pulled back to look at you, you smiled, catching your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Sorry I ruined your video.” You said, looking up at him as his hands stayed firmly in place, as if now that you had let him touch you he would never stop.

“It's just a video. Hey, I- it might even get more views now.” He shrugged, waiting for a second before leaning back in, smiling against your lips now the shock had worn off.

⋆˖⁺‧Taglist:

“My phone died, Joe!”

“And then what?” he shoots back immediately. “Because you still disappeared.”

“I was with my friends!”

“That doesn’t mean you vanish off the face of the earth!”

“Oh my god.” You laugh sharply, incredulously. “You are being ridiculous.”

Joe stops pacing immediately.

“Ridiculous?”

“Yes.”

“I was worried about you.”

“And I’m a grown adult.”

“That’s not the point!”

“Then what is the point?” you snap back. “Because right now it honestly just feels like you don’t trust me to function independently for five fucking seconds.”

Joe stares at you like you’ve slapped him.

His voice drops lower immediately. “That’s not fair.”

You know it isn’t.

But you’re angry now too.

Too angry to stop.

Your whole body feels hot.

Restless.

Your hands trembling slightly where they grip the kitchen counter.

Joe runs a frustrated hand through his curls. “You know what? Forget it.”

“No, apparently not, because you’re still yelling at me over one missed text.”

“One missed text?” Joe laughs once harshly. “Jesus Christ, you disappeared for hours.”

“I told you where I was going!”

“And then you stopped answering!”

“Because my phone died!”

“And you couldn’t borrow somebody else’s?”

Something in you snaps slightly at that.

Because suddenly it doesn’t feel like concern anymore.

It feels suffocating.

“You know what?” you say sharply. “I’m actually so tired of every tiny thing turning into a discussion about whether or not I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

Joe’s face changes instantly.

Hurt flashes across it so quickly you almost miss it.

“That’s not what this is.”

“It always becomes that eventually.”

“No,” Joe says, voice tightening now, “it becomes me trying not to lose my fucking mind every time something happens to you.”

Your head feels strange.

Foggy around the edges.

Your heart hammering too fast.

You ignore it completely.

Adrenaline. Anger. Whatever.

Joe’s still talking, visibly frustrated now too.

“I’m not trying to control you, I’m trying to make sure you’re okay!”

“I don’t need monitoring twenty-four seven!”

“I KNOW THAT.”

The shout echoes sharply through the kitchen.

Silence crashes down afterwards.

Both of you breathing too hard.

Joe looks horrified with himself immediately for raising his voice.

You just feel shaky.

Too shaky.

Your fingertips tingle unpleasantly.

Joe notices you leaning harder against the counter before you even realise you’re doing it.

His expression shifts instantly.

“…baby?”

“I’m fine.”

But the words come out wrong.

Slightly slurred.

Joe goes completely still.

Your stomach drops.

Because now you know.

The heat beneath your skin. The trembling hands. The strange disconnect between your thoughts and your mouth.

Low.

Fuck.

You move automatically toward your bag sitting on the kitchen table, but your coordination’s gone to shit now, fingers fumbling uselessly against the zip.

Joe crosses the room immediately.

“Hey, hey.” His voice changes all at once. Softer now. Focused. “How low are you?”

“I dunno.”

“When’d you last check?”

You genuinely can’t remember.

That’s what scares you.

Joe’s already grabbing your meter from your bag while you struggle to keep your hands steady enough to test.

The number flashes onto the screen.

2.3 mmol/L.

Joe goes pale instantly.

“Jesus Christ.”

The argument evaporates from the room completely.

“Baby, sit down for me.”

You try.

The kitchen tilts strangely beneath your feet.

Joe’s moving quickly now, grabbing juice from the fridge, opening cupboards, panic beginning to bleed through the edges of his movements despite how hard he’s trying to stay calm.

“Drink this.”

You manage two mouthfuls before nausea crashes over you hard enough to make you gag.

Joe swears under his breath.

“No, no, c’mon. Little more.”

“I can’t,” you mumble weakly.

Your voice sounds distant even to yourself now.

Joe rushes in front of you immediately, both hands gripping your wrists gently, trying to urge you towards the sofa.

“Stay with me, okay?”

You nod vaguely.

Your whole body feels heavy.

Wrong.

Joe’s face looks terrified now.

Not worried.

Terrified.

Because he knows.

He knows how dangerous lows can become once you reach this point.

“You’re okay,” he says quickly, far more for himself than for you. “You’re okay, baby, I’ve got you.”

Then suddenly the room drops out from underneath you completely.

When consciousness comes back, it arrives in fragments.

Pressure against your cheek.

Cold air.

Somebody saying your name.

Joe.

Your eyelids feel glued together.

“…c’mon, baby, please.”

His voice sounds wrecked.

That’s the first thing you fully register.

Joe sounds scared.

You force your eyes open weakly.

The kitchen floor swims into focus slowly beneath you.

Joe’s kneeling beside you, one arm behind your shoulders, the other cupping your face hard enough that you realise he must’ve been trying to wake you. You’re lying on your side, and somewhere through the fog in your brain you dimly register the familiar ache in your thigh where he must’ve jabbed the glucagon injection through your jeans after you blacked out.

His face looks awful.

White as paper.

Eyes glossy with panic.

The second he sees your eyes open properly, something inside him visibly breaks with relief.

“Oh thank fuck.”

You try speaking but your mouth feels numb.

Joe’s hands shake slightly against your face.

“You passed out,” he says immediately, voice uneven. “You scared the shit outta me.”

Your brain catches on slowly after that.

The recovery position.

Joe must have rolled you onto your side.

The glucagon kit ripped open somewhere nearby on the kitchen tiles.

Then your memory crashes back all at once.

The argument.

The low.

Joe’s expression when he realised.

Guilt twists painfully through your chest immediately.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble weakly.

Joe actually looks offended.

“What? No. Absolutely not.”

“I should’ve checked-”

“And I should’ve noticed sooner.”

His voice cracks slightly around the words.

That shuts you up immediately.

Because Joe looks genuinely devastated right now.

Like he’s replaying the last ten minutes over and over trying to work out where things went wrong.

“I thought you were angry,” he says quietly, eyes fixed somewhere over your shoulder now. “I thought you were just pissed at me.”

Your chest aches suddenly.

“I was.”

“I know.” Joe laughs once weakly through his nose. “But you were low too and I didn’t even realise.”

Neither of you says anything for a second.

Rain taps softly against the windows.

The kitchen light hums overhead.

Joe’s thumb keeps brushing shakily against your cheek like he physically can’t stop checking you’re awake.

Then suddenly his face folds slightly at the edges.

Not crying exactly.

But close enough that it knocks the breath from your lungs.

“You scared me so bad,” he whispers.

Oh.

That does it.

