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You only had a few hours before your shift at Family Video, and you would only have a couple more there before Steve would show. You weren’t sure if the lasting headache was from the alcohol still leaving your system or the dread over having to face him. 

The hours passed a little too quickly, and next thing you knew, Steve was bursting through the door, apologizing to Robin at the counter for being late. But not you. Never you. 

You continued to stock shelves as they got lost in conversation behind the counter. You often found yourself eavesdropping on their conversations, taking sides that you would never share in their meaningless arguments. You couldn’t bring yourself to listen today. 

“Hey,” you heard over your shoulder. You hadn’t expected him to approach you, and you expected his proximity even less. You jumped and dropped an entire stack of VHS tapes, quickly apologizing to him as you rushed down to pick them back up. Without a word, he bent down to help. 

“I, uh,” he began as he set his stack of tapes on the cart behind you instead of placing them in your hands, “I think I had a dream about you last night.” 

Blood rushed to your cheeks and you immediately turned to hide from him. He took a step forward to demand your gaze, but you wouldn’t budge. 

“Oh yeah?” was all you could muster in your flustered state. Of course he would remember, just enough to make you miserable, but not enough to realize that it had actually happened. 

“Yeah. Had a dream that we talked all night at a party, and I took you home. I won’t bore you with the details, but let’s just say I had a great time.” You could hear the teasing smile, but you didn’t look to confirm. You couldn’t imagine why he felt the need to tell you about what he must have assumed was just a wet dream. You were barely more than coworkers, sharing polite conversations here and there, but nothing more. This was far beyond the relationship you thought you had. 

“You know I would have thought it was real, but no one was there when I woke up.” 

“That’s nice, Steve,” your stiff shoulders turned further from him to push the cart to the next aisle, hoping the distance would end the conversation. But you weren’t so lucky. He caught your shoulder before you could begin stocking again. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get you to turn to him. 

“Why’d you leave?” He whispered, sensing your discomfort. 

“I thought you said it was a dream,” you finally turned your head, just barely glancing back at him over your shoulder. 

“Come on, that was just a line. I thought we had a really good time last night, I was kind of expecting you to be there when I woke up.” 

That was when you saw it. For the first time ever, you saw Steve shrink into himself, insecurity suddenly thick in his voice and oozing out of every pore. You didn’t think it was possible, not for the man that everything seemed to come easy to. 

“In this dream,” you began, hesitantly and slowly turning your body to face him, “You wanted me to stay?” 

“Of course I did,” he slid the hand that had rested on your shoulder down to your hand, but you flinched away from the touch, “You know, I should have known it was just a dream. There’s no possible way any real person could look that beautiful.” 

You fought the smile that grew on your face, and he could see it. His heart melted when the smile won. 

“I’m sorry,” you spoke low, glancing towards to counter to make sure no one was in earshot, “I’m just not a hookup type of girl, I panicked.” 

‘Well what about a relationship type of girl?” 

“What?” 

“If I took you on a real date, or several, would you stay next time?” 

“Steve that’s really sweet, but you don’t have to-” 

“I’ve been kind of head over heels for you for like six months. Trust me, I know I don’t have to do this. I desperately want to.” 

Your mouth sputtered, unable to process his confession. In no world could you picture Steve Harrington falling in love with someone so insignificant. He was the definition of important, and you felt unworthy of even being in the same building as him at times. As your mind tried to catch up, Steve took one step closer. 

“Please,” he pled, the insecurity inching its way back over his features. It shouldn’t have comforted you, but you needed the reminder that he was less than a greek god. He was just Steve. 

“It’ll take a few dates,” you sighed, releasing as much tension from your body as you could. 

“Ok,” he perked up. 

“Like at least five.” 

“Make it ten,” he shot his hand out to shake, but you laughed instead of taking it. 

“That’s double what I said,” you giggled, unable to stop the smile that covered every inch of your face. 

“Just gives me more time to prove I deserve you.” 

“Steve, trust me, if anyone needs to prove themself to the other here, it’s not you.” 

His face fell as he looked at you. He brought a hand up to caress your cheek, not allowing your gaze to fall away from him. 

“You deserve the world, and that is exactly what you mean to me. It’s only going to take one date to prove that,” he glanced down at your lips, but fought the urge to lean in to kiss you, “Maybe 2 tops.” 

You giggled again, unable to help yourself when it came to him.

Tags:

You were the last person to show up to the party, which nearly gave poor Ms. Henderson a heart attack. 

“Oh dear, I was worried you weren’t coming,” she opened the door with a relieved sigh and a nervous laugh. 

“I know, I’m sorry for being late,” You smiled brightly, “I forgot the trick candles.” You whispered the last bit to her, hoping that Dustin wasn’t within earshot. Those candles were his least favorite birthday tradition but you weren’t going to be the one to break it. 

The rest of the group cheered when you entered the room, but Eddie was the first one to rush over to grab the cake from you. The smile you gave him was sweeter than the 2 cans of frosting you had slathered it with. 

The next 2 hours were filled with endless conversation. Every turn was met with another face waiting to tell you a story or ask you about your weekend. It may have been just a group of 11, but it never failed to feel like a crowd. 

You finally had a chance to breathe when Ms. Henderson announced that she was going to be lighting the candles on the cake in the backyard. She had set up a little birthday station on the table of the back patio, complete with birthday banner, colorful table cloth, and the stack of presents from friends and family. You stayed behind for a second to grab the plates and silverware for the cake. 

Eddie lingered by the back door, watching you rummage through the cabinets, cursing Dustin’s mom for rearranging the kitchen. You turned with a frustrated sigh, ready to run across the room to peek your head outside and try to yell over the crowd for some help. But you lost your train of thought when you looked up to see that Eddie had been quietly watching you, arms crossed low over his abdomen, and an entertained smile plastered on his face. 

“What are you looking at Munson,” you laughed, a little embarrassed knowing he had more than likely heard you talking to yourself under your breath. 

“Just the 8th wonder of the world,” he spoke sincerely, but there was an ever present teasing lilt to his voice. 

“Ha ha,” you rolled your eyes, “Make yourself useful and ask Ms. Henderson where she moved the paper plates, will you?”

“In a second.” 

The smile that had been a permanent fixture on your face all afternoon finally fell as you shot him an annoyed look. 

“Come on,” he laughed, jumping up to sit on the counter closest to the back door, “I’ve been trying to talk to you all afternoon, but no one here can seem to get enough of you.” 

“Can’t this wait, Ed?” You asked as you opened another drawer to look through. 

“You know,” Eddie craned his neck to get within inches of your face, “I would give anything for just five minutes alone with you.” His voice was low, lacking the usual joking quality. 

“Jesus, Eddie,” you laughed despite the blush growing on your face, “Take a girl to dinner first.” 

“Ok,” he chuckled, “How’s tomorrow night?” 

“Very funny. Now can you please either go ask or at least help me look?” 

“I’m being serious,” he chuckled, but he had no confidence anymore. This wasn’t teasing, this was vulnerability, and you could hear the difference loud and clear. 

“What?” you turned to look at him, nothing but confusion written on your face. 

“Have I really not made it obvious enough?” 

“I-I guess not,” you stuttered out, paper plates leaving your mind completely. 

“Maybe this will help.” 

You stood frozen as Eddie jumped down and got on both knees directly in front of you. He grabbed your hands and looked up at you in dramatic pleading.

“My fair maiden,” he began, which completely pulled you out of your puzzled stupor with a snort and an eye roll, “Please, would you do this little ol’ peasant boy the honor of letting him take you to supper?” 

“Eddie,” you laughed and waited for him to reply with an eager to please smile, “I”m only letting you take me to dinner if you find those goddamn plates and take them out there before we miss the candles getting blown out.” 

“Deal,” he exclaimed and jumped up as fast as he could, leaving a quick kiss on your cheek before running directly to the furthest cabinet. He grabbed what you had been looking for within seconds, having watched you completely overlook them from the other side of the room.

Tags: (please let me know if youd like me to not tag you in blurbs going forward, or even just for the follower appreciation event!)

the tension between you and eddie hasn’t exactly faded, if anything, it’s settled into something heavier, something neither of you know how to address. you’ve been dodging each other, sticking to quick, clipped conversations at lunch or when passing each other in the halls. it’s stupid. it’s unbearable. yet, you don’t know how to bridge this gap. he’s shutting you out, pushing you away and all you can do is let it happen.

but tonight is hellfire night, which means there’s no avoiding him. you linger outside the door of the drama room, rolling a twenty-sided die between your fingers. inside, you can hear gareth and brian arguing over spell slots while dustin tries to mediate, but eddie’s voice is conspicuously absent.

you take a deep breath and push the door open. you were running late, which means eddie would undoubtedly be pissed, even under better circumstances. he didn’t give you a ride back from work today, but he knows who did, his current arch nemesis, even if only one-sided in his head— steve harrington.

he’s already at the head of the table, dungeon master screen propped in front of him. his eyes flick up when you enter, dark and unreadable. for a moment, you just stare at each other, a silent standoff.

then he grins, sharp and effortless, like nothing’s wrong at all.

“well, well,” he drawls, spreading his arms. “if it isn’t our illustrious rogue, finally gracing us with her presence.”

you manage a weak smile, trying to hopefully lighten the blow you were sure to get after hellfire, “yeah, sorry about that, i—"

he holds up a hand, cutting you off. “don’t worry about it." he gestures to the chair beside him. “sit."

it’s that same commanding tone he always uses as dungeon master, the one that makes your pulse race even after hearing it a hundred times. you swallow hard, sinking into the seat he offered.

the game starts like it always does, eddie weaving a rich, vivid world with nothing but words and his own chaotic energy. his voice is full of life, his hands animated as he describes the dark caverns your party is exploring, the ominous growls echoing in the distance, but something’s off.

he doesn’t look at you. not really.

every time you meet his gaze, he glances away too quickly, like even now, in the middle of hellfire, with everyone laughing and shouting around you both, he can’t stand to hold your stare for too long.

“alright, rogue," he says, finally turning fully toward you as your character sneaks ahead to scout. “roll for stealth."

his fingers tap impatiently against the table. his knee bumps yours under it. just once, just enough to send a jolt through you. you swallow and pick up the die.

the die tumbles across the table, landing with a clatter—a natural 1.

eddie lets out a slow, dramatic whistle. “oof. that’s gonna leave a mark." he leans forward, his voice dropping into that theatrical dm cadence. “as you creep through the shadows, your foot catches on a loose stone. you stumble, loudly, and suddenly, every set of glowing eyes in the cavern snaps toward you."

gareth groans, “dude, we are so dead."

eddie’s still looking at you, smirk tugging at his lips. it’s the first time in days he’s held your gaze this long. “what’s your move, rogue?”

for a moment, it feels like old times again. like maybe, just maybe, you can fix this.

you grin, picking up another die. “i’m gonna need all the luck on this one.”

eddie’s smirk deepens, fingers steepled under his chin as he watches you shake the die in your cupped hands for dramatic effect. the rest of the table holds their breath, even dustin stops mid-complaint to watch.

“c’mon, don’t choke now," eddie taunts, eyes glinting in the dim classroom light. “unless you want your rogue to become monster chow."

you roll.

the die bounces, spins, and finally lands—

nat 20.

the table erupts. gareth whoops, brian slams his palms on the table, and dustin nearly falls out of his chair cheering, but eddie? eddie just stares at the die, then at you, something unreadable flickering across his face before he schools it into a grin.

“well, shit," he says, leaning back in his chair. “looks like lady luck’s smiling upon you tonight." his voice is light, but his knee knocks against yours again under the table, lingering this time. for the first time in days, something in your chest unclenches.

“guess so," you murmur, holding his gaze just a beat too long before turning back to the game.

the session wraps with your party narrowly escaping the caverns, thanks to your rogue’s lucky rolls and eddie’s just-lenient-enough rulings. as everyone packs up their dice and character sheets, eddie lingers by the table, fiddling with the dm screen instead of making his usual dramatic exit.

you pretend not to notice, shoving your notebook into your bag with deliberate slowness until it’s just the two of you left in the room. the overhead fluorescents hum ominously.

eddie clears his throat. “so,” he spins a d20 between his fingers, still not looking at you. “harrington give you a ride home again, or…?”

there it is, the thing he’s been biting back all night. the thing he’s actually mad about.

you exhale through your nose. “you could’ve just asked me that days ago, you know.”

the die clatters onto the table. he finally meets your eyes, jaw tight. “yeah? and what would you’ve said?”

“that steve’s just my coworker.” you sling your bag over your shoulder. “and that you’re being weird about this.”

eddie barks out a laugh, sharp, humorless. “weird. right.” he pushes off the table, grabbing his jacket. “maybe i just don’t like watching you play happy family with king steve while you’ve been avoiding me like i’ve got the goddamn plague.”

the words hang between you, raw and unfiltered. you both freeze, equally startled by his outburst.

you open your mouth, to argue, to apologize, you’re not sure, but the door swings open as dustin pokes his head back in.

“uh, sorry to interrupt,” he says awkwardly, “but gareth lost his lucky d12 and he’s having a meltdown in the parking lot—”

eddie shuts his eyes, dragging a hand down his face. “jesus christ, the kid’s lucky i don't kick him out of this club.” he pushes forward to grab his keys, avoiding your gaze. “i'll handle it. you should go, steve's probably waiting."

he storms out of the room before you can reply, leaving you standing there with your backpack and a sinking feeling in your chest that this isn't going to be easy to fix.

eddie paces the length of the trailer’s living room, arms waving animatedly as he rants about the same thing he’s been stuck on for days now. you. gareth rolls his eyes from his spot on the couch, the old springs creaking softly underneath him when he adjusts.

eddie cuts off mid-rant, eyeing gareth accusingly. “shut it, i’m having a crisis."

gareth shrugs, taking a drag of the joint they're sharing. “you've had the same crisis for almost a week now, man."

eddie slumps down on the edge of the couch, head in his hands. “yeah, because she's avoiding me!" he moans dramatically.

“are you not doing the same thing?”

eddie shoots him a glare. gareth rolls his eyes again, but his lips twitch with suppressed amusement. “you're both idiots."

eddie exhales sharply, staring down at the frayed rug instead of answering. he knows gareth is right, but that doesn't make this any easier.

“i’m just," he mutters finally, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “i don't know how to act around her anymore."

gareth sighs, flicking ash into an empty soda can on the coffee table. “yeah, well, you could start by not acting like a jealous freak every time harrington so much as breathes near her."

eddie scowls. “i'm not—"

"—you are,” gareth cuts in. “and newsflash, munson? it's making everything worse."

a beat of silence; the trailer's ac unit rattles in the quiet.

eddie deflates, elbows on his knees. "...what do i do?" it comes out quiet, uncharacteristically vulnerable.

gareth stubs out the joint, considering. “either tell her how you actually feel, or get over it, but this weird possessive limbo shit?" he gestures vaguely at eddie's entire existence. “not a good look."

eddie knows he's right. he also knows he's terrified of both options.

he rubs a hand over his face, exhaling slowly. “it's not that simple."

“yeah, because you're making it complicated,” gareth points out bluntly. “you know she’s not gonna drop everything just 'cause harrington bats his pretty lashes at her.”

eddie glares at him, unamused. “i never said that."

gareth rolls his eyes for what feels like the millionth time tonight. “it's written all over your face, dude."

eddie's jaw clenches, but he's smart enough not to argue. he's been caught. "...i just don't like how much time they've been spending together."

gareth sighs again. “so tell her that, man. jesus, for someone so damn loud, you sure suck at communication."

eddie bristles at the jab, but there's truth to it. “it's different with her," he finally mutters, staring at a stain on the carpet. “what am i even supposed to say? 'hey, sweetheart, sorry i've been acting like a jealous dick, but the thought of you spending all this time with harrington makes me want to throw up'? that'll go over well." eddie groans in frustration, pulling at his messy curls, “i mean, he’s driving her home now for fucks sake! since when are they that close?”

gareth snorts, leaning back into the couch with a knowing smirk. “oh my god, you are pathetic."

eddie flips him off, but there's no real heat behind it.

gareth waves the gesture away. “look, you're missing the point, she’s your best friend. you’ve known her longer than anyone else. so what if harrington’s being nice? you think that’s gonna magically erase nearly a decade of you two being glued at the hip?" he shakes his head. “you’re acting like she’s gonna forget about you just ‘cause some ex-jock gives her a ride home."

the words land harder than eddie expects, because that’s exactly what he’s been afraid of.

gareth tilts his head, studying eddie for a moment before his expression softens slightly. “but here’s the thing, man, she chose you. over and over again. even when you piss her off, even when you disappear for weeks 'cause your brain won’t shut up about how you’re not good enough, she always comes back."

eddie swallows hard, staring at his hands. "...yeah?"

gareth shrugs. “yeah, so stop being an idiot and talk to her."

eddie exhales sharply, rubbing his temples like gareth just gave him the world’s most exhausting epiphany. “okay, fine. you’re right—”

gareth gasps dramatically, clutching his chest. “holy shit. say that again. i need to record this for posterity.”

eddie chucks a couch pillow at his face. “shut up, i’m being serious!” he drags a hand through his hair, nervous energy buzzing under his skin. “but what if… what if i tell her and it changes everything?” his voice cracks, just slightly. “worse than it already has?”

gareth sobers, leaning forward. “then at least you’ll know. and hey—” he grins, sharp and knowing. “maybe she feels the same way.”

eddie’s stomach does a traitorous flip. he grabs his vest off the floor, shoving his arms through the sleeves with more force than necessary. “i hate you.”

gareth smirks. “no, you don’t.”

eddie doesn’t argue, because gareth’s right. again.

---

the walk to your trailer is short, but eddie’s heart is pounding like he just sprinted across hawkins. he hesitates at your doorstep, fist raised to knock, then lowers it, then raises it again. fuck. he’s never been this nervous around you before, but then again, he’s never had this to lose before.

he knocks.

he hears footsteps approaching from the other side moments later, running his sweaty palms against his jeans. the door is pulled open, slivers of light illuminating the otherwise pitch black night, but who answers isn’t who he’s looking for. standing in the doorway— your mom, a kind smile forming on her face as she recognizes him, “sweetie, she’s not home yet.”

eddie's stomach twists with an all-too-familiar anxiety. he shoves his hands into his pockets to hide their shaking.

“oh." his voice is rough, but he tries for a smile. “any idea when she'll be back?”

your mom gives him a sympathetic look, noticing the tension in his frame despite his forced casualness. “she should be home soon, had to close up at the video store tonight." she pauses, studying him for a beat before adding softly, “you want to come in and wait? i just made some coffee."

eddie hesitates. normally, he'd say yes without thinking, he's practically lived in your trailer as much as his own over the years. but now? now everything feels different. now his skin is buzzing with the weight of what he can’t put into words.

“uh—" he scratches the back of his neck, glancing toward the empty driveway. “nah, i’ll just… catch her later. thanks, though.”

your mom sighs, but nods. “alright, sweetie. you take care of yourself.” the unspoken ‘and talk to her already’ hangs in the air between them as she closes the door gently.

eddie stands there for another second, staring at the peeling paint of your trailer like it holds answers. he turns on his heel and stalks back into the dark, kicking at a loose rock on the path.

“fuck," he mutters to no one. coward.

you and robin stand behind the counter, sorting out returned tapes while steve straightens the shelves in the sci-fi section. the clock on the wall ticks closer to closing time. your eyes drift toward the front window, watching the parking lot. the familiar white headlights you're hoping for don't show up.

robin notices you spacing out, glancing over her shoulder. “you alright?"

you blink, shaking yourself out of the daze. “huh? oh, yeah. just tired." you force a smile, stacking another vhs tape on the pile with too much focus.

robin raises an eyebrow, she's known you long enough to see right through that. “uh-huh, and i'm secretly fluent in morse code." she leans her elbows on the counter, chin in her hands. “come on, spill. what’s eatin’ ya? is this about eddie avoiding you? because trust me, everyone's noticed."

from behind the shelf he’s straightening, steve makes a noncommittal noise like he's trying very hard not to get involved.

you exhale sharply, fiddling with the edge of a rental slip. “i don't even know what it's about. one minute we're fine, the next he's acting like i personally betrayed him by what, existing near steve? like i can’t have friends outside of hellfire?”

steve immediately holds his hands up from across the store. “do not drag me into this."

robin ignores him, narrowing her eyes at you. “okay, but let's be real, eddie munson does not do subtle. if he's pissed, he'd be yelling about it. this? this feels like something else."

you swallow hard, because yeah, you've thought about that too. the way his knee kept brushing yours during hellfire like it was an accident, but you both knew better. the way he wouldn't meet your eyes unless it was through the safety of the game.

“i don't know," you mutter finally. “and honestly? i'm kinda scared to ask."

robin gives you a long, knowing look. somewhere in the back of your mind, you realize she already knows exactly what you were thinking— she was always good at that.

“don’t look at me like that,” you huff, causing a slight smirk to curl at robin’s lips.

“like what?”

“like you know everything, it’s annoying.”

“i do kinda know everything,” robin leans in, lowering her voice even though steve is clearly eavesdropping from the horror section now, pretending to focus on his work— despite earlier not wanting anything to do with this, he can’t help himself.

“look," she says, blunt as always, “i've seen the way eddie looks at you when he thinks no one’s watching. it’s the same way steve looks at literally any girl who gives him the time of day, except, you know, with way more emotional constipation."

steve drops a stack of tapes with a loud clatter. “hey—!"

robin barrels on, ignoring him. “point is, whatever this is between you two? it’s so clearly not just about dingus over there. so either rip the band-aid off and talk to him, or keep doing…" she gestures vaguely at your whole situation. "...whatever this weird avoidance dance is."

silence. even steve stays quiet for once, picking up the tapes he dropped with unusual focus.

you bite your lip, glancing back out the window. still no van. still no eddie. “what if talking makes it worse?"

robin sighs, tossing an arm around your shoulders. “then at least you’ll know, right?" she gives you a light shake. “but honestly? i don’t think it will."

“well, he started it. he should come to me.”

you know you’re being unreasonable, stubborn, difficult, and whatever else robin would surely throw at you, but part of you wishes that eddie would fight for you, do something at least. it seemed like this wasn’t bothering him even half as much as it was you, it was infuriating and completely stupid.

robin groans dramatically, throwing her hands up. “oh my god, you two are impossible." she turns to steve, gesturing wildly at you. “tell her. tell her she's being just as stubborn as he is."

steve, now fully invested despite his earlier protests, sighs and leans against the counter. “look, i've known eddie long enough to know, dude’s a walking contradiction. he’ll scream his opinions about everything except the stuff that actually matters to him." he pauses, rubbing the back of his neck. “and yeah, he probably should come to you first, but… are you really gonna let this drag out just to prove a point?"

ouch. that stings more than you’d like to admit. he’s right, of course, but you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of admitting it.

you cross your arms, glaring at the floor. “it's not about proving a point. it's about… i don't even know what i did!"

robin and steve exchange a look. a whole silent conversation you aren’t a part of happens in the span of two seconds before robin finally sighs.

“fine," she says, straightening up. “then let’s settle this like mature adults."

you blink. steve squints, "how?"

robin grins, sharp and dangerous. “we lock them both in a room until one of them cracks."

steve nods solemnly, “that… actually might work."

you groan, burying your face in your hands. “we are not doing that.”

robin pats your shoulder consolingly. “it’s for the greater good. trust me. and hey, it'll be better than the cold shoulder act you two have going on right now." she shrugs. “plus, the drama would be incredible. i do love a good show."

“ha, ha, hilarious. can we come up with an actual solution please?” you roll your eyes, becoming more and more frustrated by this conversation every second you’re forced to have it.

steve sighs, running a hand through his hair. “yeah, i agree," he says. “as much fun as watching you two stubborn idiots bang your heads against walls for the next decade would be, maybe there's a less… intense solution."

you and robin both perk up a little bit at that. “like…?"

steve leans against the counter, rubbing his chin like he's about to drop the most profound piece of wisdom hawkins has ever seen. “okay, hear me out—"

robin groans, “oh no."

steve ignores her, pointing at you with all the gravitas of a high school guidance counselor. “you guys are best friends, right? so just… go back to that. hang out like normal. no weird tension, no dramatic confessions, just you, him, and whatever dumb shit you usually do together."

robin blinks. “did steve harrington just give genuinely good advice, or am i hallucinating?"

steve shoots her an annoyed look before continuing, “the point is, stop trying to force it. if eddie’s being weird, don’t match his energy, just be you. the version of you he’s literally never been able to say no to." he shrugs. “and if that doesn’t work? then we lock you in the closet."

you stare at him. robin stares at him. even the hum of the fluorescent lights feels judgmental.

“i don’t know, guys,” you bury your face in your hands, leaning against the counter. “can’t i just like… ignore this until it goes away? absence makes the heart grow fonder, or some shit like that.”

steve rolls his eyes, “that just sounds like another fancy way of saying 'avoidance,' which you've been trying for days now. how’s it working so far?"

you sigh. he has a point, but your pride wants to argue. robin jumps in before you can open your mouth to fight him on it.

robin straightens up a bit, more serious now. “as much as i hate to say it, steve's right. you're stressing over this way too much. hell, i've seen you face actual monsters more calmly than you've been acting about eddie,” she leans closer. “is it really worth losing your best friend over a weird communication blip?”

there it is. the blunt truth you've been avoiding since the whole situation started, laid bare and out in the open. the thing you know in your gut, but have been trying to deny. the fact that this avoidance act is only making it worse, not better, because it's hurting the person who's been your other half since you were kids, but you're stubborn and scared, two factors that never mix well when making life decisions. you try to laugh it off, doing what you and eddie always did best— deflecting. “a 'weird communication blip,' huh? you been reading up on those big, fancy psych books?”

robin scoffs, flicking a stray m&m at you from the box she’d stolen from behind the counter. “no, i’ve just been watching you two nerds orbit each other for years like some tragic rom-com. spoiler alert, it’s exhausting."*

steve nods, “seconded—“

you throw your hands up in frustration. “oh, shut up, both of you." you turn away, messing with a stack of vhs tapes just to have something to do with your hands. you hate that you’re taking it out on them, but your brain is scattered, your fight or flight taking over completely. “you talk like it's so simple. like it's just… easy, but it's not, okay? and there's no guarantee that eddie just… goes back to normal if i pretend there's nothing wrong. in fact, there's a very real chance i make everything significantly worse, and then what? i lose my best friend?”

robin and steve exchange another look, probably silently agreeing that your brain is a nightmare of overthinking and anxiety. steve speaks first, surprisingly serious. "then you deal with it," he says bluntly. “if this all goes sideways and he's still a grumpy idiot… you deal with it."

robin nods, “and honestly, you're a badass. plus, you know eddie, better than any of us. the dude's dramatic about everything. if anyone can handle his emo ass, it's you."

you exhale slowly. "...is this supposed to be reassuring?"

“no, it's supposed to be practical. you guys have a history, and a damn good one at that. what, are you just gonna let some weird awkward phase ruin that just because you're overthinking for the both of you?"

you shake your head, but the knot in your stomach is back in full force. because she's right. again.

steve sighs, drumming his fingers against the counter. “look… the dude's a mess, but the one thing i do know about eddie is that he'd rather set himself on fire than purposely screw things up with you. you're important to him. whatever this is, it's probably just as much in his head as it is in yours. he's just… horrible at showing it."

“you think so?”

robin reaches across the counter and flicks your forehead—hard.

“yes, dingus," she says, deadpan. “we all think so. except you, apparently."

steve nods emphatically. “seriously, he’s not subtle. he never has been. he just sucks at feelings." a beat. "...actually, now that i think about it, you both do. it's kinda terrifying how bad you are at this."

you glare at him, but there's no real heat behind it. mostly because you know he's right. eddie is terrible at feelings, and yeah, maybe you are too. if this is going to get fixed, if there's even a chance of things going back to normal, someone has to make the first move, and maybe… maybe that someone has to be you.

you exhale dramatically, slumping against the counter. “fiiiiine. i'll talk to him." a pause. "...eventually.”

robin throws a crumpled receipt at your face. “not eventually, munson 2.0. preferably tonight, before you lose your nerve."

steve grins, “and don't even think about backing out. i want updates."

you roll your eyes, “yes, dad.”

he scoffs at that, looking offended. “god, don't ever call me that again."

“sorry, mom. better?”

steve groans, throwing his hands up. "i give up. you two are both impossible."

robin cackles, leaning against the counter. “see? this is why you and eddie are perfect for each other, you're equally insufferable.”

you huff, but a tiny, reluctant smile tugs at your lips, "yeah, yeah. i'll talk to him." a pause. “after work."

robin and steve share a look, both grinning like they just achieved a victory.

“atta girl," steve says, raising a hand for a high five. robin smacks it with an obnoxious clap. you roll your eyes for show, attempting to hide the nervous flutter in your chest.

“but don't be a coward," robin adds, raising a pointed eyebrow. “no bullshit. you're going to tell him the truth and you're going to do it tonight. got it?"

you nod, suddenly feeling like you're about to jump off a very high ledge. "got it."

“good,” steve nods, satisfied. “see? we're all being rational adults here. no more drama, no more avoiding each other. this'll be back to normal by tomorrow."

robin shoots him a look, “steve, no one in this situation has ever been rational."

before steve can respond, the store phone rings, startling all three of you. robin lunges for it without a second thought, “family video, this is robin—" she pauses, then smirks, holding the receiver out toward you. “speak of the devil."

your stomach nearly drops to your ass. you take the phone slowly, like it might bite you, “hey."

eddie's voice crackles through the line—hesitant, uncharacteristically quiet. “hey. uh… you off soon?”

“yeah," you say, keeping your voice casual. like this is just any normal day, and not some pivotal moment in your relationship. “i'm closing up now. why?"

eddie clears his throat, a nervous habit you’ve clocked since you were kids. “was thinkin’… maybe i could pick you up? if—if that’s cool."

silence— the kind that stretches just a second too long.

steve and robin are staring at you like this is the climax of their favorite soap opera. robin even mouths, “say yes,” with aggressive eyebrow wiggles.

you exhale shakily, gripping the phone tighter. "...yeah. that’d be cool.”

another pause. then, eddie’s voice, lighter now, almost relieved, “cool. be there in ten.”

the line clicks dead. robin immediately slams her hands on the counter excitedly. steve claps you on the shoulder with a grin. “see? told you it’d work out."

“don’t get too excited just yet. i still have to talk to him.”

robin dramatically flops against the counter, draping an arm over her forehead. “oh, the agony of watching you two idiots tiptoe around each other like a pair of emotionally constipated ballerinas."

steve snorts. “yeah, well, at least we know this won't be boring. just remember—no chickening out. we will find out if you do."

you roll your eyes, but your grip on the phone is still tight. nervous, excited, terrified, all of it at once. “yeah, yeah. i got it."

ten minutes. ten minutes until everything either goes back to normal, or changes forever.

robin shoves your bag into your hands with a thump. “go. before we push you out the door."

steve nods, already steering you toward the exit with exaggerated urgency. “yeah, seriously. we’ve suffered enough secondhand pining to last a lifetime."

you shoot them both a withering look, but there’s no real heat behind it. not when your stomach is doing somersaults at the thought of seeing eddie in whatever this weird new context is.

the bell above the door jingles as you step outside. the night air is cool, sharp, a relief against your flushed skin. as if right on cue, headlights swing into the parking lot.

the van.

him.

