When you’d grown tired of just twiddling your thumbs, you finally called Jaxon’s sister, Suze. The phone rang for nearly a full minute before you heard, “...Hello?” She sounded groggy.

“Hey, Suze, just making sure you made it in.”

“Wh—Huh?”

“Jax told me about coming to pick you up, so I just wanted to make sure you got home safe.”

“He told you what? Sorry, I’m still half asleep—I haven’t seen Jax today.”

You sighed. Honestly, you should’ve known. 

You muttered off apologies to Suze—Sorry, I think I got mixed up, goodnight—before hanging the phone back on the hook so aggressively it rang out in the quiet studio. 

Peeking through the glass into the booth, you watched Eddie, the frontman of the band, pick at his guitar. You couldn’t hear him, but you could tell by the papers crumpled up at his feet and the way he seemed to be singing softly to himself that the new song wasn’t coming along as smoothly as the band had been hoping for.

You heard Gareth and Jeff grumbling about the track as they left earlier. It seemed they were at a stalemate. 

You flopped back onto the sofa, snatching the Rolling Stone magazine from the coffee table. Of course, it was Corroded Coffin’s 1989 issue. You had this exact issue in your apartment, sitting on your coffee table too, actually, but you couldn’t help but drink in the cover like it was the first time you’d seen it.

Eddie stood in the middle, looking down at the camera. His chest was bare, showing the expanse of his pale skin littered with black ink. His guitar rested against his lower half, partially blocking his pants, but the shine of the leather was still noticeable. His fingers, adorned with rings, of course, gripped the neck of the guitar. One eyebrow was quirked slightly beneath his bangs; his lips were parted gently. You could see his tongue prodding the inside of his cheek.

Jax, Jeff, and Gareth were around him, posed similarly, albeit more clothed—almost every rock band of the era was going for this look—but there was something about Eddie that kept drawing your eyes back to him. He oozed charisma and sex appeal, even through the glossy pages. 

You guessed that was why he was the frontman.

You flicked through the magazine, attempting to read the stories but inevitably skimming through them. You’d just read it too many times.

Not long after, the door clicked open and Eddie emerged. 

His hair was sticking up like he’d been running his fingers through it (he probably had been). Despite it being just a studio day with no planned public appearances, he still wore a studded belt and rings on nearly every finger.

He blinked at you, stuttering out your name. “I didn’t realize anyone was still here. Jax said you had to go pick up Susan—”

“He,” you corrected, flopping the magazine back atop the table. “He went to get Suze.” You put airquotes around the latter part of your statement. Jax’s behavior wasn’t exactly a secret, so what was the point in even pretending?

Eddie’s forehead wrinkled like he was holding back a wince. “Shit, I’m sorry—and he just what? Left you here?”

“Said he was coming back to get me, but I guess he got too lost in whatever groupie’s pussy—” You sighed, scrubbing your eye with a fist as heat rushed to your face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

He shot you a small smile. It was laced with something close to pity. “I mean you have every right to be mad, sweetheart; he—” He raised a ringed hand to scratch above his eyebrow. “Honestly, I thought you were done after the Layna incident.”

Layna was a well-known Corroded Coffin groupie. Around a year ago, she’d totally disappeared from the scene, then reappeared three months ago with a baby, claiming Jax was the father. Too bad Jax admitted to fucking her before the paternity test came back negative.

You don’t think you could ever forget the way his face fell when he heard the news—like he’d wanted to be the father. You’d left for around three weeks before coming back that time.

It wasn’t even that you still had feelings for Jax. It’d be impossible for that at this point. It was more so just routine, and sure, maybe it was selfish, but you enjoyed hanging around with the band.

Drinking and hanging out with Jeff’s girlfriend, Livie, at concerts; dinner with Gareth and his wife, Aleah, on Sundays. Sure, you could’ve still hung out with Livie and Aleah without being Jax’s girlfriend, but you wouldn’t have had an excuse to see Eddie anymore. It’d dwindle to only seeing him on paper or grainy television screens.

You couldn’t imagine he’d hang out with his bassist’s ex-girlfriend.

“Yeah. Me too, to be honest.” You sighed. “How’s the song coming? It sounded good earlier.”

Eddie sighed back, moving to plop next to you. He let his head fall back against the top of the couch, his eyes closed. “It’s, hah, I dunno.” He turned to look at you. “Missin’ something, I guess.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” You wrung your hands together in your lap, giving him a small smile.

Sitting on the couch like this, your faces were close. You forced yourself to keep your gaze on his nose and above—no glancing down any further. 

But Eddie didn’t abide by this rule. His eyes darted down to your lips. He must’ve not meant to do it because he sat up, resting his elbows on his knees and successfully hiding his face from you. He cleared his throat.

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” he asked.

You raised your eyebrows, but before you could answer, he sighed, leaning back against the couch cushions again. “Sorry—I’m sorry. I dunno why I—” He ran a hand down his face. “I don’t know why I asked you that. ‘M being unfair.”

“It’s—You’re fine.” You tried to keep your voice steady despite the confusion that was rising within you.

“Can I ask you something?” He was looking at you again.

“Sure.”

“Why are you still with him?”

You blinked. You couldn’t pretend you hadn’t been asking yourself that same question.

“Guess I just got used to it. It’s my routine…” You shook your head. “Honestly, I don’t know. He treats me like shit. Left me to go ‘pick up his sister.’ I called her, and she hadn’t even talked to him. I mean, I already knew he was lying…Well, I figured he was. Still, it–it fucking sucks that he sucks.” You laughed a little, self-pityingly. 

You sighed again. You mumbled, “Dick’s good, I guess.” An afterthought to yourself, really. You weren’t sure why you said it to Eddie Munson of all people. It wasn’t like it made you look any less pathetic—only made it worse, if anything. You dropped your head in shame the moment the words left your mouth. 

Why would you bring up your sex life with your shitty boyfriend to his very attractive bandmate—

“Yeah right.”

Your head snapped up and over to Eddie. For a moment, you thought you might’ve imagined it. “Wh—huh?”

Eddie, who any other time was the opposite of nonchalant, was suddenly cool and composed. He shook his head as one shoulder rose. “Just find that hard to believe, ‘s all.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from retorting,“You some kind of sex expert or something?” Oh God, why did you say that, why did you say that, he’s going to think you’re a total freak—

“Maybe. Never heard that one before, but I haven’t heard any complaints either.” 

Heat rose up your neck. 

Haven’t heard any complaints. 

Suddenly you were plagued with the images of the girls you’d seen leaving Corroded Coffin’s shared apartment. Girls with makeup smeared across their faces, their hair a mess—even then you’d known just sleeping didn’t make you look like that, but you’d forced the thought from your head.

“Know I’m better than your shithead boyfriend, that’s for sure.”

You couldn’t stop your brows from shooting high on your forehead. Eddie was talking about Jax like they weren’t bandmates—weren’t friends. Your thoughts must’ve been clear on your face because Eddie added, huffing out a laugh, “You ever see me get along with him?”

Your gut instinct was to say yes, but the more you mulled it over…had you?

You thought back to last week at the bar. Had you seen Jax and Eddie speak? You could only remember Eddie addressing you. Then, a few weeks earlier, at their apartment for dinner…again, only you. 

Your face flushed. You’d been so caught up in your own interactions with Eddie, you hadn’t even noticed the tension between the two.

“I could be better than him.” Eddie was so close, you could see specks of gold in his eyes. His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip.

“What are you saying?” you asked, eyes trailing from the curve of his lips up to where his eyes seemed to be boring into you.

“I think you know what I’m saying.”

“Are you really playing games right—mmph—”

A flash of brown hair was the only warning you received before his lips met your own. Your eyes were wide and you were taken with how soft his lips were. Frozen, you couldn’t get your body to react.

Eddie was kissing you. He was kissing you, and it wasn’t weird. He was kissing you, and he tasted like cherry chapstick and tobacco.

He slowly pulled away, and you realized you hadn’t kissed him back—you’d just sat there, unmoving. His eyes darted away from you. “Oh Christ, I’m sorry I–I don’t know wh—mmph—”

You rushed forward, meeting his lips again. For a moment, like you had been, he was frozen in place, but he quickly relaxed into it. His hand met your hair, and you easily let his tongue into your mouth as his grip tightened on you.

You brought your own hands up to his chest as his hand shifted from your hair to your neck, tugging you closer to him. You moved together, the only sound in the empty room the slick clicks of your mouths.

Eddie pulled back, rubbing his nose against yours. “Can I ask you something?” His thumb was running up and down the side of your throat, and you worked hard to concentrate on what he was saying.

“Ye—” You cleared your throat. “Yeah.”

His eyes left yours. “Feel free to smack the shit out of me if you want—”

“I’m not gonna do that.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.” He didn’t look convinced, so you added, “I’m not gonna hit you, okay? Just ask.”

“Well,” he started. “I had this idea for the record—”

Okay. Maybe you would smack the shit out of him. “Is now really the time for that?”

“Yeah, actually.” He glanced from you to the recording booth. “The record—What it’s missing—” He sighed before starting again. “I think you can help me.”

You leaned back in his grip to laugh. “Me? I can’t sing, let alone play an instrument. I can’t even play the triangle.” 

“I think you can do the kinda singing I need.” His eyes darted down across your body, and it felt like they’d shot lasers at you.

“Wh—I’m not sure I know what you’re saying.”

“I don’t mean to make assumptions here, sweetheart, but if we, ahem, keep goin’...” He nodded his head as he spoke, clearly choosing his words carefully. “Could we move it to the booth?”

“You mean—” You blinked and gestured a finger at the both of you.

“Yes.” He quickly added, “But only if you want to.”

“But…everybody’ll hear me.”

“Nobody has to know it’s you. I won’t say anything.” A small smile peeked at his lips. “It can be our secret.”

Your secret. Your secret with Eddie. It made you giddy like a schoolgirl to think about. You could be on the song. More specifically, you and Eddie having sex could be on the song. You didn’t want to dwell on why that made your stomach flip and your neck hot. 

Everyone who bought the record would hear you and Eddie. Even before that, the band would hear you and Eddie. The band, including Jaxon, would hear you and Eddie—

“Oh my god Jaxon.” Your stomach flipped again but this time, soured. “I can’t believe I didn’t think about Jaxon—He’ll hear and–and he’ll know—”

“I thought you said you didn’t know why you were still with him?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“This’ll show him he can’t get away with just treating you like this. He’s always blowing you off and treating you like shit. Somebody needs to show him what happens when you take a pretty girl—a good girl—who has always done right by you and you treat her like garbage.” Eddie’s chest was nearly heaving, and he looked down at himself slightly, like he wasn’t sure where all that had come from. “But—I mean—only if you want to. Of course.”

You swallowed. He had a point. I mean, where was Jaxon now? Definitely not with his sister, that was for sure. You thought back to the number of times he’d ditched you and were embarrassed to realize it was easily in the double digits just this month. 

You frowned. When had you decided you were fine with being treated like a doormat? When had you decided that this was what you were worth—

Eddie must’ve interpreted your silence as rejection. “I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t trying to bash you or–or something. I just—You deserve better.” He took a deep breath. “You don’t have to do this with me. Or–Or you can, but we don’t have to—” He shot a thumb back towards the recording booth. “You can forget I asked. I can figure something out. It’s, uh, not a big deal.”

You wondered what ‘figuring something out’ looked like. Dropping the idea all together and trying something else for the record? Or asking someone else?

Your stomach rolled at the idea of Eddie asking another woman. You knew he wouldn’t have any issues doing so either. Part of you knew it was unfair to be jealous about it, but that didn’t matter. 

You stood from the couch abruptly. You had made your mind up—honestly, you had made your mind up the moment he asked you.

“We can just forget this happened—” he started, but instead of moving towards the exit, you moved towards the door to the booth.

“Are you coming or what?” you asked, narrowly biting back a smirk. 

You’d never seen him move so fast.

You tried to maintain your confidence, but something about Eddie melted it down to mush. “B-But is it—”

“It’s recording, sweetheart; don’t worry.” 

You were both seated on a couch in the recording booth. You hadn’t ever thought of Eddie as muscular per se, but he’d pulled the couch from the studio into the booth effortlessly. 

He cradled your neck as he planted kisses along your throat.

“Oh—Okay.” You were nodding, and you knew you should’ve been embarrassed at how desperate you were from just a few kisses.

Eddie sure didn’t seem to mind. His cool rings pressed against your neck as he pulled you closer to him. You braced yourself with both hands on his shoulders, quickly moving them to caress up and down his shoulders in an attempt to mask the fact you were truly gripping him for dear life.

Getting impatient at the attention your neck was getting, you grabbed his hand from your waist, moving it to your center. You felt his teeth as he smiled against you.

He pulled the button from your pants with one deft hand, and you bit back the jealousy that was stewing. How many women had he practiced on to get that just right? Not that you had any room to talk considering you had a boyfriend, albeit a shitty one, but—

You didn’t have time to overthink when Eddie immediately tucked your panties to the side to run agile fingers up and down your folds. You instantly noticed the calloused pads of his fingertips—that of a guitarist.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He leaned back to rub his nose along your cheekbone. “You get this wet for him, or is this just for me?”