Your own eyes sting immediately.

“I’m okay.”

“I know.” His voice sounds rough now. “I know, baby. I just…”

Joe cuts himself off hard, swallowing thickly.

Because he can’t say it.

Can’t say “I thought something terrible was happening right in front of me.”

Can't say “I should’ve realised sooner.”

Can't say “If I had stopped arguing with you-”

Your hand finds his wrist weakly.

“I’m okay,” you say again, softer this time.

Joe closes his eyes briefly.

Then leans forward suddenly until his forehead presses hard against yours.

His breathing’s uneven.

“You can’t pass out in the middle of arguments,” he mutters shakily. “That’s, like, genuinely the worst thing you’ve ever done to me.”

Despite everything, a tiny laugh escapes you.

Joe exhales hard in relief the second he hears it.

“There she is.”

You both stay there on the kitchen floor for a while afterwards.

Your blood sugar gradually climbing.

The argument long dead between you.

Joe refuses to let go of your hand once.

And later that night, long after you’re both back in bed, you wake briefly to find him checking your blood sugar again in the dark with visibly shaking hands.

You don’t mention it.

Just reach sleepily for his wrist once he settles back beside you.

Joe immediately tangles your fingers together beneath the blankets and presses one quiet kiss against your knuckles before finally letting himself breathe properly again.

“JESUS. I do NOT want to think about that.” It was just so easy to get her riled up. And way too much fun. You cackled loudly.

Steve spun around from his place behind the counter, looking into the window. “Do you think maybe one of you would actually like to come out here and, I dunno, work?” Ooh, somebody was getting grumpy. You wouldn’t mind fucking the attitude right out of him.

Robin rolled her eyes, flipping him the bird. You slid out of your chair and walked around the counter, sidling up to Steve with an exaggerated southern drawl. “How ever can I make it up to you, sugar? Ice cream?” You offered him the remains of your break room snack.

“I guess,” he grinned, fingers lighting grazing yours as he accepted the bowl, sending a warm buzz up your spine. He dug in ravenously, like only a teenage boy would. Even at eighteen, he hadn’t grown out of the habit.

“You got a little something,” you gestured to an invisible spot in the general vicinity of his face.

“Where?” he asked, his brows furrowed. 

“Riiiight…” you trailed off, reaching into the bowl, “...there,” you finished, tapping a dollop of ice cream on the tip of his perfectly straight nose.

His jaw dropped, shock evident across his features. You gave him a playful smirk. You had him right where you wanted him. It was a challenge, played coyly, that said ‘And what are you gonna do about it, pretty boy?’ If the girls of Hawkins wouldn’t give him the time of day, wasn’t that just more opportunity for you?

He reached into the bowl, scooping a handful of ice cream and waving his vanilla-covered fingers at you. You backed away, giggling and shrieking the whole time. “Steeeeeeeve, noooo!”

His eyes flashed, a predator stalking his prey. He caged you in and…God, weren’t his eyes pretty? Big and shiny and expressive. Hazel up close. You caught a whiff of expensive cologne he probably couldn’t afford to buy anymore on his Scoops Ahoy paycheck.

And then you felt it: his hand swiping across the side of your face, down your jaw, freezing and sticky. You gasped with an open-mouthed smile and smacked him. “Asshole!”

He cocked his head. “What’s that? You want some more?”

“Don’t you dare.” An empty threat if you’d ever made one.

He lunged at you with another handful. You reached out to block his hand, maybe give him another little smack. Too late. He was already painting your lips with ice cream. Smug bastard. Smug, hot bastard. You looked him dead in the eye, grabbed his hand, and worked his ring and middle finger into your mouth, swirling your tongue around them and pulling off with a pop.

His jaw went slack, pupils dilated, hand frozen mere centimeters from your mouth. Suddenly, the air-conditioned ice cream parlor felt like it was 100 degrees and neither of you seemed to remember what was so funny just a couple short minutes ago. 

He cleared his throat and pulled his hand away like he’d been burned. “Do you want like…a napkin? Sorry. I just–napkin?”

“Yes, napkin. Thanks.” But your eyes were locked on him, the way he was fighting the blush creeping up his neck, the way he shook his shoulders out as he walked into the back.

He came back with a wet paper towel, offering it to you meekly. Your voice dropped to barely above a whisper, forcing him to lean in. “You made the mess. Clean it up.” 

You tilt your head up, giving him easier access to the scene of the crime. His hands trembled as he gently wiped the remainder of the ice cream with the paper towel.

He couldn’t help but notice the faint blush across your cheeks, the delicate features that adorned your face. Perfect, full lips now coated obscenely in white. Lips that he couldn’t help but picture wrapped around his–fuck. No. He told himself to think of something else. Anything. Baseball cards, grandma, the stupid Scoops Ahoy uniform…your Scoops Ahoy uniform, perfectly hugging every curve. Annnd now he was picturing you naked. Shit.

“You’re gonna get me fired,” he blurted out.

You batted your eyelashes at him and pitched your voice just a tad higher. “How come? I was playing nice.”

“‘Cause you’re a troublemaker.” You snuck a peek at the now very-obvious semi he was sporting. What you wouldn’t give to see it in all its glory.

“Well, if you’re looking for more trouble…or, you know, a little relief…you know where to find me.” And with that, you flounced away, swinging your hips freely, leaving him to ache in his cute little uniform shorts.

***

You were on your knees, locked in the employee bathroom, face to face with Steve’s bare lower half, his briefs and shorts carelessly bunched up at his ankles. And damn if he wasn’t even better than your imagination. Long and thick, the swollen tip an angry pink. You could almost feel the ache in your jaw before you even opened it.

“Damn.” And it came out shakier than you expected. 

He smiled coyly. “Yeah?”

“Steve.”

He just laughed. You flicked the hem of his shirt up, peppering kisses below his navel, moving to his hip, then his inner thigh. His hungry eyes followed your every move, his cock painfully hard and leaking with precum. You took him in your hand, swiped your thumb over the weeping slit at the tip, and spread his arousal generously over his length. His breath hitched. “Oh my God.”

You grinned. Then finally, mercifully, you took him into your mouth, tongue swirling around the head, hand stroking what you couldn’t fit in your mouth. You were immediately overwhelmed by the heady taste. He groaned, low in his throat. “Shit, that’s good.” “Yeah? You like that?” you asked, tapping it on your tongue a couple times, before enveloping it with your warm, wet mouth again.

His hands fluttered helplessly at his sides, like he didn’t know what to do with them. You took both and shoved them haphazardly into your hair. “S’okay?” he slurred.

“Yeah, it’s okay. I like to choke on it,” you smirked up at him. At that, his cock twitched hard. You just giggled and took him deeper until you could feel him touching the back of your throat. The weight of his hands felt heavy on your head, not pushing, just resting, allowing you to take control. The fact alone had your core dripping with arousal.