“shit," you mutter under your breath, half-prayer, half-curse.

the van crunches to a stop just a few feet away. eddie swings the door open, climbing out onto the pavement with a nervous smile. “hey."

you smile back, but it's a little shaky. “hey."

another long beat of silence. eddie shifts his weight from one booted foot to the other, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. “uh… you ready to go?"

you nod, slinging your bag up over your shoulder. “whenever you are."

he jerks his head toward the van, “lets getcha home.”

you follow him wordlessly to the passenger side, climbing into the front seat and buckling in. eddie slides back into the driver's seat, but he doesn't turn the van on. not yet.

it's awkwardly silent. you steal a quick glance at him, his gaze is fixed out the windshield, jaw clenched like he's wrestling with something. his fingers drum an anxious rhythm on the steering wheel. you swallow, bracing yourself for the inevitable, “uh—“

“you first," he interrupts, like he read your mind.

“oh," you say, fumbling for words. “i—okay." you exhale slowly, fingers playing with a frayed edge of your bag. “i— i need to ask you something."

eddie tenses visibly, like he didn't quite expect that, but he nods anyway. “shoot."

you take another deep breath, willing yourself to attempt this conversation again, “why have you been avoiding me?"

eddie stiffens even more. his gaze flicks to yours, then away just as fast. “i haven't."

“don't bullshit me, eddie," you snap, frustration bubbling over. “you have. you've barely looked at me in days, and you don't act like yourself when you do. it's like you're trying to… distance yourself on purpose, and i don't get it, so will you just… tell me why?"

he's silent for a long moment, staring out the windshield like he's having a whole unspoken argument with himself. when he finally speaks, it's quiet. “i just… needed some time, alright?"

you blink, taken aback— not the answer you were expecting, and he's still looking anywhere but at you, “time for what?"

he swallows hard, his jaw tight again. “to sort some things out."

“and did you? sort it out?”

another unbearable pause. “i don't know." he finally turns to look at you, but his expression is guarded, closed off. you feel a sharp pang in your chest at that. “there's… something i needed to think about, okay? and i just needed some space to figure it out, and—"

you shake your head, suddenly angry. “you could have just told me that, eddie. you know you can tell me anything."

he winces slightly at the hurt in your voice. his fingers flex on the wheel, like he wants to reach out, but can't. “i know—jesus, sweetheart, i know that, but this is… look, it's not that simple, okay? it's a lot more complicated than you think."

you turn to face him more now, rolling your eyes in annoyance. “that’s all i get? really? you’ve been avoiding me and being weird for days and all you have to say is that it’s complicated?”

his jaw clenches again, frustration bleeding into his words. “yeah, it is complicated, alright? i've been going over this in my head for days—"

you cut him off, voice sharper than you meant it to be. “well, maybe if you actually talked to me instead of shutting me out, i'd know that! i'm supposed to be your best friend, man. how am i supposed to help if you keep me in the goddamn dark?"

eddie’s grip tightens on the steering wheel, knuckles whitening. for a second, it seems like he’s about to snap back, but then he just deflates, shoulders slumping. his voice comes out quieter, rough around the edges, “i didn’t want help, okay? because then i’d have to say it out loud, and i can’t—i don’t know how to—" he cuts himself off with a frustrated noise, dragging a hand through his hair. “christ, sweetheart. you really gonna make me spell it out?"

your breath hitches, because suddenly, you think you know, and the realization sends your heart slamming against your ribs.

eddie finally looks at you, really looks at you, and his eyes are wide, almost pleading. like he’s waiting for you to piece it together yourself.

the silence stretches between you, electric, terrifying, possible. you swallow hard. "...eddie."

he exhales shakily, “yeah."

“you’re serious,” you say back, not questioning, processing aloud.

he nods, his throat working. when he speaks again, his voice is a little rough, a bit raw, and a lot hopeful, “i am."

the confession hangs in the air, heavy and vulnerable. you exhale, the noise shaky. “holy shit, dude. do you know how long i've…?" you trail off, a hundred unspoken words clogging your throat. “oh my god,” you let out a huff, half laugh, half scoff.

a tiny, tentative smile tugs at eddie's lip, but his eyes are still guarded. “you’re not—you, uh, you seem pretty calm. i was bracing myself for a punch or something."

you laugh, shaking your head. in truth, you're anything but calm. your heart is still racing, hands shaking in your lap, but eddie's watching you so hesitantly, like he's waiting for some kind of rejection, and your heart hurts. “eddie,” you say simply, waiting for him to come to the same realization you just had.

he blinks, as if he can't quite believe you're not freaking out or getting angry or worse, rejecting him outright. he swallows hard, his voice comes out raw, “you're… you're really not mad?"

“eddie,” you say again, firmer this time.

he pauses. His expression is cautious, hopeful, but still braced for a blow. his eyes search yours, like he's looking for any hint of mockery or pity or pity or god, anything to indicate that he's been wrong all along, that he's completely misunderstood everything.

you reach out before you can overthink it, resting your hand on his shoulder. he tenses, and you give it a squeeze, “listen to me, alright? i’m not mad, dipshit. i’m like… fuck, eds. the opposite, actually.”

eddie's breath audibly catches, his expression goes from guarded to downright disbelieving in half a second flat, “…what?"

you laugh, nerves and relief bubbling over all at once. he's looking at you like you just told him the sky's purple, it's adorable. “god, you idiot. you really thought i was gonna run for the hills?"

eddie opens his mouth. closes it. opens it again. he looks like he might pass out. “okay, hold on. i—i think we gotta back up here, because i’m not—you’re saying—" he gestures wildly between you both, voice cracking. “the opposite of mad? like, the good opposite?"

“oh my god— come here, you idiot,” you pull him in by his shirt without warning, yanking him towards you over the center console. before he can process what’s happening, your lips are already on his. eddie makes a muffled noise of shock against your mouth, his hands flailing for a second before they finally land on your waist, he melts into you, kissing you back with the kind of enthusiasm that knocks the breath right out of your lungs. it’s messy, a little desperate, and so very eddie. when you finally pull back, just enough to breathe, his eyes are blown wide, pupils dilated. he looks dazed, “holy shit."

you grin, still holding onto his shirt, “yeah, that opposite."

eddie stares at you like he's just been handed the universe. then, slowly, he starts grinning too—that stupid, lopsided grin you've loved since you were kids. “well. fuck."

he’s already pulling you in for another kiss, unable to stop now that he’s started. you laugh into his mouth, slinging your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. the cramped interior of the van vanishes, nothing exists beyond him. his hands are everywhere—in your hair, on your waist, under your shirt. his breath is hot and ragged and all-consuming. he bites your lower lip, and the sound that leaves your mouth is definitely not your normal tone. eddie lets out a low, ragged sigh against your skin.

a shudder runs down your spine, it takes everything within you to pull away again to breathe, you're starting to lose your head, getting swept away in the dizzying rush of his mouth and his hands and the intoxicating way he smells. eddie's eyes are molten when he meets your gaze, and he looks just as gone as you feel. he sucks in a ragged breath, trying to regain composure.

“okay, okay. wait. wait, i had a whole… a whole plan. wait—did you just—i was gonna—i need to—"

“take a breather.”

he exhales shakily, scrubbing a hand over his face. “yeah. yeah, okay,” he laughs, a little breathless. a smile is still tugging at his lips, “just gimme a second, gotta… gather myself. this feels like a dream, or a drug-induced hallucination, or some other batshit nonsense, i dunno."

you snort, poking him in the chest, “or, and hear me out, maybe you're just a disaster who thinks too much."

he gives you a mock-scowl, though it's a little undercut by his flushed cheeks. “shut up,” he knocks a playful punch into your shoulder, “and don't make me laugh when i’m trying to get my heart rate under control. i’m a little busy trying not to die from sheer disbelief here."

you grin, watching as he dramatically drapes an arm over his forehead.

“oh no, whatever will we do if the great munson perishes from emotional whiplash?"

eddie peeks at you from under his arm, grinning back, “probably mourn me appropriately. with like… a pyre made of my battle jackets and a shrine of d&d manuals."

you roll your eyes, shoving him lightly, but he catches your wrist, tugging you closer again. his grin softens into something quieter, “...seriously, though. this is—" he huffs, shaking his head like the words fail him. “you're sure about this?"

you lean in, pressing your forehead against his. his breath hitches. “never been more sure.”

eddie exhales like he's been holding it in for years, “okay. okay."

“we doin’ this?”

he nods slowly, eyes flicking between yours like he's trying to commit you to memory. “yeah. yeah, we're doin' this. we're doing this. i'm… sweetheart, i’ve been wanting this for—well, probably way too long."

you smile, feeling like someone just lit a thousand sparklers in your chest, but because you're you, and you're not sure how to handle serious moments without being a smartass, “are you gonna be a good boyfriend, though?"

eddie gasps, pressing a dramatic hand to his chest like you just shot him. “rude! i'm great at being a boyfriend—i mean, theoretically. hypothetically. in practice, i might suck, but—"

you laugh, kissing him quickly to shut him up. “relax, munson. i'll keep you in line."

he grins against your lips, “promise?"

you pull back just enough to smirk at him, “oh, i guarantee it. now, take me home,” the suggestion in your voice isn’t lost on him.

the corner of eddie's mouth quirks up. his eyes darken with something promising, and he starts the van without looking away. “as you wish," he murmurs, and the words send a shiver racing down your spine.

the drive back to your house is a blur, mostly because eddie seems to be completely incapable of keeping his hands or his eyes off of you for more than a few moments. he drives mostly one-handed, the other hand almost glued to your thigh. he keeps glancing over at you, like he needs a visual reminder that you're really there. it's a quiet, electric kind of energy, like a current just below the surface, buzzing like the world's most perfect secret.

he pulls to a stop in front of your house, cutting the engine. the silence between you is heavy, charged. he's still just watching you, fingers drumming an anxious rhythm on the wheel. then, a slow smile tugs at his lips. “can i ask you something?"

you smirk, one eyebrow raised in faux-suspicion. “is it going to be another 'are you sure'?"

eddie rolls his eyes, “ha. ha. no. shut up and let me be serious for a second."

“‘kay, ask away.”

he fiddles with his rings, taking a deep breath. “before we, you know… go in and make this a whole thing, i just… i have to ask."

when you nod for him to go on, his words come out quieter, cautious. “promise me you're not gonna freak out."

your smile falters. a little of the giddy anticipation fades, replaced by a tiny edge of worry. “uh… yeah, i promise?"

he swallows, the muscle in his jaw flexing. his gaze flickers between you and the steering wheel. he looks more than a little nervous. “okay, so… i just wanna say, up front… i’m not saying this to push you, or to, uh, add pressure, or anything like that. because if you're not ready, if you wanna wait, that's fine, okay? i don't—"

“spit it out, eds. i’m not gonna bite you,” you joke, trying to lighten his nervousness. “unless you want me to.”

his eyes flicker with something dangerous at that, but he quickly clears his throat, trying to stay serious. “right, okay. so—just hear me out."

he shifts in his seat, fingers tapping the wheel. “i, uh… i kind of… might've… bought condoms? a while back?"

you blink. he immediately backtracks like he's just dropped a live grenade into your lap. “like, not—not for this! not that i was expecting it, obviously. i just—you know how my brain is— always jumping ahead, and i just figured, y'know, just in case— is that bad?”

you interrupt him by suddenly laughing, the sound startling him into silence. he stares at you, wide-eyed, "...uh, you good?"

still laughing, you shake your head, “oh my god, eddie. i’m on the pill, doofus.”

eddie's mouth drops open. a beat of silence, "...oh."

then, realization dawns, “wait—so you mean—"

you grin, leaning in close to whisper against his ear, “we're covered, munson. now get your ass inside before i drag you."

eddie lets out a noise that's half-groan, half-laugh. his fingers tighten on the steering wheel for a second, before he abruptly shoves the door open, “yep, we're going. right now."

the moment the front door shuts behind you, eddie’s hands are on your waist, spinning you around to press you against it. his breath is warm against your lips, his voice low, almost teasing, but with an edge of something far more serious underneath.

“just so we're crystal clear here," he murmurs, “i’m not planning on wasting any more time second-guessing this. so if you've got any last-minute objections… now's your chance to say 'em. speak now or forever hold your peace, or whatever.”

you grin, hooking a finger into the collar of his shirt and tugging him even closer, “shut up and kiss me already."

eddie laughs, bright and disbelieving before obliging.

the kiss starts off desperate, pent-up frustration and the dizzying relief of confession crashing together in a way that makes your head spin. his hands are everywhere, in your hair, under your shirt, skimming down to the back of your thighs as he pulls you against him. he backs you across the living room, not breaking the kiss for a second. by the time he finally does pull away, you're both breathing hard. his eyes are dark, lips slightly swollen from the kiss. he grins, “bedroom?"

you can only nod, still trying to catch your breath. he pushes open the door to your room, kicking it shut as he crosses to the bed, setting you down on the edge with a surprising level of gentleness. he stares, for a long beat, eyes tracing over your face like he's still trying to convince himself this is real.

you reach out, tugging him down onto the bed with you. the mattress sinks under your combined weight, and he goes willingly, crawling up to press you back into the pillows without hesitation. he brackets your body, bracing himself over you with shaking forearms as he looks down at you. the look on his face makes your chest ache, all open and wanting and a little bit awed. he's searching your eyes, hands skimming down your sides in a way that makes you shiver.

“jesus, sweetheart," he murmurs, breathless, like he's saying a prayer, praying to the altar of you. “did i ever tell you how goddamn pretty you are? because i swear to god, you make my brain stop working. i just—"

he shakes his head, like he doesn't trust himself to keep talking. his fingers skim underneath the hem of your shirt, warm against your skin as they brush feather-light over your waist. it’s like he's drawing some kind of intricate, invisible design against the dip of your lower back, one that makes your breath catch with every soft touch.

those fingers trail higher, skimming over your ribcage, leaving goosebumps in their wake. his gaze follows the path of his hands almost reverentially, tracing some kind of invisible constellation on the canvas of your skin.

your breath catches at the sight of him—his hair mussed from your fingers, his lips parted as he watches his own hands trace patterns over your skin like he's trying to memorize every inch of you. his eyelashes cast shadows against his flushed cheeks in the dim lighting of your bedroom. he's never looked more real, more yours. his eyes flick up to yours again, and the sheer awe in them steals the air from your lungs.

“fuck," he breathes, shaking his head with a small, disbelieving laugh. “i didn't—i didn’t think it was possible for someone to look at me like that."

his thumb brushes your lower lip, gentle, checking to make sure you're real, that you’re still here with him. all you can do is lean into his touch and whisper, “i always have. you just never noticed.”

eddie's breath stutters. his fingers pause against your lips before sliding tenderly along your jaw, tilting your face up to his. the look in his eyes is almost devastating, something raw and vulnerable and achingly tender.

“well," he murmurs, voice rough with emotion, "guess i’ll just have to spend the rest of my life making up for that, huh?"

he kisses you again, soft this time, slow and deliberate, like he's savoring the way you melt into him, he's got all the time in the world to prove it.

his hands skim over you, gentle but insistent, as he begins to tug at the hem of your shirt. he's still kissing you, open-mouthed, his tongue tracing hot lines past your lips in a way that makes you shiver. he pauses, just for a second, breath ghosting against your skin. “can i…?"

his fingers twitch at the edge of your shirt, not quite pulling it up yet. It takes a moment for your brain to register the question. all you can manage is a shaky nod.

he makes a low noise in the back of his throat, one that sounds like a mix between a growl and a whine. his hands slide under your shirt, lifting the fabric over your head, only breaking the kiss for a moment before his lips are back on yours. you know your skin is flushed pink, and you can't help the way your hips arch up towards him at his touch, and he seems to know it, too—you can feel the smirk growing against your lips as he lets out an amused huff.

“needy," he mutters, low and teasing. it sends a hot jolt down your spine. he grins, shifting to kiss your neck, teeth grazing over your pulse point, “so damn impatient."

“i’ve been more than patient.”

eddie barks out a laugh against your skin—half-breathless, half-disbelieving. his hands slide down to grip your hips, pulling you flush against him as he shifts over you, eyes burning. “oh, trust me, sweetheart," he murmurs, voice rough, “i'm well aware of the torture you've endured." a slow smirk curls his lips, “which is why i plan on making it worth the wait."

he seals the promise with another searing kiss, one that leaves no room for doubt.

eddie traces lazy patterns against your ribs, grinning when you shiver under his touch. he presses his lips to your shoulder, then your collarbone, each kiss lingering a little longer than the last. his voice is a rough whisper against your skin, “wanna know something stupid?"

you tilt your head to look at him better, eyebrows raised, “hm?”

eddie huffs a laugh, the warm puff of air making your skin prickle. his fingertips brush down your side, tracing the curve of your waist as he speaks, “i used to daydream about this," he admits, voice tinged with amusement and something softer. “like, all the time, and every time i’d snap out of it, i'd just think... man, you're pathetic.”

his grin turns lopsided—self-deprecating, but fond. “guess i'm not as pathetic as i thought."

“eh, still are.”

eddie gasps in mock-offense, though the grin splitting his face gives him away. “excuse you—i am a gentleman. a romantic. a—"

you cut him off by rolling him onto his back and climbing over him, pinning his wrists to the mattress with a smirk. eddie’s breath audibly hitches, eyes darkening instantly. you lean down, lips brushing the shell of his ear, “still a total dork."

he grins, unabashed. his eyes rake over your bare torso hungrily, drinking in the sight of you straddling his waist. you shiver under his gaze, and the sound he makes in response shoots straight through you. his voice is a low growl as he bucks a little, testing your grip on his wrists. “you really have no idea how many times i imagined you just like this."

“ballpark?”

eddie laughs, but the sound is strained, his gaze flicking from your lips to where your hips are pressed against his. a flush is starting to creep into his pale cheeks, you can see the heat in his eyes, the way he's breathing a little harder, and still, he's got that cocky edge to his voice, like nothing could shake his composure. “not sure if i should actually admit that," he murmurs, a smirk tugging at his lips. the way he watches you, half-lidded and full of heat, “a lot. definitely a lot."

“yeah?” you lean down, breath ghosting against his ear, “and what did you do? when you thought about it?”

eddie's grip tightens on the sheets. he exhales sharply, his voice dropping into something lower, rougher. “oh, you know," he rasps, tilting his head to give your lips better access to his neck, “the usual, touched myself, thought about this, about you just... takin' what you wanted from me."

he shivers when your teeth graze the spot below his ear, fingers flexing like he wants to reach for you but is forcing himself to stay put. his next words come out as a groan, “pretty sure i came harder than i ever have in my life every damn time."

your hands instinctively down his stomach, trailing warmth to his waistband. you fiddle with his belt without looking, continuing your gentle attack on his neck. after a moment of no progress, you let out an annoyed huff and look down— his belt is held together by safety pins and what looks to be superglue at some sections. “you’ve got to be kidding me. how do you even get out of this thing?”

eddie bursts out laughing—genuine, unfiltered, the sound reverberating through his chest where you're still pressed against him. heprops himself up on his elbows to smirk at you, eyes dancing with amusement.

“ah, yeah. that." he gestures vaguely at the absolute disaster of his belt. “see, the trick is—and this is crucial—you gotta wiggle it just right—"

he’s cut off by your incredulous glare, his grin only widens. “okay, fine, i can help," he relents, fingers moving deftly to undo the absolute catastrophe of a belt buckle. he mutters under his breath as he works, “didn't realize this thing was gonna be such a cockblock."

with a triumphant click and the distinct sound of superglue snapping, the belt finally loosens. he grins up at you, “ta-da.”

“eds, you know i love your… resourcefulness, but holy shit you have to throw that thing away.” your eyes move to the limp belt still stuck in his belt loops, looking like a ball of scraps with metal attached to it.

eddie scoffs, pulling it from his belt loops, and tossing the mangled belt off the bed with zero ceremony. it hits the floor with a clatter, and he gestures dramatically at it like he's banishing it from the room. “there. happy?"

you groan, rolling your eyes and promptly shutting him up by crashing your lips onto his. eddie hums against your mouth, laughing softly into the kiss.

it's a little more impatient that you'd expect, and you can feel the need radiating off of him. the way he grabs at you, the way he's already panting against your mouth like he can't get enough. his hands find your waist again, tugging you even closer until you're pressed against him with no space left in between. his mouth moves over your jaw, teeth skimming along the edge of your jugular as he groans into your skin. it's rough, and messy, and so far beyond perfect that you forget how to breathe.

eddie's fingers fumble at the clasp of your bra, once, twice, before he lets out a frustrated growl against your collarbone.

“jesus christ, who designed this shit?" he mutters, voice muffled against your skin. he huffs, blowing a strand of his own hair out of his face before trying again with renewed determination. you can't help but laugh, even as your breath hitches when his knuckles brush against your ribs. “need help there, rockstar?"

eddie shoots you a glare that's more affection than irritation, cheeks flushed dark with embarrassment and want. his tongue pokes out between his teeth as he finally gets the damn thing unhooked. “there! fuckin'—see? master of engineering."

despite the bravado, the way his breath catches when he finally sees you completely bare makes it all worth it.

eddie just stares dumbstruck for a second, mouth slightly parted, like he’s seeing something holy. his fingers hover over your skin like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he touches you too fast. when he finally speaks, his voice is wrecked, “fuck. you’re—"

he swallows hard, shaking his head like words have officially failed him. with a sudden urgency, his hands are everywhere—pulling you flush against him, lips crashing back to yours with a desperation that makes your head spin. it’s messy and hungry and perfect, his teeth catching your lower lip as he groans.

“christ, i can't believe you're real," he rasps between kisses. “gonna spend the rest of my life making sure you know how fucking beautiful you are."

he's moving down your body now, hands and mouth tracing a hot trail across your skin. his mouth finds your pulse point, feeling your racing heart against his tongue, and he pauses there to press a gentle kiss to the underside of your jaw.

“you have no idea what you do to me," he murmurs, voice ragged, almost reverent. “could spend hours just lookin' at you."

you shiver at the words, arching into his touch, but he's already moving downward again. his mouth moves between your breasts, lips trailing over the sensitive skin.

he flips you back over, settling on top of you to get a better angle. he kisses your ribs, your stomach, his hands roaming across your chest and back, like he's trying to commit every inch of you to memory. it's too much, yet not enough all at the same time. you're burning, every nerve on fire, and every touch has you gasping under his ministrations. he pauses at your hip, just above the waistband of your pants, and you can feel him grinning against your skin as he nips it.

“eager, sweet girl?” his voice is a low purr, “can feel you shiverin' for me."

you scoff, trying to play it cool even as your breath hitches. it's a little pointless, really. he can feel the way your hips tilt up under his touch, seeking more, and that smug bastard just knows it. you'd call him out on it, except he suddenly sucks just a little too hard at the spot on your hip, and the whine that slips past your lips says more than your words ever could.

his eyes darken at the sound, and he grins against your skin a little more deliberately this time—teasing. “you're too damn pretty when you're desperate," he murmurs, nipping at your hip again.

he's taking his time, making you crazy on purpose. his gaze flicks down to your jeans, and he groans, almost involuntarily. “jesus christ, i want these off. like, now."

you're about to protest, to make some smartass comment about him being a brat, when he suddenly grabs the button of your jeans, the sudden tug sending a jolt through you. he pauses, eyes flickering up to yours, like he's seeing just how far you'll let him push it.

“can i?" he whispers, breath ghosting over the sensitive skin of your hip. it's all you can do to nod, a strangled noise escaping your lips, and already he's undoing the buttons, fingers skimming along the waistband.

his hands make quick work of the button and zipper, peeling the denim down your legs with a roughness that borders on desperation. the moment your jeans hit the floor, his breath catches, eyes raking over you with a hunger that makes your skin prickle. eddie lets out a slow exhale, dragging his fingers lightly up your thigh. his voice is wrecked when he speaks, “fuck. look at you."

before you can even process it, he pulls your panties to the side and his mouth is on you, hot and insistent, and every coherent thought evaporates in an instant. his tongue drags a slow, deliberate line up your center, lapping up the wetness that had pooled there, and the strangled sound you make has his grip tightening on your thighs. he glances up through dark lashes, mouth still teasingly close, “that good, huh?" he murmurs against you, voice vibrating right where it drives you wildest.

his smirk is downright sinful. he dives back in with a fervor that makes your fingers tighten in his messy curls. every flick of his tongue is calculated, every hum purposeful, until you're shaking beneath him, gasping his name like a prayer.

eddie doesn't let up, if anything, he doubles down, relentless in his pursuit of your pleasure. his fingers join the mix, curling just so inside of you, and the combined sensation has your thighs trembling around his head. you're barely coherent at this point, a string of breathless curses and his name tumbling from your lips, “f-fuck, eddie—"

he hums in response, the vibrations sending a shockwave through you. his free hand grips your hip hard enough to bruise as he coaxes you closer and closer to the edge, until you're right there, teetering. he pulls back at the last second, leaving you gasping and empty.

“eds," you whine, frustration lacing your voice. he just grins up at you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. his eyes are dark with mischief, and something deeper.

“patience, sweetheart," he teases, voice rough. then, he's crawling back up your body, pressing a filthy kiss to your lips so you can taste yourself on him.

eddie chuckles darkly as he feels your nails dig into his shoulders, his own breath coming in ragged bursts. he leans back enough to rid himself of his jeans and boxers quickly, ungracefully shimmying them off his legs before leaning back over you. his lips ghost over yours, barely touching, just enough to make you chase the contact, before he pulls back just enough to watch your face as he finally sinks into you.

“oh fuck," he grits out, forehead pressing against yours as he pauses to let you adjust. “you feel—god—you feel even better than i ever could’ve imagined."

when he finally starts moving, slow and deep, it's with a reverence that makes your chest ache, like he's trying to memorize every hitch of your breath, every shiver, every way your body responds to his. his fingers thread through yours, pinning your hands above your head as he murmurs against your lips, “all mine.”

the intensity builds, the friction perfect, the rhythm unrelenting. his lips find yours again—slower this time, more tender, as his free hand skims up your side, tracing your curves like he’s trying to brand the memory into his fingertips. every roll of his hips is deliberate, designed to draw out every gasp, every moan, until your nails are raking down his back and you’re both too far gone to hold back.

“look at me," he rasps, voice wrecked. his eyes lock onto yours, dark and burning, as he moves inside you with a roughness that borders on brutalizing. “wanna see you when you come for me."

when you shatter beneath him, his name tumbling from your lips in a breathless cry, eddie follows right after—buried deep, his groan muffled against your neck as he spills into you. he collapses against your chest, both of you panting, skin slick with sweat, hearts pounding in sync. for a long moment, neither of you move, just tangled limbs and quiet breaths. eddie shifts just enough to press a soft kiss to your shoulder, his nose nuzzling against it.

he murmurs something against your skin, too quiet to make out. then, reluctantly, he rolls off of you, collapsing back onto the bed beside you. the loss of contact has your skin prickling, and you shiver as cool air hits your overheated body.

“jesus christ," he pants, breath still ragged. a laugh rumbles through his chest as his eyes flutter shut.

you try to laugh, but can’t quite manage it, limbs loose and heavy in the aftermath of him. there’s a pleasant ache that settles over you, one you’re sure you’ll feel tomorrow. your eyes are just beginning to shut when a thought occurs to you.

“hey,” you murmur, tilting your head to look at him. he opens his eyes to look back at you, and the way his gaze softens when it meets yours has your heart lurching all over again.

his eyes trace over you, hair disheveled, lips swollen, body flushed and marked with the evidence of him, and he looks pretty damn pleased with himself. he props himself up on an elbow, his other hand trailing lightly over your bare stomach.

“yeah?" his voice is soft, his touch almost reverent. he seems so peaceful right now, content for the first time in what might be months. he grins lazily, eyes flickering over you like he's still marveling that this is real, that you're real.

“i… um,” you suddenly feel nervous under his gaze, fingers fiddling with his rings between you as you try to find the words.

he notices the shift in your demeanor immediately—he's always been ridiculously attuned to you, and he frowns slightly. his hand stills against your skin, eyes searching your face.

“everything okay?" his voice is cautious, almost worried. he knows you, better than anyone, knows when something's on your mind. he watches you closely, patient.

“yeah, yeah. I’m good— more than good, actually, you know? i just… fuck, this is like,” you shake your head, closing your eyes to calm yourself before just ripping the bandaid off. “i love you.”

it’s like the words hit him like a punch to the gut. you can see it so clearly, the way his breath catches, his eyes widen, his whole body going still, like he's not sure he heard you right. it takes a moment for his brain to kick back into gear, long enough that you start to panic just a little, and then he's cupping your face in his hands, leaning in to touch his forehead to yours. his voice is gruff when he speaks, soft but thick, cracking just a little on the words, “god," he whispers, “i love you, i love you, i love you.” he peppers your face with quick kisses, his hair tickling your cheeks as he does, causing your anxiety to melt away in a fit of giggles.

eddie's grin is downright radiant, big and goofy and unguarded in a way you rarely see. his hands frame your face, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones as he lets out a breathless laugh.

“fuckin' hell," he murmurs, voice shaking just a little with emotion, "was terrified i'd say it first and scare you off." he presses his lips to yours, quick but impossibly tender, before pulling back just enough to meet your gaze again. “love you so much it's stupid.”

“hey, eds?” you say after a moment of soft silence.

he raises an eyebrow, not bothering to hide the grin still tugging at the corners of his mouth. “yeah, sweetheart?"

“we’re gonna be happy, huh?” it’s a call back to your earlier conversation back at his trailer, the night at the arcade, the night he won splat for you, the night everything changed between the two of you.

something shifts in his expression, soft and unbearably fond. he pulls you closer, his arms tightening around you like he can't stand even the smallest distance between you now. his voice is quiet, but sure, no sarcasm, no jokes, just eddie laid completely bare for you.

“yeah," he murmurs against your hair, “yeah, we are. fuckin' better be, after all this buildup."

the moment dissolves into laughter again—because this is how it's always been with him, and how it always will be, sloppy and imperfect and yours.

✧༝┉˚•★•˚┉༝✧ taglist ✧༝┉˚•★•˚┉༝✧

@daddyhetfield @hellfirehottie @mayawainfleet

the halls are chaos, same as always, students spilling out of classrooms, locker doors slamming, and mindless chatter in between classes.

eddie expertly navigates the halls, weaving through the sea of letterman jackets and high ponytails. his eyes scan the hall, searching. when his gaze finds your familiar face, he grins, quickening his stride.

he sidesteps a group of freshmen, nearly knocking over some of them in the process, before sliding up beside you with a dramatic flourish.

“miss me?" he teases, bumping your shoulder with his. “splat didn’t give you too much trouble last night, did he?”

his grin is infectious, the morning sunlight catching the glint of his rings as he tucks a wild curl behind his ear. you can still smell the faintest hint of leather and cigarette smoke clinging to his jacket, something distinctly eddie, something that makes your stomach flip.

you roll your eyes, but you can't stop the smirk tugging at your lips. “he cried all night. real tragic, demanded a lullaby. he’s definitely your kid.”

eddie clutches his chest dramatically. “our poor, neglected son." he leans in conspiratorially, lowering his voice to a stage whisper. “tell me it was at least a metal lullaby. please tell me you didn't subject him to, like, madonna or some shit."

his face is so close you can count his freckles, can see the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he's trying not to laugh. you shove him away, but your fingers linger a second too long against the worn fabric of his jacket.