For a moment, a stab of guilt ran up your spine, making you sit up straighter, but it quickly morphed to arousal when you felt the tip of his finger dip into you.

“Eddie, I—mmph—” He trailed his finger back up to dance around your clit, never quite giving you the pressure you needed.

“Yeah? Tell me something, baby.” He was still nosing across your face.

“D-Don’t wanna talk about him.”

“Hm, that’s right. You don’t need him when I’m here, huh?”

You shook your head shamelessly—the wetness between your legs had already given your desperation away.

Eddie smiled. “Sweet girl.”

You leaned into him at the nickname, making him chuckle. 

Suddenly, he took a step back, pulling his hand from your pants, leaving you suddenly cold without the warm touch of his fingers.

Your lower lip jutted out into a pout, and he chuckled at you again. “I know. Here.” He tapped his fingers that had just been at your cunt across your lips. “Get ‘em wet for me, baby.”

You opened your mouth instinctively, wrapping your lips around the digits. Overcome with the desire to be good for him—to even remotely wreck him the way he already had you—you bobbed your head, taking his fingers down to the glittering silver along his knuckles.

He was watching you, his lips slightly parted as you gagged around his fingers. “Knew you’d have a sweet fuckin’ mouth.”

You gagged around him, the sound wet and humiliating, but you couldn’t be embarrassed—not when his mouth lolled open while he watched. You went to bob your head again, but he withdrew his fingers, leaving your mouth empty and waiting.

Without hesitation, he gripped your cheek, four digits on one side, his thumb on the other, as he pulled your mouth to his. He spread your saliva across your cheek with his fingers.

With your chest heaving, you could only peer at him through your lashes.

Eddie paused, drinking in your features. “Is–Is this okay?” He moved like he was going to retract his hand from your face.

You nodded eagerly, grabbing his hand to keep it there. You nuzzled your face towards his hand as best you could with his grip on you. “I—” Your face was warm, and you were starting to feel a little dizzy. “I like it dirty.”

For a split second, you couldn’t read his expression. But then, you noticed the sparkle in his eye. “Yeah? Sweet girl likes it dirty? I should’ve known.” He tilted your chin back. He planted a surprisingly chaste peck on your lips before murmuring, “Open your mouth.”

You blinked up at him, and God, all he could think about was painting your pretty fucking face with his load. Especially when your lips parted so obediently. 

He didn’t hesitate to spit directly into your waiting mouth, not missing the way your thighs pressed together. He watched your throat bob as you swallowed his warm spit, shamelessly removing his wet hand from your face to adjust himself in his jeans.

“You like that, baby?”

You nodded, but that wasn’t enough. “Tell me,” he insisted.

“Yeah.” Your voice came out breathy and high. “Yeah, I like it, Eddie.”

“Fuck,” he practically groaned. “I need to see you.”

You didn’t need to hear anything else, instantly moving to pull your pants down, stumbling about in your attempts to be swift. You felt your face heat, but when you looked over at Eddie, he was too busy pulling his own belt from its loops and shucking his pants down to his ankles, just as desperate.

As if he felt you staring, he suddenly looked up. His hair was unruly against his forehead, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed deeply. His eyes darted from yours, and you could’ve sworn his cheeks were dusted pink, but it was hard to tell in the dim lighting.

You lifted your hips to finish pulling your bottoms over the swell of your ass, and Eddie quickly jumped into action. His jeans rustled as he kicked them off his legs. One foot got caught at the bottom, causing him to jump and flail until it flew onto the floor with a thump.

You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped you.

Here was Eddie Munson—rock band frontman, guy you’d seen smash paparazzi cameras for getting too close—dancing around, trying to get his pants down his legs. 

Somehow, he made it not dorky, though. Okay, maybe it was dorky, but he managed to make it charming.

“Whatcha laughing at?” He approached you again.

You would’ve thought Eddie was the type of guy to wear tight black briefs. In your head, he was in a perpetual state of chains and leather. But instead, he wore a pair of loose blue checkered boxers, clearly choosing comfort over his typical garb.

He put his hands against your pants at your knees, looking up at you from beneath his bangs. He raised his eyebrows at you. “Is this okay?” He suddenly sounded worlds smaller.

You nodded incessantly, helping him tug your pants the rest of the way down your calves. He balled them up and threw them in the general direction of where his own pants were. 

You pulled at the bottom of his t-shirt, and he quickly got the hint, pulling it over his head. 

You’d seen him shirtless plenty of times. There was the Rolling Stone cover (along with countless other magazines), outdoor Corroded Coffin shows where he’d inevitably end up shirtless, even days when he’d invite the band over to his fancy rooftop apartment to lounge by the pool in the summertime. But you’d never been this close.

Close enough to see the spot on his chest beneath his collarbone where the one of the legs on his spider tattoo was a shade more faded than the rest.

Your gaze shifted down his torso to the dark trail of hair that disappeared into his boxers. Suddenly struck with the fact you’d been blatantly ogling him for the past few minutes, you looked back up to his face quickly, expecting to find him already staring at you.

He was staring at you, just not at your face like you’d expected.

You couldn’t exactly pinpoint where his gaze was, but it was without a doubt far below your neck.

You were naked, sure, but something about the way he was so openly peering at you made you feel even a step past naked. It was like he’d stripped a layer of you back, and was looking at you completely. It made your skin prick with something beyond arousal. 

For a moment, you wanted to sink in on yourself—you couldn’t name a time you’d felt more exposed. But the way his boxers were tented replaced any mortification with something hot injected straight into your veins.

He finally looked up at your face, shameless about being caught, and leaned in, closing the gap between you. Your lips met and his moved against yours like second nature.

His tongue licked into your mouth like he was trying to map it. You suckled at the warmth of his tongue as he began to pull at the hem of your shirt. You parted long enough for your shift to join the pile of the rest of your clothes. 

Eddie’s hand met your face and caressed you gently, a stark contrast for the way his tongue was ravaging your mouth. Your chest heaved as you moved impossibly closer to him, centimeters from being entirely in his lap.

“Here,” he mumbled against your lips before softly turning you around until you were over the back of the couch.

Your breasts pressed against the top of the couch, your nipples pebbled on the rough fabric, as your knees sunk into the cushions of the seat. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t purposefully push your ass out, presenting yourself to him.

The wet spot in your underwear was growing uncomfortable and you were painfully aware of it as you pressed your thighs together in a lame attempt to ease the incessant throbbing in your core.

You sat up on your elbows to peer over your shoulder. Eddie was running his tongue over his bottom lip, and when you noticed the slight jerk of his arm, your gaze trailed lower to watch him tug on his cock slowly. You couldn’t help the way you arched your back further.

He’d dropped his boxers just enough to free his cock and for a moment, you (embarrassingly) hated you missed the exact moment he’d pulled it out—hated you missed the way it surely had bobbed up towards his stomach from the sheer weight of it once he’d pulled his underwear down.

He paused at the base to squeeze tightly, and God, it gave you the opportunity to truly admire it.

You knew he would be big. I mean, come on. It was clear by the way he acted that he would be packing. But shit, your imagination really had nothing on the real thing.

Thick and long—you were sure your hand wouldn’t be able to fit around its girth. Against his hand it seemed even bigger. A pronounced vein ran up the side to the rosy tip.

Eddie gave it another slow stroke, a smirk on his face. “Big enough for you, sweetheart?”

Your only response was the slight shift of your shoulder and chin. 

He squeezed his cock, mumbling under his breath, “Too fuckin’ sweet.”

You didn’t have any time to react before Eddie was diving down onto his knees, his mouth latching onto your glistening pussy.

“Oh!” You jumped, and Eddie wrapped his arms beneath your thighs to keep your cunt held tightly against his hungry mouth.

He licked a stripe from your clit to the edge of your tightest hole. For a moment you thought his tongue was going to keep going right across, and you weren’t sure if you liked the way the mere idea of it made heat crawl up your neck, but he stopped to pull back.

“Sweet girl, even sweeter cunt.”

Cunt.

“Eddie,” you whined, feeling your heartbeat in your ears.

He sucked two fingers into his mouth before you felt them run along your slit.

“Yeah, baby?” He rested his cheek right below the swell of your ass. “Talk to me.”

Suddenly, you were hyperaware of the recording equipment surrounding you and picking up every word, sound, and rustle. You dropped your face to the top of the couch, rubbing your nose against it.

“Hey,” Eddie mumbled. His hand shifted and ran across the globe of your ass. “I can delete it if you don’t like it.” His other hand came up, then he was caressing the expanse of your ass broad with both his wide palms. “I’m still enjoying myself, okay? I’m not just doing this for the record, I…” You heard him swallow. “I think you’re gorgeous—fuckin’ perfect, really—and I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about you before…like this.” 

Leave it to Eddie to make you blush when he just had his entire face in your cunt. 

You lifted your head to peer over your shoulder at him. “No, no—I, uh. I wanna keep going. And I want you to use it for the record. I just—” You sighed. “I don’t wanna sound stupid.”

He immediately bristled. “You’re not gonna sound stupid.” He brought his hand down a few times on your cheek, not quite a spank. “Here, turn this way.” He helped you maneuver until your back was against the couch cushions. “Help me out, baby.” He pressed your legs up from beneath your knees, and you tucked your arms there, holding yourself open for him.

He made a low sound in his chest, and you realized how exposed you were. You didn’t get bashful though. You managed to keep yourself the way he wanted, even with the way you felt heat rising up beneath your skin.

“Don’t think so hard about it, okay?” Eddie said as he lowered himself back down to you. “It’s just you ‘n me.

And the recording, you thought, but his words eased you nonetheless. 

You were suddenly thankful he had you holding your legs as his nose prodded your hole as he moved to suckle at your clit. 

“Oh, th–that—yeah,” was all you managed to spit out.

“Mhm?” he hummed against you, and you swore you felt it down to your toes.

“Yeah,” you sighed.

A hand reached down to swipe his thumb across your clit as his tongue finally dipped into you.

You whined. “Please.”

“Hm? Talk to me, sweet girl, d’you want it?”

“Mhm, I’wan’it.” Your words all slurred into one another.

When you felt his middle finger prod at your hole, you couldn’t help the desperate sound that left you.

“Yeah? That what you need?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Ah…c’mon. Tell me.”

“That’s what I need, Eddie,” you quickly breathed out. In that moment, you would’ve done anything he asked you.

“There we go,” he said, more to himself, as he finally sunk a finger into you. 

You couldn’t even be embarrassed anymore with the sounds that left you. You were so wet, you could hear the slick sucking sound everytime he fucked his finger into you, and he quickly added another. 

“So wet. She’s sucking me in.” He didn’t even look up as he spoke. Your pussy was drooling around his fingers and down his wrist, his rings now coated with milky white. Your clit was puffy and swollen, peeking out with every thrust of his hand.

You raised your hips as he continued, following him as he curled his fingers up into you, hitting that spot. You hadn’t even realized your mouth had been wide open, sounds falling out freely.

“Ed—oh.” You bit your lip harshly. “Your mouth.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, never one stopping his ministrations. “Huh, baby? She want a kiss?”

You nodded eagerly, hands slipping along your thighs that had become balmy with sweat. “Yeah, yeah, please.”

“I’ll give her a kiss, baby.” The last thing you saw before he lowered his head again was the flash of his smile. 

When his lips met you, you gasped. He closed them firmly around your clit and the wet sound was so loud you were certain the microphones were picking it up. You didn’t care anymore—you couldn’t care, not if it felt this good.

His tongue on your swollen bud paired with his fingers inside you—curling so perfectly you swore your vision whited out every time he did it—brought you barreling towards your release. You could barely pant out, “I’m–I’m gonna—” before you were cumming loud and unabashedly. He worked you through it, finally stopping when your whines got especially pitchy. 

The moment he raised up from your core, you dropped your legs, now boneless. Your heartbeat was still a steady pulse in your clit. You caught your breath, swiping the sweat from your face. 

“Good?” Eddie asked, looking a little too smug (though you guessed it was earned).

“Better than good,” you said, your voice already halfway ruined. 

You sat up properly on the couch as Eddie maneuvered back over to his pants, pulling something from his pocket. He turned back around and now had a condom pulled over the length of his dick, making you sit up even straighter. 

Once your legs had stopped feeling like jelly, you had had every intention of returning the favor. You started, “Y’don’t want me to—”

“No, no.” You heard the smack of his hand against his dick. “Fuck. I mean, yeah, sweetheart, ‘course I do, but I need to be inside you, like, now.”

“Next time, then,” you said, narrowly biting back a smirk.

He quirked a brow at you, not bothering to bite back his smirk. “Next time?”

“Yeah.” You spread your legs, making room for him. “If you don’t kill me first.”

He fit perfectly between your legs, crowding you against the couch. His gaze was glued to your slippery cunt as he tapped the spongy tip of his cock against your clit. He raised his eyes long enough to say, “Could say the same for you.”