Spit bubbled at the corners of your mouth. Messy. Obscene. You looked up at him through your lashes at your head bobbed quicker. Deeper. Fucking your throat with his cock now. Nose touching his pelvis, gagging on it.

He screwed his eyes shut. “Fucking hell. You keep doing that, I’m not gonna last.”

“So don’t.”

You grazed your teeth gently down the shaft. He shivered. “Too much?” you asked, looking up carefully.

“Uh-uh.”

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I bite it?”

He nodded frantically with wide eyes. You gently sunk your teeth into his meaty length from the side, stroking him near the head, fingers tracing around his slit again. His breathing was getting more frantic. You licked a stripe up the underside, fondling his balls as you went back to deepthroating him.

He was babbling nonsense now. “So good–fuck. I’m so close…keep doing that. Don’t fucking stop. Yeah, there’s my little cockslut. Good girl.” He was so close you could feel him twitching violently, sending a fresh wave of arousal through you. You were so fucking desperate for friction on your throbbing pussy.

“Fuckfuckfuck, I’m gonna cum–” You hummed around him. A long, low vibration. He clenched suddenly, shooting hot ropes of cum down your throat. Enough to fill your mouth too. Salty, thick, and a little bit sweet. You swallowed some and let the remains of it sit on your tongue.

“Have you ever tasted yourself before?” you asked, curling your tongue to hold it in your mouth. He shook his head slowly. “Do you want to?” He nodded, eyes darkening.

He helped you up and you fisted your hands into the front of his uniform shirt, pulling him in for a kiss. It was hot and messy, sharing his cum like it was something sacred. “Fuck…that was hot,” he whispered, breathing still ragged. He was so lightheaded he needed a minute to recover.

“Your turn,” he murmured, redressing himself carelessly and sinking to his knees. He made quick work of your uniform shorts, rubbing the wet spot in your panties and kissing your clothed slit, tongue peeking out to kitten lick you.

“Can I?” he asked, looking up for approval. You nodded, chest already heaving, and with that, he pulled your panties off in one swift motion and lifted one of your legs over his shoulder. 

“Holy shit. She’s so pretty. And dripping. All this for me?” He traced the wetness between your legs with his thumb, holding your pussy lips open to see your hole. He couldn’t wait to make it clench. He blew the tiniest bit of cool air on your pussy, sending a shiver through you.

“Ste–eve, don’t tease me.”

“Gotta tell me what you want then, pretty girl.”

“Fuck. Your mouth.”

He breathed you in deeply. “Fuck, you smell so good.” Then, licking a broad, flat stripe up your slit, he added, “Taste so sweet too.” His tongue circled around your twitching clit, then back through your velvety petals. He sucked one of the lips into his mouth, then the other. He flicked his tongue over your entrance, feeling you shudder again and again. He brought his tongue to a point and began shallowly thrusting into your pussy. You took a fistful of his hair, alternating between pulling and lightly scratching his scalp.

“Feels so good.” “Yeah? You want more?” he asked, his voice sending vibrations through your pussy.

“Please.”

He brought his middle finger to your core, dragging it through the wetness and plunging easily into your hole. “You like that?”

“More…moremoremore please.” You were breathing hard now. He added a second finger, scissoring you open. You didn’t even really need him to. You were so turned on it was barely a stretch. Felt fucking good too. He curled his fingers into that spongy spot on your front wall, earning a cry from you. And just having him so close, touching you, focused on your pleasure, left you teetering on the brink of an orgasm.

You brought your fingers down to your clit while he worked his fingers inside you. He swatted your hand away, replacing it with his thumb. His middle and ring finger thrust into your clenching hole with reckless abandon, squelching obscenely while his thumb rubbed quick, tight circles on your clit. The pressure built in your fluttering pussy while you chanted his name like a prayer. “Steve, Steve….ugh, fuck. Steve, Steve mmmmm…”

“Yeah, that’s it. Squeeze my fingers. Just like that.” And just like that, you were tumbling over the edge, orgasm crashing over you in white hot waves. You moaned loudly, rocking and grinding through it, walls pulsating with each wave until finally the aftershocks were small enough that you could open your eyes and catch your breath. He pulled his fingers out slowly, careful not to overstimulate you, and sucked them clean.

“Holy shit,” you breathed out, hands still tangled in his hair.

“Holy shit?” he grinned.

“Don’t get cocky.”

“Too late.” He was absolutely beaming now as he helped you back into your underwear and uniform shorts with great care. You couldn’t help but admire him in your post-orgasm haze, the planes and long lines of his body. And his skin. Jesus, he was almost glowing. You wondered what his dick would feel like inside of you, dragging against your velvety walls until you were writing beneath him. Maybe on a bed, even. You hadn’t even fucked the guy and you were already greedy for him. You needed to cool down. Maybe with more ice cream.

Throttling yourself back to reality, you whispered, “You think Robin will notice how long we’ve been gone for?”

“Robin took like, a forty minute break. It’s okay for her to actually do something, you know.” You both laughed.

“I just don’t wanna get caught at work. That’s like, so embarrassing.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, fiiine. I guess we have to go back out and work now.” As he unlocked the bathroom door and slipped out, he turned back to you. Quieter, more vulnerable. Almost shy. “Can I um…can I take you out? Like maybe to the fair on Friday?”

“Like a date?”

“...yes? I mean, unless this was like a one-time thing and you’re not interested. Or you’re just interested in sex. Which is cool too…” He was furiously blushing. The guy that just came down your throat and had you unraveling above him was suddenly bashful. And the sheer sweetness of it made your stomach flip.

“No, yeah. I’m–I’m interested.”

“In sex or in me?” He was teasing now.

“Both.”

He tapped his finger to his temple, nodding slowly. “Good to know. Then…it’s a date, pretty girl.”

–

steve harrington hasn’t been the luckiest with love, that much is certain to anyone who has as much as glanced his way in the last four years, but, god, he’s in love with you.

he can’t quite place the exact moment he started feeling this way, all he knows is that one day he glanced over your way, met your eyes, and it felt like his entire stomach twisted inside out and his body turned to goo.

he doesn’t have a clue how it started, maybe it was the way you always seem to laugh at his jokes, or the way you huff with an eyeroll whenever murray said something a little too distasteful. it could’ve been the fact that you come into the squawk every morning with coffee for him and robin from the cafe you work at, always just the way he likes it, and you hand it off to him with a small smile every time.

it could’ve been how funny you are, or how smart, or kind, or pretty, but steve thinks it must’ve been a mix of all of those things, because he loves everything about you. it’s been almost six months of feeling this way.

and, yeah, he’s definitely in love with you.

robin groans loudly as steve watches you leave the squawk one friday morning after bringing them coffee, as per usual, giving him a glance over your shoulder and a little wave as you walked out the door.

steve raised his hand to wave back, a dumb smile making it’s way onto his face easily before you slip from view, and he sighs.

robin shakes her head disapprovingly, murmuring under her breath, and steve looks away from the glass front doors and over at her.