“relax. i went with sabbath."

eddie beams like you just handed him a grammy. “that's my girl," he says without thinking, then freezes. his ears go pink.

you pretend not to notice, but your heart stammers traitorously in your chest. if eddie hears, he doesn’t say anything, just clears his throat, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“so," he says, a little too casually. “you, uh… got plans this weekend?"

you close your locker with a slam of metal on metal, shaking your head. “other than hellfire? just the usual,” you fall into step beside him, headed towards the cafeteria for lunch period. “oh, i do have an interview at the video store. you have robin to thank for that one,” you sound less than enthused.

eddie's eyebrows shoot up, lips curling into a smirk. “whoa, whoa, hold up. buckley got you a job interview?" he nudges you with his elbow, grin widening. “you? behind a counter? voluntarily interacting with customers? what happened to ‘i’d rather eat glass than serve jocks their shitty action movies,’ huh?"

you groan, shoving him sideways into a row of lockers, but he just laughs, dodging easily and throwing an arm around your shoulders. “relax, doll. think of it this way, now you can hide all the good flicks in the back before carver and his goons even get a chance to rent ‘em."

his voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, “corporate sabotage. very metal."

you snort, but can't fight the smile tugging at your lips. it's stupid, this whole conversation is stupid, pointless, meaningless, but you can't help the warmth spreading through your chest. it's easy with eddie, too easy.

“corporate sabotage, huh? sounds more up your alley than mine.”

“me? a bad influence? never," he protests. “i'm the pinnacle of innocence. i've never done a single dishonest thing in my damn life."

you swat him on the arm, trying not to laugh. "right, and i’m gonna be nominated for prom queen this year."

he grins, eyes dancing with mischief, then his gaze snags on something over your shoulder, smile faltering.

“uh-oh," he mutters. “brace yourself."

you follow his eye line, jason carver cuts a path through the crowded hallway, flanked by his usual band of jocks.

his gaze lands on you, and of course he notices how close you and eddie are walking, of course he frowns, jaw tight, of course he nudges his friends, calling out to eddie mockingly.

“hey, munson. shouldn't your girlfriend be out in the woods somewhere? casting spells and sacrificing chickens, or whatever it is you freaks do in your free time.”

eddie stiffens beside you, his hand twitching like he wants to hit him, but he hesitates. instead, he leans in closer to you, voice big and theatrical, “careful, carver. she does know some spells." he flicks his fingers toward jason mockingly. “one wrong word and poof, your hairline recedes even further."

jason’s face flushes slightly red, but before he can retort, you lean into eddie’s side and add with a sweet smile, “and for the record? i don’t sacrifice chickens,” you pause. "goats, on the other hand..."

jason blinks in quiet shock, and eddie beams at you like you just won the damn lottery.

“that’s my girl," he says, bolder now, loud enough for everyone to hear, before steering you away from jason with a flourish.

by the time you reach the cafeteria, you're buzzing. every nerve in your body is alive, hyper-aware of eddie's fingers against your shoulder, the warmth of his arm around your shoulders, the way your hip bumps his as you walk. you shove down the feeling, forcing a smirk like nothing's different, as if you're not replaying his voice—“my girl"— in your head like a broken record.

the second you push through the cafeteria doors, eddie drops his arm, suddenly remembering where you are, who’s watching, but his fingers linger for a split second, brushing against the back of your jacket like he can’t quite let go.

jason’s voice still rings in your ears, girlfriend, and your pulse kicks up again, traitorous, hopeful.

eddie clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “so uh, video store interview, huh? when’s that?" his tone’s casual, but his eyes dart to yours like he’s searching for something.

you shrug, trying to play it cool. “saturday. robin said to ‘dress like a functioning member of society,’ so…" you gesture vaguely at your outfit, ripped jeans, battered boots, one of eddie’s old band tees you stole years ago and never gave back.

eddie huffs out a laugh, “good luck with that." then, quieter, more sincere, “but hey… you’ll kill it."

his smile is small, genuine, the kind that makes your stomach swoop. you open your mouth to reply, but—

“munson! quit flirting and get over here!" gareth’s voice cuts across the cafeteria, accompanied by the clatter of dustin dramatically slamming his lunch tray down onto the hellfire table.

eddie rolls his eyes, but there’s no real annoyance in it. “duty calls," he sighs, jerking his thumb toward them, but he hesitates, biting his lip. "you… coming?"

it’s a silly question, like you’d ever sit anywhere else, but you nudge his shoulder with yours anyway, grinning. “try and stop me."

eddie’s answering smile could power hawkins for a year.

lunch passes in a blur of chaotic debates, gareth insists aliens built the pyramids, dustin’s voice cracks mid-rant about star wars lore, and eddie steals fries off your tray with zero remorse. but every now and then, when the noise fades to background static, you catch him watching you — quick glances, the hint of a smirk when you roll your eyes at the idiots surrounding you, your own little kingdom of freaks and outcasts.

the bell rings too soon. eddie lingers as the others scatter, slinging his bag over his shoulder with deliberate slowness.

“so," he starts, rocking back on his heels. “saturday. you want, uh… moral support? before the interview?" he fiddles with one of his rings, avoiding your eyes. “could swing by your place, help you not look like you rob graves in your free time."

the joke’s weak, but the the offer isn’t. you bite your lip to hide the grin threatening to split your face. “are you saying my aesthetic isn’t professional?"

eddie meets your gaze dead-on, suddenly serious. “sweetheart, you duct-taped your boot back together last week."

you gasp, “that was an emergency! the sole was—"

he interrupts you by reaching out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “say yes," he murmurs.

your breath hitches. his fingers linger near your jaw, calloused and warm.

"...yes," you whisper.

for an instant, a flicker of surprise crosses his face, like even he didn’t expect the answer. then he smiles, soft and slow.“great." there’s a pause. he rubs his neck, suddenly nervous. “i’ll be there. saturday. four…-ish?"

you nod, your heart pounding too hard in your chest. "four," you confirm, and try not to think about the way his fingers feel against your skin.

the rest of the week passes quickly, classes blend together, teachers' voices droning in the background while your mind keeps drifting to saturday, to eddie’s promise. to the way his hands hesitated near you like he wanted to reach out and never let go.

saturday afternoon finds you sprawled on your bedroom floor, surrounded by discarded clothes. your usual ripped jeans and band tees litter the carpet, nothing screams ‘hire me’ less than your usual style. you groan, flopping backward onto the mess.

“this is impossible," you mutter to splat, who watches judgmentally from your pillow. “what are you lookin’ at?”

a sharp knock at your door makes you jump. before you can answer, it swings open, revealing eddie, leaning against the frame with a smirk. his eyes rake over the chaos.

“damn," he whistles. “you do own clothes that aren’t black. who knew?"

you throw a sock at him. “shut up. help me."

eddie steps inside, kicking the door shut behind him. he picks through your disaster of an outfit pile with exaggerated concentration before holding up a dark green sweater, one you forgot you even owned.

“here," he says, tossing it at you. “pair it with those almost clean jeans. boom. ‘functioning member of society.’"

you catch the sweater, wrinkling your nose. “this is so boring."

eddie grins, crouching beside you. “yeah, well. play the game now, burn the place down later,” he nudges your knee with his. “you got this, sweetheart.”

the nickname sends a familiar warmth through you. you hug the sweater to your chest, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.

“thanks," you mumble.

eddie’s quiet for a beat. then, softly, “anytime."

you shove the sweater over your head, the fabric settling awkwardly against your skin, too soft, too normal. eddie watches with an unreadable expression as you turn to check yourself in the mirror, frowning at the reflection staring back.

“i look like a librarian," you groan, plucking at the collar like it's personally offended you.

eddie's laugh is sudden and bright as he steps up behind you, his hands landing on your shoulders, warm through the fabric. his gaze meets yours in the mirror, eyes dancing with amusement.

“nah," he murmurs, tugging lightly on the sleeve of your sweater to straighten it. “you look... good.”

there's something in his voice that makes your stomach flip, something uncharacteristically soft and unguarded that wasn't there before. his fingers linger for a second too long before he clears his throat and steps back, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“alright, let's go before you chicken out," he teases, already heading for the door, but you catch the faint pink at the tips of his ears before he turns away.

the interview goes shockingly well. robin vouches for you hard, the manager seems too tired to care about your usual ‘aesthetic rebellion,’ and by the end, you’re scribbling your availability on a crumpled napkin like some kind of responsible adult.

eddie’s waiting outside when you emerge, leaning against the side of the building with a cigarette dangling from his lips. he straightens when he sees you, blowing smoke to the side.

“so?" he asks, trying, and failing to sound casual.

you hold up the hastily scribbled sticky note with your new schedule on it, “you’re looking at hawkins video’s newest nightmare."

eddie’s face splits into that wild, unfiltered smile you love, the one that makes him look seventeen instead of someone who’s seen too much. he crushes his cigarette under his boot and pulls you into a one-armed hug before you can react, his voice muffled against your hair, “knew you’d nail it."

as he lets go, too soon, always too soon, you catch the way his fingers flex at his side, like he’s stopping himself from reaching back.

the ride back to your house is quiet, filled with the hum of the radio and the steady thrum of eddie’s fingers against the steering wheel as he drives. every now and then, he glances at you out of the corner of his eye like he wants to say something, but the words stick in his throat.

you chew your thumbnail, looking out the window, resisting the urge to fidget with the sleeves of your new-old sweater. you wonder if eddie can hear your heartbeat thumping in the silence.

he pulls up in front of your trailer, killing the engine. the quiet stretches between you, almost awkward in a way that it never was. eddie drums his fingers on the wheel once, twice, before turning to face you fully, reaching into his pocket for something you can’t see yet.

“so," he starts, voice rough around the edges. “celebratory smoke?" he holds up a joint between two fingers with a lopsided grin.

you should say no. you have homework. your mom will be home soon. a dozen reasons flash through your mind.

instead, you reach for it. “only if you don't hog it this time."

eddie's laugh is startled, delighted. he leans across you to pop open the glove compartment to rifle around for a lighter, close enough that his hair brushes your cheek, close enough that you catch the faded smell of his leather jacket, scented with weed and cheap cologne.

when he pulls back, his eyes catch yours. just for a second. just long enough to make your pulse skip.

the joint burns slow between your fingers, smoke curling into the twilight air as you pass it back to eddie. his fingertips brush yours, just barely, and the contact lingers, warm against your skin. he takes a long drag, exhaling towards the van’s roof with a contented sigh, tilting his head back against the seat. the seat creaks softly underneath him as he adjusts, his eyes finding yours instinctively, as if he could feel yours on him already. you swallow thickly, watching the way his adam’s apple bobs slightly in his throat.

“so," he murmurs, voice roughened by the smoke, “first paycheck comes in, you're buying me lunch at benny's, right?"

you grin, nudging his arm with your elbow. “pretty sure you owe me lunch for all the times you've mooched fries off me."

eddie clutches his chest in mock offense. “mooched? that’s harsh, sweetheart.” but he’s smiling as he says it, eyes crinkling at the corners in that way you know means he’s trying not to laugh.

the joint dwindles between you, the ash glowing orange in the dim light. when it’s finally down to the filter, eddie flicks it out the window and turns to face you fully, suddenly serious.

“hey," he says softly, “proud of you, y’know."

your breath catches. his expression is so open, so unguarded, the way he only ever is with you. you swallow hard and look away before you do something stupid, like pull him closer.

“yeah, well," you mutter, “don’t get used to it. still planning my corporate takeover from within."

eddie laughs, loud and sudden, and something in your chest cracks open at the sound.

for a moment it feels almost easy again. eddie, the streetlamps flickering on, the smoke almost fully dissipated by now. it feels normal; like you can ignore the way your breath catches when he smiles, as if you're not holding onto the ragged edge of something that could break you both.

then he glances at his watch and his expression softens. the air changes. “i guess i should go. don't think your mom would appreciate the town freak loitering in her driveway on a school night."

“oh, come on. you know she tolerates you,” you joke back, your fingers moving to the door handle but not quite pulling yet.

eddie smirks, leaning back in his seat with exaggerated ease, but his knuckles whiten slightly where they grip the steering wheel. “tolerates. what a glowing endorsement."

he flicks his gaze toward you, mischief creeping back in. “guess that means i’m still banned from sunday dinners, huh?"

you roll your eyes, shoving his shoulder lightly, your hand lingers just a second too long on the worn leather of his jacket. eddie notices, his breath hitches almost imperceptibly.

“only if you show up wearing that judas priest shirt with the sleeves ripped off again," you deadpan.

then eddie clears his throat and leans over, reaching across you, “forgot to unlock it,” he mutters, his arm brushing yours as he pops the door open for you.

the night air is cool against your skin compared to the warmth of the car as you step out, shoving your hands into your pockets to avoid the temptation of climbing back in, to be with him a bit longer.

“thanks for the ride," you say, kicking at the dirt.

“anytime," eddie says quietly.

you force a smile that doesn't reach your eyes, trying to ignore the disappointment sinking in your chest as you shut the door, speaking through the cracked window. “i’ll see you.”

he nods, his eyes lingering on your face for a second too long. “later, sweetheart.”

eddie pulls away with one last wave, the car disappearing just down the street.

you linger on the porch for a moment, the silence closing around you like a cocoon. you shake your head, shoving away the tangle of thoughts churning in your mind. it’s just eddie, you remind yourself. just your best friend. not your boyfriend. not some unattainable fantasy. just eddie.

just eddie, who always gets under your skin and never stays close enough to touch.

inside, the trailer feels too big. too empty. you tug off the stupid green sweater and throw it onto your bed, where splat sits judging you with his button eyes, a physical reminder of eddie, of what you couldn’t have.

“shut up,” you mutter, flopping down next to him.

the clock ticks, your neighbor’s dog barks. you close your eyes and pray for sleep. it doesn't come.

hours later, you toss and turn in a tangle of sheets, trying to find some way to shut your brain off, but your thoughts keep circling back to eddie; his laugh, his smile, his eyes the way they get when he’s teasing you, and your heart pounds against your ribs with each memory.

you run an annoyed hand through your hair, it mussed from shifting against the pillow all night. you feel utterly idiotic, like some dumb cliche in those teen movies you and eddie hate.

“god, what is wrong with me?” you sigh, your voice quiet as your fingers fiddle with a loose green thread hanging off of splat. you pull at it quickly, attempting to be rid of it. instead, it continues to unravel, more thread wrapping your fingers; this is like us, you think. us? stupid.

the phone on your bedside table rings suddenly, jolting you out of your spiraling. you grab it off the receiver, fingers still wrapped in the green thread. “hello?” you reply groggily into the phone.

eddie's voice crackles through the receiver, low and gravelly. you catch yourself sitting up straighter.

“did i wake you?"

you shake your head, despite the fact he can't see you. “no," you say, trying to sound like your heart isn't hammering in your chest. “just... couldn't sleep."

there's a pause on the other end of the line. he asks quietly, “nightmare?"

“you could call it that, i guess.” your fingers absentmindedly begin twirling the green thread again as you reply, your other hand keeping the phone held up to your ear.

his voice drops impossibly soft, it almost feels like he’s in the room with you, “that bad, huh?"

you can picture him running a hand through his messy hair, frowning at no one in particular. your fingers tug too hard at the green thread, unraveling it a little more, not trusting your voice to be convincing in your white lie.

it's quiet for a second, like he's thinking carefully about what to say. “you wanna hear something funny?”

you smile faintly, despite the tension in your chest. “hit me.”

eddie clears his throat dramatically, like he's about to deliver some grand performance. “okay, so, what do you call a fish wearing a bowtie?"

you groan, “eddie, that's literally the oldest—"

he cuts you off, voice brimming with fake offense. “ah-ah-ah! let the master work!" then, with a terrible attempt at a posh accent, “sofishticated."

the silence on your end is deafening. eddie waits exactly three seconds before bursting into laughter, the kind that makes him wheeze a little at the end.

“you hate me right now," he gasps between chuckles. “i can feel it through the phone."

and god help you, you're smiling, actually smiling, despite the fact it's the dumbest joke in existence.

you glance down at the green thread still tangled around your fingers, looser now, less suffocating. “shut up," you mumble, but you both know you mean to say thank you.

eddie’s laughter settles into a quiet hum, the line crackling with static between you. for a moment, neither of you speaks, just the sound of his breath and yours, steadying in tandem. then he sighs, his voice dropping into something quieter, more sincere.

“seriously though,” he murmurs, “if the nightmare was real bad… i got my van.” a beat. “could be there in five… four if i run the stop sign.”

it’s late and you should probably just go to bed, but your chest aches with something tender and raw, and suddenly all you can think is, “which stop sign?”

eddie huffs a laugh. “the one by mrs. andrews’ mailbox. you know she hates when i-“

you cut him off, “come over.”

a pause. the line goes so quiet you think maybe the call dropped. then, “yeah?” his voice is rough, hopeful. “you sure?”

you glance at splat, at the unraveled green thread pooled in your lap. “yeah,” you whisper. “hurry up.”

the line goes dead, only leaving a soft hum in the absence of his voice. you put the phone back onto the receiver, the green thread now limp in your fingers, finally detached. the silence of the trailer feels heavier now, anticipation crackling under your skin. you count the minutes in your head, listening for the familiar rumble of his van.

one.

you notice your palms are weirdly sweaty.

two.

a car door slams outside.

three.

knuckles rap against your window, soft, trying not to wake your mom in the other room.

four.

you yank the curtains aside. eddie’s standing there, hair wild from he wind, cheeks flushed from sprinting across your lawn in the cold. he grins when he sees you, crooked and bright, breath fogging the glass as he leans in closer.

“told ya," he mouths through the window, "four minutes."

eddie tumbles through the window with all the grace of a bull in a china shop, landing with a thump on your bedroom floor, knocking over a stack of cassettes in the process. he freezes mid-step, wincing at the clatter.

“shit—"

you clap a hand over your mouth to stifle your laugh as he frantically gestures for silence, eyes darting toward your closed door. when no angry footsteps come, he exhales dramatically and flops onto your bed beside, limbs sprawling like he owns the place.

“so," he whispers, propping his head up on one elbow, "wanna tell me about this nightmare, or do i gotta guess?" his tone is light, but his eyes are serious, dark and searching in the dim glow of your bedside lamp.

you swallow hard. the thread is gone, but the weight of it lingers between you. eddie waits. patient. always patient with you. you lay down beside him, pulling the comforter over the two of you.

outside, the wind rattles the trailer park streetlights. inside, his knee brushes yours under the blankets, warm and solid and probably crossing some kind of line.

“just the usual," you finally mumble. your fingers find the blanket hem, nervously fiddling with it.

eddie nods. he reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, a gesture so gentle it makes your breath catch. his eyes hold yours, steady in the dim light. “you know that stuff isn't real, right?"

you take a shaky breath, shaking your head. “feels real," you admit.

eddie's expression softens further, like he can sense the things you aren't saying, the double meaning in your words. his hand lingers near your face, so close you can feel the heat of him, hovering in the narrow space between you.

“wanna know something stupid?" he asks quietly.

you nod, not trusting your voice.

eddie exhales sharply, almost like a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “i get ‘em too,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper. “not the…the vecna shit, not anymore, but… other stuff. the kinda stuff that sticks around even when you’re awake.” his thumb brushes your cheekbone, feather-light. “you never look at me like i’m crazy when i talk about it. that’s… that’s why i called. ‘cause i figured if anyone gets it…”

he trails off, eyes darting over your face like he’s seeing it for the first time. the confession hangs between you, raw and terrifying and so painfully eddie it makes your ribs ache.

“that’s not stupid, eds.”

he swallows, throat bobbing. his gaze snaps to yours like he'd forgotten you could hear him.

“thanks, but i mean, it kinda is a little." he clears his throat, suddenly sheepish. “i just… it’s bullshit, isn't it? i can beat the hell out of monsters, but i can’t shut my brain off at night? kinda pathetic when you think about it.” he offers up a half-smile that doesn't quite cover the vulnerability in his eyes.

“it’s not,” you shift a bit closer, laying your head on the pillow and rolling onto your side to face him. your faces are now just inches apart, you can feel his warm breath fanning your lips on every exhale. “you’ve seen shit that most people our age can’t even imagine. you’re brave, eds. always have been… even without the monsters.”

eddie's breath hitches, just barely, at the nickname, his gaze flickering from your eyes to your lips and back again. he doesn’t pull away, voice barely above a whisper when he answers, “brave, huh?" a smirk tugs at his mouth, but it's softer now, less defensive.

“could say the same about you, y'know. if we're handing out compliments tonight."

his fingers twitch against the pillow near your head like he wants to touch you but isn’t sure he’s allowed. the air between you hums with something electric, fragile, like the moment before a guitar string snaps.

“how so?”

he blinks for a second, the sudden closeness is throwing his thoughts off kilter, but he keeps your gaze, unwavering. “you're not scared, ever. you fight the whole damn world without even realizing it, and it's… it's pretty badass, y'know?"

your heart pounds in your ears, the heat rolling off eddie's body making you dizzy, as if you're standing too close to an open flame. you lean forward, just a tiny fraction.

“i’m scared a lot of the time, actually,” you admit quietly, eyes scanning his face in the dim light of your room.

eddie lets out an exhale like you just punched him in the ribs, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced with something softer, more serious.

“but you keep going," he says, voice low and rough. “when most people would have given up or run for the hills, you keep going. that's bravery, sweetheart, even if you don't think so. that's who you are."

you snort, “funny. i just copy you.”

that makes him pause. he shakes his head, something like wonder flashing across his face in the half-light.

“you give me too much credit." he wets his lips, eyes flickering between your mouth and your gaze like he can't decide which to focus on. “i'm not as fearless as you think i am."

“someone has to give you your flowers. god knows you’ll never do it yourself.”

he huffs, but you catch the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth, the same one that appears whenever you tease him. “who died and made you the flower-giver?"

it's a defense, you know that, a deflection, a way to play off how your words affect him so he never has to be vulnerable first.

your voice comes out barely above a whisper, but he’s so close he catches it anyway. “fate, maybe? if you believe in that stuff, anyway.”

eddie goes very still, eyes searching your face for a moment that feels like an eternity. his expression crumbles into something like disbelief.

“you don't honestly believe in that garbage, do you?" he lets out a low, disbelieving huff. “it's just a bunch of cosmic nonsense, sweetheart. no fate, no destiny. just chaos and luck and shitty timing." his tone is harsher than usual, bordering on bitter.

“maybe you’re right… but i can’t help but think,” you pause, exhaling shakily. “what if, you know? all of this feels like more than coincidence, doesn’t it?”

eddie's jaw tightens. his gaze flicks away from yours, your words are a hit he can't bring himself to dodge.

“so… what? we’re just pawns in some big show, some pre-ordained path? bullshit.” he lets out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. the movement sends his hair tumbling into his eyes as he looks back at you.

“what's the point, then? if everything's already been decided?"

his voice is rough, cracking around the edges. you wish you could take the words back, rewind the moment and not bring up something that clearly hits too close to home.

“eddie—" you start, but he shakes his head, sitting up.

“it's bullshit," he cuts you off. “the thought that there's no control, that no matter what i do… my life's already laid out, start to finish,” his hands flex against the sheets.

you sit up too, reaching for his hand before he can pull away completely. “eds, i didn't mean—"

he doesn't jerk away, but his fingers stay stiff in your grip. “then what did you mean?" his voice is quiet now, but the frustration still simmers beneath it.

you swallow hard. the words feel too big, too fragile to say out loud, but you owe him this honesty.

“i just meant…" you trace the calluses on his knuckles, guitar strings, fight scars, years of survival etched into his skin. "...that out of all the uncertainty, all the ‘chaos and the shitty timing’… i still found you. don’t know where i’d be if i hadn’t.”

the silence between you is thick. eddie stares at your joined hands like he's trying to decipher a riddle. then, slowly, still unsure, his fingers tighten around yours.

eddie exhales sharply, his grip almost painful in its intensity. his eyes flick up to meet yours, raw, unguarded, stripped of every sarcastic defense he usually wears like armor. “yeah," he rasps. “me too."

he doesn’t elaborate. he doesn’t need to. the words settle between you like an oath, like something sacred. his thumb brushes over your knuckles, once, twice, before he pulls his hand away with a shaky breath.

the air between you crackles with years of the unspoken. eddie leans back against your headboard, raking a hand through his hair as if trying to physically shake off the weight of the moment.

“christ," he mutters, voice rough with something like awe or terror or both. “we’re a pair, aren’t we?"

you lean back beside him, staring straight ahead at the wall. “yeah, guess so.”

he shifts next to you, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours. the silence stretches, but it’s not uncomfortable. it’s the kind of quiet that only exists between people who know each other down to their bones.

eddie nudges your knee with his. “still think we'd find each other in any universe?" he asks, voice laced with faux-casualness. as if it’s a joke; like it doesn’t matter, but you know him better than that.

you lean your head on his shoulder, voice coming out unsure, “feels like we already have.”

eddie inhales so sharply you think he might have stopped breathing. for a second you think he's going to pull away, or shove you lightly and mutter some sarcastic reply to deflect the moment, but instead, your best friend, your person, leans into you gently, his head resting on top of yours.

“y'know what’s stupid?" he says after a moment. his voice is uncharacteristically soft, the words whispered into the dark like a confession.

“hm?” you hum softly, fingers absentmindedly tracing the black ink popping out from underneath his shirt collar.

“every time i think i’ve got this life figured out, something comes along and proves me wrong." eddie shifts beside you, one knee coming up to rest against your thigh. he seems to be choosing his words carefully, a rare moment of vulnerability from the boy that hides behind jokes.

“like… there's this part of me that expects to wake up someday and this, all of this, is just some kind of dream. some cosmic joke being played on me because… because people like me aren't allowed to have this, right? this… peace. happiness. whatever."

he sighs in frustration, clearly having been thinking about this for a while.

you lift your head just enough to look at him, his face so close in the dim light that you can see every unguarded flicker of emotion, the way his lips press together, the quiet frustration in his brow. you reach up without thinking, brushing a loose curl from his forehead with your fingers.

“people like you?" you murmur, holding his gaze. “you mean people who are brave, and kind, and stupidly good at making other people feel like they matter? to those kids, you’re a hero, and you don’t even realize it. henderson practically idolizes you.”

eddie's breath hitches. his fingers twitch against the blanket between you, wanting to touch, but still not allowing himself.

“that's not—" he starts, but then stops when your thumb grazes his cheekbone. his voice drops to a whisper, “sweetheart..."

it sounds like a surrender.

“i'm not brave." he shakes his head slightly, eyes fixed on your hand against his skin. his jaw clenches. “and i’m not some kind of hero. i’m a third-year senior with a genetic unlucky streak, at best. at worst I'm a—"

“don't," you murmur, your thumb brushing just beneath his eyelashes. he blinks, eyes going impossibly soft. “don't call yourself that. god, eds, i can't stand when you do that. don’t downplay all the shit you’ve been through just so you don’t have to talk about it.”

eddie’s breath stutters. he reaches up to curl his fingers around your wrist, not pushing you away, not pulling you closer, just holding you there, needing you to anchor him in the moment. his pulse thrums wildly under your fingertips.

“fine," he whispers. “but you don't get to call me a hero either. deal?"

his voice is rough, but there’s a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, trying to wrestle back some control, some semblance of the usual eddie, but his thumb strokes absently over the inside of your wrist, betraying him.

“can i think it?” you joke half-heartedly, trying to lighten the mood.

eddie groans, pressing his forehead against yours dramatically, but he doesn’t pull away. his nose bumps against yours, breath warm as he grumbles, “ugh, fine. just…don't expect me to start wearing a cape or some shit." he tilts his head slightly, smirking. “unless it's leather. then maybe."

just like that, the tension shatters because this is eddie, and this is you, and no matter how heavy things get, he’ll always find a way to make you laugh.

“nah, you’re more of a suit of armor kinda guy,” you joke, barely able to get through the sentence without laughing, picturing eddie clanking around in creaky metal, trying his best to stay upright under the weight.

eddie gasps, clutching his chest like you’ve mortally wounded him. “excuse you, i’d be a rogue, obviously. leather armor, daggers, maybe a cloak for dramatic effect,” he gestures wildly, nearly smacking you in the face before catching himself.

you burst out laughing, trying your best to stifle it with your hand while shoving his shoulder. he grins, victorious. the sound fills the quiet trailer, bouncing off the walls like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

eddie leans back against the headboard, watching you with an expression so soft it makes your stomach flip. “there she is," he murmurs. he doesn’t have to say it, you already know— his girl. you realize with sudden, terrifying clarity, that you’d follow him anywhere.

you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling so wide your face hurts. eddie studies your expression for a second before suddenly leaning in close, close enough that you can see all the little flecks of gold in his eyes, the soft yellow lighting from the lamp bouncing off of his irises.

"...you’re blushing," he whispers, delighted.

you shove him again, harder this time, and he topples sideways onto the bed with a dramatic yelp, pulling you down with him in a tangle of limbs and laughter. he just holds you there, not wanting to let go so soon.

“you staying?” you say after a few moments of silence, shifting more onto your side of the bed.

eddie looks at you like you just asked the dumbest question on earth, raising an eyebrow. “uh, yeah?" he tugs you a little closer, throwing an arm around your waist to pull you back towards him.

“night, eds.” you reach to turn off the lamp beside your bed, settling back against him.

he smiles against your neck, his breath warm on your skin. “night, sweetheart."

you let your eyes flutter shut, listening to the wind outside, the rise and fall of his chest.

right as you're drifting off, you feel a gentle touch against your hair.

“you awake?" eddie whispers in the dark.

you hum sleepily, shifting a little closer under his arm. “hm?”

he hesitates for a second, his fingers still tangled in your hair. his voice comes out softer than you’ve ever heard him, “thanks for… y’know. not letting me spiral.”

it’s the quietest admission you’ve ever heard from him. before you can respond, he shifts, pulling the blanket over both of you and rolling over to face the wall.

you stare at his back, the rise and fall of his shoulders. you could reach out and touch him, tell him he doesn’t have to thank you, that you’d always be there.

you don’t, because he knows. he’s always known.

you lay there in the darkness, listening to him breathe. wishing, for a single selfish second, that words alone could be enough. that in the silence of the trailer, the weight of unspoken things could disappear.

his breathing evens out slowly, the tension in his shoulders unspooling as sleep finally takes him. you watch the way the moonlight cuts across his profile, the sharp line of his nose, the curve of his lips, the dark flutter of his lashes against his cheeks. he shifts onto his back, messy curls splaying across your pillow.

and then, because you’re weak, because you’re selfish, because you’ve always been a little in love with him, you reach out. just once. just to brush your fingertips against the back of his hand where it now rests over his stomach. his fingers twitch in his sleep, curling slightly toward yours.

you close your eyes, but sleep doesn’t come. the night stretches on.

outside, the wind hums through the gaps in the trailer walls, a quiet, familiar lullaby. the faint glow of streetlight bleeds through your curtains, painting gold across eddie's collarbone where his shirt has slipped askew and you have to stop yourself from running your fingers over it. you memorize the way his pulse jumps under his skin when your fingers skim his wrist.

“eddie," you whisper to the dark, just to taste his name on your tongue. he doesn’t stir, but in his sleep, his pinky hooks around yours, keeping you close.

sunlight spills through the gaps in your curtains, painting stripes of gold across the tangled blankets and the still-sleeping boy beside you. eddie’s face is half-buried in your pillow, mouth slightly open, one arm flung out around your waist, where it had stayed all night. his hair is an absolute disaster, curls sticking up at odd angles.

you’re frozen, suddenly hyper-aware of every point of contact, his knee knocking against yours under the sheets, the warmth of his palm pressed flat against your ribs. you should move. you should wake him up, but for one stolen moment, you let yourself linger, memorizing the weight of him, the quiet rasp of his breathing. his nose scrunches slightly, as if feeling your attention on him even in sleep, a soft groan escaping him as he stirs.