He slid his length up and down your slit, coating himself in your juices. You tried to be patient, you really did, but when he tapped his head against your clit again with a wet squelch, you couldn’t help the whine that left you.

“Alright, alright,” he mumbled. He said it so gently and lovingly, you swore your pussy spit out another half gallon. “I’ll put it in, now you just gotta sing for me. You’ll do that for me, right?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You were nodding eagerly. “Please, please, please just put it in. I need it. I—oh—” 

He sunk in easily, you more than prepared after your first orgasm, but his size still made your breath catch in your throat. He groaned like he wasn’t doing much better.

“She’s choking me, baby, fuck.” He sounded pained, the veins in his arm flexing where he was holding himself up over you. 

It was a stretch, and you could feel every inch of him in you, yet you still clawed at his arms, wanting—no, needing more.

“More, come on, I need it all—” No quicker than the words left your mouth, Eddie pushed all the way in with a loud groan.

Now, it was you that sounded pained, but you’d never felt better in your life. It felt like he’d sunk completely up through your stomach and into your throat. You could feel him everywhere. Your head flew back against cushions and you gripped his bicep as you looked down where you were taking him.

He had been staring up at the ceiling, his mouth wide open, but when he saw where your gaze was locked, he lowered his own, and you watched as his neck all the way down to his chest grew red. 

“Fuck, I’m, fuck—” He pulled out maybe an inch before sinking back in, like he couldn’t bear to pull out. He couldn’t. “She’s sucking me right in.”

Finally, he began to shallowly thrust into you and the grip you had on his bicep tightened as your mouth fell open. His heavy cock was splitting you right open and felt like it was hitting every spot, if that was even possible.

Eddie raised one hand to cup your chin, running his thumb along your bottom lip. “C’mere, baby,” he said lowly.

He lowered his face to yours and spat right into your waiting mouth. As he did, he pulled all the way out, leaving his tip kissing your hole, before plunging back in completely. You didn't recognize the strangled, pornographic sound that left you.

His spit was warm in your mouth and you could feel your slick gushing from between your legs with every thrust of his fat cock. You were easily gripping him for dear life—both with your hands and your cunt. 

He shifted until his dick was kissing that spot that he’d so easily found with his fingers. The sounds—your whining, his moans, the slick sound of your bodies meeting—seemed to bounce off the walls, and the recording equipment couldn’t have been further from your mind. All you could think was Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

It seemed to be the same for him, the way your name left his lips in desperate puffs. “Touch yourself, please, I’m so—” He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, but never once stopped his eager pace.

You dropped your hand between your legs immediately, your fingers slippery as they scrubbed across your clit.

“Right—right there.” You had squeezed your eyes shut. You were right at the edge of your release, you just needed— “Right there, right there, right—ohmygod—”

“Yeah? Yeah, baby? I got you, I fuckin’ got you—” 

You clung to him, your vision spotty and your chest heaving, as you came with a loud whine of his name. He buried himself to the hilt with a shout of your name, the hair at the base of him borderline overstimulating your sensitive clit.

He dropped down against you, his cock softening inside you. His arms wrapped around you, and you felt he was trembling. You weren’t in much better shape.

“Are you—” He stopped to inhale shakily. “Jesus, you okay?” 

You hummed. Your bodies were both slimy with sweat and other juices, which sounded more than uncomfortable, but you found the warm weight of him comforting. 

He peered at you, petting your hair away from your face. “You sure?”

“‘M good,” you finally croaked. “You—I—” You paused to laugh, shaking your head. “I think you fucked my brains out."

He laughed, strands of his damp hair shaking with the force of it. 

“Yeah, well, if that’s the case then you sucked out my soul.” He ran a finger along the length of your face. “You know, through your puss—”

“I get it,” you cut in, laughing. You glanced over to the window to the production room. “Think we got anything good?”

Eddie looked at you like you’d grown three heads before his lip curled, a devious smile on his face. “I dunno…might better do it one more time. Just to be safe.”

Six months later.

“Eddie, you gotta tell us, man.” The interviewer leaned over his desk towards him. “Everybody’s dying to know about…that part on the new record.”

“What part, Howard?” Eddie shot a knowing glance at the audience, which got a few cheers. “I know Gareth killed the drums on the bridge.”

The crowd laughed.

“You know the part,” Howard insisted, laughing. “I think everybody knows the part.”

“I think it speaks for itself,” Eddie said. “Don’t really have much to say on that.”

“Well, your fans have had a lot to say about it,” Howard continued. 

“No denyin’ that, that’s for sure.” Eddie tugged at the collar of his shirt, making the crowd laugh.

“I think one of the biggest questions has been…well.” Howard shrugged. “I don’t know how else to ask it—but well, was it real?”

Eddie looked from Howard to the audience. Right before he opened his mouth to speak, the television flickered off.

“Hey!” you called. “I was watching that.”

Eddie sat the remote down on the coffee table before taking a seat on the couch next to you. “You’ve watched it at least ten times since it aired.” 

“Maybe I was trying to make it eleven.” 

He hummed, his arm coming around your shoulders. You melted into his side easily. 

“How’s the new guy?” you asked, rubbing your cheek against his chest.

“Good. He’s a great fit for the band.” He dropped his cheek and rested it on top of your head. “Jaxon hasn’t tried to reach out anymore. Or showed up at the studio wasted, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not worried.” It was true—you weren’t. You knew Eddie would handle everything. He always did.

“Good.” He planted a kiss on your head. 

You sat up and grabbed the remote from the table. He groaned as you turned it back on.

“You could probably recite this word-for-word by now.” He shook his head.

You pressed back against him, pushing your tongue to your teeth to prevent a smile. 

“Everyone’s dying to know who it is,” Howard was urging. “At least give us a hint.”

On the screen, Eddie shrugged, clearly trying and failing to seem nonchalant. You couldn’t stop yourself from mouthing the words along with him as he said, “Well, it’s my girl.”

People always say the same things about you.

Sweet, polite, and pretty in that soft sort of way that makes old women at the grocery store smile at you fondly and teachers immediately trust you with passing out papers.

The kind of girl who remembers everyone’s favorite candy, who waves when people let her cross the street, who still says bless you when someone sneezes, even if she doesn’t know them. Hawkins is small enough that kindness stands out, and yours seems endless.

It’s almost strange, really.

Not because you’re naive exactly, but because the world has not managed to harden you yet. You still help Dustin with his homework even after he acts like a little asshole all through dinner. You still leave little notes in his lunchbox and compliment strangers’ outfits and smile at people like you genuinely hope they’re having a good day.

And maybe that’s why nobody’s ever dated you.

Not for lack of trying, because boys definitely do. They trip over themselves around you constantly, all awkward grins and sweaty palms and invitations to the movies that you somehow never realize are dates until weeks later when Robin physically grabs your shoulders and says, “Honey, he was flirting with you.”

Your response had only been a confused blink. “He was?”

Robin had stared at you for a very long moment before muttering something about you being “a baby deer in the middle of hunting season.”

The thing is, romance has always felt like something happening around you instead of to you. Girls in your grade pass notes about kissing boys behind the bleachers while you sit beside them, doodling little stars in the margins of your notebook.

Nancy comes over ranting about Steve, and you listen carefully, chin in your palm, like she’s telling you a story from another planet entirely. Then there’s Eddie. And honestly, maybe the universe should’ve warned him first.

Because Eddie is used to people looking at him and immediately deciding what he is before he even opens his mouth. Freak. Burnout. Drug dealer. Satanist. Every adult in Hawkins looks at him like he’s one wrong move away from corrupting their children, and every girl who flirts with him does it with this expectation that he’ll play into the role they’ve already created in their heads.

But you don’t, you look at him the same way you look at everyone else: warmly.

The first time he really notices it is after Hellfire one night, when everyone else has already cleared out of the drama room except you, sitting cross-legged in one of the chairs, waiting for Dustin to finish arguing with Mike about some campaign detail. Eddie’s shoving books back into his bag when you quietly slide a can of Coke across the table toward him.

“I remembered this was your favorite,” you say simply.

And Eddie just stares at you. Because you remembered that. Not in a flirty way. Not trying to get anything from him. You’d just noticed him mentioning it once weeks ago and tucked the information away in that sweet little head of yours like it mattered.

“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath, dragging a hand down his face.

You blink at him softly. “What?”

“Nothin’, sweetheart.”

The nickname slips out before he can stop it. And the worst part is the way your entire face warms at it, ducking your head shyly like nobody’s ever called you something like that before. Which, horrifyingly enough for Eddie, might actually be true.

Steve’s living room is already loud by the time Eddie gets there.

Robin is halfway through aggressively arguing with Nancy about what movie they’re watching, Steve looks one inconvenience away from death on the couch, and somewhere in the kitchen, Dustin is complaining about the lack of “real snacks” like he personally funds the grocery shopping. 

It’s warm inside the Harrington house, all yellow lighting and cluttered blankets draped over the couch cushions, the kind of easy domesticity Eddie always feels a little strange stepping into. Then he sees you.

Curled up in the corner of the couch with sock-covered feet tucked beneath you, smiling the second the front door opens.

“Eddie!” you say brightly, like you hadn’t just seen him yesterday at Hellfire. “There’s still space next to me.”

That immediately becomes the worst moment of Eddie’s entire life.

Because there is space next to you, a very obvious space. One you apparently saved for him without thinking twice. Robin notices the way Eddie visibly hesitates in the doorway and has to fake a coughing fit into her sleeve to keep from laughing.

Eddie drops onto the couch beside you with what he hopes resembles casualness. “Well, sweetheart, how thoughtful of you. Saved me from sitting on the crusty Harrington carpet.”

Steve flips him off from the recliner. “You’re lucky you were invited at all.”

You giggle softly at that, and Eddie immediately has to look away from you.

The movie starts eventually, though Eddie barely absorbs any of it. Not when you’re sitting tucked against his side close enough that your knees keep brushing every few minutes. Every time it happens, you murmur a tiny “sorry” under your breath before doing it all over again thirty seconds later, entirely unaware of the psychological warfare you’re inflicting on him.

At some point during the movie, you start reaching into the popcorn bowl in his lap instead of the one on the coffee table. Again, absentmindedly. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world to lean across him every few minutes with your soft perfume surrounding him and your sleeve brushing against his rings.

Eddie thinks he may actually be dying.

“Oh my god, this part is so sad,” you whisper at one point, turning toward him with wide eyes.

Eddie blinks. “Sweetheart, this guy has been on screen for maybe four minutes.”

“I know,” you whisper back earnestly. “But look at him.”

And Christ.

That’s another thing about you, you care about everything. Movie characters with three lines. Stray cats behind Melvald’s. Random kids crying in the grocery store. You move through the world with this unbearable softness that makes Eddie feel simultaneously protective and completely ruined by you.

About halfway through the movie, the room cools enough that you quietly reach for the blanket bunched beside Eddie’s leg. He lifts it automatically to help you pull it over yourself, only for you to immediately lift one side toward him too.

“You’ll get cold,” you murmur.

Eddie stares at you for a beat too long before slowly ducking beneath the blanket beside you. Across the room, Robin physically presses her lips together to stop herself from making a noise. Then, somehow, things get worse. Because sometime during the second movie, you get sleepy.

Eddie notices it in little ways first. The slower blinking, the way your words trail off halfway through comments. Eventually, your head tips sideways against his shoulder so naturally that it almost seems unconscious.

The entire room goes quiet for exactly two seconds. Not because of you, but because Eddie completely freezes.

You don’t even realize what you’ve done at first, already half-asleep against him beneath the blanket. Then your eyes blink open slightly, face warming the tiniest bit when you realize where you’re leaning.

“Oh,” you mumble softly. “Is this okay?”

Eddie thinks his heart physically hurts.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, sweetheart. ‘Course it is.”

You smile at that. Small and sleepy and trusting. Then your eyes drift shut again against his shoulder like there was never a possibility he’d say no. Robin watches Eddie very carefully after that. Specifically, the way he doesn’t move for the next hour, not even once.

By the time the movie ends, you’ve wandered into the kitchen with Nancy to help clean up empty soda cans while Dustin argues with Steve over something stupid in the dining room. Eddie is still sitting on the couch like he’s recovering from a near-death experience when Robin drops into the seat beside him.

“You are so unbelievably into her,” she says immediately.

Eddie scoffs without looking at her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit. You looked at her like a Victorian man seeing an ankle.”

That finally gets a reluctant snort out of him. Robin grins, leaning back into the couch cushions. “She likes you too, y’know.”

Eddie’s expression changes instantly. “No, she doesn’t.” The response comes too fast. 

Robin’s face softens slightly beneath the teasing. “Eddie—”

“She’s nice to everybody,” he cuts in quietly, eyes flicking toward the hallway where you disappeared moments ago. “That’s just who she is.”

And maybe that’s the problem, because Eddie knows what people like him do to things that are soft.

Friday afternoon sunlight spills warm through the hallway windows, catching against Eddie’s face as he leans against the lockers outside your classroom like he’s been there a while, pretending not to wait for you.

Which is exactly what he’s been doing.