“what was that, buckley?” he questions, not aggressively, but as if he’s challenging her to repeat whatever snide remark she had muttered to herself.

“all i said was, ‘god, you are pathetic, harrington.” robin repeats and steve shoots her a glare from his place by the soundboard, surrounded by tapes of different comedic sound effects.

there’s a record spinning by robin’s side, playing a song steve never would’ve picked but robin had insisted was ‘better than anything he listens to’. robin spins around on her chair to face him properly, shooting him a look from across the room.

“i mean, how long has it been steve, really? six months?” she asks and he sighs, reaching for his coffee and raising the paper cup to his lips.

“eight.” he corrects quietly before taking a sip and robin’s eyebrows shoot up.

“eight months. so you’ve been in love with her for half of this quarantine we’ve been stuck in, and the most you’ve done is smile at her a little differently?” robin shakes her head and steve scrunches his nose.

“who made you the love expert, huh? what happened to me being the one giving you advice?” he asks and she snorts.

“uh, how about the fact that i’m the one with a girlfriend here, meanwhile you’ve been pining for the better half of a year and have gotten nowhere.” robin spins around to face her microphone and adjusts a dial in front of her. “anyway, i think she’s going to eddie’s party tonight.”

“who, vickie?” steve asks and robin rolls her eyes so hard it looks like they might fall out of her head. and when robin says your name as if it was obvious, steve’s tummy fills with warmth and a smile appears on his face.

he wishes you could feel how he feels when somebody says your name. it’s almost like he’s going to be sick, but in a good way.

“really?”

“yes, dingus. maybe tonight’s your chance to work up the courage and finally say something.” robin says. “you know, confess? or, at least, ask her out.”

steve bites the inside of his lip and thinks for a moment, then groans because of course robin’s right, but he has no idea what he’d even say. he can hardly talk to you past a basic greeting or some small talk.

but then again, a party hosted by eddie means alcohol, and pot. maybe something there can help steve find the right words. no, that’s stupid.

he sighs and drops down onto his chair. “robin, i can’t do this. what if i say something and she’s just totally weirded out? i can’t risk that, it’ll kill me. like, actually, kill me.”

robin stares at him mid motion as she places a new record on one of the players, then sighs again.

“robin!” he exclaims but she quickly shushes him, holding a finger to her lips as the previous song dies down and she pulls her microphone down towards her mouth.

“goooood morning hawkins! glad you could join us on this beautiful friday morning.” robin shoots steve a glance over her shoulder and a mischievous smile slips onto her lips. “this next one goes out to my partner in crime, soundboard stevie, who’s been feeling a little lovesick as of late. who’s the lucky girl to have won steve ‘the hair’ harrington’s heart? well, we’ll have to wait and see if he has the guts to say anything to her…”

“robin!” steve hisses across the room, not caring that they’re on air, and she just giggles in response.

“take it away, olivia…” robin says and the opening to ‘hopelessly devoted to you’ by olivia newton-john fills the small sound booth. steve shakes his head and robin just grins over at him. “what?”

“what if she was listening to that, robin?” steve huffs, crossing his arms over his chest a little dramatically, similar to the way tantruming toddler would. “then what?”

“then i could be doing you a favor!” she points out but steve runs his hands through his styled hair, tugging lightly as he exhales.

“i feel like i’m going insane.” he tells her and she shrugs.

“save it for tonight.”

–

the air at eddie’s place is thick, a mix of smoke and heat from the large number of bodies filling the small house, and steve is perched on the couch between eddie and jonathan as they smoke, his eyes scanning the party, searching every face for yours. his nails dig into the denim of his jeans, and his friends seem to notice.

“what’s wrong with you, harrington?” eddie asks, holding out his blunt like an offering but steve shakes his head.

he opens his mouth to answer, but robin cuts in as she walks over with two cups and you right by her side.

steve’s mouth goes dry as he looks up at you, his eyes lingering on the cut of your shirt for maybe a moment too long before they reach your face. you’re smiling down at him.

“hi, steve.” you greet brightly and steve finds himself rubbing his palms against his thighs, like he’s wiping away imaginary sweat. he practically jumps to his feet and gives his best attempt at a charming smile. his friends all share glances behind his back.

“uh, hey,” when your name leaves his mouth, steve hears a quiet ‘oh,’ come from jonathan behind him and he’s immediately reminded that the two of you aren’t the only people in the room and, in fact, you’re standing in the middle of a party quite literally surrounded by your friends. steve awkwardly gestures toward the spot he had just been sitting in. “uh, here.”

“oh.” you stare at him for a moment and steve’s eyes flick over to robin’s in a brief moment of panic before you smile. “thanks, steve.”

“uh, yeah, sure. no problem.” he thinks he’s playing it cool, but everyone can see the way he shifts nervously on his feet.

“well, i’m getting another drink.” nancy says, standing up from her place on jonathan’s other side and pulling her boyfriend up with her. “anyone else want anything?”

“i just got a drink.” robin raises her cup. “but i’m gonna go find vickie, anyway.”

“i’ll come.” eddie jumps to his feet, winking at steve as he does so, and steve shoots robin a glare. she holds her hands up in surrender, mouthing that she didn’t say anything.

“can you guys get me a drink?” steve asks before taking jonathan’s seat on the couch and sitting down beside you. someone nods and soon the others all disappear, leaving the two of you sitting there alone.

to steve, the moment feels so right, the two of you sitting side-by-side, close enough that your legs are touching, but he also feels so wrong. his heart won’t stop beating, his stomach flips with each brush of your hand and when you look his way he forgets his train of thought.

he feels insane, worse than he had this morning, because now you’re next to him. now he’s not imagining what you’ll say if you speak to him, because right now you’re telling him about your day at work and your voice is like music to his ears.

the two of you sit there and talk for what feels like hours but was likely just 15 minutes before steve stands up.

“i’ll be back in a second.” he tells you before hurrying off, heading towards the kitchen first. he weaves his way through the sea of people filling the room, searching the house until he finds robin. she’s holed up in a corner, giggling with vickie, but still looks up when steve stops before them.

“what’s up?” she asks and he takes a deep breath, close to hyperventilating as he stares at her. he looks over his shoulder and back to where you’re sitting on the couch, giggling at something eddie’s saying as he holds two cups in his hands, one of those likely steve’s drink.

he faces robin and takes a deep breath. “how do i tell her?”