"...mmph. time’s it?" he mumbles into the pillow, voice thick with sleep.

you glance over at the clock on your wall, “almost ten.”

eddie groans, finally opening one eye at you. “ten? really? why didn't you wake me, dickhead?"

he pokes you in the ribs, not hard, just enough to make you jump. you swat at his hand, biting back a grin. “you just looked so peaceful.”

he gives you a halfhearted glare, but there's no real heat behind it. he drags himself up onto one elbow, scrubbing a hand through his sleep-mussed curls.

“that's a shitty excuse, sweetheart.” but he glances away, cheeks flushed, lips twitching.

“didn’t say it was a good one.”

eddie huffs, but he doesn't move away, just flops back onto your pillow, one arm thrown dramatically over his eyes.

“you're lucky you're cute," he mutters, muffled by his sleeve.

you both freeze, effectively stunned. the air between you goes electric with the weight of the words neither of you were supposed to say out loud. somewhere outside, a car backfires, effectively shattering the moment.

you clear your throat, attempting to move on without a hitch. “you mind driving me to work today? first day of corporate hell, can’t be late.”

eddie sits up too quickly, nearly knocking heads with you. “oh shit, yeah, today's the day you sell your soul to the man, huh?" he grins, clearly relieved by the subject change.

he scrambles off the bed, already halfway to the door before you can process him leaving your side. just like that, the moment passes, but the ghost of his warmth lingers on your skin long after he's gone.

as eddie disappears down the hall towards the bathroom, you collapse back onto the mattress, your pulse still hammering against your ribs. you press your palms to your face, inhaling shakily.

“fuck," you whisper to the empty room.

then you hear the sound of a door opening and shut, followed by the unmistakable noise of the shower turning on. which gives you an idea. a stupid idea. an absolutely terrible idea.

you stare at the bathroom door, the bathroom where eddie is currently standing under the spray in your shower.

your heart lurches, but not in the way you expected. the thought should thrill you, should make your pulse race. instead, something cold and sick twists in your stomach, your heart stuttering for a different reason entirely.

“fuck," you mutter again, rolling onto your side and curling into yourself.

because this isn't just some flirty game anymore. this is eddie. your best friend, and you're not about to ruin that for a stupid fantasy

the shower shuts off after what feels like both an eternity and no time at all. you hear eddie humming, some off-key metallica riff, as he pads back toward your room. you squeeze your eyes shut, pretending to be asleep when the door creaks open.

“sweetheart, you awake?” he whispers. when you don't respond, he sighs, voice softening. “alright, sleeping beauty. five more minutes."

his fingers brush your shoulder, light as a breath, before he pulls away.

you wait until he shuts the bathroom door again before finally sitting up, exhaling slowly. you can do this, things don't have to change. you can ignore the way your heart stutters every time he looks at you. you have to.

when eddie reappears, hair still damp, he takes one look at your face and stops dead in the doorway.

“jesus,” he says quietly. “you look like someone kicked your dog."

“just first day jitters,” it sounds like a lie, even to you.

he eyes you skeptically from across the room, not buying it. “uh huh. that why you're sitting there like someone pissed in your cheerios instead of getting dressed?"

you try forcing a smile, it doesn't reach your eyes. “maybe”

you shove yourself off the bed before you can say something stupid. “we’re gonna be late,” you say, avoiding his gaze as you search your floor for anything you can throw on.

“right, yeah,” he clears his throat, grabbing his jacket off the floor. “let’s roll.”

the drive to your new job is filled with music, eddie’s familiar mix of metallica and black sabbath blasting through the speakers, but the usual comfort of it feels distant today. you stare out the window, your knee bouncing restlessly.

eddie glances over at you, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “you sure you’re good?”

you nod, forcing another smile. “yeah. just… thinking.”

he doesn’t push, just turns the music up louder, filling the silence between you with something easier than words.

when he pulls into the parking lot of the video store, he shifts in his seat to face you, grinning. “aright, corporate warrior. try not to let ‘em break your spirit on day one.”

you roll your eyes but can’t help the real smile that tugs at your lips. “thanks for the pep talk.”

eddie’s grin softens, just for a second, before he reaches over and ruffles your hair. “go get ‘em, tiger.”

you take a deep breath and step out of the car, glancing back once to see eddie still watching you through the windshield. he waits until you’re safely inside the family video before driving away.

the bell dings cheerfully as you enter, spotting robin immediately behind the counter. her face lights up in excitement when she catches sight of you, “thank god, i totally thought you were gonna bail.”

you manage a laugh, shoving your hands into your pockets. “sorry. overslept." not technically a lie.

robin arches a brow, leaning forward on the counter with a smirk. “and by 'overslept,' you mean…?"

“that i overslept,” you reply back quickly, already agitated at what you know she’s implying. steve appears from the back room, dropping her a fresh family video vest on the counter.

steve squints at you, then at robin, then back at you again. “wait, hold up, were you guys talking about—"

robin smacks him in the chest with the back of her hand before he can finish. “no! nope. no we were not."

steve rubs his sternum, looking deeply offended. “jesus, fine." he tosses the vest your way. “just saying, if you were talking about munson, i have insider info. that's all."

robin kicks him behind the counter, earning a slight wince from him.

you stiffen, the mention of eddie sending a familiar jolt through you. you force a laugh, trying to play it cool. “oh yeah? enlighten me."

steve leans on the counter on his forearms, voice lowering conspiratorially. “well, i heard from henderson, who heard from brian, who heard from gareth, that a certain someone doesn’t want you working here. with me.”

you blink, processing.

“what?" your voice comes out sharper than intended, earning a surprised look from steve.

robin kicks him again, harder this time. steve yelps.

“i'm just the messenger!" he hisses at her, before turning back to you with a wince. “look, don't shoot me, i'm just repeating what i heard."

your pulse thrums in your ears. you can picture the scene so clearly, eddie pacing his trailer, grumbling to gareth about you working with steve harrington of all people. it’s ridiculous. it’s… possessive.

you swallow hard, schooling your expression into something neutral. “yeah, well. tell henderson, and gareth, and brian, to mind their own business."

robin shoots steve a warning look. “hey, steve, why don't you go start the returns?"

“what, why?" steve looks between you with a frown.

“just go, dingus,” she says, rolling her eyes at his inability to read the room.

he looks like he wants to protest, but finally throws his hands up in defeat. “fine, whatever. i'll go do the boring manual labor."

he disappears into the back room, still grumbling to himself, leaving you and robin in awkward silence for a moment.

she clears her throat awkwardly. you stare determinedly out the window at a car driving past.

finally, she lets out a huff. “can i be honest?" here it comes.

“you might as well." you mutter.

she leans forward, bracing her elbows on the counter. “look, you know i love munson. the guy's a total weirdo, but in like, a good way, you know?"

you nod slowly, waiting for the rest of it.

robin exhales sharply, raking a hand through her hair. “but this? him getting all bent out of shape about you working here? that's bullshit." her voice drops lower, glancing toward the back to make sure steve isn't listening. “you don't belong to him. you get to make your own choices, and if he can't handle that—"

she cuts herself off, shaking her head. “just… don't let him scare you off from something you wanna do, okay?"

the words land heavy in your chest. because she's right, but it's not that simple, not when the thought of disappointing eddie makes your stomach twist into knots.

before you can respond, the bell above the door chimes. you and robin end up, thankfully, interrupted by a customer. your first day goes by in a bit of a blur, robin trains you on rewinding the tapes, and you pretend like there’s not a pit in your stomach.

the neon family video sign flickers as you clock out, stepping into the dim parking lot. eddie’s van idles near the curb, exhaust curling into the cool night air. he’s leaning against the driver’s side door, arms crossed, cigarette dangling from his lips. the glow of the ember illuminates his sharp features when he spots you.

“told you i’d pick you up," he calls, grinning.

your stomach flips, equal parts irritation and something warmer, something treacherous. you shove your hands in your pockets and walk toward him. “yeah, yeah. just don’t make a habit of lurking outside my job like some kinda stalker."

eddie scoffs, flicking ash onto the pavement. “please. if i was lurking, you wouldn’t have seen me.” he pushes off the van, swinging the passenger door open with a dramatic flourish. “m’lady.”

you roll your eyes, climbing into the passenger seat. “oh, so you have an appropriate amount of stalker-like tendencies. that’s comforting."

“hey, stalking implies there’s some element of subtlety. that’s not my thing," he protests, starting the engine and cranking the a/c. the van rumbles to life, filling the air with the familiar sound of black sabbath’s war pigs.

eddie turns the volume down slightly, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he pulls out of the parking lot. he keeps glancing at you out of the corner of his eye like he wants to say something, but can't quite find the words, continuing the dance that had become your new normal almost overnight.

finally, he clears his throat. “so, how was the first day?”

“it was fine," you say, staring out the window as hawkins blurs past. “steve and robin are... they're nice."

eddie stiffens almost imperceptibly beside you. “yeah, nice," he mutters under his breath, grip tightening on the wheel.

the silence between you grows heavier.

you glance over at him, taking in the set of his jawline, the way his bangs shadow his eyes just a bit. “you’re mad," you say, more of an observation than a question.

he huffs, eyes fixed on the road. “i’m not mad."

“eddie." you give him a sharp sidelong glance. he sighs, shoulders slumping a little. “fine, alright. yeah. i'm mad."

“mad at me?”

“no," he snaps, “not at you."

you watch him warily. “then who?"

“steve."

ah. “why?"

“because… i don’t know, alright?" he exclaims. “he just pisses me off."

“i thought you guys were cool after, y’know, everything?” you don’t need to specify, you were all there those few short months ago; the demobats, the upside down, all the things you’d both rather forget.

eddie scoffs, fingers tightening around the wheel. “we are cool. doesn't mean i gotta like the guy hovering around you all day."

you blink at him. "...what?"

he grimaces, realizing what he just said. the van slows at a red light, and he finally turns to look at you, really look at you, his expression caught between frustration and something far more vulnerable.

“look, i don’t—" he cuts himself off, jaw working. “forget it."

the light turns green. eddie exhales sharply and hits the gas. neither of you speak the rest of the way to your house.

when he pulls up to your trailer, the silence between you feels like a living thing, heavy and tense. eddie doesn’t turn the engine off, doesn’t look at you, just drums his fingers against the wheel like he’s waiting for something, like maybe he wants you to break first.

you unbuckle your seatbelt, hesitating before grabbing the door handle. “thanks for the ride,” you mutter.

eddie nods stiffly. “yeah. no problem.”

you should get out, go inside and let this, whatever this is, fizzle out like every other almost-argument you’ve ever had, but something stops you. you sit frozen. maybe it’s the way his knuckles are white around the steering wheel. maybe it’s the way he hasn’t looked at you once since that red light, or maybe it’s the way your chest aches at the thought of leaving things like this.

you take a deep breath. “eddie—”

he cuts you off with a sharp laugh, finally turning to face you. his eyes are dark, unreadable. “what? what do you want me to say?”

you swallow hard. you don’t know. that’s the problem.

the silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating. finally, eddie sighs, running a hand through his hair. “just… go inside, alright? i’ll see you tomorrow.”

it’s a dismissal. a gentle one, but a dismissal all the same. you nod stiffly, mimicking his previous actions and push the door open, stepping out into the cool night air. the van doesn’t pull away until you’re safely inside, the sound of the engine fading into the distance as you lean back against your front door, exhaling shakily.

something has shifted between you tonight. you’re not sure what it means yet, only that nothing will ever be quite the same again.

✧༝┉˚•★•˚┉༝✧ taglist ✧༝┉˚•★•˚┉༝✧

@daddyhetfield @hellfirehottie @mayawainfleet

eddie, sprawled out on his bed, stared up at the popcorn ceiling as metallica’s ride the lightning lowly filled the room. his bedroom was a chaotic mess of old comic books, empty coke cans, and dirty clothes. with a dramatic sigh, his eyes wandered to the clock on his nightstand. it was already nearing four pm, you were usually over by now.

you barge into his room moments later, not even bothering to knock. you have your eyes covered by your hand just in case, there had been a few times over the years where you’d seen something you didn’t need to, things that stuck with you despite your attempts to forget them. “you decent?”

eddie jolts slightly at the sudden intrusion but immediately relaxes when he hears your voice. he props himself up on his elbows, grinning as he watches you cautiously enter with your hand blocking your vision.

“oh come on, when have I ever been decent?" he laughs, tossing a crumpled-up sock at you. “yeah, yeah, I'm good. no horror shows today, promise. unless you count my laundry pile, that's pretty scary."

he rolls onto his side, gesturing dramatically at the mess around him before patting the space next to him on the bed. “what’s up, sunshine? you look like you’re on a mission."

you uncover your eyes, plopping down beside him on the bed like you owned the place, which at this point, you basically did. there wasn’t anything eddie wouldn’t let you do.

“i got keith from the arcade to promise me free tokens if i pretended to be his girlfriend for like, an hour for his weirdo friends. didn’t i tell you about that?”

eddie chuckles softly, shaking his head as you flop down on the bed. he can't help but find it amusing how comfortable you always were in his space, claiming it as your own and never looking back. he nods appreciatively at your scheme, knowing first hand how keith can be.

“you did tell me about that, yeah," he says, grinning widely. “and i have to say, genius move, sweetheart. getting free tokens and toying with keith’s emotions all in one go, that’s what I call multitasking."

he leans in closer, playful smirk intact. “so, how long’s this little ‘relationship’ gonna last? Just till keith’s ego inflates enough, or are we talking full-on arcade royalty status?"

“dude, no. it was a one and done deal.” you scrunch your nose up in mock-disgust, keith wasn’t the worst ever, but he certainly wasn’t what you would consider a good time.

eddie clutches his chest dramatically, rolling onto his back with a loud gasp.

“sweetheart! you heartbreaker!" he throws an arm over his forehead like some swooning victorian heroine. “poor keith’s probably out there right now, sobbing into his pac-man machine, wondering where it all went wrong. did he not score enough for you? was his joystick technique lacking?"

he peeks at her from under his arm, grinning. “at least tell me you got, like, a ludicrous amount of tokens out of it, enough to bankrupt the whole arcade economy.”

“guess you’ll have to come with and find out for yourself, huh?”

eddie raises an eyebrow, instantly perking up at the invitation. he sits up, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“you had me at ‘free shit,’” he exclaims. he jumps off the bed and begins rummaging through his closet. “give me ten minutes to make myself mildly presentable, and then we’re out of here.”

“gonna need more than ten minutes, babe.” you used that nickname frequently for all your friends, but he couldn’t help but feel a slight flutter in his stomach every time it was directed at him.

eddie freezes mid-shirt-grab, turning to glare at you, though the effect is ruined by the pink tinge creeping up his neck.

“excuse you," he huffs, tossing the shirt over his shoulder dramatically. “i’ll have you know my natural charm transcends hygiene, but fine, fine, twenty minutes, max… and only because i refuse to let keith think he’s competition."

he starts aggressively shrugging his leather jacket over his band tee, grumbling playfully. “‘babe,’ my ass. next thing i know, you’ll be trading me for tokens."

“i’d trade you for less than tokens.”

eddie clutches his chest, feigning hurt.

“ouch, sweetheart. that one stung. can you remind me why we’re still friends, again?” he playfully glares at you, but his eyes betray a hint of affection. he throws on his faded denim vest over his jacket and rummages through the pockets for his wallet and keys.

“hm, because you love me and you’d be nothing without my friendship? or something like that.” you respond, a cute grin plastered across your face. this teasing, the lightheartedness, it had always been so comfortable between you two.

eddie rolls his eyes affectionately, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “yeah, something like that, i guess." he finally locates his keys and wallet on the nightstand, shoving them into his jacket pockets before turning to you. you’re sprawled out casually on his bed, and for a moment, he can't help but appreciate the scene, the familiarity of your dynamic, the way you just seem to fit perfectly in his space.

“alright, alright. let’s go bankrupt this arcade, shall we?" he gestures towards the door. “after you, oh token queen."

you laugh at the voice he puts on, hopping down from the bed and leading him down the short hall to the front door. “hey, you know if buckley’s working today? might stop in for a sec to see her, if that’s cool.”

eddie shakes his head as he opens the door for you, his hand instinctively finding its way to the small of your back as you step out of the trailer.

“beats me, but i wouldn't be surprised. that girl practically lives in there."

his gaze travels to you as you make your way to his van, his tone returning to its usual teasing tone, eddie never being one to stay serious for long. “trying to snag a rental deal from your favorite video clerk, huh? i see how it is."

“believe it or not, eds, i do have other friends,” you shoot back playfully.

“say it ain't so!" he gasps, eyes wide and comically pained. “you mean to tell me i’m not the center of your universe? i’m crushed. devastated, even." he makes a show of swooning, pretending to collapse against the side of his van with his hand on his forehead.

“dork,” you can’t ever seem to hide your smile when he’s around. climbing into your seat in the passenger side, you immediately starts rifling through his tape collection, which is fittingly a bunch of cassettes thrown haphazardly into an old shoebox that he kept in the van.

eddie watches you with a mixture of amusement and mock annoyance as you start going through his tapes. he slides into the driver's seat, shaking his head fondly.

“you know, you could always ask before digging through a man's personal belongings. it’s called respect," he says, though there's no real sharpness to his tone.

he glances sidelong at the shoebox you’re flipping through and can't help but feel a twinge of affection. you were the only person he'd let get away with that, you both knew it.

you glance up, narrowing your eyes in his direction. “since when do you have boundaries?”

eddie snorts as he starts the van, the engine roaring to life with its usual cacophony.

“fair point," he concedes, flashing you a grin. “guess i should just be grateful you're not tossing 'em out the window this time,” he shakes his head, remembering past instances where you’d dramatically ejected tapes mid-drive because you 'couldn't handle another minute of that whiny-ass guitar solo.'

he leans over, nudging her shoulder playfully. “just don't lose my black sabbath tape again. took me three weeks to find it last time, turns out it was under your seat, you little gremlin."

“it’s your fault for feeding me after midnight,” you joke with a slight smirk, popping whatever metallica tape he had in the van’s cassette player out and replacing it with a dio one you picked from the shoebox.

eddie groans dramatically as you swap out his tape, though he can't help but feel a flicker of affection at your choice of replacement. dio was his second favorite after all, and the fact that you knew that felt oddly endearing.

“you have no respect for the classics, you know that? 'master of puppets’ was revolutionary, a masterpiece of thrash metal, and you just... tossed it aside like yesterday's garbage." he mock-pouts, his tone entirely playful.

“and we’ve heard it a million times by now. broaden your horizons, my friend.”

eddie can't argue with that, so he huffs in faux-irritation instead. “fine, fine. have it your way, musical tyrant."

he looks over at you, unable to keep the smirk off his face. “but i get to choose next, alright? can’t have you hogging all the airtime.”

he reaches over, messing up your already tousled hair playfully before turning his attention back to the road.

once eddie pulls into the arcade parking lot, you hop out of the passenger side, already making your way to the family video in the shared lot.

“i’ll meet you over there, get my tokens from keith pleaseeee,” you call out from where you now stand on the sidewalk. eddie leans out the driver’s side window, squinting after your retreating form.

“oh, so now i’m just your token-fetching lackey?" he calls, shaking his head but already stepping out of the van. he shoves his hands in his pockets, shouting after you, “fine, but if keith tries to bond with me over his ‘broken heart,’ i’m charging you emotional labor fees!"

with a dramatic sigh, he turns toward the arcade, muttering under his breath with a grin, “little menace, i swear.”

the bell above the door at family video dings when you enter, moving straight to the counter where steve harrington sits rewinding tapes, looking bored out of his mind.

“harrington, buckley in today?” you ask, leaning on your forearms on the counter.

steve glances up from the rewinding machine, flashing you his trademark ‘king steve’ smirk, though it’s lost some of its old cockiness over the years. he leans back in his chair, arms crossing.

“munson’s better half graces us with her presence," he drawls, nodding toward the horror section. “robin’s wrestling with the vhs display. again. pretty sure ‘poltergeist’ is eating her alive as we speak."

he eyes you with playful suspicion. “you here to actually rent something this time, or just to corrupt my employees with your… questionable tastes?" he gestures vaguely at your outfit, grunge-chic, complete with a homemade hellfire t-shirt.

“okay, rude, and after i’ve been nothing but nice to you.”

steve snorts, rolling his eyes affectionately.

“oh sure, you're a dream,” he counters, sarcasm dripping from his words. “you and munson, terrorizing this town since middle school. real angels, the both of you."

his smirk softens a bit as he glances over at the horror section again, seeing a flash of robin's shoe disappearing behind a shelf.

“seriously though, she's back there somewhere… probably buried in a pile of tapes by now."

“thanks, harrington! a pleasure, as always,” you scurry off to the horror section, catching a glimpse of the messy bun of wild hair pulled up on robin’s head. as you round the shelves into the horror section, you find robin with tapes scattered around her, doing her best to re-alphabetize them all.

“hey, sunshine. you look absolutely thrilled to be here.”

“oh yeah, i’m having a grand ole time over here," robin replies wryly, sarcasm dripping from her tone. “just living the dream, trapped in a sea of movies. it’s the life i always wanted. why are you here?”

“stealing you, it’s arcade night. harrington gave you the go ahead to leave early.” steve’s voice carries from where he still sits behind the counter, “did not!”

robin perks up at that, the prospect of skipping the rest of her shift lifting her spirits already. you just shake your head at steve’s response, signaling for robin to ignore him. robin starts gathering her things quickly before steve can stop her, stuffing her vest under the counter and booking it towards where you wait at the door.

“i could kiss you for that,” she pauses, looking you over with a smirk. “nice shirt, by the way.”

your eyes narrow slightly at her last comment. “you’re still on this?” you didn’t have to specify what you meant, robin had been trying to tell you that eddie was obsessed with you since like, middle school, though, you never paid it any mind. you were friends, nothing more, nothing less.

you push open the door, walking ahead to the arcade as robin follows suit. “i mean, seriously, rob. you know it’s not like that.”

robin grins slyly, raising an eyebrow at your reaction. she knows exactly what button to press to get under her friend's skin.

“oh come on. you can deny it all you want, but the shirt speaks for itself." robin teases, gesturing at the obvious hellfire club logo on the shirt. “he might as well have embroidered 'property of munson' on the back."

she steps closer, nudging you playfully.

“face it, you two are practically attached at the hip."

you roll your eyes, your tone dripping with sarcasm, “oh, you mean the shirt that everyone in the club wears? super telling, you got me. and besides, we’re best friends, so what if we hang out all the time?”

robin rolls her eyes dramatically, throwing her hands up in mock surrender.

“sure, sure. whatever helps you sleep at night," she says, her smirk widening. “just know that everyone else sees it. you two are basically hawkins' most obvious slow-burn romance."

once you two enter the arcade, the lights are bright, draping the room in neon while sounds of various games fill the air. eddie's leaning against the ms. pac-man machine, waiting for you. his eyes light up as he spots you and robin approaching. he straightens up, pushing himself off the machine with a lazy grin.

“hey there, trouble,” he greets, nodding at robin before his gaze shifts to focus on you, as it always did.

you subconsciously move right to his side, tucking yourself against him easily, right in between him and the machine.

eddie tenses slightly when you slide into the space beside him, close, too close, but he doesn't move away. instead, he adjusts his arm almost instinctively, letting it drape loosely over your shoulders in a familiar, possessive gesture.

“got your tokens," he murmurs, shaking the paper cup of arcade coins in front of your face before pressing it into your hands. “keith looked devastated, by the way. you monster."

his smirk is playful, but there's something softer in the way his fingers linger against yours as he passes the cup, brief, almost unnoticeable, but robin notices it. of course she does.

“oh yeah? well, if you’re interested, i heard he’s newly single.”

eddie snorts loudly, pulling you closer against his side in a playful half-hug, though his grip lingers just a second too long to be casual.

“hard pass," he drawls, wrinkling his nose. “unless we're talking about stealing his high score on dragon's lair, then maybe i’ll consider it."

he leans down slightly, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper just for you: “besides, i have standards, and they start and end with not smelling like stale nacho cheese."

you hum in response, a smile curling your lips, “hey, look at you with standards. i’m proud of you, never thought i’d see the day.”

eddie lets out another snort, giving you a playful nudge.

"ah, you know me," he says with a shrug.

he stops abruptly, eyes lighting up as he spots the rows of pinball machines a few feet away.

“hey, you think they fixed that one with the busted tilt yet?" he asks, already starting toward the machines. he glances back at you, raising an eyebrow when he sees you and robin already following. “bet i can beat your record on medieval madness."

“oh, please. you wish," you fire back, tossing a token at him, deliberately missing his head by inches. “remember the last time you tried? you literally flipped the machine; the attendant still glares at you."

robin snickers, falling into step beside you. “yeah, munson. maybe stick to games that don’t involve your temper."

“the disrespect in this arcade is unreal, truly,” he responds dramatically, but he’s already slotting the token in, rolling up his sleeves with exaggerated determination. “prepare to bow before the pinball king."

you lean against the pinball machine, watching eddie with an amused smirk as he jabs at the flipper buttons with unnecessary aggression.

“careful, your majesty," you tease, “wouldn't want another royal meltdown."

robin cackles from beside you as eddie's ball immediately drains between the flippers. he slaps the machine dramatically, earning a harsh look from the older woman whose job it was to ‘respect the machines’ or whatever it was that she yelled at him last time.

“rigged! this is bullshit—"

you laugh, shaking your head as you step in to take your turn. you drop in a token with practiced ease, fingers hovering over the buttons. “watch and learn, munson."

the machine lights up as you send the first ball flying, settling into a rhythm, smooth, calculated, effortlessly racking up points. eddie watches, arms crossed, but there's no hiding the proud grin tugging at his lips.

“yeah, yeah...show-off."

robin glances between you two, shaking her head. "hopeless."

eddie leans his elbows on the machine beside you, chin propped in his hands as he watches you effortlessly rack up points. his grin is equal parts exasperated and awed.

“okay, seriously, when did you get so good at this?" he huffs, nudging your shoulder with his own. “are you secretly training at, like, arcade boot camp while i sleep? is there a pinball dojo i don’t know about?"

robin, meanwhile, has already started wandering off to the concessions counter, calling over her shoulder: “give it up, munson! you’re never gonna beat her!"

eddie flips her off half-heartedly, but his attention snaps back to you as you nail a perfect combo, the machine erupting in flashing lights and fanfare, lighting up your features. he whistles low under his breath.

“alright, that’s it. i’m officially demoting myself to cheerleader." he throws an arm around your shoulders, shaking you lightly as he whoops, “go, sweetheart, go! destroy the capitalist machine!"

his laughter rings loud and bright over the arcade chaos, untamed, unguarded, utterly, stupidly happy.

"capitalist machine?" you snort, still focused on the game but leaning slightly into his side, close enough that you can feel the rumble of his laughter. “real revolutionary of you."

the ball finally drains, your score flashing high above the leaderboard. you turn your head just enough to meet his gaze, smirk sharp. “and now you wanna cheer for me? where was this energy when i was wiping the floor with you?"

eddie opens his mouth to retort, but robin suddenly reappears, tossing a handful of popcorn at them both.

“get a room," she deadpans, jerking a thumb toward the skee-ball lanes. “i’m stealing your tokens for actual competition."

eddie flips her off again, but his arm hasn’t moved from around your shoulders. "jealousy’s ugly, buckley!"

you just laugh, nudging him toward the lanes, “c’mon, cheerleader. let’s go whoop some ass in skee-ball."

you fall into an easy rhythm as you take your places at the skee-ball lanes, your banter flowing as effortlessly as your throws. your focus darts between the targets, your aim steady and precise. eddie’s right behind you, his tongue caught between his lips as he tosses balls into the higher-scoring slots, and somehow, accidentally hitting the ones near yours every single time. why he chose to team up with you instead of choosing his own lane, you’d never know.

you roll your eyes, turning to look at him with a raised eyebrow. “you do know this isn’t team skee-ball, right? you don't have to hog my targets."

“oops," he drawls, the picture of innocence, but his smirk says otherwise. he steps closer, leaning over your shoulder as he lines up his throw. “my fault, guess my aim just tends to...drift sometimes."

his voice is low, tinged with a hint of mischief as he casually rests his chin on your shoulder, close enough that you can feel his breath, hot against your ear. a strange rush of something warm and unexpected flutters in your stomach, but you ignore it, focusing on your throw and purposely hitting the lowest slot.

eddie straightens abruptly, blinking at the measly points you just scored. “the hell was that?" he demands, gesturing at the board like you’ve personally just betrayed him. “you were literally hitting the 50-point slot five seconds ago… did my presence short-circuit your motor skills or something?"

robin, mid-throw from the next lane over, cackles. “oh my god, you two are insufferable."

you just shrug, suddenly very interested in examining your chipping nail polish. “hm? must be losing my touch."

eddie squints at you suspiciously, then, like a switch flipping, grins, slinging an arm around your neck and tugging you into a noogie. “bullshit, you’re tanking to make me look better. admit it."

you yelp, shoving at him, but he doesn’t let go, just laughs, bright and unrestrained, and suddenly the arcade feels ten degrees warmer.

“i am not tanking, you paranoid lunatic—" you’re laughing as you try to push him off, but his grip is too tight, and you both devolve into a brief scuffle right there in the middle of the lanes, your breathless laughter echoing off the cheap plastic surrounding you.

you finally manage to break free, backing away before he can grab you again. “stop it, you weirdo! i’m winning this game!"

“like hell you are,” he smirks, already loading up another throw. “i see right through your tactics, sweetheart."

you roll your eyes, shaking your head as you line up your own shot, but you’re struggling not to smile, the warmth from earlier creeping back up your neck, spreading through your body. “you've seen right through me, genius. i guess it was inevitable."

you throw effortlessly, the ball landing perfectly in the 100-point slot. you turn to him, eyebrow quirked, and can't help a little triumphant grin, “what was that about my motor skills?"

eddie throws his hands up dramatically, the remaining tokens in the cup jingling as he staggers back like he's been shot.

“betrayal! sabotage! you were playing mind games this whole time!"

robin watches the show, too distracted by eddie’s dramatized loss to notice her own game ending. “you realize normal people just play skee-ball, right? without the dramatic monologues?"

eddie groans at robin’s teasing without looking at her, eyes locked on you, challenging, bright, alight with that competitive spark you know so well. “alright, hotshot. best two out of three. no holding back this time."

he steps up to the lane beside you, shoulder brushing yours deliberately as he drops his token in. the machine lights up, casting his grin in neon.

and for once, you don’t mind losing, not when it means watching him celebrate like an over-caffeinated puppy, not when his laughter drowns out the arcade chaos, not when his hand finds yours after, tugging you toward the next game like he'd forget you if he let go.

soon after, the two of you find yourselves leaning over a brightly colored claw machine, various stuffed animals scattered about inside. you watch as eddie fishes around in his cup for more tokens, you were already running low. “god, you don’t have to keep playing these scams, you know," you protest, “they rig them so you can't win."

he just grins, dropping another token into the machine with a dismissive wave. “oh, ye of little faith. i’m gonna win you something, even if it takes all night."

eddie jams the joystick with excessive force, tongue poking out in concentration as he maneuvers the claw over a particularly goofy-looking stuffed frog, “c'mon, c'mon..."

the claw drops, snags the frog, lifts—

“yes! ha!" eddie smacks the glass triumphantly as the frog tumbles into the chute. "undefeated champion of bullshit arcade games, baby!"

he bends to retrieve his prize, shoving it proudly into your hands. “for you, m'lady. a majestic frog... prince? whatever. it's ugly as hell, just like you." his smirk softens, just for a second, as his fingers brush yours. “…told you i’d get you something."