You almost miss him at first while stuffing books into your bag, too focused on making sure Dustin remembered his science worksheet this morning. It’s only when someone whistles obnoxiously down the hall, and Eddie flips them off without even turning around, that your eyes finally land on him.

And immediately, your stomach does something strange. Not bad, strange, just strange. Because Eddie’s looking at you already.

Not casually either. His dark eyes lock onto yours the second you notice him, and for a moment, he looks almost nervous, which feels impossible considering this is Eddie. Eddie, who performs lunch table monologues and flirts with teachers for extra credit, acts like the entire world is his stage.

You smile anyway.

“There she is,” he says, pushing off the lockers.

“Hi,” you answer softly, adjusting the strap of your bag higher on your shoulder. “Were you waiting for someone?”

Eddie actually laughs at that.

“Sweetheart,” he says, stepping closer, “you are genuinely killin’ me.”

Your brows pull together a little. “What?”

“Nothin’.” He shakes his head, grinning to himself before dragging his rings along the back of his neck. Suddenly, he looks oddly uncertain again. “Uh… actually, I was waitin’ for you.”

“Oh.” The word comes out quieter than you mean for it to.

The hallway around you buzzes with noise, lockers slamming and people shoving past each other on their way outside, but it suddenly feels very far away. Eddie shifts his weight once, eyes flicking over your face like he’s trying to gauge something.

Then he says, “You wanna go out with me tonight?”

“You mean…” You blink once. “Like a date?”

Eddie’s mouth twitches slightly. “Yeah, sweetheart. Like a date.”

And maybe it’s embarrassing how fast your face warms.

Not because you don’t want to go. God, you do. You think maybe you’ve wanted to for longer than you realized. It’s just that nobody’s ever looked at you quite like Eddie is right now, all careful confidence hiding something softer underneath. 

“Okay,” you say before you can overthink it.

Eddie stills. “Okay?”

You smile a little shyly. “Yeah. I’d really like that.”

For a second, Eddie genuinely looks stunned.

Then the slowest grin spreads across his face, crooked and warm and so unfairly pretty that you have to glance down at your shoes for a second just to collect yourself.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath, mostly to himself.

You laugh softly. “What?”

“There’s that thing again where you say yes to me like I just asked if you wanted a pencil instead of—” He cuts himself off with another disbelieving shake of his head. “Tonight. I’ll pick you up at seven?”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he repeats, like he still can’t believe it.

He walks backward down the hallway afterward, still grinning at you in this helpless sort of way, before finally turning toward the exit. You stand there for a moment after he disappears, your heartbeat feeling strangely uneven beneath your ribs.

Then, naturally, you go find Robin.

She’s already behind the Family Video counter when you walk in later that afternoon, lazily rewinding tapes with Steve half-asleep beside her. The second she sees your face, her eyes narrow suspiciously.

“What happened?”

You blink. “Nothing happened.”

“That is not a nothing face.”

Steve lifts his head slightly from the counter. “What’s a nothing face?”

Robin points at you dramatically. “That face. That’s the face girls make before they tell you life-altering information.”

Your cheeks warm immediately. “It’s not life-altering.”

“Oh my god,” Robin gasps. “You kissed someone.”

“What? No!”

Steve snorts tiredly into the counter. Robin leans forward. “Then what?”

You hesitate for half a second before saying quietly, “Eddie asked me on a date.”

Then Robin slams both palms onto the counter so hard Steve nearly falls out of his chair. “I KNEW IT.”

Your face warms instantly beneath her stare. Steve looks significantly more awake now, too, blinking between the two of you while Robin points at you like you’ve personally validated her entire worldview.

“I told you he liked her,” she says to Steve.

Steve shrugs. “I mean, yeah. The guy looks at her like she personally invented music.”

“Oh my god,” you mumble, covering your face briefly with your sleeve.

Robin immediately softens at that, grinning as she leans her elbows onto the counter. “Aw, honey, don’t look embarrassed. This is cute.”

Cute. The word alone makes your stomach flutter strangely.

You glance down shyly, tracing your thumb along the strap of your bag. “It’s just a date.”

“Mhm,” Robin hums knowingly. “And what exactly are we wearing to this very casual, definitely-not-important date?”

You blink. “I don’t know yet.”

Steve finally sits up straighter. “Wait, hold on. Tonight tonight?”

You nod once. Robin gasps dramatically. “Oh, this is serious.”

“It is not serious,” you protest immediately. 

Robin’s expression turns fond in that way it sometimes does around you, all teasing melting into something softer. “Sweetie, he stood outside your classroom looking nervous and was a statue when you fell asleep on him. You’ve altered his brain chemistry.”

You hide your face again with a quiet groan while Steve laughs under his breath.

“I’m serious,” Robin continues. “I have literally never seen him act normal around anybody he’s interested in.”

Before you can answer, Robin suddenly narrows her eyes. “Wait. Have you even been on a date before?”

You hesitate just long enough for her to gasp. “Oh, my god.”

“It’s not a big deal,” you say quickly.

Steve blinks at you. “Like… ever?”

You shrug awkwardly. “I don’t know. Nobody’s really asked.”

Robin and Steve share a look over your head that feels deeply loaded.

“What?” you ask suspiciously.

Robin shakes her head slowly. “Nothing. I just think half the male population of Hawkins is profoundly stupid.”

You laugh quietly at that, cheeks still warm. “You guys are making this sound way more dramatic than it is.”

Robin reaches over the counter to squeeze your hand once. “No, honey. We’re making it sound exactly as dramatic as it is.”

By seven o’clock, your bedroom looks like a small tornado passed through it.

Not because you’re trying overly hard, exactly. More because every outfit suddenly feels wrong the second you put it on. Robin’s teasing voice still echoes faintly in your head every time you glance in the mirror.

"Eddie Munson stood outside your classroom, nervous."

Which is ridiculous, Eddie doesn’t get nervous. However, your stomach has been fluttering stupidly for the last hour anyway.

Eventually, you settle on something simple. Something that still feels like you. Soft sweater, jeans that fit nicely, a little lip gloss Nancy once insisted you’d “thank her for later.” By the time you finally step out of your bedroom, the house is quiet except for the television murmuring faintly from the living room.

Dustin is sprawled across the couch with a bowl of cereal balanced on his stomach despite the fact it’s fully evening. He glances up absentmindedly at first.

His entire face lights up. “Whoa.”

You immediately laugh nervously. “What?”

“You look pretty.”

The sincerity in his voice catches you slightly off guard. Dustin sits up straighter on the couch, grinning at you in a way that suddenly reminds you painfully that he’s still your little brother underneath all the dramatics and endless talking.

“You really think so?”

“Duh.” He gestures vaguely with his spoon. “Eddie’s gonna freak out.”

Your cheeks warm instantly. “Dustin.”

“What? He likes you like… aggressively.”

You laugh softly despite yourself, smoothing your hands nervously over your sleeves. “Robin said the same thing.”

“Because it’s true,” Dustin says, like it’s obvious. “He talks about you all the time.”

That makes you blink. “He does?”

“Oh my god,” Dustin groans, dropping back dramatically against the couch cushions. “You seriously have no idea, do you?”

Before you can answer, headlights sweep briefly across the front window.

Dustin sits bolt upright immediately. “He’s here.”

Dustin notices your expression and grins even wider. “You’re nervous.”

“I am not.”

“You are,” he says delightedly. “This is amazing.”

Then there’s a knock at the door, and your heartbeat feels too loud. Dustin looks between you and the front door with poorly concealed excitement before jumping up from the couch first.

“Oh, I’m answering it.”

“Dustin—”

Too late. He yanks the front door open with the energy of a child on Christmas morning.

Eddie’s standing on the porch in dark jeans and his leather jacket, curls slightly messy like he’s been dragging nervous hands through them. 

He’s holding a small bouquet of flowers that look suspiciously like they came from the little stand outside Melvald’s, and for once in his life, Eddie Munson actually seems unsure of himself.

Then his eyes land on you behind Dustin, and he completely forgets how to speak. Dustin looks back and forth between the two of you with visible delight.

“Oh my god,” he whispers dramatically. “He is freaking out.”

Eddie blinks once like he’s rebooting. “Henderson, I will kill you.”

“You brought flowers,” Dustin says smugly.

Eddie ignores him entirely, still staring at you in a way that makes your chest feel warm all over again. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hi.” The word comes out softer than you intended.

Eddie swallows once. Then, very carefully, he holds the flowers out toward you. “These are for you.”

“Be home by ten!” Dustin calls dramatically as Eddie leads you back toward the van.

You pause halfway down the walkway. “Since when do you give me a curfew?”

“Since now,” he says importantly, leaning against the front doorframe. “And no funny business.”

Eddie scoffs loudly without looking back. “You are literally fifteen.”

“And wiser than both of you combined.”

You laugh softly under your breath as Eddie opens the passenger door for you with an exaggerated bow. 

“Goodbye, Dustin.”

“GOODBYE. BE SAFE. DON’T GET PREGNANT.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, face burning as Eddie bursts into helpless laughter beside you.

The front door slams shut before you can retaliate further.

“Your brother is insane.”

“You encourage him.”

“Because he’s funny.”

“He’s awful.”

Eddie laughs again as the van rumbles to life beneath you. The sound settles warmly through the small space alongside the radio's quiet static, and for a little while, things feel easy. 

Eddie drums his fingers against the steering wheel while he drives one-handed, occasionally glancing over at you with this small private smile that makes your stomach flutter every single time.

It isn’t until he pulls into the overlook outside town later that night that things start to shift.

The place is mostly empty this late, only a couple of scattered cars parked beneath the dark stretch of sky overlooking Hawkins. “This okay?” he asks.

You nod immediately. “Yeah. It’s pretty up here.”

Eddie’s eyes linger on your face for a second too long before he looks away again with a quiet hum. “Yeah,” he says softly. “It is.”

Then, after a moment, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a crumpled pack of cigarettes.

You watch absentmindedly as he taps one loose and settles it between his lips, the flame from his lighter briefly illuminating the sharp lines of his face in warm orange. Smoke curls slowly into the night air once he exhales. 

You don’t know why you ask. Maybe curiosity, maybe because everything about Eddie feels a little intoxicating lately.

“Can I try one?”

Eddie freezes mid-exhale. Slowly, he turns toward you. “What?”

You shrug a little, suddenly oddly shy beneath the intensity of his stare. “Just once.”

For a second, he just looks at you. “You’ve never smoked before.”

It isn’t a question. You shake your head once. “No.”

Eddie lets out the faintest breath through his nose, eyes dragging away toward the windshield for a moment. His rings tap softly against the cigarette resting between his fingers.

And maybe this is exactly the kind of thing everyone in Hawkins expects from him. Corrupting nice girls in parked vans late at night. The thought should probably make him feel guilty. Instead, all he can think about is the way you’re looking at him right now, all soft curiosity and trust.

“Sweetheart,” he says slowly, “you really shouldn’t ask me things like that.”

Your brows pull together slightly. “Why?”

Eddie glances back at you then, dark eyes unreadable in the low lighting.

“Because,” he says quietly, “I’m probably gonna say yes.”

Before you can overthink it, Eddie sighs softly and shifts closer across the seat, cigarette still balanced between his fingers. “C’mere.”

You lean closer instinctively, knees brushing his in the cramped space between the seats. Eddie watches you the entire time, gaze flicking once toward your mouth before he catches himself.

“This’ll probably taste awful, by the way.”

You smile a little. “You’re really selling it.”

“Just bein’ honest.”

Carefully, he lifts the cigarette toward your lips. And Christ. The sight alone nearly does him in.

You hesitate only briefly before taking a tentative inhale exactly the way he showed you. Almost immediately, your face scrunches up as you start coughing lightly into your sleeve.

Eddie laughs instantly, reaching over to rub a warm hand against your back. “Easy, easy— there she is.”

“That is horrible,” you rasp between coughs, eyes watering slightly.

“I did warn you.”

You’re still laughing softly at yourself when you finally glance back up at him, only to realize how close he is now. For a moment, neither of you moves.

The cigarette burns slowly between Eddie’s fingers, forgotten entirely now as his eyes stay fixed on yours. You can still feel the warmth of his hand through your sweater, where it rests against your back. Though the look on his face is becoming significantly less careful by the second.

“You okay?” he asks quietly.

You nod once.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

Your voice comes out softer than usual, and Eddie notices immediately. 

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath, almost to himself, dragging his eyes away from your mouth with visible effort.

His hand slips from your back only so he can lean farther into the seat, head tipping briefly against it like he’s trying to regain control of his own thoughts.

You watch him for a second before smiling slightly. “What?”

Eddie laughs once, but there’s no real humor in it. “You have genuinely no idea what you do to me, huh?”

Your stomach flips hard enough to make you glance away. Not because you don’t understand what he means, you do.

Maybe not fully, or with the same confidence other girls seem to have, but you understand enough to feel the tension thickening between you now. The difference is you’re not afraid of it, not with him.

“You make me nervous, too,” you admit quietly.

That gets Eddie’s attention instantly. His head turns toward you again, curls falling slightly into his eyes. “I do?”

You nod, fingers fidgeting lightly in your lap. “You always look at me like you’re thinking something.”