–

he’s given himself until monday morning. he’s got until monday morning to come up with a plan, because he’s going to tell you he loves you then.

the idea robin gave him is as follows, pick a song that explains how he feels about you, dedicate it to you on the squawk on monday morning, then when you come by with coffees he can actually talk to you and ask you out.

go big or go home, right?

the only issue is that steve has no idea what song to pick. it has to be perfect, it has to encapsulate exactly how strongly he feels for you, how you make him feel.

he wants you so badly that it feels like he can’t breathe when he’s away from you. his body feels like it’s been lit ablaze whenever you touch him, and he’s melting the moment your eyes meet his. you’re everywhere, even in his dreams.

he’s in love with you, he knows it. but is there even a song that can describe the way he feels about you?

steve’s been thinking, trying to come up with song ideas, while he’s been tossing and turning in his bed, unable to sleep because he can’t stop thinking about you.

he spends his entire weekend writing lists of song ideas, scanning the shelves of vinyls at the wsqk radio station for ideas, but none of them are right. none of them are perfect.

robin tells him he’s gonna regret it if he doesn’t have a song soon, the longer he waits to confess the less chance he’ll have. but how is he supposed to do this when every song he listens to doesn’t even begin to describe his feelings?

by the time monday morning comes around steve wakes up in a sweat, and not just from the summer heat.

he had a dream about you and now his boxers feel too tight. he slides a hand down, brushing against the scars healed over on his tumny, before squeezing his clothed bulge for some kind of relief.

but then he realizes. he still doesn’t have a song.

he makes it to the squawk tired, a little horny, and pissed off. and when he pushes open the glass front doors open and is immediately met with robin’s wide smile.

“so…” she starts as he drops his backpack by his chair in the booth. “today’s the day, loverboy. you got a song?”

he just groans in response, dropping down in his chair before immediately standing back up and walking out of the booth, over to the shelves of records.

“i’m taking that as a ‘no’?” robin says.

“how the hell am i supposed to do this?” he asks and robin stares at him in confusion.

“what do you mean? just pick a love song and—”

“but it can’t just be any love song, robin, it has to be perfect!” he exclaims frustratedly, hands finding their way to his hair immediately. “i feel like i’m going insane here, because the song has to be perfect, it has to tell her exactly how i feel and how in love with her i am but that seems impossible because i want her more than any stupid song could ever say and i have no idea how to explain that!”

“oh.”

the sound of a voice behind him makes steve freeze, then slowly turn around. you’re standing inside the squawk building, holding two coffees in your hands, and staring at him with wide eyes, like you just witnessed something you shouldn’t have.

“uh, hey.” steve slips a hand into his pocket in an attempt to seem casual. “i, uh, didn’t realize you were… you’re– you’re early.”

“yeah.” you say, and your eyes shift over to robin. “uh, robin asked me if i could come by a little earlier today…”

steve shoots her a glare over his shoulder and she just shrugs, walking towards you and asking which coffee is hers. then she takes it, thanks you, and leaves the room saying, “i’ll leave you two alone.”

the silence is awkward immediately. steve’s panicking internally, and you’re just watching him.

“so, uh, how much of that did you hear?” he asks and you chuckle.

“well, all of it.” you reply. “i was kinda pulling into the driveway when you got here. i think you might’ve been just a little distracted.”

“right.” steve nods and you do the same, a little awkwardly, before you step forward and hold out his drink. “yeah, thanks.”

he takes the coffee and stares down at it. he has to say something now. he has to.

“lucky girl.” you speak first and he looks back up at you.

“hm?” he looks puzzled.

“the girl you were talking about.” you clarify. “the one you said you were in love with. you know? ‘i want her more than any stupid song could say’? she sounds lucky. you’re a good guy, steve.”

you give him a small smile, different to the one you usually give him, this one’s sadder, and it takes steve a moment to process exactly why as you turn back towards the front doors.

“she’s you!” he blurts out and you spin around.

“what?” you stare at him, you blink once, and steve feels sick.

“you’re the… the ‘lucky girl’ you were talking about.” steve swallows before setting his coffee cup down and walking over to you. “i’m in love with you. i love everything about you, and i’ve just been scared to tell you for months because i don’t want to ruin anything between us. i was gonna do this thing, robin said to, you know, dedicate a song to you on the radio but…”

you haven’t said a word the entire time he’s been talking, but you also aren’t running and screaming, so that’s a good sign.

“not a single stupid song can even scratch the surface of how i feel about you.” he says, and then he waits. he watches you carefully, and you don’t give him a reaction. 

then a smile cracks through your features and relief floods steve’s body.

“well, that’s very lucky for me.” you chuckle breathily. “you know, considering the fact i’m in love with you, too.”

“really?” he asks and you nod rather enthusiastically.

“you kinda make it hard not to.” you confess and he just grins. “i mean, you’re funny, brave, kind, i mean, you’ve definitely grown up a lot since high school and, well, you’re hot.”

he laughs, dragging a hand through his messy brown hair before looking back down at you, your eyes meeting. “so are you.”

a soft chuckle escapes your lips and a moment later you’re both just standing there and staring at each other, now closer than before. steve reaches out to carefully grab your waist.

“can i kiss you?”

“yes.” you say as if it’s obvious and steve’s mouth connects with yours within seconds, probably setting some kind of record with that speed. your hands slide up his body immediately, one gripping his shoulder while the other slides around his neck.

steve pours his entire heart into it, melting into you, moulding into something that’s yours and only yours. he’s not thinking of anything else, just the warmth of your body against his hands and the feeling of your lips on his.

he lifts one hand from your waist to cup your cheek instead, pulling back slightly just to kiss you again, aiming a little higher so he can take your entire upper lip into his mouth.

it’s uncertain exactly how long the two of you just stand there kissing, but the sound of a hand slamming against glass is enough to break you up.

steve looks over to see robin in the soundbooth, tapping her wrist to mimic a watch while saying something neither of you could hear through the walls. looking down at his watch, steve realizes he’s got about five minutes until they’re supposed to be on air.

“shit, i gotta go.” he groans and lowers his wrist. your arms are still linked around his neck. “can i take you out on a date tonight?”

“mm, no.” you say and he frowns. “i think we should skip that step and you should ask me to be your girlfriend.”

the frown disappears just as quickly as it had appeared and steve chuckles. “will you be my girlfriend?”

“yes, of course.” you reply, clearly trying your hardest to hold back a smile and stay composed. steve doesn’t hide his own smile.

“great.” he leans forward and kisses you once more before stepping back, closer to the door to the soundbooth. “i’m gonna pick you up from work later, alright?”

“yeah, alright.” you smile and he nods, opening the door. “steve.”

he turns back quickly. “yeah?”

“your coffee.” you gesture to the cup he had set down a moment earlier and he hurried over to grab it.

“thanks, honey. i’ll see you later, yeah?” he calls out as you head for the door. “i love you!”