“thanks, loser,” you turn the stuffed frog over in your hands, grinning down at his silly little face. “i’m naming him ‘splat.’”

eddie raises an eyebrow, feigned outrage flashing across his face. “splat? splat?" he shakes his head vehemently, as if personally offended by the choice. “we can't name our son splat. that's a horrible name, sweetheart. we have to make it cool, something badass."

he ponders for a moment, stroking his chin dramatically, and you can't help but laugh, anticipating the ridiculousness.

“how about...gargantua? that sounds, i dunno, epic, right? and it suits his...uniqueness.”

you hold up the frog to his face, ignoring his idea for a name change, and tilt your head a bit to get a better look at them. “he has your eyes.”

eddie squints at the frog, then down at you with faux-offense. “he does not have my eyes," he insists, but his protests are half-hearted at best. he can’t keep the smile off his face.

he takes the frog from you, inspecting it with exaggerated seriousness, turning it every which way with a thoughtful hum. then, suddenly, “actually, yeah, i see it. he’s totally got my eyes.”

“that roadkill stare.”

he steps back, dramatically cradling splat against his shoulder. “don't worry, kid. i'll protect you from your cruel, vicious mother."

you roll your eyes, but you can't hide the amused smirk tugging at your lips, especially when eddie whispers to the frog, “yeah, she's mean, but we love her anyway."

you laugh, shaking your head, you’re trying to keep her expression neutral, but eddie’s antics make it impossible. you reach out to snatch splat back from him.

“yeah, yeah, keep mocking me. just remember," you wiggle the frog between you two. “he’s your legacy now."

robin, who’s been watching this whole interaction with an exasperated but fond expression, tosses her hands up. “i’m getting a soda. when you two are done with… whatever this is, meet me at dig dug."

eddie salutes her with a grin, then turns back to you, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “so, where does splat sleep? my place or yours?"

you shove him lightly, but you’re still grinning. “oh, he’s definitely your problem."

eddie clutches splat to his chest, gasping in mock horror. “you’d abandon your own child? cold. ice cold."

and as he throws an arm around your shoulders, frog squished between you, laughter bouncing off neon-lit walls—it feels, for once, like something more than just friendship. something neither of you dare to name yet.

after robin gets her soda, you all three meet back up at the dig dug machine. you get there slightly before eddie, sliding in next to robin right as she loses. she groans in annoyance at yet again not being able to beat keith’s high score, backing up to give you a try at it. you jokingly put splat over the controls, grinning over at eddie. “look, eds, baby’s first dig dug.”

eddie’s entire face lights up, his grin splitting ear-to-ear, eyes crinkling at the corners, as he watches you press splat's tiny frog hands against the dig dug joystick. his heart does something dangerously close to a backflip.

“oh my god," he breathes, voice thick with fake awe, “he's a natural. look at him go!"

he crouches down next to the machine, pointing at the screen like an overenthusiastic parent at a little league game. “see that, robin? that’s my boy! he’s got the vision!”

robin, mid-sip of her soda, nearly chokes. “you two are disgusting,” she wheezes, but she's grinning too.

you’re still laughing, fingers curled around splat's little arms as you ‘help’ him play, and eddie can't tear his eyes away. the arcade lights catch in your hair, your smile bright enough to outshine every pixel on the screen. his chest starts to feel weirdly tight, almost painful.

eddie leans against the dig dug machine, trying to hide his smile in his sleeve, but he can't help his shoulders shaking with the force of his suppressed laughter as the game flashes ‘game over’ on the screen.

“oh man, too bad," he drawls, a mock-sympathetic tut to his tone as he ruffles splat's froggy head. “better luck next time, kid."

you glance at him, the ghost of a grin still on your lips. “he's got potential, though, he was really feeling the rhythm for a second there."

he nods solemnly, pressing a dramatic hand to his chest. “the raw talent is undeniable. maybe he takes after his old man."

robin groans, tossing her now empty soda cup at them. “i’m gonna lose my mind if i have to witness this frog parenting arc any longer."

eddie catches the cup mid-air, grinning. “sorry, buckley. you’re stuck with us and our emotionally complex amphibian son."

you nudge him with your elbow, but you don’t argue, just begin adjusting splat’s lopsided limbs with exaggerated care, as if he’s a prized heirloom. eddie watches, chest warm, and thinks that this might be the best night he’s ever had.

the arcade lights flicker as the three of them fall into an easy rhythm. robin groaning at eddie’s terrible dig dug skills, you loudly coaching splat through another doomed game, eddie stealing sips of your soda when you’re not looking. the tokens dwindle, the scores climb (or don’t), and somewhere between the neon glow and the sound of quarters rattling in the change machine, eddie realizes—

“shit," he mutters, glancing at his watch. “wayne’s gonna kill me. i was supposed to help him fix the damn water heater like two hours ago."

you laugh, adjusting splat’s floppy arm around your shoulder like a proud parent. “tell him it was an emergency. parent-teacher conference for splat.”

eddie snorts, but he’s already reaching for his jacket, fishing his keys from the pocket. he hesitates, glancing at you and robin. “you guys good to get home? i can drop you—"

robin waves him off. “please, go. before your uncle grounds you or whatever."

you shift the frog toy to one arm, nudging eddie toward the door. “yeah, yeah, get out of here. splat and i will be fine."

eddie lingers for a second, just long enough to flick the frog’s ear and grin at you, something soft and unreadable in his expression. “take care of our kid," he teases, backing toward the exit. “i’ll see you tomorrow."

and then he’s gone, ducking out into the cool hawkins night, but the arcade feels warmer, somehow, even after he leaves. you look down at splat’s lopsided face and roll your eyes affectionately.

robin sighs, leaning against the machine. “you’re welcome, by the way."

you blink, “for what?"

robin just smirks, popping another token into dig dug. “for not mentioning how obvious you two are—"

“don’t.”

robin’s smirk sharpens, she knows she touched a nerve. “what? in denial?" she asks casually, focused on the game, but you know there’s nothing casual about it.

you roll your eyes, fidgeting with splat’s ears. “we’re just…friends. always have been. that’s it." but your words sound weak, even to your own ears, and robin shoots you a knowing look, one eyebrow raised, “you trying to convince me or yourself?”

you exhale sharply through your nose, refusing to dignify that with an answer. instead, you turn the frog’s dopey face toward robin like a tiny, fabric jury.

“splat agrees with me," you declare, petulant, stubborn, entirely unconvincing. “right, buddy?"

robin doesn’t even glance at the frog, just keeps playing the game, her smirk audible in her voice: “mmhmm, real convincing when you’re using a stuffed animal as your wingman."

you chuck a stray token at her, which robin easily dodges, cackling, and splat, ever the silent observer, says nothing. though, if he could talk, you doubt he’d back you up anyway, there was no denying the presence of something between you and eddie tonight, whenever it may mean. “i’m going home. come on, son, let’s get outta here.”

robin watches as you hurry past her, splat clutched to your chest. she shakes her head, exasperated by her friend’s stubbornness. “run away, just don’t expect to outrun the truth forever!”

“i’m not running!” you call back as you push your way out the glass door of the arcade. the irony in your actions isn’t lost on you, but you’d be damned if you gave robin the satisfaction.

the cool night air hits your face as you step outside, the glow of the arcade fading behind you. splat dangles limply from your grip, his stupid little frog face judging you silently.

“don’t you start," you mutter, readjusting him under your arm.

but the truth lingers in the air, heavy, undeniable, as you quickly walk home under the hawkins streetlights, heart racing faster than your footsteps.

as you near your place in forest hills, you spot the old trailer in the distance, the familiar beat-up van parked in the driveway. you stop by the curb, staring at the faint light spilling from the window.

a part of you wants to turn around, a part of you wants to keep walking, keep running, never face the truth, but a bigger part of you—the stubborn, hopeful part you thought you’d lost, somewhere along the way, stops you.

“screw it," you whisper. “let’s get this over with."

you take a deep breath and march up to eddie's trailer, splat clutched tight under your arm like a tiny, ridiculous security blanket. before you can second-guess yourself, you knock, harder than necessary, the sound sharp against the quiet night.

the door swings open almost immediately, like he was waiting. eddie leans against the frame, grease-streaked shirt and slightly mussed hair, eyes widening a bit at the sight of you showing up so late. “sweetheart? you good?"

you shove splat against his chest before he can finish. “here. you forgot your kid."

eddie blinks down at the frog, then back up at you; confusion, amusement, or something else entirely flickering in his gaze. “uh. thanks?"

you cross your arms, chin jutting stubbornly. “and robin’s being annoying."

his lips twitch, “so, a tuesday."

you glare at him, but there’s no heat in it, just exhaustion, frustration, the weight of everything unspoken between you. eddie sobers abruptly, studying your face. then, gently, knowing something was bothering you, “wanna come in?"

you hesitate. splat’s beady eyes seem to bore into your soul. finally, you exhale sharply. “yeah. yeah, i do."

eddie grins, bright, real, and steps aside. “cool. munson family reunion." and just like that, the running stops.

the trailer smells like oil and burnt popcorn, but it’s warm, warmer than the empty street outside. eddie kicks a pile of laundry off the couch with one foot, gesturing for you to sit. you collapse onto the worn cushions, splat tumbling from eddie’s grip onto the coffee table. he lands with a soft plop, staring blankly at the ceiling like a tiny, tragic martyr.

eddie snorts, flopping down beside you. “damn. kid’s seen some shit tonight."

you bite your lip. the silence stretches, not uncomfortable, but charged, like the air before a storm. eddie picks at a loose thread on his jeans, then clears his throat.

“so, robin?”

you groan, tipping your head back against the couch. “ugh. don’t—"

“what?" he grins, nudging your knee with his. “she say something weird? shock me."

you peek at him sideways. his smile’s easy, but his fingers are drumming restless against his thigh. you recognize the tell—eddie munson is nervous. it was rare for him to show it.

you swallow, “just… typical robin stuff. you know how she is."

eddie hums, studying splat like the frog holds the answers to the universe. “yeah. yeah, i do."

another pause; the clock on the wall ticks on, filling the silence.

“sweetheart,” his voice is quieter now, serious. “we’re… good, right?"

your chest tightens. you glance at him, really look at him; the way his brows pinch, the way he’s waiting for your answer like it matters, like you matter. something in you cracks.

“eds." you reach over, flicking splat’s dumb frog foot. “we have a child together. of course we’re good."

eddie’s laugh bursts out of him, sudden and bright, tension shattering like glass. he slings an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side, the press of him against you warm and familiar.

"damn straight," he murmurs, squeezing you tight. “munson family values."

you roll your eyes, but you don't pull away, just lean into him, letting him ground you to the beat-up couch, the worn carpet, the familiar clutter of the munson trailer.

as you settle against his side, you can feel the steady thump of his heartbeat. familiar, something you didn't realize you'd missed until it was there again. something warm and terrifying blooms in your chest.

for a minute, you don't talk. you just exist in the space between the clock-ticking, eddie's arm around you, splat staring at the ceiling.

"hey, sweetheart?"

you blink, “yeah?”

eddie's fingers are tracing circles on your shoulder, absently, like he doesn't even know he's doing it. “promise me something."

you lift your head to look at him, eyes searching his face. it's serious, but a tiny, teasing grin still tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“depends," you counter, trying to match his light tone, trying not to let your heart jump at how close you are, how easy it would be to lean in. “what kind of promise?"

his hand still moves gently against your shoulder, tracing a lazy path up to your collarbone. “no matter what… we stay friends, right? no matter what anyone says or what happens, you and me, we’re good."

his eyes are locked onto yours, something almost frantic in them, like you're a line he can't afford to lose.

it’s an easy answer, “of course," you whisper. “always, you and me, munson." you hold out your pinky finger like a little kid, waiting for him to hook his around it.

he stares down at your outstretched pinky for a moment, something flickering in his eyes. then, a slow smile spreads across his face, and he hooks his pinky around yours, squeezing hard.

“always," he promises, his voice quiet. “me and you."

you let the moment stretch, the room warm and soft around you, then, slowly, reluctantly, you pull away. you lean back into the couch, putting some space between you.

the distance feels too wide suddenly, the couch too big. eddie exhales, sharp, unsteady, and scrubs a hand through his hair.

“okay, cool. cool. just—" he gestures vaguely at splat, abandoned on the table. “so, uh. joint custody, then? or—“

you snort, kicking his shin lightly. “shut up." he grins, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

he drops his hands like he doesn’t know what to do with them now, looking away, at anything but you. it's suddenly too hot in his vicinity, like all the oxygen's been sucked from the room.

you clear your throat, fingers curling against the worn cushion. “you… ever think about the future, eds?"

his head jerks up like you've hit him, wide-eyed, almost startled. he stares at you for a second, then laughs, but it sounds forced.

“what, like, college and shit?"

you shrug, picking at a loose thread on the couch, anything to avoid his gaze. “yeah, or i dunno just… what comes next?”

eddie’s quiet for a beat, when he finally speaks again, his voice has a softness he rarely used, “i think about it," he admits. “mostly when wayne starts asking if i wanna take over the garage someday." he rubs the back of his neck. “but… i dunno. feels like the future’s this big, weird thing that’s just gonna happen to me, y’know?"

you glance up, his expression is unreadable, half-shadowed by the dim trailer light, half-open in a way that makes your stomach twist. “what about you?" he asks. “got any grand plans?"

you hesitate, the truth sits heavy on your tongue. “i think… i just wanna be happy. whatever that means.”

eddie’s eyes flicker, something raw flashing through them, before he grins, nudging your knee with his. “yeah. yeah, that’s a good plan."

eventually, you push yourself off the couch, stretching. eddie watches you, eyes tracing the line of your back, the slope of your shoulders, the way your shirt pulls tight against your skin.

his fingers twitch, as if he wants to reach out. then he clears his throat, shoving them into his pockets. “you, uh, leaving?”

you hesitate at the door, splat dangling from your fingers. the quiet between you is thick with everything unsaid, the ghost of eddie's pinky curled around yours.

“yeah," you say finally, forcing a smirk. “someone’s gotta tuck splat in."

eddie leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, but his grin doesn’t reach his eyes this time. “right. parental duties."

you take a step back, the night air cool against your skin as he pushes the door open for you. “see you tomorrow?"

he nods, thumb hooking into his belt loop like he’s anchoring himself. “tomorrow."

and as you walk away, splat swinging at your side, you pretend not to hear the way eddie’s voice cracks when he calls after you,

“hey, wait—“

you turn, he’s silhouetted in the trailer light, all wild hair and restless hands. “we’re gonna be happy."

it’s not a question. it’s a vow. you smile, small, real. “yeah, eds. we are."

the walk home is quiet, just the hum of distant streetlights and the occasional rustle of leaves underfoot. splat swings gently from your hand, his button eyes catching the glow of the moon. the night feels endless, like you're suspended between moments, between past and future, between friendship and whatever this other thing is, pulsing under your ribs.

Steve Harrington, Hawkins Golden Boy, ‘King Steve,’ Captain of the basketball team, whatever else his admirers called him— he was the complete an utter opposite of you. Where he’s outgoing, making loud jokes with the popular kids in study hall, you’re sitting alone in the back of class with your nose in a book. It never occurred to you, however, that maybe he noticed you just as often as you’d noticed him.

So, here you sit, in the back of Mrs. O’donnell’s class on a rainy afternoon in Hawkins. You had successfully made it to your senior year without having too many problems, you were a shadow, if that— invisible in your own skin. You didn’t have a problem with it, though. In fact, you liked being alone. Left to your own imagination, you had more fun than you could guess anyone had at a Steve Harrington house party. While they were underage drinking and smoking and only god knows what else, you fought dragons and explored ancient ruins in the quiet of your room. It was peaceful inside your head, until it wasn’t.

The rain patters softly against the classroom window, a nice, calming backdrop for your reading. That was, until he came barging in, soaking up all the quiet like it came easy for him. You were sure it did, but never could understand just how some people were born with the natural talent of social interaction. For you, that kind of life seemed like a nightmare, plucked straight from your worst fears— having people around you all the time, doting on you, talking your ear off like you’ll even remember them after graduation.

Your head snaps up as he struts through the classroom, damp from the rain, hair messy but somehow still perfectly styled, laughing with his friends about something you couldn’t even hear from the back of the classroom. You can practically see the girls in the front row melt at the mere sight of ‘King Steve’, and it makes your nose crinkle, the same way it always had. He was a pompous ass who just happened to look good doing it.

You turn your gaze back to your book, attempting to drown out your teacher and the annoying chattering from the popular group sitting near the front of the classroom. It was hard to focus with Steve Harrington sitting there, with the way all the girls and even some of the guys whispered about him and the stupid things he and his friends would do, but you managed. Until a balled up piece of paper hits you on the top of your head, that is. You glance up, looking for the culprit, and find Steve grinning at you like the Cheshire Cat.

As your eyes meet his from across the room, Tommy H. has to bring a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, they were making fun of you. You had seen it done to other students like yourself, but you were never really the center of their cruel jokes. Sure, they looked at you funny if they ever noticed you were there, but this was different— they were all looking at you now. You wished nothing more than to shrink down into your seat and become invisible again.

Steve leans back in his chair, one arm slung over the seat behind him like he owns the classroom—which, let’s be honest, he kinda does. That stupidly perfect grin is still plastered across his face as Tommy elbows him and snickers.

He doesn’t look away.

Even when Mrs. O’Donnell shoots them a glare for being disruptive again, Steve just winks at her and gives a little salute before casually tearing another piece of paper from his notebook.

Your heart thumps weirdly loud in your ears now. You’re not used to attention, especially not his. The new crumpled ball arcs through the air and lands softly on your desk with a quiet thump. You stare down at the little balled-up notebook paper, as if it might explode if you move suddenly. Eventually, your gaze drifts back to Steve, who threw the paper at you. He mouths two words, “Open it.”

You glance back down at the paper, sitting still in the middle of your desk like a taunt, several sets of eyes still fixed on you. Finally, you let out a huff, somewhere between annoyance and confusion, and begin to unravel it. It takes you no more than a few seconds, the lined paper crinkling with each gentle pull to open it up—completely blank. You hear the laughter from Tommy, Tammy, and whoever else you can’t remember the names of. You can still feel your heart beating in your ears, louder and more persistent as you try your hardest to school your expression. You wouldn’t let Steve Harrington and his stupid friends hurt you this much—they didn’t matter, they never did.

You spend the rest of the class trying your best to ignore them, keeping your eyes glued to your desk throughout the study period, hoping and praying that they’ll give up and leave you alone. Thankfully, they do, but there’s one set of eyes that never seems to stop trying to meet yours—Steve’s.

That afternoon, you had largely forgotten about the earlier incident, choosing to move on rather than dwell on your insecurities. As you walk, someone suddenly grabs your arm, pulling you into a mostly empty hall. You’re forcefully pulled into a hard chest, crashing into the culprit before you can pull back, meeting familiar brown eyes.

Steve steadies you by holding onto your arms, his gaze filled with an unusual sense of care. His voice, softer than you’ve ever heard it, carries genuine concern. “Are you okay?” he asks, loosening his grip on you.

“What are you— what?”

Steve’s expression flickers—something between worry and that same stupidly charming guilt he gets when he knows he messed up.

“Sorry,” he says quickly, running a hand through his damp hair. “I just… I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He doesn’t let go right away. His hands slide from your arms down to gently cup your wrists like you’re something fragile, like he might break you.

You stare at him, utterly confused. This isn't the loud, obnoxious Steve Harrington who laughs too loud in class and flirts with half the cheer squad without thinking twice.

This is… quiet Steve? Careful Steve?

The hallway is empty except for a janitor pushing a cart down the far end, and even then, they turn away after one glance at the King of Hawkins holding some random girl against the lockers.

His eyes search yours, the warm brown ones everyone loses their minds over. Steve exhales, slow and careful, like he’s choosing his words wisely for once in his life.

“I saw your face,” he says finally. “When the paper hit you. You looked… pissed.”

A tiny smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, but it’s not mocking. It’s almost fond. Like he finds something about your anger kind of cute.

“I just… I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” His voice drops lower, quieter, almost shy. “I wasn’t trying to be a jerk.”

He shifts slightly, one shoulder leaning against the lockers beside you now instead of crowding you completely. He reaches up and gently brushes a loose strand of hair from your forehead with two fingers. Your breath hitches before you can stop it.

“What were you trying to do?” Your voice comes out shakier than you wanted, more unstable.

Steve’s eyes soften at the sound of your voice, nervous, quiet, nothing like the confident girls he usually talks to. He swallows hard.

“I was trying… to get your attention,” he admits, no bravado now. Just honesty.

A beat passes.

Then another.

The janitor’s cart squeaks down the hall and disappears around a corner. The school feels hushed suddenly, like it's holding its breath too.

He licks his lips, nervous habit, and looks down for a second before meeting your eyes again.

“You never talk to anyone,” he says quietly. “You’re always in class alone with that book or walking by yourself between periods.” His head tilts slightly. “I’ve noticed you.”

Your stomach flips, not from fear this time, but something else entirely unfamiliar— being seen.

“You have?”

Steve nods, slow and serious—like this is the most important thing he’s said all day.

“Yeah,” he says. “For weeks.”

He leans in just a little, not enough to invade your space, but enough that you catch the faint scent of his cologne mixed with rain-soaked jacket.

“I mean… I see you,” he clarifies, voice warm now. “You’re always quiet, yeah, but you’ve got this look on your face sometimes when you read? Like… like something amazing’s happening in your head.”

A small smile forms, one of those rare ones that doesn’t show off for anyone else. One meant only for you.

“And I keep thinking… man, she probably thinks I’m an idiot.” He chuckles quietly at himself. “Which, I am, but not about this. Not about wanting to talk to you.”

Steve takes a tiny step closer, close enough that his shadow wraps around you both.

“So… I threw the paper,” he says with a half-smile. “Stupid move, probably. But I didn’t know how else to talk to you.”

He rubs the back of his neck, nervous Steve again, and for once, Hawkins High’s golden boy looks unsure. As if he actually cares if you’re mad at him.

“I just… wanted to say hi.”

A pause.

Then, quieter, “Do you hate me now?”

“No,” you reply quietly, barely above a whisper.

Steve’s whole face lights up, like someone just flipped a switch and turned on the sun. The tension in his shoulders melts away, and that bright, easy grin spreads across his face, the one that makes girls sigh at one glance their way.

“Oh thank god,” he breathes out with a soft laugh. “I thought for sure you were gonna call me an asshole.”

He leans back slightly now, more relaxed. Still close, but not crowding. Just there with you. For a moment, neither of you speaks. The silence isn’t awkward, it feels weirdly peaceful? Like maybe this is what normal conversations feel like when they’re not loud or performative or fake. He reaches into his jacket pocket, and pulls out another piece of folded notebook paper.

“You are an asshole.” Even insulting him, his face splits in half with the widest smile you think you’ve ever seen. Not only were you speaking up now, you were teasing him, and you even allowed a tiny smile to curve the edges of your lips. Steve laughs, a real, full laugh that echoes a little in the empty hallway. It’s loud and warm and so Steve, but it doesn’t feel obnoxious this time. It feels happy.

“Okay,” he says, still grinning like an idiot, “fair.”

He holds up the folded note between two fingers, then slowly extends his hand toward you again. This one isn't crumpled or thrown. This is an offering. An olive branch? A flirtation?

Who knows with Steve Harrington, but he's looking at you like you're something special now. Like your quiet sarcasm is a gift instead of something to mock.

His eyes flicker down to your mouth for half a second, just long enough for your heart to stutter, before meeting yours again with soft curiosity. You take the note, fingers gently brushing his as you do.

The second your fingers touch, Steve freezes. It’s just a brush, skin on skin for less than half a second, but his breath hitches like it was lightning.

He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t make some dumb joke to cover the reaction. Just stares at you, eyes wide and suddenly so beautiful in the dim hallway light. Your fingers curl around the note as you take it, and he swallows hard, throat bobbing under that stupidly perfect jawline of his.

For someone who’s always so loud and confident, Steve Harrington is terrifyingly quiet right now. No smirk. No laugh with Tommy or Tammy backing him up. Just him looking at you like he's never seen anyone quite like this before—which maybe he hasn't?

You unfold the note slowly, carefully, like it might contain something fragile. Inside, in messy but still neater than you’d expected handwriting, “Will you go out with me?"

No jokes. No sarcasm. No "just kidding" written underneath.

Just that.

Simple. Direct. Heart-on-the-sleeve Steve Harrington for once in his life.

He’s not looking at you anymore, suddenly very interested in a spot on the floor near your shoes, as if he can’t bear to see your reaction yet, or maybe because he’s terrified of rejection from someone who actually matters to him.

You frown a bit at the words, this had to be too good to be true. There was no way in Hell Steve Harrington was seriously asking you out. “Are you messing with me?”

His heart stops at how dejected you sound, like that’s the only logical option for what’s happening here. Steve’s head snaps up the second he hears your voice. And when he sees your face, the frown, the doubt, that quiet hurt in your eyes, something like panic flashes across his.

“No,” he says instantly. “God, no.”

He reaches out without thinking and cups both sides of your face gently with his hands, warm palms against cool skin, and makes you look right at him.

“I’m not messing with you,” Steve says firmly. No teasing tone. No sarcasm. Just raw sincerity from a guy who doesn’t usually do serious well.

His thumbs brush lightly over your cheeks as if checking if this is real too. You glance around at either end of the hall, like you’re waiting for Tommy H. or one of his other friends to jump out and laugh at you, the weird girl who actually thought Steve Harrington of all people liked her, even for a moment.

Steve follows your gaze, left, then right, scanning the empty hallway. He sees it too. The doubt. The waiting for a punchline.

And his expression darkens, not with anger at you, but with something protective.

Before you can pull away or overthink it any longer, Steve leans in and kisses you.

It’s soft, gentle. Not like anything like his usual ones, the kind of kiss that doesn’t demand anything back right away, just gives itself quietly and sweetly on your lips.

No audience.

No laughter.

Just him, and this moment, and the way his hands stay cradling your face like you’re precious to him already.

Your eyes widen, body tensing when your brain finally catches up to what’s happening. Your hands move to his shoulders, to push him away or to hold onto him tighter, you’re not sure.

Steve feels the tension in your shoulders, the split-second hesitation, and he pulls back immediately, just enough to break the kiss, but he doesn’t let go. His hands slide down from your face to rest on your arms, thumbs gently stroking like a silent ‘I'm here.’

His eyes search yours, wide, worried now. Not hurt, but afraid he messed up.

For a heartbeat, neither of you breathe. Then, because you didn't push him away, because you're still holding onto his shoulders, a tiny hope flickers across Steve's face.

“What— what was that for?”

Steve’s lips part, and for once, the guy who always has a comeback, a joke, some smooth line, he’s speechless.

He blinks at you. Swallows. Then, in the softest voice you’ve ever heard from him, “I kissed you… because I really like you.”

No smirk. No teasing grin. Just pure honesty, vulnerable honesty, that makes your stomach flip all over again. Something terrifying occurs to you then, you don’t think he’s joking.

He licks his lips, adding quietly, “And… I was hoping that maybe… if we kissed first? You wouldn’t think it was a joke.”

A beat passes.

And suddenly Steve Harrington, the guy who dated cheerleaders and went to every party in Hawkins, looks terrified of being rejected by you.

“Oh.”

Steve stares at you, waiting for more than just ‘oh.’

His chest rises and falls quickly, nervous. Like he’s bracing for a blow.

You can see the gears turning behind his eyes: Did she hate it? Was I too fast? Did I ruin everything before it even started?

The hallway is so quiet now. Even the distant chatter from classrooms down the hall feels muffled.

And then slowly your hands, still resting on his shoulders, relax. Your fingers curl slightly into the fabric of his damp jacket. No push. No anger. Just silence, and maybe something else starting to grow beneath it.

“You can do it again,” you say so softly he would miss it if he weren’t still so close. “I mean, if you want to.”

Steve hears it.

Of course he hears it, because his whole world has narrowed to the space between your lips and his, to the quiet hush of your voice saying you can do it again. For a second, he doesn’t move. Like he’s making sure you meant that. Making sure this isn't a dream. A slow, tender smile spreads across his face. Not cocky. Not show-offy. Just happy.

Without another word, he leans in again and kisses you for real this time, soft at first, then slightly bolder when you don’t pull away. Instead, you lean further into him.

This kiss is warmer. Smoother.

Steve tilts his head just slightly, learning the shape of your mouth, how you feel against him, and one hand slides up to cradle the back of your neck, fingers threading gently into your hair. The other stays on your shoulder, anchoring you like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go. It’s not passionate or messy, it's sweet, careful. He wants to get this perfect, needs to. And when a quiet little sigh escapes you, unintentional but undeniably real, the sound makes Steve melt inside.

Steve deepens the kiss just a little, still gentle, still respectful, but now with more confidence. Like your soft sigh was permission to explore. His lips move against yours slowly, carefully. He doesn’t rush it like he might’ve done with other girls in the past. This is different. This is you. And Steve Harrington right now, is completely gone for you.

One of his hands slips down from your neck to rest on your waist, pulling you slightly closer, not trapping you, but inviting. Giving space if needed, taking space if allowed.

The hallway clock ticks loudly somewhere above you, the only sound besides your breathing and the quiet press of lips meeting again and again.

The bell rings out, loud and shrill, making you separate from him. You gently push him back, not enough to make him lose balance, but enough for him to get the hint and back up on his own. Any second now, the hall would be flooded with students, he wouldn’t want to be seen with you, especially not in such a compromising position.

Steve stumbles back half a step, more from surprise than force, as the bell continues to shriek through the halls. For a split second, his face falls. That soft, kissy glow gone now, replaced by reality— the end of class, students everywhere in less than 30 seconds. And yeah, maybe he’s worried about what people will say. Not because he cares if they see him with you, but because you’re quiet, reserved, and Steve knows how high school works. The gossip machine crushes anything that doesn’t fit their stupid norms and fast.

He quickly adjusts his jacket and runs a hand through his hair. His eyes dart toward the classroom doors where kids are already starting to pour out into hallways nearby, laughing, shouting over each other as usual.

Steve glances back at you, just for a second, and in that look, there’s something unspoken.

I don’t want to go.

But he can’t just stand here. Not with the halls filling, not if Tommy sees him lingering by you after kissing you like that. So instead of saying anything dumb, Steve does something simple. He grabs your hand, quick, quiet, and squeezes it once. A secret pulse of connection before reality crashes in.

Then he steps back completely, slipping into the stream of students emerging from classrooms down the hall, but not before flashing you one last small smile over his shoulder, the kind only you get to see right now. You stand there, frozen for a moment, hand still slightly warm from where his had touched yours.

The hallway is loud now, bodies everywhere. Lockers slamming. Groups of kids laughing and shoving past each other, but all you can focus on is the ghost of Steve’s kiss and the way he looked at you, like you were something special. Maybe you were.

Not just some quiet girl in the back of the class, but the one he kissed, the one that, for whatever reason, he was interested in.