Eddie goes very still. Because he is, constantly.

And suddenly, he’s picturing every single filthy thought he’s had about you over the last few weeks while you sat beside him smiling sweetly like you trusted him with your whole heart.

Every moment, he’s imagined pulling you into his lap, kissing you until you forgot your own name, hearing soft sounds fall from your mouth, all because of him.

Dangerous thoughts, especially about someone like you.

“You really wanna know what I’m thinking?” he asks finally, voice lower now.

The question sends heat crawling up your neck. Still, you nod.

Eddie studies your face for another long second. Then he leans closer again, slowly enough for you to stop him if you want to. You don’t.

“You sit next to me,” he murmurs, eyes flicking between yours and your mouth, “lookin’ all pretty and sweet all the time, and you don’t even realize what it does to me.”

Your breath catches quietly. 

“Sweetheart,” he says softly, almost pained, “I’m trying my best here not to ruin you.”

The word ruin sends a pulse of heat low in your stomach. His gaze darkens immediately at your reaction.

“There she is,” he says quietly, almost pleased. “That got your attention.”

Your face burns. “Eddie…”

“What?” he asks innocently, though there’s nothing innocent about him anymore. “You asked.”

You should probably tell him to stop. Instead, you whisper, “Keep talking.”

Eddie actually closes his eyes briefly at that. When he opens them again, his face slips into something soft, following something dangerous. Like the restraint he’s been clinging to all night is finally beginning to slip.

“You’re trouble,” he murmurs.

You laugh nervously. “I thought you were supposed to be the bad influence.”

“Oh, trust me, doll.” Eddie’s hand slides slowly along your knee, warm and deliberate enough to make your pulse jump. “I am.”

The touch alone feels impossibly intimate. Not because it’s inappropriate, not because it’s even that scandalous. But because it’s Eddie.

Because he’s touching you like he’s trying very hard not to scare you away while simultaneously imagining a thousand worse things.

“You know what the worst part is?” he asks quietly.

You shake your head once.

“I don’t even think you mean to do it.”

His thumb brushes absentmindedly against your knee, and you swear he notices the exact second your breathing changes.

“You smile at me,” he continues softly, “sit close to me, remember little details that nobody should remember… and every time you do, I think maybe this is the moment I finally lose my mind.”

Your heart is pounding so hard now you’re convinced he can hear it. Especially when his eyes drop once more toward your mouth.

Eddie’s thumb is still stroking slow circles over your knee, his dark eyes locked on your mouth like he’s starving for it. You can barely breathe.

“Eddie…” you whisper, not sure what you’re even asking for.

He lets out a shaky breath, like your voice alone is undoing him. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

You don’t answer with words. Instead, you lean in the last few inches and press your lips to his: soft, uncertain, barely a kiss at all, more like a gentle brush. 

Eddie freezes for half a second, then groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your mouth. His hand slides up to cup the back of your neck, careful, as he tilts his head and kisses you back properly, like he’s teaching you how good it can feel.

You make a tiny surprised sound when his tongue traces your bottom lip, and he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breathing hard.

“Easy, baby,” he murmurs, voice rough. “We can stop anytime. Just tell me.”

“I don’t want to stop,” you whisper, cheeks burning. Your hands are trembling as you reach up and curl your fingers into his jacket. Eddie’s eyes flutter shut like the words physically pain him. “You’re gonna kill me, you know that?”

He kisses you again, deeper this time, guiding you with gentle pressure until your mouth opens for him. The slide of his tongue against yours makes heat pool low in your belly, unfamiliar and overwhelming.

You try to match him, tentative and sweet, and when you shyly suck on his tongue, he makes a broken noise and pulls you closer across the seat.

He pants against your lips while his hand stays gentle on your neck, thumb stroking your jaw, but his other hand grips the edge of the seat like he’s holding himself back from devouring you.

You kiss him harder, braver now, and he rewards you with a soft moan that goes straight between your legs. When you accidentally graze his bottom lip with your teeth, something you’ve only ever seen in movies, he jerks, fingers tightening in your hair.

Eventually, he pulls back, eyes dark, lips swollen. “Back of the van?” he asks, almost hesitant. “Only if you want. We don’t have to—”

You nod before he can finish, heart hammering. “I want to. With you.”

Eddie helps you climb through to the back, spreading out the blankets he keeps there like he’s making a nest for you. He lays you down so gently it makes your chest ache, then settles over you on his elbows, careful not to crush you.

“Look at me, baby,” he says softly, brushing hair from your face. “We go as slow as you need. Tell me if anything hurts or feels weird, okay? Promise me.”

“I promise,” you whisper, reaching up to touch his cheek.

He kisses you again, slower, deeper, until you’re squirming beneath him.

His hands stay respectful at first, stroking your sides and waist, until you arch into him and he finally slides one under your sweater. The warmth of his palm on your bare skin makes you gasp.

“So soft,” he murmurs against your neck, kissing down the column of your throat. “So fucking perfect.”

You’re trembling when he helps you out of your sweater and bra, but not from fear. Eddie looks at you like you’re something holy, eyes reverent as he cups your breasts, thumbs brushing your nipples until they tighten.

“Eddie—” Your voice breaks on his name when he leans down and takes one into his mouth, gentle suction and slow flicks of his tongue. You’ve never felt anything like it. Your hands fly to his hair, gripping curls, and he groans in approval.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Hold onto me.”

He works you open with patient fingers later, after your jeans and panties are gone, whispering praise the whole time.

“Relax for me, baby… just like that. Good girl. So wet already, fuck. All for me?”

You nod frantically, hips twitching. When he curls his fingers just right, you cry out, shocked by the sharp burst of pleasure.

“There?” he asks, voice low and pleased. He does it again, watching your face. “Yeah? You like that?”

You can barely speak, just whimper and nod. He keeps talking you through it, gentle but filthy, until you’re shaking apart on his fingers with a broken little moan.

He kisses you through it, then rests his forehead against yours while he rolls on a condom. “You sure, sweetheart? We can stop right here. I’d be happy just making you come all night.”

You shake your head, pulling him closer. “I want you. Please, Eddie.”

He enters you so slowly it almost hurts, a combination of pain and how careful he’s being, how full you feel. He stops every inch, murmuring against your temple.

“Breathe, baby. That’s it… doing so good for me. So tight—fuck, you feel incredible. Breathe, okay?”

When he bottoms out, you both moan. He stays still, buried deep, kissing you softly until the stretch eases into something warm and aching and good.

“Move,” you whisper, nails digging into his back. “Please.”

He rocks into you gently at first, then a little deeper when you start lifting your hips to meet him. Every thrust is measured, his voice a constant low rumble in your ear; praise, dirty little observations, encouragement.

“Look at you taking me so well… my sweet girl. Never thought I’d get to have you like this.”

You get bolder as it builds, wrapping your legs around his waist, experimentally clenching around him. Eddie’s rhythm falters.

“Shit—baby, do that again.”

You do, shy but eager, and he groans like he’s dying. On impulse, you tilt your head and bite his shoulder. Not hard, but just enough to leave a mark. Eddie curses loudly, his hips snapping forward harder for a second before he catches himself.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me lose it,” he laughs breathlessly, kissing you deep.

He reaches between you and rubs your clit in tight circles, voice growing rougher as you both get close.

“Come on, baby. Let me feel you. Want you to come on my cock—yeah, just like that. Good girl. So good for me.”

You shatter with his name on your lips, clenching around him so hard his thrusts turn erratic. He follows right after, burying his face in your neck as he comes with a broken moan, hips jerking.

Afterward, he stays inside you for a long moment, stroking your hair, pressing soft kisses to your flushed face.

“You okay?” he whispers, voice tender. “Did I hurt you?”

You shake your head, smiling shyly as you nuzzle into him. “It was perfect. You were perfect.”

Eddie laughs softly, pulling the blanket over both of you. “Yeah? Even when I almost lost my mind because you bit me?”

Eddie’s arm is wrapped carefully around your waist, fingers absentmindedly tracing slow patterns against your skin like he can’t stop touching you now that he’s allowed to. Not that you mind.

Your head rests against his chest, listening to his heartbeat slowly come back down while his other hand plays gently with your hair. Every few seconds, he presses absent little kisses to the top of your head like he’s doing it unconsciously, like affection simply spills out of him naturally around you.

You feel him shift slightly beneath you after a minute, enough that you tilt your chin up to look at him. He’s already staring down at you, dark curls messy, lips slightly swollen, expression somewhere between completely wrecked and deeply concerned.

“…You sure you’re okay?” he asks again quietly.

The question makes your chest ache a little. Not because it’s upsetting, but because he sounds genuinely nervous about it.

You smile softly almost immediately. “Yeah.”

Eddie studies your face carefully anyway, like he’s searching for any sign you don’t mean it. “Yeah?” he repeats.

“Mhm.”

“You promise?”

A quiet laugh leaves you then, small and sleepy and warm from where you’re curled against him. “Eddie.”

“What?” he says defensively, though his hand tightens slightly around your waist. “I’m serious.”

“I know.” Your fingers drift lazily along the chain around his neck while you look up at him. “I’m okay.”

Eddie exhales slowly through his nose, tension visibly easing from his shoulders. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, mostly to himself.

You smile a little wider. “You say that a lot.”

“That’s because you keep doin’ things that make me need divine intervention.”

Your laugh this time is brighter, and Eddie immediately looks at you like he’s just won something.

There’s still this almost disbelieving softness in his expression now, like he hasn’t fully processed that this actually happened. That you happened. 

“You’re thinkin’ too hard,” you murmur.

His mouth twitches slightly. “Can you blame me?”

You shrug a little against him. “Maybe.”

“Sweetheart,” he says quietly, brushing his knuckles gently along your cheek, “you trusted me with your first time. I think I’m allowed to spiral a little.”

Heat blooms softly across your face at the words.

“You’re really okay?” he asks one more time, softer now.

You nod against him. “Yeah.”

Then, after a tiny pause: “It was nice.”

Eddie goes completely still underneath you. Slowly, he lifts his head enough to stare down at you properly. “Nice?”

You blink innocently. “Yeah.”

A laugh bursts out of him so suddenly it startles you.

“Baby,” he says through his grin, “I am never letting you describe that as nice again.”

Your face warms instantly as you hide it against his chest with a groan, and Eddie just laughs harder, wrapping both arms around you tighter while pressing another kiss into your hair.

“There she is,” he murmurs fondly. “My sweet girl.”

The next morning feels strangely dreamy. Not in some dramatic life-changing way.

Dustin is still loudly arguing with the television before noon, the neighbor’s dog still won’t stop barking, and Hawkins still looks exactly the same outside your bedroom window.

Every time your mind drifts back to the night before, heat creeps slowly up your neck all over again. Eddie’s hands on your waist. The sound of his voice going rough when you kissed him back. The way he kept checking in afterward, like your comfort mattered more to him than anything else in the world.

You think maybe that’s your favorite part. Not the sex itself, though that had certainly been overwhelming in ways you’re still trying to process. It’s the fact that Eddie held you afterward like something precious.

The phone rings around two in the afternoon. You perk up instantly from your spot sprawled on the living room carpet, flipping through a magazine. Dustin glances over from the couch suspiciously while you practically scramble for it.

“Hello?”

A small pause. Then: “Hey, sweetheart.”

Your stomach flips immediately. You smile before you can help it, curling the phone cord loosely around your finger. “Hi.”

Eddie goes quiet for a second on the other end, like maybe hearing your voice affected him too much. When he speaks again, there’s a smile tucked into his words.

“How’re you feelin’ today?”

Warmth floods your face instantly. “I’m okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

Another tiny pause. “Good.”

From the couch, Dustin narrows his eyes. “Is that Eddie?”

You wave him off blindly while Eddie snorts quietly through the phone. “Your brother sounds possessive.”

“He’s nosy.”

“I heard that,” Dustin calls loudly.

You laugh softly, and Eddie goes quiet again for half a second in that way he keeps doing now, like hearing you laugh still catches him off guard.

“So,” he says eventually, voice lower now, easier. “I was wonderin’ if maybe you wanted to come to the Hideout tonight.”

“The bar?”

“Mm.” You can practically hear him lighting a cigarette through the phone. “Thought maybe I could buy you a drink. Since you’re all grown up now.”

Your face burns instantly. “Eddie.”

“What?” he asks innocently. “You are.”

You tuck your hair behind your ear shyly despite the fact that he can’t see you. “I’ve never been to the Hideout before.”

“I know.”

And for some reason, the way he says it sends warmth straight through you again. Like he enjoys being the first person to show you these things. 

“Only if you want to,” he adds after a second, softer this time. “No pressure.”

You smile immediately at that. “I wanna go.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Eddie exhales quietly through his nose, almost sounding relieved. “Alright, sweetheart. I’ll come get you around eight.”

“Okay.”

There’s another pause afterward that stretches warm and comfortable between you both. Then Eddie says, quieter now, “Missed you today.”

Your heart stutters embarrassingly hard. “Oh.”

A soft laugh crackles through the receiver. “There’s that little sound again.”