“i love you, too!”

steve closes the soundbooth door and takes his place in his chair before he looks over at robin, who’s staring at him with an ‘i told you so’ expression. he gives her a shrug and she rolls her eyes before they’re on air.

“good morning, hawkins! this is wsqk 94.5 fm, ‘the squawk’ and i am your dj, rockin’ robin, and ladies and gentlemen, love is in the air this morning because our very own soundboard stevie has made a move! that’s right, folks, steve’s got a girlfriend. so, to celebrate the very new relationship we’re starting this morning off with a little love song…”

steve queues up a sound effect, but even robin’s teasing and antics can’t wipe the smile from his face.

–

a/n: just a little oneshot before i start posting my new series ahh!!! hope u guys like this one i think it's cute. everyone should go listen to 'you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love' by olivia rodrigo right now!!!

When you closed your locker, you were greeted with Gator's face. He was holding the keys to the police cruiser. "Hi." You giggled, not expecting to see him. His hardened and stoic face softened ever so slightly when he heard your heaven-sent laugh.

"Ready ta go?" He asked, spinning the keys on his finger in an attempt to show off to you. You nodded, still grinning. No matter how rough around the edges Gator appeared, no matter how dark his eyes were, or how grumpy he looked, he was always cute to you. You had seen the real him. You had held him at 2:00am while he wept about something his father had done, cleaned his injured fists after yet another fight, even left food outside your bedroom window for him to take after an argument with Roy that had resulted in him not getting dinner. You knew him.

You gently patted his cheek, feeling your chest burst with affection for him. He grumbled something incoherent, and pulled your pink backpack off of your back as you started to walk, his reluctant and secret chivalry coming through for you in unspoken ways. It was just something that he did for you, and you didn't need to say anything about it. You were the only girl who had ever managed to get him to act somewhat like a gentleman.

He opened the cruiser door for you, and you hopped inside, taking your bag from him and settling it on your lap as the floor was filthy. "Thank you." You smiled, to which he just nodded in return. Then, Gator climbed into the driver's seat, and began the drive. Your intoxicating perfume filled the air, and Gator had to supress the urge to breathe deeply, inhaling as much of you as he possibly could.

When he stopped at a red light, he turned to face you, drinking in as much of your appearance as physically possible. Especially what you were wearing, a baby pink tank top with delicate white stripes, a lacy strip from your bra poking out on either side, a cute, thin cardigan only joined at the top, and some light jeans. Also, around your neck hung a dainty heart necklace. Gator's necklace. He had bought that for you.

He couldn't deny the possessiveness that swirled in his gut when he saw you wear that necklace every single day. An unassuming piece of jewelry, sure, but he had put that there. If a guy ever dared to look at you, his necklace hung around your neck, and there was nothing they could do to take away from this fact. You had never thought about it that way, but Gator had. He always did, whenever he saw it.

"What?" You asked, following his gaze up and down your body. The light turned green, and he continued to drive, reluctantly focussing his eyes back onto the road. Gator shrugged, playing it off smoothly. That was another thing he liked about you, how no matter what it was, you clung to his every word. He could tell you he wasn't staring at you, and you'd wholeheartedly believe him. Why would he lie?

"Nothin'." He supressed a grin, you were so cute sitting beside him, showing just enough skin to satisfy Gator's sick mind, while also keeping you looking innocent and comfortable, the perfect combination that had him feeling smug and secure, yet you seemingly managed it every day. "Ya look real pretty today." He grabbed your delicate hand, the juxtaposition of your soft, perfectly manicured fingers gently holding his calloused and rough ones never failing to amuse him. He actually liked that you would never know real, hard work.

He planted a surprisingly gentle kiss on your knuckles, before placing your hand snuggly back in your lap. "Gator..." You giggled again, shying away from his touch. "Behave yourself!" You grinned, looking at him trying to remain nonchalant, even though you knew how much you affected him, although you didn't know why.

"All I said was that ya look real pretty." He smirked, watching the way you seemingly came undone underneath his touch, and he'd be lying if he said the thought of his actions actually affecting you in such way didn't do anything for him. God, he was so in love with you, but you didn't need to know that. You didn't need to know about any of the ways that Gator thought about you.

"And you kissed my hand!" You exclaimed, your sweet laughs radiating off of the walls in the cruiser, a sound that Gator would never tire of hearing. Gator kept smirking, and he reached over and grabbed your hand from your lap, planting several kisses along your palm and the back of it while he drove, eliciting more laughter from you.

"What? Can't I kiss what's mine?" He asked, feigning disbelief. He loved watching any defenses that you had lower around him, and the way you completely melted under his touch. There was truly nobody else for him, even if you had rejected and friendzoned him more times than he could remember. Persistence is key, right?

"Oh, they're yours?" You questioned lightheartedly, grinning widely. Gator nodded, once again placing your hands snuggly back into your lap, making sure that you were completely comfortable before he even thought about replying to what you had said.

"They are." He confirmed, before parking outside of your house.

Your house was a small, unassuming house in a small neighborhood. The neighborhood that you lived in was quiet, but most importantly of all, it was safe. Roy Tillman was fond of your parents, and so he guided them to the best place to buy a house in the county, a home that just so happened to be a short drive from the ranch in case of emergency.

"Here we are," He sighed, reaching over and unbuckling your seatbelt. He hated having to let you go, you were safer tucked in his cruiser. He got out of the car and opened your door, allowing you to hop out with a smile. It wasn't that he was being a gentleman on purpose, he just didn't want you standing unattended while he got out of the car. Overbearing, but it made perfect sense to him.

"Thank you." You grinned, hugging him tightly, running your hands over his back, feeling the rough material of his sheriff's vest. He hugged you tightly, hands gripping your waist possessively, his entire body almost swallowing you whole due to the size difference, for you were just a tiny thing in his arms, and he liked it that way.

He swayed you side-to-side until you laughed, then pulled away and walked you to the front door, ringing the doorbell and waiting for your mother to answer. If she wasn't home, no way was he leaving you by yourself. This was your routine, and it had been for a very long time. Luckily, your mother quickly opened the door, smiling. "Hi, honey!" She hugged you tightly, ushering you inside. "Thank you for driving her home, sweetheart." She smiled at Gator, reaching out and squeezing his arm.

"No problem, ma'am." Gator smiled politely, the fake act making you smile. Your mother always fell for it, and thought that for the most part, Gator was a perfectly well-mannered young man. You didn't mind her assumptions, you never called Gator out on his act, and never corrected your mother when she spouted opinions on the version of Gator she knew, as it was completely harmless. Also, you didn't really know the half of it, you had a version of Gator that nobody else had.

"Are you coming in?" She smiled, stepping slightly out of the doorframe so that he could come inside if he'd like to. Gator wanted to, so badly. He wanted to curl up in bed with you and stroke down your back until you fell asleep, but he couldn't. He had to work.