Your cheeks burn as someone bumps into your shoulder, a jock with a gym bag who doesn’t even say sorry, and reality fully crashes back in— school life continues. No matter that your entire world just shifted five minutes ago in an empty hallway with the King Steve Harrington.

Later that night, while sitting in your room, your mind still occupied by the memory of Steve’s lips on yours, you hear something creaking outside your window. Moving to check what it was cautiously, you start to hear your heart racing in your ears. You pull back the curtains gently, bracing yourself for whatever may be lurking beyond them, and come face to face with none other than— “Steve?”

Steve is supporting his weight on your trellis, trying his hardest not to topple to the ground. He’s in a hoodie and jeans, no letterman jacket, just regular clothes. The second you pull the curtain back and say his name, he freezes, wide brown eyes lock onto yours through the glass. No smirk, no joke, just pure, wide-eyed hope, and maybe a little fear that you won’t let him in.

You open the window, allowing him to climb in. He does, but not before knocking over a stack of books on your desk with him, wincing at the thud they make when they crash to the floor. His eyes lock back onto yours after a moment, sensing the confusion etched onto your features. With furrowed brows, you cross your arms over your chest, “What are you doing here? And how do you even know where I live?”

Steve immediately crouches to start gathering the fallen books, “sorry, sorry,” mumbling under his breath.

“Your address,” he says, voice low and sheepish, slightly out of breath from the climb to your window. “I looked you up, in uh, in the white pages. That’s probably creepy, huh? Now that I’m saying it, it’s definitely creepy.”

He winces as he piles the books back onto your desk, The Hobbit, A Wizard of Earthsea, Dragonflight, and then straightens up.

“I shouldn’t have come,” Steve admits quietly. “But I had to.”

His eyes flicker over your face, the way you’re glaring at him with crossed arms and suspicion, and something in his chest tightens.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about today,” he says. “About kissing you. About how… how it felt like the first real thing I’ve done in forever.”

He swallows hard, suddenly looking less like Hawkins High’s golden boy and more like a guy who actually has feelings. Steve takes a small step toward you, careful, like you’re a spooked animal.

“And I didn’t want to wait,” he adds. “I kept thinking… what if she changes her mind? What if she regrets it? What if she thinks I was just messing around?”

His voice drops even lower, almost fragile now.

“I had to see you. Tonight.”

He reaches out slowly, not grabbing, not demanding, but just lifts his hand like an offer: can I hold your hand? Can we talk about this without the whole school watching? The streetlight outside casts soft light through your window onto his face.

“Well, now you see me.”

Steve exhales—half laugh, half relief, but it’s shaky. Like he wasn’t sure you’d let him in at all.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “I do.”

He stares at you for a long moment, taking in the quiet of your room— fairy lights strung around the ceiling, shelves full of books with spines cracked from rereading, a desk covered in notes and doodles.

It looks like you, peaceful, thoughtful, maybe a bit understated, nothing like his loud house parties or basketball locker room chaos. And then his eyes land back on yours, dark with something nervous and hopeful all mixed together.

“So, did you just come to talk or…?”

Steve’s breath hitches. Did you just imply what he thinks you did? His eyes dart to your lips, then back up, quickly, like he got caught doing something forbidden. A faint pink tinges his cheeks. Steve Harrington is blushing.

He licks his lips again, then takes one slow step closer. Without a word, because maybe words would ruin it, he leans in and kisses you.

This time, it’s different from the hallway kiss, softer at first, but bolder too. Like he's been thinking about this all night and now that he's here, he doesn't want to waste a second.

The kiss deepens when you bring a hand up around the back of his neck, tugging gently on the hair there.

Steve makes a quiet, breathy sound against your lips— oh— at the feel of your fingers in his hair.

It’s soft. Messy. His favorite part of himself to mess with when he's nervous. And now you're touching it? That tiny tug, that gentle pull, it sends a shiver down his spine, and suddenly Steve kisses you like he’s been starving for this all day.

He cups your face with one hand, tilting it slightly as the kiss gets deeper, warmer, hungrier but still sweet, not reckless or sloppy like makeout sessions might be at parties. This is meaningful. Like every second matters because it's you.

His other arm wraps around your waist and pulls you closer gently, until there's no space left between either of you.

He slowly backs you up into your bed, lips still locked in a passionate kiss. When the backs of your knees bump the side of your mattress, Steve gently lays you down underneath him.

Steve follows you down with careful balance, one hand braced beside your head—never putting weight on you, never rushing.

Your pink bedsheets smell like vanilla and laundry detergent. He takes a second to breathe it in, like he’s memorizing the moment.

Then his lips trail from yours, placing a soft kiss to your jaw, then lower, nipping gently at the curve of your throat before pressing an open-mouthed kiss right over your pulse point. It’s warm, wet, slightly ticklish, but in the best way possible.

And when he feels how fast your heart is racing under his mouth? Steve smiles against your skin, just a tiny curve of pride, and does it again, slower this time, savoring every shiver that runs through you beneath him.

Steve’s lips linger on your throat, kissing, nipping softly, before he trails lower, his breath warm against the delicate skin of your collarbone.

He’s being so careful. Like you’re something precious. Not rushing, not assuming anything, but when you tilt your head back slightly, a silent invitation, a quiet surrender, he takes it as permission to keep going.

Another kiss just above the dip of your shoulder, then one more beneath it, right where fabric meets skin and warmth pools between you two.

His hands stay gentle: one cradling the side of your face while the other rests lightly on his hip beside yours, not pushing for anything beyond this slow exploration yet, but wanting. Wanting so much more than a kiss in the hallway could ever could give him.

Steve’s breathing is uneven now, shallow, a little quick. He lifts his head slightly, just enough to look down at you beneath him. Your eyes are half-lidded. Your cheeks are flushed pink, the same shade as your sheets, your lips slightly swollen from kissing. Steve looks like a boy who just discovered heaven and doesn’t want to leave it ever again.

Without saying anything, he leans back in, and this time, his kiss lands softly on the corner of your mouth, slowly moving across to press one right in the middle of your lips, tender, sweet, full of everything unspoken between you two since that afternoon. Steve’s hands slide beneath the soft fabric of your hoodie, hesitant at first, fingertips barely grazing warm skin. They’re careful, respectful. Not grabbing or squeezing, just learning you.

His palms are warm against your sides, thumbs brushing over the curve of your waist as he leans into another kiss, deeper this time, more confident now that he feels you melting under him, not pulling away, not flinching.

A quiet sound escapes him, something between a hum and a sigh, as his touch grows bolder and his fingers trace small circles on your stomach underneath the thin layer of cotton. Steve’s touch grows bolder, gentle but sure now.

He lifts the edge of your hoodie slightly, just enough to press a soft kiss right above your belly button. A tiny, sweet gesture that makes his heart race. Your breath catches, eyes slightly widened as you stare down at his brown ones. Steve looks up at you from under his lashes, eyes dark with affection, maybe a little awe.

He sees the way you're watching him. The quiet surprise in your expression. The fact that you’re letting this happen, letting him be close like this, and it makes his chest swell.

Without breaking eye contact, he slowly pulls your hoodie higher, just enough to expose more of your stomach, and leans down again. This time, he kisses bare skin, right above the waistband of your shorts, a soft press of lips warm against cool flesh before gently nuzzling there for a second.

“Steve—“ The sound of his name on your lips, soft, uncertain, maybe even a little breathless, makes Steve freeze.

He lifts his head instantly. Not because he’s scared or embarrassed, but because you said his name, and it sounds so good coming from you. His eyes search yours again, warm brown pools full of concern and care now instead of just desire.

“Yeah?” he murmurs back, voice low and gentle, rougher than usual from kissing you so much. His focus is fully on you, ready to stop anything if that’s what you need right now.

“I’ve never—“ you blush, suddenly feeling small under his gaze. “Done anything… like this, you know?”

Steve’s expression shifts instantly, not with surprise or judgement, just a quiet understanding. So much softness floods his face that it almost hurts to look at. He doesn’t say anything for a second, just gently cups your cheek, thumb brushing over the warm pink of your blush like he wants to soothe you.

Then, quietly, “It’s okay.”

No teasing smirk. No “really? Never?” He just means it, it's okay. You don't have to be nervous around him, not about this, not ever if you're with him like this again later on. And then Steve does something sweet, he leans in and kisses your forehead. A slow, tender press of lips, gentle as a lullaby.

Your next words surprise him, “But I want to.”

Steve’s breath stops.

For a second, he just stares at you, eyes wide, lips slightly parted, pulse jumping. For once, the guy who always knows what to do with girls, or at least thinks he does, is completely still. Speechless. Then slowly, so carefully, a soft smile spreads across his face, not cocky or smug like usual, but pure happiness mixed with awe.

“Just… be gentle, okay?”

Steve nods, fast, like he’s taking a sacred vow. His expression is so serious, so reverent, that it doesn’t even look like the same Steve Harrington who jokes around with Tommy or flirts with everyone at parties. This version is all soft eyes and quiet devotion. Like you just handed him something fragile and precious, and he will not mess this up.

“Yeah,” he whispers, voice barely above a breath. “I’ll be gentle.”

He leans down slowly, so slow, and kisses you again— feather-light on your lips this time, patient and sweet and caring. Like every touch from here on out has to mean something because it's your first time wanting this, wanting him.

Steve’s hands hover at the edge of your waistband, fingers brushing the soft fabric, hesitant.

He kisses a slow trail down your stomach, one kiss just above your belly button, another lower, each press of his lips deliberate, tender. Like he's worshipping you without words. His breath is warm through the thin fabric of your shorts as he pauses for a second, waiting, making sure you're still okay, still wanting this.

Then, with careful fingers, so unlike his usual boldness, Steve gently hooks one finger into the elastic of your waistband and tugs, just slightly, not pulling it off yet, just testing the waters. A silent question in touch, can I go further?

You nod, breath catching in your throat as you watch with rapt attention. Steve sees your nod, hears the way your breath stutters, that tiny, nervous sound, the way you’re watching him, wide-eyed, heart pounding—it makes his own chest tighten with something huge. Responsibility. He swallows hard, lifting the fabric of your waistband just a little more and presses a kiss right to the soft skin beneath it, right above your womb, a patch of warm skin that’s never been kissed like this before.

Another pause. Another glance up at you, checking in without saying anything, making sure every inch is okay for you to go further.

Steve’s hands move with delicate precision—lifting the fabric of your shorts just enough to expose more of your skin, inch by soft inch.

He kisses each new patch as it appears: a soft press right above your hipbone, then another lower, along the curve where fabric meets flesh. His lips are warm. Gentle. Each kiss is slow, like he's memorizing you, not rushing toward anything but savoring this moment.

When his fingers finally slip under the waistband completely and hook around it properly, he waits again, eyes lifting to meet yours one last time, a silent question hanging in the air between you two.

Steve’s movements are slow, reverent, like he knows this is something sacred for you.

He pulls your shorts down over your hips, then lower, past your knees, gently off one foot, then the other. The fabric drops to the floor beside the bed with a soft sound.

Then he kisses his way up, starting at the back of your knee, soft presses of his lips, a light nip, gentle enough not to sting, another kiss on warm skin as his hands glide along your thighs. With quiet care, Steve parts them just slightly, not pushing too far yet, but making space so that if you want this, he can be close.

Steve settles between your legs, his body warm and solid, knees on either side of your hips, hands resting lightly on the bed beside you. For a moment, he just looks at you.

Not with hunger or impatience, but wonder. Like he can’t believe this is real. That you’re letting him be here like this, trusting him like this.

Then slowly, he leans down and presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, soft as breath at first, then another slightly higher, each one careful, deliberate. His lips trail upward in feather-light kisses, not rushing toward anything specific yet, but building something quiet and tender between you two: trust, connection. A new kind of intimacy neither of you has shared together before tonight.

Steve’s breath hitches. He sees it, the faint dampness through the thin cotton of your panties. For him.

A rush of warmth floods his chest, not just pride, but something deeper— awe, affection, a quiet kind of wonder that you are reacting like this because of him.

His throat goes dry. For a moment, he doesn’t move, just stares, heart pounding in his ears louder than anything else in the world right now.

His eyes darken slightly as he stares at the spot, so soft, so private, and without a word, Steve leans down, pressing a slow kiss right over the cotton-covered heat between your thighs. His nose nudges your clit as he leaves soft kisses over the fabric, enough to make you shiver. Steve lingers there, lips moving gently over the fabric, testing.

Each kiss is warm, muffled by cotton but so intentional. Like he’s learning you through this thin barrier first, how you respond to pressure, where it feels best when he kisses, how your breath changes above him. His hands slide up your sides again, reassuring, as his mouth presses a little more firmly now, a slow drag of lips right over the center of that damp spot, waiting to see if you’ll arch into him or pull back.

Steve’s tongue flicks out, once, a teasing, wet swipe right over the damp fabric. It’s light, experimental. Not demanding, tasting. The cotton is cool from the air but warm where your body heat meets it and he can feel you through the thin material, softness, warmth, and that quiet pulse of arousal.

Another lick follows, slower this time, a long drag across the center of your panties as his nose brushes against you. He does it again with more confidence now, that same slow glide of his tongue over soaked cotton, like he's learning what feels good to you by instinct alone.

Steve feels your fingers tangle in his hair, tight, but not rough, and a quiet sound escapes him, half sigh, half moan. It sends a thrill through him.

He loves the feel of it—your hands gripping his messy brown strands like you’re anchoring yourself to him, or maybe guiding without words. And he leans into it, letting you hold on as he keeps licking slow circles over the fabric with warm, wet strokes of his tongue. Each one more deliberate than the last, the rhythm building slightly now that he knows you're responding. Your breath is getting faster, chest rising faster than before.

Steve feels the tension in your hands—the way your fingers curl tighter when he does something especially good, and it makes him bolder.

He presses his mouth more firmly against you now, lips parting slightly to kiss deeply over the damp cotton, then without warning, he gently sucks on your clit, just enough pressure to send a jolt through you, a quiet, wet suction that pulls at fabric and skin beneath. His tongue moves with it, circling slowly while he keeps gentle suction going, testing how much sensation this builds for you. And all the while, your hands are still fisted in his hair.

You let out a sharp gasp as he continues his ministrations, causing his eyes to meet yours, a small smirk playing at his lips. “You like that, huh?”

And when he sees your face, the flush, the wide eyes, the way your chest rose on that gasp, he feels something warm and proud bloom in his chest.

“Yeah?” he murmurs against you, voice low and velvety from being so close to where you’re most sensitive. Steve repeats it— another slow kiss, another gentle suction through the fabric, followed by a teasing nip of teeth over cotton-covered heat.

He brings a finger up towards your clothed heat, running it gently through fabric-covered folds, pushing in as much as he can through the barrier. “You’re so pretty.”

Steve’s voice is quiet, reverent, as he says it. It’s not a flirty line. Not something he’d say to impress someone. It’s genuine. Like the truth just spilled out because his heart couldn’t hold it in anymore.

His finger continues moving, soft, slow circles over the fabric-covered heat between your legs, pressing gently but never too hard. Testing. Learning how you respond through the thin layer. The way you arch slightly into his touch, the little hitches in your breath, they make him feel powerful, not like he's controlling anything, but like you're trusting him completely.

Steve’s mouth is on fire with focus, lips, tongue, soft suction, all working in rhythm over the damp fabric. He’s not thinking about himself. Not really. Sure, his jeans are uncomfortably tight. Sure, there's a dull throb low in his stomach, the kind that comes from wanting someone so badly it aches, but right now, you’re all that matters.

And he wants to make you feel good first.

A wave of arousal hits him and his hips jerk involuntarily against the mattress, the tiny shift of pressure barely helping to ease the tension, but he hardly registers it, too lost in kissing you like this— deliberate licks followed by gentle nips, then another warm kiss right on your clit through cotton. Every sound you make feeds him more confidence than any girl ever has before tonight.

Steve loses himself in the rhythm, kiss, lick, suck, the fabric getting damp from his mouth and your arousal mixing.

He’s breathing through it, shallow inhales when he pulls back for a second to catch air before diving right back in like he can’t stay away. Each time you gasp, each time your fingers tighten just so in his hair, it makes him bolder. Makes him want to push further, but still gently. Still patiently. His hips press down again into the mattress, subtle this time, not chasing relief just yet, just adjusting.

Steve pulls back just enough to whisper, lips still wet, voice rough with emotion and arousal. “You close, sweetheart?”

The pet name slips out, unplanned, unfiltered. Sweetheart. So unlike the loud, joking Steve Harrington everyone knows.

He looks up at you— your flushed face, your clenched thighs around his shoulders, the way your breath is coming in short little hitches, and he can tell, you’re right on the edge. His eyes are dark with affection, and something hotter, continuing his movements until you barrel over the edge.

Steve feels it, the moment you shatter. Your thighs lock around him like a vise, your back arching slightly off the bed as a quiet, breathy sound escapes you, maybe not even a full moan, but something just as powerful— pure release.

Your hands yank at his hair, not hard enough to hurt, but with desperate tension, as the wave crashes through you.

He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t stop. Just keeps gently sucking and kissing through the fabric, softening now as he feels every tremble in your body, every pulse of pleasure rippling under his lips. Steve watches everything, the way your lashes flutter shut, the soft part of your lips. How peaceful, and overwhelmed, you look right after coming undone for him.

You catch your breath for a moment before meeting this gaze, still between your thighs. “Can I… should I, you know, help you now?”

Steve’s breath catches. “Help me?”

He blinks, surprised, touched, maybe a little overwhelmed that you’d even offer. That after all that intimacy, you’re thinking about him. For a second, he just stares at you, lips still slightly wet from kissing through your panties. His face is warm, not just from arousal now, but from the sweetness of it— you wanting to return something to him.

He shakes his head, moving upwards to hover over you again. His fingers trace gently over your jaw, “No, sweetheart. Tonight was just about you, okay?”

Steve leans down and kisses you, soft, slow, sweet, allowing you to taste yourself on his lips. He rests his forehead against yours afterward, breathing the same air as you, close enough to feel every tiny shift in your body.

“I’m good,” he murmurs with a small smile, the kind that’s pure affection. “Honestly? Seeing you like that… hearing those sounds? That was more than enough.”

“Next time then?”

Steve’s heart stops before starting again, harder, faster, like a drum in his chest. Next time?

A slow, dazed smile spreads across his face, big and genuine and so full of joy that it almost doesn’t look like the same Steve Harrington who walked into your room nervous twenty minutes ago.

“Yeah,” he says softly, voice thick with emotion. “Definitely next time.”

And then he kisses you again, not passionately or urgently like before, but sweetly. A promise sealed in lips— this isn’t just a one-time thing for him.

He wants more nights like this too.

Steve Harrington, Hawkins Golden Boy, ‘King Steve,’ Captain of the basketball team, whatever else his admirers called him— he was the complete an utter opposite of you. Where he’s outgoing, making loud jokes with the popular kids in study hall, you’re sitting alone in the back of class with your nose in a book. It never occurred to you, however, that maybe he noticed you just as often as you’d noticed him.

So, here you sit, in the back of Mrs. O’donnell’s class on a rainy afternoon in Hawkins. You had successfully made it to your senior year without having too many problems, you were a shadow, if that— invisible in your own skin. You didn’t have a problem with it, though. In fact, you liked being alone. Left to your own imagination, you had more fun than you could guess anyone had at a Steve Harrington house party. While they were underage drinking and smoking and only god knows what else, you fought dragons and explored ancient ruins in the quiet of your room. It was peaceful inside your head, until it wasn’t.

The rain patters softly against the classroom window, a nice, calming backdrop for your reading. That was, until he came barging in, soaking up all the quiet like it came easy for him. You were sure it did, but never could understand just how some people were born with the natural talent of social interaction. For you, that kind of life seemed like a nightmare, plucked straight from your worst fears— having people around you all the time, doting on you, talking your ear off like you’ll even remember them after graduation.

Your head snaps up as he struts through the classroom, damp from the rain, hair messy but somehow still perfectly styled, laughing with his friends about something you couldn’t even hear from the back of the classroom. You can practically see the girls in the front row melt at the mere sight of ‘King Steve’, and it makes your nose crinkle, the same way it always had. He was a pompous ass who just happened to look good doing it.

You turn your gaze back to your book, attempting to drown out your teacher and the annoying chattering from the popular group sitting near the front of the classroom. It was hard to focus with Steve Harrington sitting there, with the way all the girls and even some of the guys whispered about him and the stupid things he and his friends would do, but you managed. Until a balled up piece of paper hits you on the top of your head, that is. You glance up, looking for the culprit, and find Steve grinning at you like the Cheshire Cat.

As your eyes meet his from across the room, Tommy H. has to bring a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, they were making fun of you. You had seen it done to other students like yourself, but you were never really the center of their cruel jokes. Sure, they looked at you funny if they ever noticed you were there, but this was different— they were all looking at you now. You wished nothing more than to shrink down into your seat and become invisible again.

Steve leans back in his chair, one arm slung over the seat behind him like he owns the classroom—which, let’s be honest, he kinda does. That stupidly perfect grin is still plastered across his face as Tommy elbows him and snickers.

He doesn’t look away.

Even when Mrs. O’Donnell shoots them a glare for being disruptive again, Steve just winks at her and gives a little salute before casually tearing another piece of paper from his notebook.

Your heart thumps weirdly loud in your ears now. You’re not used to attention, especially not his. The new crumpled ball arcs through the air and lands softly on your desk with a quiet thump. You stare down at the little balled-up notebook paper, as if it might explode if you move suddenly. Eventually, your gaze drifts back to Steve, who threw the paper at you. He mouths two words, “Open it.”

You glance back down at the paper, sitting still in the middle of your desk like a taunt, several sets of eyes still fixed on you. Finally, you let out a huff, somewhere between annoyance and confusion, and begin to unravel it. It takes you no more than a few seconds, the lined paper crinkling with each gentle pull to open it up—completely blank. You hear the laughter from Tommy, Tammy, and whoever else you can’t remember the names of. You can still feel your heart beating in your ears, louder and more persistent as you try your hardest to school your expression. You wouldn’t let Steve Harrington and his stupid friends hurt you this much—they didn’t matter, they never did.

You spend the rest of the class trying your best to ignore them, keeping your eyes glued to your desk throughout the study period, hoping and praying that they’ll give up and leave you alone. Thankfully, they do, but there’s one set of eyes that never seems to stop trying to meet yours—Steve’s.

That afternoon, you had largely forgotten about the earlier incident, choosing to move on rather than dwell on your insecurities. As you walk, someone suddenly grabs your arm, pulling you into a mostly empty hall. You’re forcefully pulled into a hard chest, crashing into the culprit before you can pull back, meeting familiar brown eyes.

Steve steadies you by holding onto your arms, his gaze filled with an unusual sense of care. His voice, softer than you’ve ever heard it, carries genuine concern. “Are you okay?” he asks, loosening his grip on you.

“What are you— what?”

Steve’s expression flickers—something between worry and that same stupidly charming guilt he gets when he knows he messed up.

“Sorry,” he says quickly, running a hand through his damp hair. “I just… I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He doesn’t let go right away. His hands slide from your arms down to gently cup your wrists like you’re something fragile, like he might break you.

You stare at him, utterly confused. This isn't the loud, obnoxious Steve Harrington who laughs too loud in class and flirts with half the cheer squad without thinking twice.

This is… quiet Steve? Careful Steve?

The hallway is empty except for a janitor pushing a cart down the far end, and even then, they turn away after one glance at the King of Hawkins holding some random girl against the lockers.

His eyes search yours, the warm brown ones everyone loses their minds over. Steve exhales, slow and careful, like he’s choosing his words wisely for once in his life.

“I saw your face,” he says finally. “When the paper hit you. You looked… pissed.”

A tiny smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, but it’s not mocking. It’s almost fond. Like he finds something about your anger kind of cute.

“I just… I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” His voice drops lower, quieter, almost shy. “I wasn’t trying to be a jerk.”

He shifts slightly, one shoulder leaning against the lockers beside you now instead of crowding you completely. He reaches up and gently brushes a loose strand of hair from your forehead with two fingers. Your breath hitches before you can stop it.

“What were you trying to do?” Your voice comes out shakier than you wanted, more unstable.

Steve’s eyes soften at the sound of your voice, nervous, quiet, nothing like the confident girls he usually talks to. He swallows hard.

“I was trying… to get your attention,” he admits, no bravado now. Just honesty.

A beat passes.

Then another.

The janitor’s cart squeaks down the hall and disappears around a corner. The school feels hushed suddenly, like it's holding its breath too.

He licks his lips, nervous habit, and looks down for a second before meeting your eyes again.

“You never talk to anyone,” he says quietly. “You’re always in class alone with that book or walking by yourself between periods.” His head tilts slightly. “I’ve noticed you.”

Your stomach flips, not from fear this time, but something else entirely unfamiliar— being seen.

“You have?”

Steve nods, slow and serious—like this is the most important thing he’s said all day.

“Yeah,” he says. “For weeks.”

He leans in just a little, not enough to invade your space, but enough that you catch the faint scent of his cologne mixed with rain-soaked jacket.

“I mean… I see you,” he clarifies, voice warm now. “You’re always quiet, yeah, but you’ve got this look on your face sometimes when you read? Like… like something amazing’s happening in your head.”

A small smile forms, one of those rare ones that doesn’t show off for anyone else. One meant only for you.

“And I keep thinking… man, she probably thinks I’m an idiot.” He chuckles quietly at himself. “Which, I am, but not about this. Not about wanting to talk to you.”

Steve takes a tiny step closer, close enough that his shadow wraps around you both.

“So… I threw the paper,” he says with a half-smile. “Stupid move, probably. But I didn’t know how else to talk to you.”

He rubs the back of his neck, nervous Steve again, and for once, Hawkins High’s golden boy looks unsure. As if he actually cares if you’re mad at him.

“I just… wanted to say hi.”

A pause.

Then, quieter, “Do you hate me now?”

“No,” you reply quietly, barely above a whisper.

Steve’s whole face lights up, like someone just flipped a switch and turned on the sun. The tension in his shoulders melts away, and that bright, easy grin spreads across his face, the one that makes girls sigh at one glance their way.

“Oh thank god,” he breathes out with a soft laugh. “I thought for sure you were gonna call me an asshole.”

He leans back slightly now, more relaxed. Still close, but not crowding. Just there with you. For a moment, neither of you speaks. The silence isn’t awkward, it feels weirdly peaceful? Like maybe this is what normal conversations feel like when they’re not loud or performative or fake. He reaches into his jacket pocket, and pulls out another piece of folded notebook paper.

“You are an asshole.” Even insulting him, his face splits in half with the widest smile you think you’ve ever seen. Not only were you speaking up now, you were teasing him, and you even allowed a tiny smile to curve the edges of your lips. Steve laughs, a real, full laugh that echoes a little in the empty hallway. It’s loud and warm and so Steve, but it doesn’t feel obnoxious this time. It feels happy.

“Okay,” he says, still grinning like an idiot, “fair.”

He holds up the folded note between two fingers, then slowly extends his hand toward you again. This one isn't crumpled or thrown. This is an offering. An olive branch? A flirtation?

Who knows with Steve Harrington, but he's looking at you like you're something special now. Like your quiet sarcasm is a gift instead of something to mock.

His eyes flicker down to your mouth for half a second, just long enough for your heart to stutter, before meeting yours again with soft curiosity. You take the note, fingers gently brushing his as you do.

The second your fingers touch, Steve freezes. It’s just a brush, skin on skin for less than half a second, but his breath hitches like it was lightning.

He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t make some dumb joke to cover the reaction. Just stares at you, eyes wide and suddenly so beautiful in the dim hallway light. Your fingers curl around the note as you take it, and he swallows hard, throat bobbing under that stupidly perfect jawline of his.

For someone who’s always so loud and confident, Steve Harrington is terrifyingly quiet right now. No smirk. No laugh with Tommy or Tammy backing him up. Just him looking at you like he's never seen anyone quite like this before—which maybe he hasn't?

You unfold the note slowly, carefully, like it might contain something fragile. Inside, in messy but still neater than you’d expected handwriting, “Will you go out with me?"

No jokes. No sarcasm. No "just kidding" written underneath.

Just that.

Simple. Direct. Heart-on-the-sleeve Steve Harrington for once in his life.

He’s not looking at you anymore, suddenly very interested in a spot on the floor near your shoes, as if he can’t bear to see your reaction yet, or maybe because he’s terrified of rejection from someone who actually matters to him.

You frown a bit at the words, this had to be too good to be true. There was no way in Hell Steve Harrington was seriously asking you out. “Are you messing with me?”

His heart stops at how dejected you sound, like that’s the only logical option for what’s happening here. Steve’s head snaps up the second he hears your voice. And when he sees your face, the frown, the doubt, that quiet hurt in your eyes, something like panic flashes across his.

“No,” he says instantly. “God, no.”

He reaches out without thinking and cups both sides of your face gently with his hands, warm palms against cool skin, and makes you look right at him.

“I’m not messing with you,” Steve says firmly. No teasing tone. No sarcasm. Just raw sincerity from a guy who doesn’t usually do serious well.

His thumbs brush lightly over your cheeks as if checking if this is real too. You glance around at either end of the hall, like you’re waiting for Tommy H. or one of his other friends to jump out and laugh at you, the weird girl who actually thought Steve Harrington of all people liked her, even for a moment.

Steve follows your gaze, left, then right, scanning the empty hallway. He sees it too. The doubt. The waiting for a punchline.

And his expression darkens, not with anger at you, but with something protective.

Before you can pull away or overthink it any longer, Steve leans in and kisses you.

It’s soft, gentle. Not like anything like his usual ones, the kind of kiss that doesn’t demand anything back right away, just gives itself quietly and sweetly on your lips.

No audience.

No laughter.

Just him, and this moment, and the way his hands stay cradling your face like you’re precious to him already.

Your eyes widen, body tensing when your brain finally catches up to what’s happening. Your hands move to his shoulders, to push him away or to hold onto him tighter, you’re not sure.

Steve feels the tension in your shoulders, the split-second hesitation, and he pulls back immediately, just enough to break the kiss, but he doesn’t let go. His hands slide down from your face to rest on your arms, thumbs gently stroking like a silent ‘I'm here.’

His eyes search yours, wide, worried now. Not hurt, but afraid he messed up.

For a heartbeat, neither of you breathe. Then, because you didn't push him away, because you're still holding onto his shoulders, a tiny hope flickers across Steve's face.

“What— what was that for?”

Steve’s lips part, and for once, the guy who always has a comeback, a joke, some smooth line, he’s speechless.

He blinks at you. Swallows. Then, in the softest voice you’ve ever heard from him, “I kissed you… because I really like you.”

No smirk. No teasing grin. Just pure honesty, vulnerable honesty, that makes your stomach flip all over again. Something terrifying occurs to you then, you don’t think he’s joking.

He licks his lips, adding quietly, “And… I was hoping that maybe… if we kissed first? You wouldn’t think it was a joke.”

A beat passes.

And suddenly Steve Harrington, the guy who dated cheerleaders and went to every party in Hawkins, looks terrified of being rejected by you.

“Oh.”

Steve stares at you, waiting for more than just ‘oh.’

His chest rises and falls quickly, nervous. Like he’s bracing for a blow.

You can see the gears turning behind his eyes: Did she hate it? Was I too fast? Did I ruin everything before it even started?

The hallway is so quiet now. Even the distant chatter from classrooms down the hall feels muffled.