“What sound?”

“The one you make when I say somethin’ that gets in your head.”

You duck your face instinctively, even though he still can’t see you. From the couch, Dustin groans dramatically. “You are smiling so weird right now.”

The Hideout smells faintly like cigarettes, beer, and old wood, the second Eddie pushes the door open for you.

It’s darker inside than you expected, lit mostly by warm amber lights strung lazily behind the bar and the colored glow from an old neon beer sign buzzing softly in the corner. A band is setting up near the tiny stage in the back while people crowd around sticky tables, laughing too loudly over the music humming through the speakers.

His hand settles lightly against the small of your back, warmth through your shirt as he leans closer so you can hear him over the noise. “You okay, sweetheart?”

You glance up at him and smile. “Yeah. It’s just different than I expected.”

Eddie grins. “What, you thought it’d be glamorous?”

“A little.”

“Aw, honey.” He nudges you gently toward the bar. “This place barely passes health inspection.”

You laugh softly under your breath, and Eddie’s expression immediately softens at the sound like it always does now. There’s still something almost disbelieving in the way he looks at you tonight, like he can’t quite process that you came here with him willingly. That you’re sitting beside him at the Hideout, of all places. 

The bartender greets Eddie immediately as soon as you slide onto the stools. “Munson.”

“Hey, Frank.”

Then Frank notices you beside him, one brow lifting slowly.

Eddie catches it instantly. “Don’t start.”

Frank smirks knowingly before wiping down the counter. “Wouldn’t dream of it. What can I get you two?”

Eddie glances sideways at you thoughtfully for a second, tapping his rings lightly against the bartop. “Lemme get a beer…”

Then his eyes flick back toward you again, something amused flickering there.

“And a Dirty Shirley for her.”

You blink. “How did you know that’s what I’d like?”

Eddie shrugs casually, though the corner of his mouth twitches upward. “You just seem like a Dirty Shirley kinda girl.”

The answer makes you laugh softly. And for some reason, Eddie looks absurdly pleased with himself over that. When the drinks arrive a minute later, you eye yours curiously before taking a cautious sip through the straw.

Immediately, your face brightens. “Oh, this is good.”

Eddie snorts into his beer. “Yeah, because it’s basically candy.”

You narrow your eyes playfully. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Nah.” His gaze drifts slowly over your face again, softer now. “Kinda fits you, actually.”

Heat creeps up your neck at the way he says it. You glance down shyly at your drink while Eddie leans one elbow onto the bar beside you, watching you with open fondness now that nobody from school is around to see it.

“You nervous?” he asks after a moment.

“A little.”

“About bein’ here?”

You shrug slightly. “I guess.”

Eddie hums quietly, eyes flicking around the crowded bar before settling back on you. “Nobody’s gonna bother you while you’re with me.”

The words shouldn’t affect you as much as they do. Maybe it’s the confidence in his voice. Maybe it’s the fact that he says it so naturally, like protecting you is already instinct.

Or maybe it’s just Eddie.

“Good,” you say softly before taking another sip.

Eddie goes suspiciously quiet beside you, and you glance over. “What?”

His eyes drag slowly from your lips back up to your face.

“Nothin’, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “You just look real pretty sittin’ here.”

The music hums warmly through your chest now instead of pounding against it, and the second Dirty Shirley Eddie absolutely did not need to buy you has left your cheeks pleasantly warm. You’re leaning closer to him without thinking anymore, your knee pressed between his, where he sits angled toward you at the bar like the rest of the room barely exists.

Eddie’s halfway through telling you some ridiculous story about Gareth nearly setting a school amplifier on fire when you start laughing hard enough to grab onto his arm.

And that completely derails him.

He loses his train of thought instantly, eyes dropping to your hand wrapped around his forearm before slowly flicking back up toward your face. You’re still smiling at him, all sweet and tipsy, entirely unaware of the effect you have on him.

“Why’d you stop talking?” you ask.

Eddie blinks once. “You’re pretty distracting, sweetheart.”

Your face warms immediately.

“There she is,” he murmurs fondly into his beer.

Eventually, the bar starts getting louder as more people crowd in, conversations overlapping with the music until Eddie notices you beginning to glance around, slightly overwhelmed. 

His hand settles instinctively against your knee beneath the bar. “You wanna get outta here?”

You look back at him immediately. “Yeah.”

Eddie studies your face carefully for a second before asking softer, “Wanna come back to my place?”

And maybe it should feel more scandalous than it does. Instead, all you feel is warm trust settling low in your chest when you nod. “Okay.”

The drive to the trailer park is quiet in the nicest way.

One of Eddie’s tapes plays softly through the van speakers while warm night air drifts through the cracked windows. Your head rests lazily against the seat as streetlights pass over Eddie’s face every few seconds, catching the silver of his rings against the steering wheel.

He keeps glancing at you, not subtly either. Every time you catch him, he smiles crookedly to himself before looking back at the road.

By the time he parks outside the trailer, you’re pleasantly floaty enough that you don’t even think twice before following him up the steps. The trailer is dim and familiar from all the times you’ve picked Dustin up after Hellfire. Eddie immediately tosses his keys onto the counter before turning toward you.

“You want somethin’ to drink?”

You shake your head slightly before your eyes catch the cigarette pack sticking halfway out of his jacket pocket.

“…Can I try another one?”

Eddie actually laughs softly under his breath. “You are trouble.”

You smile innocently. “You said that already.”

“Yeah, well.” His eyes drag slowly over your face again. “Still true.”

This time, when he pulls a cigarette loose and lights it, you step closer before he even asks. Eddie notices immediately, something dark and pleased flickering briefly across his expression before he tamps it down.

“C’mere then, sweetheart.”

The pet name lands warm in your stomach now.

You lean in slightly while Eddie lifts the cigarette toward your mouth again, two fingers resting carefully beneath your chin to angle your face upward. The touch alone feels unfairly intimate, especially when his eyes stay fixed on your lips the entire time.

“That’s it,” he murmurs softly as you inhale carefully.

This time, you barely cough, and Eddie’s brows lift immediately. “Well, look at that.”

You laugh lightly through the smoke, a little proud of yourself despite how ridiculous that probably is.

Meanwhile, Eddie looks devastatingly fond. “That’s my girl,” he says quietly.

Your face flushes even more now, like that’s even possible. 

“You like it when I say stuff like that, huh?” he asks gently.

You glance down shyly. “Maybe.”

His grin turns downright dangerous. “Jesus Christ.”

Then, before you can recover from that, Eddie disappears briefly toward his bedroom area. You hear drawers opening for a second before he returns holding something glass and obnoxiously large in one hand.

You blink. “What’s that?”

“A bong.”

Your expression must give you away because Eddie immediately laughs. “Relax, sweetheart. It’s just weed.”

“I know what weed is.”

“Mhm.” He drops onto the couch cushions beside you, smirking slightly. “And yet you looked at it like a church girl.”

You nudge his shoulder lightly while he chuckles to himself, already packing it with practiced familiarity. Then he glances sideways at you.

“You wanna try?” There’s no pressure in his voice, just some boyish curiosity.

You hesitate briefly before nodding. “Okay.”

Eddie’s expression softens instantly into something almost unbearably affectionate. “Attagirl.”

Heat floods your face again.

A few minutes later, you’re sitting tucked against his side while he guides you through it patiently, one hand steady against your waist while the other helps position your fingers correctly.

“Slow,” he murmurs. “Yeah, just like that.”

You follow his instructions carefully, trying not to focus too hard on the fact that his mouth is barely inches from yours right now. The hit burns less than the cigarette but still catches in your throat enough to make you cough lightly against his shoulder afterward.

Eddie laughs warmly, rubbing your back. “That wasn’t too bad!”

“You make everything sound embarrassing.”

“That’s because everything you do is cute.”

Your face immediately buries against his shoulder while he laughs harder, wrapping an arm around you automatically like he can’t help himself anymore.

By the time the second hit settles in properly, you are absolutely gone.

You’re not panicking or dizzy or anything nightmare-inducing. Everything just suddenly feels unbelievably funny and soft all at once, like the entire trailer has been wrapped in warm cotton. The music playing quietly from Eddie’s radio sounds deeper somehow, and you cannot stop giggling every time he looks at you.

Which he keeps doing, constantly.

“You good there, sweetheart?” he asks from beside you, trying very hard not to laugh himself.

You stare at him for a second too long before nodding very seriously. “Your eyelashes are really pretty.”

That immediately breaks him. Eddie doubles over laughing, one hand covering his mouth while the other stays loosely around your waist to keep you upright, where you’re practically folded into his side on the couch.

“Oh my god,” he wheezes. “You’re high as a kite.”

You gasp softly like he’s offended you. “No, I’m not.”

“You just complimented my eyelashes like you discovered religion.”

“They are pretty.”

That only makes him laugh harder.

You narrow your eyes at him for approximately two seconds before dissolving into giggles, too, burying your face against his shoulder. Eddie wraps both arms around you automatically, then, still shaking slightly with laughter, he presses a kiss into your hair.

“Godt,” he murmurs fondly. “You’re adorable.”

You hum happily against him, completely content tucked into his chest while his rings drag lazily along your back.

A few minutes later, you start rambling, not about anything important either. Just whatever pops into your head.

“You know what’s weird?” you mumble suddenly.

“What’s weird?”

“The moon.”

Eddie snorts softly. “The moon.”

“Yeah. It just follows you around all the time. That’s weird behavior.”

“Sweetheart, I don’t think the moon has behavior.”

“It does.”

“Mhm.”

You tilt your head up to look at him very seriously. “You smell good.”

Eddie visibly short-circuits for a second. “…Thanks.”

“And your hair is soft.”

“You touched my hair for like three seconds.”

“I know,” you sigh dreamily. “It was nice.”

That’s apparently the final straw. Eddie drops his forehead briefly against the top of your head with a groan. “Baby, you gotta stop sayin’ things like that before I lose my damn mind.”

You just smile at him sweetly, which does not help. Eventually, after you nearly fall asleep sitting upright against him, Eddie gently decides you need to move to the bed before your neck ends up permanently bent at a horrifying angle.

“C’mon, pretty girl.”

You blink sleepily up at him. “Hm?”

“Bedtime.”

The second he slides an arm beneath your knees and lifts you into his arms, you immediately wrap yourself around him with a soft little laugh.

Eddie steadies you against his chest easily, though his expression goes dangerously fond all over again when you instinctively nuzzle closer against his neck.

“You’re comfy.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. Like a heating pad.”

Eddie nearly walks directly into the wall laughing.

The mattress dips softly beneath you a moment later as he sets you down carefully onto his bed. You immediately starfishing across it in a way that makes him snort affectionately while crouching beside you.

“You wanna sleep in jeans, sweetheart?”

You make a face. “No.”

“Okay.” His voice stays gentle. “Can I help you change then?”

You nod immediately.  That feeling hits Eddie square in the chest every single time.

So he moves slowly. Helping you swap your jeans for a pair of old sweatpants and one of his oversized shirts while you continue mumbling nonsense the entire time.

“Attractive people should legally have warning labels,” you inform him seriously while he helps guide your arm through the sleeve.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm. It’s stressful.”

Eddie laughs softly under his breath. “Poor thing.”

“I’m serious.” You squint at him sleepily. “You’re very handsome. It’s distracting.”

He actually stops moving for a second. “Good lord,” he mutters weakly.

“What?”

“Nothin’, baby.”

By the time you’re finally settled beneath the blankets, your eyes are barely staying open anymore. Eddie starts to pull away toward the edge of the bed before soft fingers catch loosely around his wrist.

“Stay.”

Eddie looks down at you for a long second before his entire expression melts. “Yeah, sweetheart,” he says softly, climbing in beside you. “I’m stayin’.”

By Monday morning, half of Hawkins High has already noticed the jacket.

Not because it’s particularly flashy. Eddie’s leather jacket has always looked a little worn around the sleeves, a little too big on you, where it hangs past your fingertips. But everyone knows who it belongs to. Hellfire patches and metal pins tend to stand out in a school full of pastel sweaters and varsity jackets.

You don’t even think much of it at first while standing at your locker between classes, adjusting your books against your hip as Robin practically materializes beside you with the energy of someone spotting celebrity gossip in real time.

“Oh, my god.”

You blink. “What?”

Robin gestures wildly toward your body. “The jacket.”

Your eyes drop downward like you somehow forgot you were wearing it. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Robin repeats incredulously. “That’s Eddie’s jacket.”

You shrug a little, though warmth immediately creeps into your cheeks anyway. “I got cold Saturday.”

“And he let you keep it?”

The way she says it makes you pause. “…Yeah?”

Robin stares at you for a very long moment before muttering, “That man is so far gone.”

You laugh softly under your breath, trying and failing to suppress your smile while Robin watches the entire thing happen in real time.

“Oh, you like him bad too,” she realizes immediately.

“I do not like him bad.”

“Honey, you are literally wearing his jacket. Is that not the universal equivalent of a declaration?”

Before you can answer, someone whistles from farther down the hallway.