"No, thank you, ma'am. I gotta go on patrol real soon." He replied, nodding slightly.

Eventually, Gator left and your mother closed the front door, turning to face you, you were still stood behind her. "How was your day, sweetie?" She asked, turning to walk to the kitchen, and you followed her, placing your backpack on the counter so that you could unpack it.

"It was fine." You shrugged, you really didn't have much to say about it. You missed Gator, and wished that he wasn't on patrol tonight, although you didn't think that saying that would contribute much to the conversation.

A couple of hours passed, and you had showered, eaten dinner, and were now sat at your vanity, part-way through an assignment for your creative writing class. You were bored, wondering if Gator was nearly done, and if he'd appear at your window soon. But you knew that he wouldn't. He worked long hours for the slight chance that his father would say something positive about it.

Your parents were out on a date, leaving you home alone. The wind whistled outside of your window, rustling through the leaves on the trees outside. The only other noises being the pen on your paper, and the faint music playing from your phone which had been discarded on your bed.

From downstairs, you heard the distant sound of glass shattering, and something hard hitting the wooden floors. You gasped quietly, turning around to face your bedroom door, waiting to hear if anything else was going on. When you heard quiet but firm footsteps, you dashed underneath your bed, grabbing your phone before you went.

You tucked the lacy dust ruffle down, pulling it over the gap so you were fully concealed, and you curled yourself into the fetal position, trying to make yourself as small and unassuming as possible. Your heart thumped rapidly in your chest, your head a swirling mixture of emotions. What the hell were you supposed to do?

Text Gator.

𓆩♡𓆪

Gator was sat in his police cruiser, parked in a shadow which concealed him from sight if you were driving down the main road. He was staring at his lock screen, a picture of you. It was from easter, you were holding a small, white bunny against your chest, and you were smiling brightly. You looked beautiful, wearing a little pink dress, your hair tied beautifully with a matching pink ribbon. It was one of his favourite pictures of you, and he loved to stare at it while he was bored on patrols, like right now.

Eventually, he shut it off and reluctantly shifted his eyes so that he was focussed on the road again, and remained that way for five long, boring minutes. That was until his phone started buzzing rapidly, notifications filling up his screen. Frantic notifications with your name attached to them.

He opened his messages instantly.

You: Gator someones in the house

You: They smashed a window I hear footsteps

You: Please please please come quick

You: Gator

He didn't even respond. He wasted no time, flooring the gas and speeding out of the patrol spot, putting his blue lights on immediately. His heart pounded, images of you being attacked assaulting his brain, distracting him from his main objective. He knew your parents were out tonight, leaving you home alone. He begged his father not to put him on patrol, insisting that he needed to be with you in case something happened.

Of course, he had been told that nothing was going to happen. You lived in a safe neighborhood, and nobody had any reason to attack you. Gator couldn't even enjoy the fact that he was right, and Roy was wrong, as bile slowly rose up his throat at the thought of you being injured and alone. How could he let this happen?

Gator zoomed through the traffic, weaving dangerously in between cars. He didn't care how much trouble he'd get in for it, he had to get to you, and he was too far away to relax somewhat at the thought that he was nearly there. Every single second was precious right now, and time was ticking far too quickly for Gator's liking.

Once he pulled into your neighborhood, he hit the gas pedal even harder, pushing the car to it's absolute limits. When he parked outside your house, he wasted no time running to the front door and kicking it as hard as he possibly could until the lock gave out, and it opened. Gun in hand, he shouted loudly into the darkness of the house, "Stark Country Sheriff's Department!"

Saying that usually gave him a rush of endorphins, pure power rushing to his head. But now, it felt hollow. If you were hurt, having a high position in the police force couldn't do anything for that. He had never been so terrified in his life, and he had been in some situations before.

He checked the downstairs, his heart beating so loudly at this point that he could hear it in his ears. He kept seeing images of you laying in a pool of your own blood, or restrained in the bath tub, a gun held to your head. He genuinely had no idea what to expect, any sense of composure completely thrown out of the window when it came to you, as he had never imagined you in this situation. He had always been promised you were protected and safe, and he had always believed it.

He climbed the stairs with haste, his gun held taut in front of him. "Y/N?" He called out, hearing silence in return. He had seen the smashed window when he was downstairs, so he obviously knew someone was in the house that wasn't supposed to be. In the shadows, he saw someone lurking, attempting to hide in the darkness.

Gator pointed his gun at them, and shouted "Get on the ground!"

Luckily, they didn't put up any fight and immediately put their hands where Gator could see them, and laid flat on the ground. Gator was quick to tighten handcuffs around his wrists, making sure they were extra tight. He wanted to cause this guy pain for what he had done, for scaring you, potentially hurting you. He didn't know what state you were in right now, you could be dead.

"I need backup-" He spoke into his radio, listing off your address to his father who had connected onto the other line. After hearing something that vaguely resembled 'On my way', Gator turned back to the man who he had on the ground.

"Are ya alone?" He spat, pressing the nozzle of his gun into the back of the man's head. When he didn't move, Gator pressed it harder, causing pain. "I said, are ya alone?!" He shouted, to which the man finally gave a timid nod. Gator slid the gun from the back of his head around to his temple, the firm pressure holding the man still so that he could readjust himself until he had a knee against his back, pinning him down.

"You touch 'er?" He spoke quietly, not fully trusting that he said he was alone. The man shook his head again. "Wha', cat got yer tongue?" Gator snarled, yet again applying more pressure with his gun.

"N- No..." The man whimpered pathetically, daring to act afraid after inflicting fear within the one girl Gator had sworn to protect. "I didn't touch her, man! I- I came for her- But, I couldn't find her!" He rambled, sweat dripping down his temple from pure fear. He obviosuly knew Gator Tillman, and he was suddenly questioning why he even bothered coming here in the first place, as it ending in this situation was inevitable.

"You came fer her?" Gator scoffed. "What kinda filthy business d'ya think ya have, hm?" He sneered, pushing his knee harder into the man's back until he let out a grunt from the impact.

"I saw her... at a bakery, a few weeks ago... She smiled at me..." His voice turned from fearful to almost wistful and dreamy. "I thought we had something special... I just came to get her, I was gonna take her to my house and keep her there, she'd be happy, I promise!" He insisted, sounding like he genuinely believed his own words.

Gator pressed his gun even harder, swallowing down the sickening feeling when he heard the words. He had to remind this man who was in control, and that he could blow his brains out at any second. "You're disgustin'-" He started, his voice full on venom, but he heard the distant sirens of the requested backup, and stopped talking instantly, waiting until he heard the rest of the cops climbing the stairs.

He handed the man over to his father, then went straight into your bedroom. "Y/N?" He called out, his voice surprisingly gentle. He looked around your bedroom, noting the discarded work on your vanity. He sighed, almost immediately knowing you were hiding under your bed. There was nowhere else for you to be.