And then slowly your hands, still resting on his shoulders, relax. Your fingers curl slightly into the fabric of his damp jacket. No push. No anger. Just silence, and maybe something else starting to grow beneath it.

“You can do it again,” you say so softly he would miss it if he weren’t still so close. “I mean, if you want to.”

Steve hears it.

Of course he hears it, because his whole world has narrowed to the space between your lips and his, to the quiet hush of your voice saying you can do it again. For a second, he doesn’t move. Like he’s making sure you meant that. Making sure this isn't a dream. A slow, tender smile spreads across his face. Not cocky. Not show-offy. Just happy.

Without another word, he leans in again and kisses you for real this time, soft at first, then slightly bolder when you don’t pull away. Instead, you lean further into him.

This kiss is warmer. Smoother.

Steve tilts his head just slightly, learning the shape of your mouth, how you feel against him, and one hand slides up to cradle the back of your neck, fingers threading gently into your hair. The other stays on your shoulder, anchoring you like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go. It’s not passionate or messy, it's sweet, careful. He wants to get this perfect, needs to. And when a quiet little sigh escapes you, unintentional but undeniably real, the sound makes Steve melt inside.

Steve deepens the kiss just a little, still gentle, still respectful, but now with more confidence. Like your soft sigh was permission to explore. His lips move against yours slowly, carefully. He doesn’t rush it like he might’ve done with other girls in the past. This is different. This is you. And Steve Harrington right now, is completely gone for you.

One of his hands slips down from your neck to rest on your waist, pulling you slightly closer, not trapping you, but inviting. Giving space if needed, taking space if allowed.

The hallway clock ticks loudly somewhere above you, the only sound besides your breathing and the quiet press of lips meeting again and again.

The bell rings out, loud and shrill, making you separate from him. You gently push him back, not enough to make him lose balance, but enough for him to get the hint and back up on his own. Any second now, the hall would be flooded with students, he wouldn’t want to be seen with you, especially not in such a compromising position.

Steve stumbles back half a step, more from surprise than force, as the bell continues to shriek through the halls. For a split second, his face falls. That soft, kissy glow gone now, replaced by reality— the end of class, students everywhere in less than 30 seconds. And yeah, maybe he’s worried about what people will say. Not because he cares if they see him with you, but because you’re quiet, reserved, and Steve knows how high school works. The gossip machine crushes anything that doesn’t fit their stupid norms and fast.

He quickly adjusts his jacket and runs a hand through his hair. His eyes dart toward the classroom doors where kids are already starting to pour out into hallways nearby, laughing, shouting over each other as usual.

Steve glances back at you, just for a second, and in that look, there’s something unspoken.

I don’t want to go.

But he can’t just stand here. Not with the halls filling, not if Tommy sees him lingering by you after kissing you like that. So instead of saying anything dumb, Steve does something simple. He grabs your hand, quick, quiet, and squeezes it once. A secret pulse of connection before reality crashes in.

Then he steps back completely, slipping into the stream of students emerging from classrooms down the hall, but not before flashing you one last small smile over his shoulder, the kind only you get to see right now. You stand there, frozen for a moment, hand still slightly warm from where his had touched yours.

The hallway is loud now, bodies everywhere. Lockers slamming. Groups of kids laughing and shoving past each other, but all you can focus on is the ghost of Steve’s kiss and the way he looked at you, like you were something special. Maybe you were.

Not just some quiet girl in the back of the class, but the one he kissed, the one that, for whatever reason, he was interested in.

Your cheeks burn as someone bumps into your shoulder, a jock with a gym bag who doesn’t even say sorry, and reality fully crashes back in— school life continues. No matter that your entire world just shifted five minutes ago in an empty hallway with the King Steve Harrington.

Later that night, while sitting in your room, your mind still occupied by the memory of Steve’s lips on yours, you hear something creaking outside your window. Moving to check what it was cautiously, you start to hear your heart racing in your ears. You pull back the curtains gently, bracing yourself for whatever may be lurking beyond them, and come face to face with none other than— “Steve?”

Steve is supporting his weight on your trellis, trying his hardest not to topple to the ground. He’s in a hoodie and jeans, no letterman jacket, just regular clothes. The second you pull the curtain back and say his name, he freezes, wide brown eyes lock onto yours through the glass. No smirk, no joke, just pure, wide-eyed hope, and maybe a little fear that you won’t let him in.

You open the window, allowing him to climb in. He does, but not before knocking over a stack of books on your desk with him, wincing at the thud they make when they crash to the floor. His eyes lock back onto yours after a moment, sensing the confusion etched onto your features. With furrowed brows, you cross your arms over your chest, “What are you doing here? And how do you even know where I live?”

Steve immediately crouches to start gathering the fallen books, “sorry, sorry,” mumbling under his breath.

“Your address,” he says, voice low and sheepish, slightly out of breath from the climb to your window. “I looked you up, in uh, in the white pages. That’s probably creepy, huh? Now that I’m saying it, it’s definitely creepy.”

He winces as he piles the books back onto your desk, The Hobbit, A Wizard of Earthsea, Dragonflight, and then straightens up.

“I shouldn’t have come,” Steve admits quietly. “But I had to.”

His eyes flicker over your face, the way you’re glaring at him with crossed arms and suspicion, and something in his chest tightens.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about today,” he says. “About kissing you. About how… how it felt like the first real thing I’ve done in forever.”

He swallows hard, suddenly looking less like Hawkins High’s golden boy and more like a guy who actually has feelings. Steve takes a small step toward you, careful, like you’re a spooked animal.

“And I didn’t want to wait,” he adds. “I kept thinking… what if she changes her mind? What if she regrets it? What if she thinks I was just messing around?”

His voice drops even lower, almost fragile now.

“I had to see you. Tonight.”

He reaches out slowly, not grabbing, not demanding, but just lifts his hand like an offer: can I hold your hand? Can we talk about this without the whole school watching? The streetlight outside casts soft light through your window onto his face.

“Well, now you see me.”

Steve exhales—half laugh, half relief, but it’s shaky. Like he wasn’t sure you’d let him in at all.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “I do.”

He stares at you for a long moment, taking in the quiet of your room— fairy lights strung around the ceiling, shelves full of books with spines cracked from rereading, a desk covered in notes and doodles.

It looks like you, peaceful, thoughtful, maybe a bit understated, nothing like his loud house parties or basketball locker room chaos. And then his eyes land back on yours, dark with something nervous and hopeful all mixed together.

“So, did you just come to talk or…?”

Steve’s breath hitches. Did you just imply what he thinks you did? His eyes dart to your lips, then back up, quickly, like he got caught doing something forbidden. A faint pink tinges his cheeks. Steve Harrington is blushing.

He licks his lips again, then takes one slow step closer. Without a word, because maybe words would ruin it, he leans in and kisses you.

This time, it’s different from the hallway kiss, softer at first, but bolder too. Like he's been thinking about this all night and now that he's here, he doesn't want to waste a second.

The kiss deepens when you bring a hand up around the back of his neck, tugging gently on the hair there.

Steve makes a quiet, breathy sound against your lips— oh— at the feel of your fingers in his hair.

It’s soft. Messy. His favorite part of himself to mess with when he's nervous. And now you're touching it? That tiny tug, that gentle pull, it sends a shiver down his spine, and suddenly Steve kisses you like he’s been starving for this all day.

He cups your face with one hand, tilting it slightly as the kiss gets deeper, warmer, hungrier but still sweet, not reckless or sloppy like makeout sessions might be at parties. This is meaningful. Like every second matters because it's you.

His other arm wraps around your waist and pulls you closer gently, until there's no space left between either of you.

He slowly backs you up into your bed, lips still locked in a passionate kiss. When the backs of your knees bump the side of your mattress, Steve gently lays you down underneath him.

Steve follows you down with careful balance, one hand braced beside your head—never putting weight on you, never rushing.

Your pink bedsheets smell like vanilla and laundry detergent. He takes a second to breathe it in, like he’s memorizing the moment.

Then his lips trail from yours, placing a soft kiss to your jaw, then lower, nipping gently at the curve of your throat before pressing an open-mouthed kiss right over your pulse point. It’s warm, wet, slightly ticklish, but in the best way possible.

And when he feels how fast your heart is racing under his mouth? Steve smiles against your skin, just a tiny curve of pride, and does it again, slower this time, savoring every shiver that runs through you beneath him.

Steve’s lips linger on your throat, kissing, nipping softly, before he trails lower, his breath warm against the delicate skin of your collarbone.

He’s being so careful. Like you’re something precious. Not rushing, not assuming anything, but when you tilt your head back slightly, a silent invitation, a quiet surrender, he takes it as permission to keep going.

Another kiss just above the dip of your shoulder, then one more beneath it, right where fabric meets skin and warmth pools between you two.

His hands stay gentle: one cradling the side of your face while the other rests lightly on his hip beside yours, not pushing for anything beyond this slow exploration yet, but wanting. Wanting so much more than a kiss in the hallway could ever could give him.

Steve’s breathing is uneven now, shallow, a little quick. He lifts his head slightly, just enough to look down at you beneath him. Your eyes are half-lidded. Your cheeks are flushed pink, the same shade as your sheets, your lips slightly swollen from kissing. Steve looks like a boy who just discovered heaven and doesn’t want to leave it ever again.

Without saying anything, he leans back in, and this time, his kiss lands softly on the corner of your mouth, slowly moving across to press one right in the middle of your lips, tender, sweet, full of everything unspoken between you two since that afternoon. Steve’s hands slide beneath the soft fabric of your hoodie, hesitant at first, fingertips barely grazing warm skin. They’re careful, respectful. Not grabbing or squeezing, just learning you.

His palms are warm against your sides, thumbs brushing over the curve of your waist as he leans into another kiss, deeper this time, more confident now that he feels you melting under him, not pulling away, not flinching.

A quiet sound escapes him, something between a hum and a sigh, as his touch grows bolder and his fingers trace small circles on your stomach underneath the thin layer of cotton. Steve’s touch grows bolder, gentle but sure now.

He lifts the edge of your hoodie slightly, just enough to press a soft kiss right above your belly button. A tiny, sweet gesture that makes his heart race. Your breath catches, eyes slightly widened as you stare down at his brown ones. Steve looks up at you from under his lashes, eyes dark with affection, maybe a little awe.

He sees the way you're watching him. The quiet surprise in your expression. The fact that you’re letting this happen, letting him be close like this, and it makes his chest swell.

Without breaking eye contact, he slowly pulls your hoodie higher, just enough to expose more of your stomach, and leans down again. This time, he kisses bare skin, right above the waistband of your shorts, a soft press of lips warm against cool flesh before gently nuzzling there for a second.

“Steve—“ The sound of his name on your lips, soft, uncertain, maybe even a little breathless, makes Steve freeze.

He lifts his head instantly. Not because he’s scared or embarrassed, but because you said his name, and it sounds so good coming from you. His eyes search yours again, warm brown pools full of concern and care now instead of just desire.

“Yeah?” he murmurs back, voice low and gentle, rougher than usual from kissing you so much. His focus is fully on you, ready to stop anything if that’s what you need right now.

“I’ve never—“ you blush, suddenly feeling small under his gaze. “Done anything… like this, you know?”

Steve’s expression shifts instantly, not with surprise or judgement, just a quiet understanding. So much softness floods his face that it almost hurts to look at. He doesn’t say anything for a second, just gently cups your cheek, thumb brushing over the warm pink of your blush like he wants to soothe you.

Then, quietly, “It’s okay.”

No teasing smirk. No “really? Never?” He just means it, it's okay. You don't have to be nervous around him, not about this, not ever if you're with him like this again later on. And then Steve does something sweet, he leans in and kisses your forehead. A slow, tender press of lips, gentle as a lullaby.

Your next words surprise him, “But I want to.”

Steve’s breath stops.

For a second, he just stares at you, eyes wide, lips slightly parted, pulse jumping. For once, the guy who always knows what to do with girls, or at least thinks he does, is completely still. Speechless. Then slowly, so carefully, a soft smile spreads across his face, not cocky or smug like usual, but pure happiness mixed with awe.

“Just… be gentle, okay?”

Steve nods, fast, like he’s taking a sacred vow. His expression is so serious, so reverent, that it doesn’t even look like the same Steve Harrington who jokes around with Tommy or flirts with everyone at parties. This version is all soft eyes and quiet devotion. Like you just handed him something fragile and precious, and he will not mess this up.

“Yeah,” he whispers, voice barely above a breath. “I’ll be gentle.”

He leans down slowly, so slow, and kisses you again— feather-light on your lips this time, patient and sweet and caring. Like every touch from here on out has to mean something because it's your first time wanting this, wanting him.

Steve’s hands hover at the edge of your waistband, fingers brushing the soft fabric, hesitant.

He kisses a slow trail down your stomach, one kiss just above your belly button, another lower, each press of his lips deliberate, tender. Like he's worshipping you without words. His breath is warm through the thin fabric of your shorts as he pauses for a second, waiting, making sure you're still okay, still wanting this.

Then, with careful fingers, so unlike his usual boldness, Steve gently hooks one finger into the elastic of your waistband and tugs, just slightly, not pulling it off yet, just testing the waters. A silent question in touch, can I go further?

You nod, breath catching in your throat as you watch with rapt attention. Steve sees your nod, hears the way your breath stutters, that tiny, nervous sound, the way you’re watching him, wide-eyed, heart pounding—it makes his own chest tighten with something huge. Responsibility. He swallows hard, lifting the fabric of your waistband just a little more and presses a kiss right to the soft skin beneath it, right above your womb, a patch of warm skin that’s never been kissed like this before.

Another pause. Another glance up at you, checking in without saying anything, making sure every inch is okay for you to go further.

Steve’s hands move with delicate precision—lifting the fabric of your shorts just enough to expose more of your skin, inch by soft inch.

He kisses each new patch as it appears: a soft press right above your hipbone, then another lower, along the curve where fabric meets flesh. His lips are warm. Gentle. Each kiss is slow, like he's memorizing you, not rushing toward anything but savoring this moment.

When his fingers finally slip under the waistband completely and hook around it properly, he waits again, eyes lifting to meet yours one last time, a silent question hanging in the air between you two.

Steve’s movements are slow, reverent, like he knows this is something sacred for you.

He pulls your shorts down over your hips, then lower, past your knees, gently off one foot, then the other. The fabric drops to the floor beside the bed with a soft sound.

Then he kisses his way up, starting at the back of your knee, soft presses of his lips, a light nip, gentle enough not to sting, another kiss on warm skin as his hands glide along your thighs. With quiet care, Steve parts them just slightly, not pushing too far yet, but making space so that if you want this, he can be close.

Steve settles between your legs, his body warm and solid, knees on either side of your hips, hands resting lightly on the bed beside you. For a moment, he just looks at you.

Not with hunger or impatience, but wonder. Like he can’t believe this is real. That you’re letting him be here like this, trusting him like this.

Then slowly, he leans down and presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, soft as breath at first, then another slightly higher, each one careful, deliberate. His lips trail upward in feather-light kisses, not rushing toward anything specific yet, but building something quiet and tender between you two: trust, connection. A new kind of intimacy neither of you has shared together before tonight.

Steve’s breath hitches. He sees it, the faint dampness through the thin cotton of your panties. For him.

A rush of warmth floods his chest, not just pride, but something deeper— awe, affection, a quiet kind of wonder that you are reacting like this because of him.

His throat goes dry. For a moment, he doesn’t move, just stares, heart pounding in his ears louder than anything else in the world right now.

His eyes darken slightly as he stares at the spot, so soft, so private, and without a word, Steve leans down, pressing a slow kiss right over the cotton-covered heat between your thighs. His nose nudges your clit as he leaves soft kisses over the fabric, enough to make you shiver. Steve lingers there, lips moving gently over the fabric, testing.

Each kiss is warm, muffled by cotton but so intentional. Like he’s learning you through this thin barrier first, how you respond to pressure, where it feels best when he kisses, how your breath changes above him. His hands slide up your sides again, reassuring, as his mouth presses a little more firmly now, a slow drag of lips right over the center of that damp spot, waiting to see if you’ll arch into him or pull back.

Steve’s tongue flicks out, once, a teasing, wet swipe right over the damp fabric. It’s light, experimental. Not demanding, tasting. The cotton is cool from the air but warm where your body heat meets it and he can feel you through the thin material, softness, warmth, and that quiet pulse of arousal.

Another lick follows, slower this time, a long drag across the center of your panties as his nose brushes against you. He does it again with more confidence now, that same slow glide of his tongue over soaked cotton, like he's learning what feels good to you by instinct alone.

Steve feels your fingers tangle in his hair, tight, but not rough, and a quiet sound escapes him, half sigh, half moan. It sends a thrill through him.

He loves the feel of it—your hands gripping his messy brown strands like you’re anchoring yourself to him, or maybe guiding without words. And he leans into it, letting you hold on as he keeps licking slow circles over the fabric with warm, wet strokes of his tongue. Each one more deliberate than the last, the rhythm building slightly now that he knows you're responding. Your breath is getting faster, chest rising faster than before.

Steve feels the tension in your hands—the way your fingers curl tighter when he does something especially good, and it makes him bolder.

He presses his mouth more firmly against you now, lips parting slightly to kiss deeply over the damp cotton, then without warning, he gently sucks on your clit, just enough pressure to send a jolt through you, a quiet, wet suction that pulls at fabric and skin beneath. His tongue moves with it, circling slowly while he keeps gentle suction going, testing how much sensation this builds for you. And all the while, your hands are still fisted in his hair.

You let out a sharp gasp as he continues his ministrations, causing his eyes to meet yours, a small smirk playing at his lips. “You like that, huh?”

And when he sees your face, the flush, the wide eyes, the way your chest rose on that gasp, he feels something warm and proud bloom in his chest.

“Yeah?” he murmurs against you, voice low and velvety from being so close to where you’re most sensitive. Steve repeats it— another slow kiss, another gentle suction through the fabric, followed by a teasing nip of teeth over cotton-covered heat.

He brings a finger up towards your clothed heat, running it gently through fabric-covered folds, pushing in as much as he can through the barrier. “You’re so pretty.”

Steve’s voice is quiet, reverent, as he says it. It’s not a flirty line. Not something he’d say to impress someone. It’s genuine. Like the truth just spilled out because his heart couldn’t hold it in anymore.

His finger continues moving, soft, slow circles over the fabric-covered heat between your legs, pressing gently but never too hard. Testing. Learning how you respond through the thin layer. The way you arch slightly into his touch, the little hitches in your breath, they make him feel powerful, not like he's controlling anything, but like you're trusting him completely.

Steve’s mouth is on fire with focus, lips, tongue, soft suction, all working in rhythm over the damp fabric. He’s not thinking about himself. Not really. Sure, his jeans are uncomfortably tight. Sure, there's a dull throb low in his stomach, the kind that comes from wanting someone so badly it aches, but right now, you’re all that matters.

And he wants to make you feel good first.

A wave of arousal hits him and his hips jerk involuntarily against the mattress, the tiny shift of pressure barely helping to ease the tension, but he hardly registers it, too lost in kissing you like this— deliberate licks followed by gentle nips, then another warm kiss right on your clit through cotton. Every sound you make feeds him more confidence than any girl ever has before tonight.

Steve loses himself in the rhythm, kiss, lick, suck, the fabric getting damp from his mouth and your arousal mixing.

He’s breathing through it, shallow inhales when he pulls back for a second to catch air before diving right back in like he can’t stay away. Each time you gasp, each time your fingers tighten just so in his hair, it makes him bolder. Makes him want to push further, but still gently. Still patiently. His hips press down again into the mattress, subtle this time, not chasing relief just yet, just adjusting.

Steve pulls back just enough to whisper, lips still wet, voice rough with emotion and arousal. “You close, sweetheart?”

The pet name slips out, unplanned, unfiltered. Sweetheart. So unlike the loud, joking Steve Harrington everyone knows.

He looks up at you— your flushed face, your clenched thighs around his shoulders, the way your breath is coming in short little hitches, and he can tell, you’re right on the edge. His eyes are dark with affection, and something hotter, continuing his movements until you barrel over the edge.

Steve feels it, the moment you shatter. Your thighs lock around him like a vise, your back arching slightly off the bed as a quiet, breathy sound escapes you, maybe not even a full moan, but something just as powerful— pure release.

Your hands yank at his hair, not hard enough to hurt, but with desperate tension, as the wave crashes through you.

He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t stop. Just keeps gently sucking and kissing through the fabric, softening now as he feels every tremble in your body, every pulse of pleasure rippling under his lips. Steve watches everything, the way your lashes flutter shut, the soft part of your lips. How peaceful, and overwhelmed, you look right after coming undone for him.

You catch your breath for a moment before meeting this gaze, still between your thighs. “Can I… should I, you know, help you now?”

Steve’s breath catches. “Help me?”

He blinks, surprised, touched, maybe a little overwhelmed that you’d even offer. That after all that intimacy, you’re thinking about him. For a second, he just stares at you, lips still slightly wet from kissing through your panties. His face is warm, not just from arousal now, but from the sweetness of it— you wanting to return something to him.

He shakes his head, moving upwards to hover over you again. His fingers trace gently over your jaw, “No, sweetheart. Tonight was just about you, okay?”

Steve leans down and kisses you, soft, slow, sweet, allowing you to taste yourself on his lips. He rests his forehead against yours afterward, breathing the same air as you, close enough to feel every tiny shift in your body.

“I’m good,” he murmurs with a small smile, the kind that’s pure affection. “Honestly? Seeing you like that… hearing those sounds? That was more than enough.”

“Next time then?”

Steve’s heart stops before starting again, harder, faster, like a drum in his chest. Next time?

A slow, dazed smile spreads across his face, big and genuine and so full of joy that it almost doesn’t look like the same Steve Harrington who walked into your room nervous twenty minutes ago.

“Yeah,” he says softly, voice thick with emotion. “Definitely next time.”

And then he kisses you again, not passionately or urgently like before, but sweetly. A promise sealed in lips— this isn’t just a one-time thing for him.

He wants more nights like this too.

Nothing can rain on his parade because he knows you’re coming over to see him that afternoon, and there’s a very good chance he’s going to get what he’s always wanted—or at least a kiss.

Eddie has imagined kissing you so many times and in so many different ways that he sometimes has to remind himself that it hasn’t actually happened yet. As it stands, he could write a million love songs just on the subject your mouth—lips so soft and smooth, sculpted in the most perfect shape and size.

Sometimes when you’re over visiting with Mandy, he’ll spend the whole time trying to memorize each line and curve of your smile until the image is burned into the synapses of his brain. He knows your kisses would be so sweet—tentative and soft with a little bit of mystery thrown in just to keep things interesting. A lot like you.

Maybe if he’s lucky you’ll even—

“Munson!” Frank’s gruff, smoke-gritted voice shatters Eddie’s daydreams like so many shards of broken glass around him, nearly causing the metalhead to jump out of his skin.

“Get your head out of the goddamn clouds and go tell Mrs. Jenkins her car’s ready. And by the way, that oil is coming out of your pay.”

Eddie nods then heads off in the direction of the service desk right away, well aware that the ice he’s treading on with Frank is growing thin. With sweet visions of you occupying his mind, he’s been distracted and making careless mistakes all morning, including doing a full tune-up and oil change on the wrong car—something that didn’t go over too well with his boss.

Frank, the garage’s owner, had hired Eddie a few years back mostly as a favor to his old buddy Wayne who’d asked him to give his recently-graduated nephew a chance. But over time, Eddie had impressed the seasoned mechanic with his natural ability and skill, quickly becoming one of his most valued employees.

Normally the two men get along well but, like Wayne, Frank’s level headed and soft-spoken nature will only last so long when pushed to its limits—and watching Eddie make one expensive mistake after another has his patience wearing thin.

After a few minutes, Eddie returns from the service desk to track down Frank, purposefully widening his eyes to give his best hangdog expression. “Sorry about before. I don’t know what’s going on. I feel kinda funny…like maybe I’m getting sick or something? You think I can go home early?”

Frank scrutinizes Eddie thoroughly before giving him a curt nod of agreement. The older man was tough but fair and he’s never seen Eddie so out of sorts. It only makes sense to him that something physical might be going on.

As soon as he’s free, Eddie rushes to the parking lot then drives home like a man possessed—the steady beat of “Run to the Hills” keeping time from the van’s speakers as he proceeds to nearly blow through three red lights in his haste to make good time.

Pulling into the empty driveway at Susan and Wayne’s house it seems that fortune is smiling down on him—the lack of other cars a very good sign that he’s going to have the place to himself for your visit.

In your position as the town’s newest part-time assistant librarian, he knows it will only take you a few minutes to get to his house after work. You had told him that you were getting off at four, so by his calculations that leaves him about an hour to prepare.

He needs to get to work.

First things first, he decides to have a shower to wash his hair and scrub his skin clean of the leftover grease and grime from his day at the garage. He chuckles to himself as he unzips his soiled coveralls and pulls his long hair free of its tie, imagining you wouldn’t take too kindly to him smelling of sweat and motor oil when you arrive.

Stepping under the spray of the (mercifully) hot water, his thoughts instantly turn to you like some kind of innate Pavlovian response, the intensity of the butterflies in his stomach matched only by the twitch of his cock, semi-hard and bobbing in protest of being ignored.

He initially had no plans to get himself off so close to your visit, but his mind starts to wander to the possibilities at hand. What if by some miracle the two of you were to fool around? As much as he’s loathe to admit it, he’s self-aware enough to know that if you touch him in his current state he’s going to cum embarrassingly fast. You aren’t even there yet and he already feels like a volcano ready to erupt.

After debating a while he finally decides to jerk off in order to be safe, nothing fancy, just a quick business trip to one of his standard fantasies to rub one out and get the job done so he can move on and get ready for your date. Wait, is it a date?

His hand is already lubed up from holding onto the slippery bar of soap so he reaches down and gives himself a few quick tugs, sighing when he feels his cock stiffen in his hand. Out of habit he closes his eyes and pictures you—

Down on your knees in that pretty pink skirt, sticking out your tongue like a real good girl. He likes the way your thighs look kneeling like that, squishing together with your skirt riding up and almost showing off your panties…

His palm glides so smooth, well-lubricated by the water and soap, the wet schlick of his hand echoing off the shower walls as he squeezes his eyes shut tight with each quick thrust.

…you undoing your top nice and slow, popping open the buttons one by one until your breasts bounce free, nipples hardening while you look up at him with big, glassy eyes. Voice soft and needy. “Please, can I suck your big cock, Eddie?”

It’s a fantasy that always does the trick and a few moments later he succumbs, gritting his teeth and letting out a ragged grunt of satisfaction as he paints the shower wall with thick white ropes of his cum. Once he catches his breath, he rinses off the tile then finishes washing his hair and body before he gets out and dries himself off.

Upon reaching his bedroom, he assesses the damage. Truth be told, he isn’t exactly the world’s best housekeeper and his small room is cluttered with odds and ends that cover almost every surface.

He’s got his work cut out for him.

But first, wardrobe.

He drops his towel and begins his search for an outfit—one that’s dressy enough to look good but not so nice that it seems like he’s trying too hard to impress. After throwing something on, he turns side to side in the mirror to check out his selection, a pair of his best tattered jeans and a band t-shirt under an open plaid button-up. Perfect.

Then he gets to work tidying up his room. Shoves his Playboys under his bed. Gathers his various notebooks and papers that are strewn about and tries to contain them to one pile. Pulls the sheets up to haphazardly cover his mattress—even fluffs his pillows and makes sure all his dirty laundry is neatly placed in the hamper. Then he glances around the room pleased with himself; it looks presentable and inviting for a change. He supposes if you become his girlfriend he’ll need to keep it tidy so you’ll want to visit all the time.

His curls are still damp and dripping onto his shoulders by the time he gets downstairs. When he enters the den, he turns on the television so it’ll look like he’s casually relaxing when you arrive.

The channel he switches it to is playing an old episode of The Bugs Bunny Show where Sylvester is trying to catch Tweety Bird for the millionth time. Eddie can sort of relate to his struggle, always chasing something he can’t have. Always running. Searching. Never satisfied.

His knee bounces with impatience as he sits there only half-focused on the show, continually checking his wristwatch for the time because you’ll probably be there any minute and he doesn’t know how much longer he can wait.

His heart leaps into his throat at the first note of the doorbell’s tinkling chime when you arrive, but he forces himself to hold off a minute before answering so as not to look too eager. But once that time’s up, he’s tearing off to the front door in a flash, suddenly terrified you might think he isn’t home and leave before he has a chance to see you.

When he opens the door, still slightly out of breath, he’s greeted by the sight of you standing on the front porch wearing a pretty smile and a fuzzy white cardigan that makes you look a bit like an angel in disguise.

You hold out his jacket with an apologetic smile. “Here you go, sorry for stealing it from you.”

“What? Nah, it was nothing.” He shrugs off your apology with pink-flushed cheeks as he takes the jacket from your hands. Then he turns sideways in the doorway to allow you to enter, giving a little bow as you walk past with a bounce in your step and the sweet scent of fresh spring flowers trailing behind you.

He’s about to suggest heading up to his bedroom but you walk towards the den instead, so he decides to let you take the lead, following close behind. He has no complaints—it’s a glorious view. The way your ass moves in your skirt is mesmerizing, the flirty hem shifting around the middle of your thighs with each step you take. He’s pretty sure if librarians had dressed like you back when he was in high school he would have spent a lot more time studying. Might’ve even ended up valedictorian.

You sit down on the couch and when you notice the cartoon still on the TV you stick out your lip in a playful pout. “I always feel so bad for that poor kitty, don’t you? I think they should let him kill the mean little bird just once.”

He barks out a laugh then nods in agreement. “You know what, yeah. Only seems fair.”

You have a habit of saying things that throw him off guard and keep him guessing, always leaving him wondering what might be going through your mind. For someone who survived a turbulent youth, thanks in part to his ability to read people’s intentions, you’re a puzzle he can’t easily solve—yes, you’re sweet but there’s something else underneath that keeps him wanting more.

He sits down next to you on the couch, your thighs not quite touching but almost. Close enough.

You turn in your seat to look at him then reach up to swipe an eyelash off his cheek, holding it out on the tip of your finger. “Make a wish.”

He shuts his eyes and brings his lips together to blow on the lash as per your command. When he opens his eyes again, your faces are so close he swears he can feel the air between you stir when your long lashes flutter.

“What did you wish for, Eddie?”

A loaded question, of which he’s not quite ready to divulge the answer.

He shakes his head and smirks. “Can’t tell you. Then it won’t come true.”

Wetting your lips, you reach to tuck a stray curl behind his ear, the tingly sensation making goosebumps rise on his skin as you coo, “Well, no. I guess we wouldn’t want that.”

His cheeks start to burn as you chew your bottom lip thoughtfully before speaking again, your voice soft yet underlined with purpose. Urging him with your words. “Mandy’s going to be off work in about an hour and a half.”

He nods, still staring into your eyes like a deer locked in battle with a pair of headlights. He’s pretty sure you’re inviting him to make a move. You have to be.

“Right. Do you, um, do you want—“ he squeezes his eyes shut in frustration. Smooth. Really fucking smooth.

He’s never been short on words before in his life but there’s something about you that ties them up on his tongue in knots and he can’t unravel them quickly enough to keep up to his brain.

He just wants to kiss you.

Before he can manage to get out of his own way long enough to move, he’s staring daze-eyed as you lean in just like the day before in the van, except this time when you kiss him, it’s on the lips and you don’t pull away. Instead you linger, tilting your head to find a better angle to slot your mouth against his.