You glance up instinctively just in time to see Eddie leaning beside the cafeteria doors, already beaming, looking at you. More specifically, at you in the jacket. The slow grin that spreads across his face afterward is downright unfair.

Robin physically grabs your arm. “Oh, he’s gonna be unbearable now.”

And she’s right. Because Eddie spends the rest of the day looking at you like he won something.

Every time you pass each other in the hallway, his eyes immediately flick toward the oversized sleeves swallowing your hands before dragging slowly back toward your face with a deeply pleased expression. 

At lunch, he hooks two fingers through one of the jacket loops while passing behind your chair and murmurs a quiet, “Looks better on you anyway, sweetheart,” directly into your ear.

You nearly forget how to speak afterward. By the end of the school day, your cheeks hurt from smiling.

Outside, the parking lot buzzes with engines starting and people spilling toward their cars in noisy groups while you make your way down the front steps. And there he is. Leaning against the side of his van with a cigarette resting between his lips, like he’s been waiting a while. The second he notices you walking toward him, his entire face softens.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

“Hi.”

Eddie takes another drag from the cigarette while you stop between his knees, where he’s perched against the van door. “You survive another thrilling academic day?” he asks dryly.

“Barely.”

“Yeah? Tragic.”

You laugh quietly while his eyes drift over your face again, lingering there warm and heavy enough to make your stomach flutter. Then your gaze drops toward the cigarette between his fingers.

A slow smile pulls at his mouth. “What?”

You hesitate briefly before leaning in slightly. “Can I?”

This time, he doesn’t even tease you about it.

He simply lifts the cigarette toward your mouth automatically, eyes fixed steadily on your lips while you lean closer to take a slow drag. The smoke burns less now, familiar enough that you barely cough at all when you exhale.

Eddie watches the entire thing like he’s completely mesmerized.

“Atta’ girl,” he says quietly. The praise settles warm all through you.

Maybe it’s the nicotine. Or the way he’s looking at you. Or the fact that you spent the entire day missing him in a way that feels embarrassing to admit.

But suddenly you just want to kiss him, so you do. You lean forward softly, cigarette smoke still lingering faintly between you as your lips press against his. Eddie makes the quietest sound into your mouth.

His free hand immediately slides against your waist, pulling you closer between his knees while he kisses you back, slower this time, like he’s savoring it. Around you, the parking lot continues moving in noisy blurs, but Eddie kisses you like there’s nobody else there at all.

When you finally pull back slightly, he’s staring at you with completely blown pupils. 

For a second, he just looks at you. Then he lets out a quiet laugh under his breath, thumb brushing absentmindedly along your waist where it’s still holding you close.

“Who are you?” he murmurs, almost disbelieving.

Your face warms instantly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Eddie grins slowly, eyes flicking toward the cigarette still dangling between his fingers before dragging back to your mouth.

“Couple weeks ago you were apologizing for saying hell in front of teachers,” he says softly. “Now you’re stealin’ drags from my cigarettes and kissing me in the school parking lot.”

Heat blooms all through your chest at the way he says it. Not mocking, something more towards pleased. Like he’s enjoying watching this softer, bolder side of you emerge.

You smile shyly despite yourself. “Maybe you’re a bad influence.”

Eddie actually groans at that, dropping his forehead briefly against your shoulder.

“Sweetheart,” he mutters, “you cannot say things like that to me.”

“Why not?” you ask innocently. 

Eddie’s thumb hooks beneath your chin immediately.

“Because,” he says quietly, voice rough around the edges now, “you say it like you have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

The warmth in your stomach deepens at that familiar tone, at the way he’s looking at you like he’s equal parts obsessed and completely doomed by it. And maybe you do understand a little more now.

Maybe that’s why your smile turns just slightly shy and knowing when you whisper, “Maybe I do.”

Eddie stares at you for half a second like you just physically struck him. Then he laughs softly under his breath, completely gone for you.

“There she is,” he murmurs.

He doesn’t reply with words after that, just hooks his fingers more firmly beneath your chin and drags your mouth back to his.

Eddie kisses like he’s addicted to it already, cigarette smoke still clinging faintly to him while his hand slides warm against your jaw. The parking lot noise fades somewhere far into the background as he tilts his head and kisses you again and again like he can’t help himself anymore.

And when you melt closer against him with a tiny contented sigh, Eddie smiles directly into your mouth, completely, and hopelessly ruined.

badda bing badda boom.

anyyywayyyyy, hope you all enjoyed.... i have a surprise coming at 11pm >:)

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★

You wake first, still nestled against him, his breathing slow and even as you take stock of your situation. 

Spencer made some choices yesterday. 

Choices that make you want to throttle him.

Calling you sweetheart. 

Kissing you.

Whispering so sweetly to you.

Using his stupid tongue on you and ruining cunilingus from anyone else for you forever. 

The list goes on, how are you supposed to go back to work like this? Although, that’s only a problem if you’re found. 

The whole team is going to see the video. That’s going to be a problem either way.

You can already imagine them huddled around the conference room table with Hotch’s laptop between them. 

You know what, you can worry about that later, that’s only a problem if they find you. 

Of course they’ll find you. 

Hopefully. 

When Spencer wakes it’s with a groan as he cradles the back of his head, still sore from the wound. Rather than cower in shame you decide to just break the silence and speak to him. He’s still your friend, even after yesterday. 

“You didn’t tell me what happened when you were taken, just that you were knocked out.” You recall the unsub being so certain he would be able to get Spencer in the same day as you, it makes no sense when you ponder it. After having an agent taken captive you would assume they would be taking extra measures to ensure no one else was taken. 

When he doesn’t respond you tilt your head to look up at him, only to be met by a sheepish smile. 

“I was… a little careless.” He mumbles, his voice is scratchy and heavy with sleep. 

“When I was alone with him the unsub said I wouldn’t have to wait long for you.” You cock an eyebrow at him.

“We were given multiple tips on the call line JJ setup, there were too many, we all agreed to go down the list until we found a lead. It’s possible that I got a little bit ahead of myself and split off from the group. Before I knew it I was knocked to the ground, and then I was here.”

“Sounds like something I would do.” You grin at him as you sit up, urging him to roll onto his side so you can take another look. It looks better than yesterday, he likely just needs to rinse the dried blood out. “It looks okay, Do you think you have a concussion?” The thought makes your stomach churn. 

”Definietly not, I’m exhibiting no symptoms.” He seems so sure, you can’t help but wonder if that’s just something someone with a concussion would say. 

“I’m just worried you may not be making decisions you would normally make.” Jesus Christ, did you take advantage of him? Is he even in the right state of mind?

Kissing you, calling you sweetheart, tongue fucking you. 

He immediately knows where your train of thought’s headed. 

“I’m fine.”

”Are you absolutely sure?” 

”I have no headache or ringing in my ears, I haven’t vomited. I’m not nauseous, no confusion, no memory loss. I’m not sure if you’re aware but I am a doctor, I would know if I had a concussion.” As he rambles on you lean closer, examining his pupils closely. They appear normal, his greenish brownish eyes study you as you study them. 

“Promise you feel fine?”

”If you’re worried about consent there’s nothing to worry about.” He looks at you incredulously, as if this isn’t a very serious matter.

“Promise?” You tilt your head to the side. 

“I promise I am of sound body and mind.” He holds his hand up like he’s taking an oath. 

After another look at his pupils you believe him, even if he isn’t technically a medical doctor you trust his judgement. 

“How much progress do you think the teams made on the case?” You can’t help but change the subject as your thoughts drift back to your current predicament. 

”I’m sure they’re doing their best but we barely had a profile together by the time you were taken. And with him no longer taking new victims…” You know exactly what he’s implying. 

Typically if you’re on a job and the unsub suddenly stops killing victims you’re taken off the case. Without any evidence you can’t make a functional profile. 

“Not to mention they’re down two profilers.” He mumbles.

“We can expect escalation in his behavior as well.” Even if your compliance keeps him from completely losing it, the behavior will continue to escalate regardless. 

“How are you feeling?” He turns to stare at you, clearly gauging your reaction. 

”About this situation? Not great.” No reason to lie, he knows neither one of you is really okay right now.

”I mean physically.”

”Sore.” Just a little. 

”I’m sorry.” 

He shouldn’t be, he didn’t do anything you wouldn’t have let him do in any other scenario. 

”It’s not your fault, I could say the same thing to you.”

”You really don’t need to.” He shrugs, his concern is still apparent. 

“Spencer.” When you say his name in as firm of a tone as you can muster his face softens a bit. The creases between his eyebrows melt away when he stares at you, you swear the corners of his mouth twitch up. “I’m serious.” You manage to whisper, even though the look in his eyes is knocking the wind out of you. 

“After what I did to you? You really want to know if I’m okay?” He leans in, resting his head on his palm.

When did he get so close to you?

“What you had to do.” You correct him. 

He opens his mouth, a look of confliction flashes across his face. You have no time to further question him because the crackling intercom has you both sitting up straight. 

“Good morning my stars. You would not believe the response to your debut film.” 

Gross. 

“I simply cannot stop thinking about your performance yesterday, even yours Dr. Reid. What a hidden talent.” 

Neither one of you speaks now, what would you even say? After seeing that video the team will assume you’ve been released, just like every other set of victims, how long before they realize what’s going on? 

“I have a surprise for the two of you for such a dazzling performance, I am not a total monster. I want to show you that good behavior is rewarded.” You both flinch when the red door clicks, swinging open. You aren’t sure what you expect but it definitely isn’t what you find. 

There’s nothing. 

No one comes barging in so you both approach cautiously, pulling the door open fully you find not an exit, but a hallway. There is a door at the end of the hallway that you assume is the exit and an open room without a door halfway down the corridor. 

“Since the two of you will be my guests for an extended period of time I thought I might provide some amenities. Although I will expect continued compliance if you wish to have access to the facilities.”

You continue to move with your defenses up but when you lean into the doorway you find a sterile looking well lit bathroom. There’s a toilet, a sink with a mirror above it, and a small standing shower. When you step back out into the hall Spencer is pushing on the other door, you know it’s locked but it doesn’t hurt to check. 

“I have big plans for the day, I would like you both to make yourselves presentable, under the sink you will find a box with water and prepackaged unopened food, for your peace of mind.” You make your way to the sink, crouching down, opening the box you find exactly what he said, along with a stack of folded black fabric. “I have also provided you with fresh clothes. I expect no objections, you wear them or there will be consequences. You are to leave your dirty clothes in the box, except for your tie Dr. Reid, you may keep that in your room.” 

You ignore the clothes, not wanting to see what’s in store for you just yet, instead you take a sandwich and a water, passing them to Spencer. 

“I can see that you are not in a talking mood today, that is okay, I will be back in an hour to start filming our next project, play nice until then.” The click of the intercom makes you relax as you open one of the water bottles, tilting your head back and taking a long swig. 

You’re both on edge knowing what’s coming, the inevitable. Any snippet of a playful rapport you had going this morning has fizzled into nothing. 

“You shower first, I’m gonna go sit for a few minutes.” Spencer breaks the silence before leaving the room without another word. You don’t object, you just turn on the water. Tossing your clothes across the room, trying not to think about the cameras that are likely in this room as well. 

You clear your mind as the hot water rushes over you. Your instinct is to worry, to come up with a plan but the logical part of you knows you should just enjoy this moment of respite as best you can. There is no escape, at least not until your team figures something out. 

You try not to take too long, knowing that Spencer needs a shower too. You turn the water off, reaching for one of the hanging towels before patting yourself dry. 

Time to dare a look at the outfit you’ll be wearing. 

The first thing you pull out is a simple black cotton shirt, followed by dark grey boxers. Likely not yours. 

Below them is a surprisingly tame black camisole. When you pull it over your head it’s skin tight but it definitely could be worse. You aren’t granted as much coverage as boxers but the little black panties aren’t the end of the world, you were expecting hardcore lingerie, leather and spandex, but they’re simple cotton panties. 

When you step out of the bathroom you yelp as you almost trip over Spencer, sitting criss cross on the ground. 

“Sorry!” He stands, holding his hands up.

“You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry, I went back to the other room initially but then I was thinking that this might be a set up and if I went in there he could lock and close the door and separate us. And then you’d be alone with him, so I figured it was best to stay here, I was going to tell you but it seemed inappropriate to go in there while you were showering.” He rambles as you nod along, he’s noticeably staring at the ceiling, occasionally his eyes dart down to you before flying back upwards. 

“That’s… actually really sweet. Thanks.” You give him a soft smile as he steps around you into the bathroom, you hear the water running after just a moment so you take a seat right where he was, listening to water hitting the tile as you take another sip from your water bottle. 

You aren’t left alone for long, only a few minutes have passed before the water turns back off as you listen to the sounds of him shuffling around. You stand, not wanting to trip him as well.

When he steps out you find yourself in the same position as him, staring at the ceiling to avoid gawking. Just like you his top is tight. This is not the time or place to be drooling over the way the fabric stretches across his chest, or accentuates his slender waist. Without a word you both shuffle back into the other room, watching curiously as the red door clicks back into place with a loud thunk. 