He knelt down and lifted the dust ruffle. His heart broke when he saw you curled into a ball on the floor, shaking like a leaf. "Hey..." He spoke softly, reaching out to touch you, his hand hovering above your arm. "'T's just me, baby girl. Just me..." You nodded, crawling out from underneath the bed and sitting opposite him.

Gator immediately pulled you onto his lap, enclosing you securely in his arms. "I got ya, I got ya." He cooed, rocking you backwards and forwards. You clung to him like your life depended on it, clutching his sheriff's vest.

"Gator..." You whispered, your voice tearful and broken. "Did... did you get him?" You asked quietly, your voice nothing more than a meek whisper. Gator nodded fiercely, cupping your cheek to make you look at him.

"We got 'im, he's goin' away for a long time, baby girl." He whispered in your ear, still rocking you back and forth. He sat there like that with you for a while, until you both heard your parents come home, their voices frantic through the other noise of the conversation between the rest of the cops standing outside your bedroom.

The safest place for you was always going to be in Gator's arms. Always. There was never going to be a single person that could protect you or knew how to protect you other than Gator. He had extremely high safety standards when it came to you, and had always seen all of the ugly that happened in this town, and always swore he'd keep you safe from it.

No matter how much you clung to him, he felt like he had failed you.

It’s casual, muttered between swigs of beer to the other new guys, but it makes her stomach drop.

“Got kicked to the curb by her family—”

Her heart rises to her throat.

“—but hey, at least she had Cameron to knock her up. Now she’s set for life, right?”

Silence.

The kind that makes the hairs on the back of Y/N’s neck stand up, she knows exactly what’s about to happen. She watches the way Rafe's shoulders stiffen, the muscle in his jaw ticks, his grip on his beer tightening like he’s two seconds away from crushing the glass.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

His voice drops slow and controlled but lethal. The guy, oblivious or maybe just plain fucking stupid, grins and shrugs.

“Chill, man. I just meant- ”

Wrong move.

Y/N is already standing, her heart in her throat. She doesn’t give a fuck about the comment itself— it’s Rafe she’s worried about. Rafe, who’s already moving. He steps forward, beer bottle still in hand, shoulders squared.

“Nah, go ahead. Say it again.”

He challenges the guy who now shifts on his feet chuckling, but there’s an edge of nervousness evident in his actions.

“Jesus man, it was a joke.”

“Oh yeah? Not fuckin’ funny.”

Rafe’s jaw clenches at his petty excuse. Y/N barely has time to react before he shoves the guy back.

Hard.

Not enough to knock him down- but enough to make a statement.  Enough to make everyone around them go silent. His fist tighten by his sides and Kelce mutters something under his breath looking over to Topper who sighs, shaking his head.

“Don’t fuckin' talk about her like that.”

His voice is deadly, protective, and it makes Y/N’s breath catch. Her throat is tight, her skin burning. Not because of what the guy said- but because he wasn’t entirely wrong. She’s heard it before.

Lucky to have Rafe.

Lucky to have their daughter.

Lucky because otherwise she’d have nothing.

She swallows hard, blinking fast but Rafe sees red and he shoves the guy again, harder this time. Kelce lets out a low whistle and Topper rubs a hand down his face. Y/N moves quickly, stepping between the two guys, one hand pressing against Rafe’s chest. She can feel how hard his heart is pounding, how tense his muscles are, like he’s just waiting for an excuse to swing.

“Rafe, stop.”

He doesn’t move. Just stares the guy down, nostrils flaring as he opens his mouth again to say something but is cut off- a tiny giggle.

Y/N whips around at the sound.

Their daughter is still sitting in the grass, completely oblivious to the tension, laughing as she claps her hands, watching her daddy like she thinks this is just another game. It’s enough to make Y/N’s stomach drop. Rafe must notice it too, because his shoulders drop slightly. He doesn’t turn away from the guy, but he exhales sharply through his nose.

“You’re fuckin’ lucky I have my kid with me.”

The guy doesn’t say anything. Just nods before stumbling back, shoving his hands into his pockets. Rafe rolls his eyes at him, shaking out his shoulders. Y/N stares at him, momentarily unsure of what to say as she watches the guys walk away.

“You can’t keep doing this.”

He scoffs.

“Yeah? What, I’m just supposed to let him run his mouth?”

“You have your daughter with you, Rafe.”

That’s what matters. That’s what she cares about. Rafe’s gaze flickers to their baby girl, still sitting on the grass, still smiling at him and something softens in his expression. He shakes his head, muttering something under his breath before bending down and scooping her up.

“C’mon, princess. Let’s go home.”

Y/N doesn’t argue. Just lets him lift their daughter into his arms as he adjusts her small white hat, her tiny hand clutching onto his shirt. She watches him as they walk towards the car, feeling exhausted but knowing one thing for certain:

Rafe Cameron will never let anyone disrespect his family.

₊˚⊹♡ ONESHOTS

ᯓ★ bsf!rafe kissing you for the first time. ᯓ★ bsf!rafe coming to your rescue when you need him. ᯓ★ jealous s1!rafe can't seem to control the possessive feelings he has for his bestfriend!reader. ᯓ★ bestfriend!reader dragging bsf!rafe to the pumpkin patch. ᯓ★ bsf!rafe has you woven around his finger, willing to do anything for him. 18+ ᯓ★ bsf!rafe 'blackmails' you into letting him try using a vibrator on you. 18+ ᯓ★ a little dry humping never ruined a friendship. 18+ ᯓ★ losing your virginity to bsf!rafe. 18+ ᯓ★ getting carried away while thigh riding bsf!rafe. 18+ ᯓ★ bsf!rafe convincing reader to watch porn with him. 18+ ᯓ★ bsf!rafe definitely denies hooking up with you whenever it's brought up, even if it's not the truth. 18+ ᯓ★ bsf!rafe touching you while you sleep beside him. 18+ ᯓ★ bsf!rafe teaching you how to give head. 18+ ᯓ★ cockwarming bsf!rafe during a movie. 18+ ᯓ★ being interrupted by a phone call from bsf!rafe's girlfriend while messing around. 18+ ᯓ★ bestfriend!reader going to bsf!rafe for dick while ovulating. 18+ ᯓ★ bestfriend!reader getting high with bsf!rafe. 18+ ᯓ★ letting bsf!rafe eat you out. 18+ ᯓ★ bsf!rafe keeps 'accidentally' slipping in. 18+

₊˚⊹♡ BLURBS

ᯓ★ being best friends with rafe includes having scary dog privileges... ᯓ★ being best friends with rafe during season one. 18+ ᯓ★ bsf!rafe cannot be trusted. 18+

₊˚⊹♡ DUMPS

ᯓ★ bestfriend!reader’s camera roll.