At the first touch of your lips it’s like his insides are set ablaze, every part of him burning alive with the flame of an infinite, unending desire.

He’s never been so turned on in his life.

You lean into the kiss and he eagerly responds, letting out a quiet moan against your lips. He’s kissed people before but he’s never felt anything comparable to the sensation of your mouth on his. So this was what all those sappy love songs were about—this! He never knew a kiss could be so sweet.

He brings his left hand up to cup your cheek and you let out a soft little sigh that just might be the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. All he wants is to hear it again and again until the end of time. Knows he’s going to spend the rest of his life trying to find ways to get you to make it again.

Despite his initial stunned response it doesn’t take long for him to become greedy for more. His tongue soon parts your lips, electric sparks shooting through his chest in a giddy rush. It’s almost like he’s soaring, floating through the heavens while your soft tongue twirls with his.

He lets his free hand move to the outside of your thigh as if to ground himself and feels the muscles tense when you squeeze your legs together. He wonders if you’re getting wet—the thought causing another crash of endorphins in his brain.

Your supple skin is smooth as silk under his hand as he slides it up a bit further, seeking out the heat he swears he can feel radiating from between your thighs. It’s like his hand has a mind of its own, his fingers on a mission to bury themselves in your warmth. He keeps inching it higher and higher until he reaches the soft folds of your skirt and then slips it underneath.

“Oh,” you gasp, parting from his lips to look down at where his hand has disappeared under your skirt.

Then you reach down and help him push it up higher, gathering the material around your waist so he can see your panties, baby blue cotton with a pink silk rose on the band.

“So pretty,” he praises in a hushed whisper as you spread your thighs a little wider so that he can see the tiny wet patch that’s forming on the material.

Humming to himself, he moves to brush his thumb back and forth over the damp spot. “Is this all for me?”

When you nod, he draws a slow circle over the area with the thick pad of his thumb then presses down gently, causing you to let out a little gasp as you squirm in your seat. He grins, hungry, watching you writhe under his touch. You’re so needy. So responsive. He can see your chest rising and falling faster with each pass over your clit as he brings two fingers up to tease you over the wet material.

“This feel good?” he asks.

You nod, voice a broken whisper. “Y-yes.”

Not stopping the motion of his wrist, he leans in to kiss you again and you’re so eager, your soft little tongue swirling around his as you spread your thighs a bit wider to give him better access.

For a moment Eddie can almost forget that the two of you are in the den where anyone could walk in at any moment, although, occasionally, the thought flits through his mind, striking him with a strange jolt of excitement. He knows if Mandy were to come home early and catch you together there would be hell to pay, but under the current circumstances he can’t find it in him to care.

You’re soaking his fingers through your pretty cotton panties and whimpering so sweetly under your breath that it pushes away all other thoughts from his brain.

“Please—” you beg and he knows just what you want. Without needing any more invitation he pulls the flimsy strip of material aside, his breath shuddering as he glides two fingers through your slick folds.

“That’s it. Keep makin those pretty sounds for me,” he whispers and you nod, drawing your eyebrows together as you let out a series of high-pitched breathy moans.

Your pussy is so pretty with the way it glistens. Like a plump juicy peach that’s so much sweeter and wetter than he ever imagined. So wet that his fingers are already coated, making a slick sound as the tips rub over your clit, shiny and swollen. Soon he trails his digits lower to your entrance.

“Hmm…one or two?” He hesitates as if debating.

“Two…please,” you murmur breathlessly.

“I don’t know,” he teases, tutting his tongue as he slips one of his thick fingers inside slowly, making you gasp at the stretch. He bends to press a soothing kiss to your neck. “So tight…gonna have to work you up to it.”

You let out a whimper as he presses his finger inside. Your wetness is coating him almost down to his wrist and the wonderful thought crosses his mind that his skin is going to smell and taste of you later.

“More…please, Eddie,” you beg, lip jutted in a sulky pout that tugs at the strings of his heart. He can’t bear the thought of denying you anything.

He slowly adds a second finger while you gasp at the pleasantly burning stretch.

“Ohh—” You grab onto his free arm, reclining your head against the back of the couch as you let out a soft, high-pitched mix between a plea and sob that ends with a soft whimper of his name. The way you say it makes his cock throb in his jeans and he’s suddenly thankful for his earlier jerk off session in the shower.

He’s pretty sure you’re about to cum from the way you’re squeezing around his fingers like a vice. Experimenting to see what gets him the best response, he lets his thumb strum over your swollen clit and you reward him with a low, lingering moan as you dig your nails into the sleeve of his shirt.

“Yeah? You gonna cum for me?” He keeps his voice as smooth and seductive as he can manage despite his awe at watching you come undone. He’s trying to remember every moment to tuck them away in his mind for later.

After a few seconds, you cry out and he feels you start to pulse around his fingers. He works you through it patiently, cooing sweet nothings with his lips pressed to your ear. Telling you what a good girl you are for him, “I know, baby. I know.”

When you finally come back down to Earth, your eyes are wide and glassy as you give him a shy smile.

“Are you—uh—did you?” he stutters, eyes wide and wild with desire as he studies the subtle changes in your expression.

You reach up to brush the flyaway hair out of his face, giggling softly. “Yeah. Couldn’t you tell?”

He nods with a dumb and dizzy smile, drunk on the way you’re looking at him. He’s done it—finally fulfilled his life’s purpose. He can die a happy man. And that rotten bitch Mandy can sit on that same couch every day not knowing he’s made you cum right there on that spot and she can’t do a goddamn thing about it.

Suddenly he becomes very aware of his still-soaked fingers, dying to shove them in his mouth, lick them clean of your juices and luxuriate in your taste—but he doesn’t want to freak you out. Instead, he runs the tip of his tongue along his lips to gather the last remaining trace of your cherry lipgloss to tide himself over.

Your lashes look so long and pretty when you give him a curious smile, watching his tongue dart over his lips. Giggling like you have a secret he’s not privy to know. “Do you want to taste me, Eddie?”

There you go again, teasing him with your soft innocence—but he knows you’re secretly filthy inside. You have to be. You might look like an angel and fool everyone else but he knows the truth. He knows you’re thinking the exact same nasty thoughts as him.

“I mean, yeah. But I didn’t want to upset you, or whatever.” He shrugs, eyes darting up to yours, careful not to wipe his shining fingers on his jeans.

You just smile. “No, I don’t mind.”

Your words are all the permission he needs before he’s shoving his fingers into his mouth. Greedy. Finally tasting you the way he’s always wanted, licking every last drop of the slick delicacy that coats his digits and practically whimpering at the taste.

You’re watching every second of the lewd display with a strange expression on your face.

“What do I taste like, Eddie?” Your big eyes look into his patiently awaiting an answer.

He doesn’t know what to say. You taste like pussy—the most delicious, exquisite pussy in existence and he can’t get enough, your flavor already an addiction from which he doesn’t want to be cured.

“Um.” He smiles, licking his lips to gather more of what remains and taking time to craft his response. “It’s just really nice and kinda soft. It’s hard to describe but it’s good—so fucking good. Best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

You must like his answer because you smile before getting up on your knees so that you’re kneeling next to where he sits, pressing a few soft kisses to his neck. He leans his head back with a sigh, letting you trail your lips across the column of his throat.

“Good, because I want you to like it,” you whisper, hot breath tickling his skin. “Want you to use your mouth next time, if that’s ok with you?”

If it’s ok with him? What kind of question is that—would he be okay with eating your pussy? Would he find it agreeable to have air in his lungs? Money in the bank? Solid ground beneath his feet?

“So, uh—you want there to be a next time?” He hardly dares to breathe until you answer.

“Of course.” You giggle as if his question is the silliest thing you’ve ever heard as you give little kitten licks along the strong cords of his neck. “We just can’t let anyone find out or Mandy will kill me.”

You let your teeth sink ever so gently into the flesh over his pulse point and he gasps but doesn’t flinch. The warm suction of your mouth as you lave your tongue over the skin between your lips feels so good, it’s almost like your mouth is forging a connection straight to his cock. He groans when you brush your hand over the erection in his jeans.

He knows he’ll likely be sporting a hickey by the time you’re finished attacking his neck, but in the moment it feels so much like heaven that he doesn’t care. He wants to be devoured by you.

“Oops that left a mark.” You giggle as you pull your lips away, brushing your finger over the reddened skin. “Guess everyone’s going to know you belong to someone now.”

Then as if you’re suddenly remembering something, you grab onto his wrist and turn it so you can look at his watch. “Shoot, I have to go. Mandy will be getting home soon.”

Sticking your lower lip out in an exaggerated pout, you lower your hand to trace the thick outline throbbing under his jeans. “I hate to leave you like this, I know it’s uncomfortable. But I’ll make it up to you later.”

“It’s okay,” he blurts out quickly without thinking. “I can take care of it myself.”

Your eyebrows stitch together with a quizzical expression as you pull your hand from his lap. “But I want you to wait for me, Eddie. Can you do that for me?”

Your long lashes flick over doe eyes, hypnotizing him as he nods.

“Yeah—I mean, of course. Anything you want,” he rushes out. He knows you’re asking him not to cum until the next time he sees you, a foolish promise to make, but he can’t deny you.

“…unless there’s someone else?” you pry.

“No,” he gives a quick shake of his head, practically tripping over himself to assure you of his devotion. It’s almost unthinkable that you could imagine he’d be interested in anyone else. “There’s no one else. No one.”

He holds in his own questions—the ones that he’s been dying to ask since you arrived, like what exactly it is that the two of you are doing. He knows you’ll have to keep whatever’s going on between you a secret, but are you a couple? Are you dating? Is he your boyfriend now or are you just killing time?

You straighten your skirt before standing up. “Can you walk me to the door?”

He nods and gets up to join you, trying to stand so that his open shirt hides his erection even though he supposes it doesn’t matter since you’ve already felt it anyway.

Before you open the front door to leave he kisses you again, his brain still barely registering the fact that he can actually do what he’s dreamed of doing for so long.

“So, can I have your number?” he asks as he pulls back from your lips. “I’d like to call you.”

“It’s in your jacket pocket.” You giggle. “Why don’t you call me tomorrow?”

He smiles wide, cheeks burning again for some reason. “Yeah, ok.”

You lean in then and give him a soft perfumed kiss on the cheek before you turn to walk to your car. He stands in the doorway watching while you get in and drive away, grinning to himself as your car disappears down the street.

As soon as you’re out of sight, he shuts the door and leans his back against its solid surface, trusting it to hold all his weight as he lets out a dreamy sigh. Once he recovers, he grabs his leather jacket off its hook and digs out the little folded piece of paper you left in the pocket, smiling at your phone number written in your perfect script.

Then he heads upstairs to his room.

It’s almost methodical how he strips off all his clothing, piece by piece, letting them fall off his body and onto the floor before putting on the leather jacket over his bare skin. It still smells like your perfume.

He lies down on the bed and brings the collar up to his nose to breathe in your lingering scent then grasps his already leaking cock firmly in his other hand. Letting go of the collar, he traces a finger over the fresh hickey still tingling on his neck, smiling to himself.

He’s yours now. He belongs to you and you belong to him.

You’re his girl.

As he starts to stroke his cock, he silently vows not to cum—he’ll bring himself to the edge over and over but pull back just in time. It’s not going to be easy but you’ve asked him to wait, so he will.

He’ll do it because he wants to be good for you.

He may not be able to give you all the fancy things you deserve, at least not yet, but he can give you this one little thing.

a/n: poor eddie is in for a long night! the next chapter will be from reader’s perspective, where we’ll get some more background on the whole mandy situation and also receive a very nice phone call from eddie 🤍

taglist: @bluebirdonafencepost @jaskierek28 @clarakeery @animechick555 @whateverineedsblog @cheesybagle @brrrainst3w @stickystrawbunny @julxsxx @mayawainfleet @aprincess-orjustme @avidreader73 @daddyhetfield @walleloveseve @avenjames-anderson @caelanbn

Susan was a nice divorcée in her late fifties whom Wayne had met after Claudia Henderson had taken it upon herself to play matchmaker for the quiet duo. All they had needed was a little push to ignite the spark—one magical night playing bridge together at the Hawkins Community Center and it had been love at first sight.

Susan owned a small three-bedroom house in town and since Wayne planned to move in with her after the wedding, Eddie had decided he might as well buy the trailer from his uncle and keep living in Forest Hills.

Since graduating from high school, Eddie had been working as an apprentice mechanic at one of the garages in town and had started saving up a little nest egg to get a place of his own someday. Funds were tight, but he had been excited at the prospect of living alone after so many years of sharing the small trailer; two grown men cohabiting in such close quarters hadn’t left a lot of room for privacy—or space in general.

But only a few weeks after Wayne moved out, a burst pipe had put a damper on Eddie’s bachelor pad plans—literally. Left unchecked for hours while he was at work, the gushing water had caused extensive damage to the trailer, leaving very little that could be restored.

Thankfully, Eddie had been able to rescue his most prized possessions before they were destroyed, including the last few remaining photographs of his mother and his beloved guitars. But with the trailer a total write-off, the unexpected disaster had left him very short on funds and with nowhere to go.

Susan and Wayne were super supportive during the ordeal, graciously offering to let him stay with them for as long as he needed. They assured him it was no trouble at all and that their spare bedroom was as good as his until he could find another place and get back on his feet.

As much as Eddie had hated to impose on the newlyweds, he took them up on their kind offer of shelter without hesitation. The only problem with the arrangement was Susan’s daughter, Mandy—the former co-captain of Hawkins High’s cheerleading club and Eddie Munson’s number one hater.

Back in high school Eddie and the jocks had never really seen eye to eye, incompatible because they came from such different worlds. And as a pillar of the cheerleading community, Mandy had been a key figure in the popular crowd, aka the nasty crew who’d always had it out for Eddie and his friends. They’d harassed the Hellfire Club members relentlessly, labeling them devil worshipers and freaks. Suffice to say back then there was no love lost between Eddie and his new step-sibling—and in the present day not much had changed.

Even though high school was long over, it seemed Mandy had been witness to enough of Eddie’s tabletop rants about the popular kids to hold a lasting grudge.

During much of Wayne and Susan’s short courtship, Eddie and Mandy had managed to avoid each other as best they could, aside from a few awkward family get-togethers during which they had both politely pretended the other didn’t exist.

On Wayne and Susan’s wedding day they’d both played nice in front of the cameras and other guests, Mandy’s act so convincing at times that Eddie had started to wonder if maybe she was softening up a bit to the idea of him becoming part of her family. When she had willingly wrapped her arm around his shoulders in a group photo and barely grimaced, he’d let himself imagine that maybe she didn’t actually hate him after all.

But if Mandy hadn’t totally hated him then, she sure did when he showed up on her mother’s front step a few weeks later, duffle bags and guitar cases in tow, invading her home like an unwanted pest.

Things were pretty tense around the house.

She was unnecessarily petty—purposefully using up all of the hot water by taking extravagantly long showers on mornings when she knew Eddie was trying to get ready for work. She made him feel unwelcome, scoffing not-quite-under her breath at every word he said and rolling her eyes whenever he dared to make a joke. Then there was the issue of her throwing his D&D notebooks in the trash repeatedly then pretending she had no idea what they were while watching him fish them out with a smug smile on her face.

“Sorry, thought they were garbage,” she would snarl, narrowing her eyes and dragging out the word with a nasty inflection that revealed her intent.

But if it was true that opposites attract, then every bit of darkness and poison residing in the depths of Mandy’s soul was destined to be counteracted and soothed by your presence as her best friend.

Pretty in pink and smelling of soft summer rain, your laugh sounded like that of an angel who had only just recently discovered all the myriad wonders of heaven. Your eyes shimmered like precious jewels that hid a multitude of secrets and your skin looked so velvety soft and smooth that Eddie couldn’t help but spend an inordinate amount of his time imagining what it would feel like under the weight of his palm or the tips of his fingers.

But good girls like you didn’t get touched by guys like Eddie Munson.

Girls like you wore expensive clothing and perfume and dated well-to-do guys—the boring ones from good family names who drove shiny Beamers and slicked back their hair.

Eddie wasn’t a virgin anymore, he’d hooked up with a couple girls back when he was in his third and final senior year of high school, but he’d never been a boyfriend to anyone before. He’d just never been the type of guy who girls fell in love with or wanted to claim as their own—which doesn’t really bother him…most of the time. But when really he thinks about it, he can admit it’s kind of funny that he’s had his dick inside someone else, however briefly, but no one has ever wanted to hold his hand.

His memories of the act itself are just a lot of clumsy stumbling half-in and out of clothing and maybe four or five pumps before he came, chest and cheeks burning with the searing shame of it all ending much too fast.

He’s pretty sure things would be different with you if he ever had the chance, which he knows he won’t. He won’t. But still, if he did, it wouldn’t be like it was with those other girls.

For one, he wants to be your boyfriend. Bring you flowers and see you smile when you smell them. Hold your hand and whisper sweet nothings in your ear. He doesn’t have any experience with being in love or relationship stuff but he’s pretty sure he could make you happy if given the chance.

He’s jerked off while thinking about fucking you so many times that he’s got it down to an art. Usually doesn’t even make it all the way to the sex part of his fantasy before he’s spilling into his hand at just the thought of fingering your pussy.

He imagines you’d be so wet and tight. Regularly edges himself to the point of tears at the just thought of watching you come undone on his hand.

Even though he doesn’t really like to think about it, he wonders if you’ve ever gone all the way with anyone or if you’re still a virgin. Always feels that hot rush of blood scorching through his veins at the thought of other men who might have touched you—which isn’t really fair since he’s touched other people too, even though he wishes he hadn’t. He wishes he’d saved himself so he could dedicate his virgin cock as an eternal sacrifice at the altar of your pussy—not to be dramatic.

You always laugh at all of his jokes.

He’s not used to being around a pretty girl who thinks he’s funny and doesn’t look at him like he’s some kind of radioactive creature who just crawled out of a swamp in search of delicious brains. Instead, you look at him like you know a secret you’re dying to tell. It’s captivating.

You’re sweeter than anyone Eddie’s ever met, exuding a softness he’s never known before in his rough and tumble life. You’re the type of girl who dots her “i’s” with little hearts and smells like cherry lip gloss and spun sugar—the kind of girl he never thought he would want, but he craves you like a sailor craves the dawn.

It doesn’t make sense to him that someone as kind and gentle as you somehow ended up best friends with a heinous beast like Mandy. From what he’s seen of the two of you together, she doesn’t seem to treat you very well. He doesn’t like how she’s always bossing you around and really hates when he hears her talk down to you. How you could ever enjoy being around her is a total mystery to him.

Mandy has informed Eddie many times that he’s never to speak to you or she’ll get him kicked out on the street, but when you’re visiting or having one of your frequent sleepovers, she can’t watch over you every second. When she disappears to use the washroom or goes upstairs to find something in her room, those are the openings Eddie waits for, and he takes advantage of each and every one.

Like during your visit that very afternoon—he’s sitting on the couch playing Nintendo while you and Mandy gossip about your instructors at the college and how you suspect one of them is sleeping with his students in exchange for better grades. Eddie is only half-listening to the scandalous rumors while he focuses on Zelda, but he’s tuned into the sound of your voice the entire time on the off chance you might say something to him.

When Mandy checks her watch and sees that it’s getting late, she excuses herself to go get changed because her boyfriend, Troy, will be arriving soon to take her out to dinner. You opt to stay where you are, telling her that your mother is going to pick you up and will be there any minute.

“I thought she’d never leave,” Eddie jokes as soon as Mandy exits the room. You remain quiet, only giving him a weak half-smile.

He keeps glancing sideways at where you’re sitting on the other end of the long couch, legs crossed in your skirt, the soft material riding up your thighs. He wonders what color panties you’re wearing. Probably pink to match your skirt.

As a result of his distraction he keeps messing up in his game, but if you notice you don’t say anything.

“Cat got your tongue?” he jokes in sly reference to your sweater as he nods his messy head in your direction. Your brows draw together in confusion for a moment before you look down at the embroidered black cat over your left breast then giggle, covering your mouth with your hand for a second to hide your smile.

Recovering after a few seconds, you lick your lips, plush and glossy and perfect. “No, it’s—she said I’m not supposed to talk to you.”

“Do you like having her tell you what to do?” he asks simply without looking up from his game.

“No,” you whisper as if you’re struggling with an inner demon that’s winning. “I just don’t want her to be mad. She’s my best friend…and when she’s mad she can be kind of scary.”

He hums and nods thoughtfully.

“We can talk when she’s not around. She can’t get mad if she doesn’t know,” he suggests, tilting his head to give you a shy grin. “I like talking to you.”

Feeling his cheeks start to burn, he looks back at the screen. But it’s true, he loves your little secret chats when you tell him tidbits about yourself that he gathers like a scavenging crow searching for shiny treasures, tucking them away in his mind’s eye for future use. He’s greedy for each piece of knowledge you give him, every morsel of you that he teases out during those stolen moments when Mandy leaves you alone and he can bask in your presence.

Just then Mandy returns and the mood in the room shifts in an instant. She sounds impatient when she addresses you, hand perched on her hip. “Troy’s outside waiting—I’ve got to go. I thought you said your mom was picking you up.”

“She’s supposed to be here by now.” You shrug, eyes wide and uncertain. “Maybe she got held up at work? It’s ok, you can go. I’ll just wait here.”

Mandy hesitates then nods, narrowing her eyes at Eddie one last time before leaving as if in a final warning for him to stay away from you.

Once she’s gone, you sit in silence watching Eddie play his game for a few minutes before you dare to speak.

“I don’t think my mom is coming. Is it okay if I use your phone to call a cab?”

The idea that you would spend your money for a drive home when he’s sitting right there with a perfectly good van parked outside nearly rocks him to his bones.

“I’ll take you home,” he says with finality. It’s not a question. He has no intention of letting you drive with anyone else.

“Are you sure?” you ask, hope peeking through your voice as if a ride home from him is exactly what you’ve desired all along. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“You never bother me,” he’s quick to add while shooting you a furtive grin.

And, fuck, he wishes he could tell you how he really feels. How you’re never a bother or a pain. How, if you were his girl, he’d make sure you were never left anywhere stranded and alone.

It wouldn’t matter if it was day or night. Rain or shine. All you’d have to do is ask and he’d be there, moving the moon and the stars and the heavens above to give you what you want.

Eddie grabs onto your hand as he helps you step up into the passenger side of the van, not because he thinks you’re helpless but because he’s a gentleman at heart and he wants an excuse to touch you. It’s as simple as that.

Once you’re settled he runs around to the driver’s side and hops in, the chains on his leather jacket clinking as he moves. After buckling yourself in, you giggle when he turns on the van and “Breaking the Law” by Judas Priest starts to blast from the speakers.

“This song has such a funny music video.”

He doesn’t say anything back, just smiles and nods in agreement, but in that moment he’s pretty sure he could love you forever if you asked him to.

“So where are we going?” he asks, pretending he doesn’t know the exact location and travel time right down to the minute that it takes to get to your front door. He’s made the trip countless times when he’s on his way somewhere else, taking the extra long loop through town just to drive by your house and see your bedroom window glowing from outside.

He’s never actually been in your home and doesn’t know for sure that it’s your room, it’s just an educated guess. There’s a window with pink ruffled curtains on the second floor and you seem like the kind of person who’d have a pretty pink bedroom—something he used to make fun of but now plays as the background in most of his fantasies.

“Well…” You twist your hands in your lap. “I need to stop at the pharmacy on the way home if you don’t mind. It’s close to my house, so you can drop me off there and I’ll walk the rest of the way.”

Eddie nods as he backs out of the driveway. He has no intention of leaving you behind at the store, but he doesn’t bother arguing about it. He’ll deal with that later when the time comes.

“Wait right there,” Eddie orders as soon as he pulls into a spot off the street just down from the pharmacy. Then he shuts off the van and gets out, rushing around to the passenger side to open your door.

“You’re coming too?” you ask, sounding surprised as he takes your hand to help you out of the van.

“Yeah, if that’s okay with you,” he answers with a shrug. “I’m not doing anything else.”

Once you’re inside the pharmacy, he follows close behind as you lead him toward the back of the store. When he finally gets curious enough to ask what you’re looking for, you answer matter-of-factly, “I’m out of tampons and I think my period might be starting soon.”

You lead him to the row labeled ‘feminine hygiene’ and he stares at the array of colorful packages as you bite your lip debating which ones to buy. Finally you grab a box of tampons and turn to head to the checkout, gesturing for him to follow, your little skirt flouncing around your thighs as you walk.

A lot of guys might act immature or get embarrassed about shopping for that sort of thing, but being with you while you make your purchase makes him feel oddly content. He imagines this must be what it’s like to be a real life boyfriend, supporting his girlfriend on her shopping trips for period-related products like it’s no big deal.

‘My girlfriend’s tampons’ has a pretty nice ring to it in his opinion.

When you walk out of the store clutching your plastic shopping bag it starts to rain so he takes off his jacket and drapes it over your head and shoulders while you walk together to the van.

When he opens your door, you scramble inside out of the rain, pulling your head free of his jacket but leaving the rest over your shoulders for the short ride home. He doesn’t ask for it back, hoping the longer you wear it the more it will become infused with your perfume.

He leaves the radio off during the drive so that the only sound inside the van comes from fat raindrops spattering on the windshield and the whoosh of the wipers as they push them away.

“Do you think birds get sad when it rains because they can’t fly?” you ask while looking out your window.

He thinks for a second before answering. “Um, maybe? I’m not sure. Probably?”

The van is silent again for a moment.

“I like you, Eddie.” Your voice is quiet but it stirs him to his soul.

He tries to remain calm. “Yeah?”

When he glances over, he sees you nod before you to continue to speak, deliberate and slow. “I like how you’re so nice and never talk to me like I’m dumb. I know I’m not as smart as Mandy, but it really bugs me sometimes.”

“I think you’re so smart,” he assures you, and you smile then look down at your hands like you don’t believe him.

He’s beyond frustrated by the thought that your horrid monster of a best friend has managed to make you feel like you’re anything less than perfection.

“I mean, fuck.” He looks over at you as he drives on, fuming. “Just—don’t listen to Mandy, ok? Christ, she’s such a bitch.”

A short while later he pulls into your driveway after pretending he doesn’t know where to go and letting you direct him to your very familiar yard. The rain starts to pour down harder just as he puts the van in park, so you decide to wait a few minutes before getting out to see if it lets up.

“Nice place,” he says, acting like he’s never seen it before. He wishes he could follow you inside and help dry you off, make you a cup of hot tea to warm your bones and take care of you in that room with those ruffly pink curtains.

“Is that your bedroom up there?” he asks, pointing to it with a grin.

“Yeah.” You nod. It has a big tree outside with thick twisted limbs that reach and stretch below the eaves and Eddie starts to ponder his climbing skills.

“It’s just me and my mom here now. I’m staying with her during college so I can help out now that dad’s gone.”

“Oh, sorry.” Eddie really means it. He knows what it’s like to try and fill in for a father who’s not around.

“No, it’s ok,” you rush out, rejecting his sympathy with a quick shake of your head. “It’s probably better that he’s not here...”

Your voice trails off and you look down. He squeezes his hands on the steering wheel, feeling utterly helpless.

“Shitty dad club member myself.” He gives you a weak smile of commiseration. “That’s why I ended up living with Wayne.”

“Yeah?” You ask, a little misty eyed as you look up at his face.

He nods with a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes. “Certified founding member of the Hawkins chapter.”

You give him the grace of a sad little laugh that makes his chest soar but ache at the very same time. When your eyes are all wide and dewy like that he thinks they’re even prettier than usual, if that’s possible.

“It looks like the rain is letting up, I should go,” you say. Then before he can prepare, you lean across the console to press a soft kiss to his cheek right above his dimple. In the moment he freezes, feeling like his heart might explode, not moving for fear of combusting on the spot.

When you pull back to look into his eyes, he assumes you’re about to leave but to his surprise you lean in and do it again, another quick peck to the same spot but this time a little lower and you don’t move away quite as quickly as before. Your mouths are so close that all it would take is a slight tilt of his head and his lips would be on yours—but he doesn’t dare.

Greedy as he is to have every piece of you to taste and ruin, he’ll only take what you’re willing to give—two sweet kisses that he’ll treasure for now until he can have the rest.

When you finally part, your eyes are still closed, lashes so long and pretty when they flutter open.

“Thanks for being my hero today,” you whisper under your breath before you turn to get out of the van.

Eddie silently watches your retreat, shoulders still draped in his leather as you rush towards your front door through the lingering light rain. If he knows anything about you and your sweet disposition, you’re going to feel really bad about stealing his jacket as soon as you get inside the house and realize you still have it on.

And just as he suspects, he hardly has time to kick off his sneakers after arriving back home before you’re calling to let him know you have his jacket. You’re so apologetic over the phone that he has to reassure you a few times that he doesn’t mind.

“Nah, it’s okay,” he soothes keeping his voice nice and low, the warm rumble assuaging your guilt. “I can get it back from you another time. It’s no big deal.”

“How about tomorrow?” you suggest. “I get off work around four. I can stop by?”

He’s about to agree when you continue to speak, your next words making his heart beat faster in his chest.

“Mandy’s working till six, so the coast should be clear for a little while.”

“Clear for what?” he teases smiling into the receiver, a finger and thumb playing with the button on his jeans, tickling the fuzzy hair under his navel. Not touching any part of himself—not yet. That’s for later when he’s alone with his thoughts and not standing in his uncle’s kitchen. But he’d be lying if he said his cock didn’t noticeably twitch under the denim when you give your coy answer.

“Well…for whatever you want, Eddie.”

“Oh.” He chuckles, flustered beyond his ability to form a coherent thought. “That’s—uh, yeah. Okay.”

Whatever he wants.

He wants to touch you. Make your pussy so wet that you gush, soaking his thick fingers. Bury his face between your thighs and lap at your dripping cunt like a man who’s dying of thirst. Is that what you mean? Whatever he wants?

Cause he wants to see you on your back, a pretty ring of cream on his cock while he fucks you deep and slow, flipping up your little pink skirt so he can watch while he ruins you. Would that be too much to ask?

All his horny thoughts are rushing, tumbling together in his head. His brain nearly short-circuiting as he mumbles out an excuse to get off the phone, afraid he’ll say something to embarrass himself.

How he makes it up the staircase to his bedroom in one piece after hanging up will forever remain a mystery. He feels like he’s floating, feet not quite touching the ground until his knees hit the edge of his bed and he flops down onto his back with an earth-shattering sigh.

He’s not sure how long he stays there, unable to move, staring at the ceiling and listening to his heartbeat pound in his ears while he replays your kisses in the van and every precious word of your conversation over and over in his head.

Whatever he wants.

You’re going to be his soon. He can feel it. He’s so close he can almost taste it, victory sweet as the finest sugar on his tongue. Even though life has always managed to knock him down, dealing him one losing hand after another, this time he knows he’s finally going to win.

Because now that he’s met you, he’s sure his luck is going to change. He’s finally going to come out on top and get the girl of his dreams and live happily ever after with you by his side.

Because really, that’s everything he wants.

dividers@//strangergraphics + @//cursed-carmine

see you in part 2, when we stop by Eddie’s for a little visit ;)

a/n: this is not a slow burn because there’s going to be a lot of smut along the way, but we are going to edge the hell out of poor eddie for a while :) part two is in eddie’s pov then we will switch to reader’s pov in part three.