“I hope the two of you are ready to get over your sudden silent treatment. I am quite fond of the way you speak to one another.” 

“What do you want?” Spencer pulls it together a lot better than you do, his voice comes out steady and controlled, even if his fingernails dig into his palm when he speaks. 

“There is that voice, what a wonderful question Dr. Reid, I have such an eventful scene planned.” You can’t help it as your hand drifts to his, intertwining your fingers with his as you try to appear calm. “I would love to give you both a detailed script but after yesterday I have to resist, you do such marvelous improv. I have a few things I would like to see, I do not care how you do them as long as they are done.”

You swallow loudly, you know it’s audible because he gives your hand a squeeze right after. 

“My angel, you did some impressive work yesterday but today I would like to reward Dr. Reid for his valiant efforts in making you shine. I will not ask for something as cruel as five orgasms of him, but I would like to see at least two. Because he did such a good job taking control of the situation yesterday I want to see more of that. I want her hands restrained, use your tie, I want you to do whatever you would like with her. I expect to see you in her mouth and in her pretty pussy.” You cringe, the way he talks about you makes you want to retch. “I found myself quite taken with the way you express yourself, Doctor. I would like more of that, I want to see what else your mouth is capable of. I want to hear dirty, nasty things, all for her. Take complete control Dr. Reid, take what you want from here, show me, show everyone, just how much you care about your dear friend and fellow agent. I expect all of my demands to be met, or you will be redoing the scene until you get it right. And I will not be so kind as to reward you with water and a bathroom if your performance is not up to my standards.” With a click he’s gone and you’re left with the aftermath of his demand.

“Hey, are you okay?” You find yourself seeking to comfort him now that it’s his turn in the hot seat. Untangling your fingers from his. 

“I’m fine.” He sure doesn’t sound fine. His posture has gone completely taut.

“If you don’t want to do this we’ll figure something out.” You lower your voice to a whisper, you know it likely isn’t making much of a difference but you can’t help but try and have an ounce of privacy. 

“There’s nothing to figure out, I spent half the night running through scenarios in my mind, there’s nothing. There’s no way out of this that doesn’t risk leaving you alone with him. And we’re absolutely not doing that.” He clears his throat. “I can do this.” He turns, his hair is damp, tucked neatly behind his ears. “I’m gonna have to… you know, do what he asked, will you be okay?” 

He’s going to fuck your mouth and your ‘pretty pussy.’ Are you okay with that? Is your heart pounding at the thought?

“I’m good, I promise, we’ve got this, this could be like, way worse. We could be getting tortured, instead we’re just doing… this.” You babble nervously. You know members of your team who have survived far worse at the hands of an unsub than this, you can do this. “We’re seeing some minor escalation but thankfully nothing too crazy, right? You made the right call yesterday, if we hadn’t done a good job we would have seen a much more aggressive escalation.”   

 “Yeah, the right call.” He’s mumbling, clearly lost in thought. 

“Hey.” You do your best to sound serious as he stares at you. You raise your hand like you’re taking an oath. “I promise that I’m okay with everything that is about to happen.” You smile like this is all just a funny inside joke, trying to ease whatever is gnawing at him. “I think I can handle a little dirty talk.”

“I just wish…” He starts a train of thought as he stares down at you, trying to muster a smile in return but he stops himself. 

“You wish?” 

“I wish we weren’t being put in this situation.” His shoulders remain tense, there’s no release of the pressure he’s holding in.

That’s not what he wants to say.

”Me too.” You put a hand on his arm, there’s no reason to push him right now, not with what’s about to happen. “Why don’t we go lay down?” You drag your hand down his arm to his hand, pulling him towards the makeshift bed. “I have an idea. Why don’t we agree to keep everything that happens during these ‘movies’ in a bubble, a bubble that we don’t touch when we’re outside of it.” 

“What you’re describing doesn’t sound healthy.”

”When we get out of here we can pop that bubble and deal with all of this then, but if we’re going to get through this now, we need to be a team. When we’re filming, we step into the bubble, and inside the bubble we do whatever it takes to survive. And when we’re done filming we don’t have to feel bad about it because we’re outside of the bubble and we can just be two agents working on the case.”

”Definietly not healthy.”

”Do you have a better idea?”

”No, but if you want to talk about what happens in the… bubble, I don’t want you to feel like you can’t just because we agreed to bottle it up.” He makes it sound a lot worse than it did in your head. 

“Okay, okay, it’s like diplomatic immunity, we don’t hold things that happen in the bubble against each other outside of the bubble.” You sit on the blanket, he mirrors you so you’re sitting face to face. 

”That’s an even worse idea, what if I hurt you?”

You laugh, maybe for the first time since you were put in this little concrete box, a real honest laugh.

”You aren’t going to hurt me, Reid. You’re like fifty pounds soaking wet.” Sure he’s tall but he’s still Dr. Reid, you’ve never seen him hurt a fly, actually he very specifically catches bugs and releases them outside when he comes across them. And he looks like a strong wind could blow him over. You’ve heard multiple people call him a pipe cleaner with eyes. 

“It’s not funny.” 

“Obviously, none of this is funny.” You gesture around the room when you speak. “But it’s happening, so if you don’t like my bubble idea then let's just scrap it and do this thing.” 

He’s nodding to himself, you can see him playing with his tie, picking at the fabric. 

”If you say stop I’ll stop.” He mumbles, you watch as he ties a knot, his fingers moving with practiced agility, as they untie it in the same motion. 

”I know Reid.”

”Spencer.”

”What?”

”I don’t like when you call me Reid, it feels… impersonal.” The knot he’s working on tightens. “We’ve been through enough together at this point, you can use my first name.” 

“Okay, Spencer, let’s stop stalling before one of us ends up with a bullet in our head. We put on another good show, he has limited escalation, so let’s do this.” You hold your wrists out like you would if you were about to be handcuffed. He’s just glaring at you expectantly. “Jesus, you’re so particular, and if I say stop you’ll stop.” You mimic his strict tone. It does seem to placate him as he takes your wrist in his hand. You watch with morbid fascination as his fingers trace the veins under your skin.

“I absolutely could hurt you if I wanted to.” He grumbles under his breath as you give him a harsh look.

”Enough joking around.” You scoff and his hand wraps around your wrist, his slender, long fingers easily encircling them as he twists your arm. His free hand darts to your shoulder and with a force you’ve never seen him use before he flips you over onto your stomach, catching your other wrist and pinning both behind your back. 

“I know you think you know everything, but I’d like to remind you that I have several years of experience in the field, as well as extensive training in how to use what strength I do have to the fullest extent.” As he speaks you squirm under him, uselessly, as he wraps the length of his tie around your wrist, one hand holding it in place as the other finds the nape of your neck, firmly holding you down. 

“Not funny, Reid.” You groan as he pushes you down until your face is buried in the pillow. 

“I agree, there is nothing funny about a little girl like you thinking that you can talk to me like that. You might have the knowledge and skillset to back up your arrogance but you don’t have the experience. In or out of the field.” You can’t see what he’s doing but you can feel the fabric tightening as his fingers wrap around them and pull, he’s somehow managed to restrain you with just the one hand. ”This is the first time you’ve ever had to be in a situation where an unsub has control over you and you’re not even acting like a federal agent, you’re acting like a spoiled brat.”

His words are clearly having an effect on you as you bite your lip to stifle a moan.

God you’re sick. 

“Can’t even hold your own against someone who’s ‘fifty pounds soaking wet’.” Pulling on your wrists he yanks you up so you’re kneeling, you pull on the bindings, testing them. No matter how you twist they hold tight. 

“You know you can be a real ass sometimes.” You groan, rolling your eyes as you turn your head back to shoot him a glare. 

“You know you drive me fucking crazy.” He leans against you, his breath is hot on your neck as he hisses, you can’t help but sit in stunned silence for a moment, you don’t think you’ve ever heard him curse before. “Do you know how exhausting this last year has been for me? Seeing how you handle yourself on every case? Watching you throw yourself into danger over and over again?”

”Well that’s not fair-”

”Since the day you started, they brought you in and told everyone you were a prodigy in your department, that you were going to be an invaluable asset to the team. And  sure, you were, until we put you in the field and you rushed into every situation. It didn’t matter if your life was at risk, you always had to be a hero. Do you know how hard it is for me to get any work done when I’m constantly worried about you throwing yourself into the line of fire to save someone else?” 

“You can’t seriously be using this as an opportunity to bring up work grievances with me.” You hiss back at him. “What is your problem, Reid?” His hand moves to the front of you, wrapping around your throat, he doesn’t squeeze but he holds it there, a silent reminder of the position you’re in.

”If you call me Reid one more time I’m going to fuck that stubborn little mouth of yours until you get it right. Until the only thing you can say is ‘Spencer.’ Until the only thing you can think about is my name.” He breathes the words out, so soft that for the first time you doubt the cameras even pick it up. If he’s playing it up for the unsub he’s doing an incredible job. 

And all you want to do right now is call him Reid. 

Both of his arms are wrapped around you now, his chest is flush with your back, one hand around your neck, the other drawing mindless shapes across your stomach, up and down towards your chest. 

At this point you don’t even care if he’s just putting on a show for the unsub, you stop yourself from whimpering, clenching your thighs together. You whine as he leans forward. With your hands locked behind your back you can feel him pressing against you, the crotch of his boxers up against your palms. Without thinking you lean back, cupping him, earning yourself a low groan.

”Jesus-“ He gasps out as you start to stroke him through his boxers. The hand around your throat tightens, just enough to remind you of its presence, his other hand floats downward, forcing your thighs apart, he doesn’t dip into your panties yet, instead he simply grazes his fingers across the length of your clothed cunt, when you whine he scoffs. Pulling his fingers back and holding them in front of your face. “Would you look at that?” You can practically hear the smug smirk on his face as you stare at the glistening tips of his fingers. “I have a theory.”

”Oh great.” You let your head fall back against his shoulder so you can see him, sure enough he’s got a shit eating grin plastered on his face. 

“I think that you want to be taught a lesson, I think that you’re acting like this because you want to be reprimanded.”

God, yes. 

“No.”      

“Maybe that’s what you’ve wanted all along, is that why you go against protocol all the time, barging into buildings before we have proper backup? Why you’re constantly disobeying direct orders? You want someone to put you in your place. It’s why you’re in this mess in the first place isn’t it? You were told to go with Emily but you insisted you would get more work done if you split up.” 

He’s like, too good at this, the words flow off of his tongue just like a practiced actor reciting a script. 

“You’re being a dick.” You snap your head back, trying to properly scowl at him but his hand grips your jaw, holding you firmly in place.

”See, even now, look at the situation you’re in. There is no reason for you to be mouthing off right now. We have a consensual agreement to fulfil the unsubs demands and an understanding that I’m going to be rough and talk to you like this. You’re restrained, and in a much worse position than I am, yet you still can’t help yourself.” 

He doesn’t raise his voice at all as he goes on and on, his tone and volume stay almost frighteningly even. As if to prove his point he lightly pushes you forward, without your hands to catch yourself you fall face first into a pillow with a soft thud and a groan. He flips you before you can pull yourself up, staring down at you with a mix of quiet simmering annoyance and something else. 

“The only time I’ve ever seen you not acting like this was when I had my fingers in you and my mouth on you, which confirms my theory.” You want to slap the tight lipped smirk off of his pretty face. You’ve always had such a friendly relationship with him, hearing him talk to you like this sends jolts of electricity through you. 

At this point you’re so caught off guard by his vulgar ranting you just stare at him dumbly, watching as his expression becomes more and more smug. 

Suddenly, you don’t care if this is all some twisted wish fulfillment for a bunch of perverts online from the mind of some sick voyeur. 

You are not going to let him have all the fun, you can play this game too. 

You twist your wrists behind your back, letting your chest arch up, your breasts straining against the fabric of the camisole. 

“Spence…” You let out a breathy moan and watch as he immediately loses his resolve, eyes wide, eyebrows arched, just for a moment before his stern expression returns.

”I would be very careful with whatever you decide to say next, sweetheart.” His hands settle on your thighs, gently pushing them apart. You feel like you’re playing chess with him, and you hate chess with Spencer. He always tells you how he’s going to win two minutes into every game. 

You’ve never beat him.

But this isn’t chess, and you can play dirty. 

You chew on your lip, frowning in the process. 

“Is that really how you feel?” You whisper, your voice cracking and you can tell by the way his face drops that you’ve got him right where you want him. “I thought we were friends, I- I didn’t know I was making your job harder. Does the whole team feel that way? I’m so sorry.” You manage a convincing lip tremble as you stutter your way through your apology, he doesn’t stop you as you pull yourself up and into a sitting position, facing him. 

“I-“ He starts, conflicting emotions crossing his face as you lean forward, batting your eyelashes at him.

“I wouldn’t be so bad if someone held a tighter leash.” You pull on your binds with an overemphasized whiney edge to your voice. “Please don’t be mad at me, you’re right, I need to be reprimanded.” The second he realizes you’re teasing him his brows furrow. “Will you help me, Reid?” 

The anger that flashes across his face almost makes you regret saying it.

Almost.

“You just can’t help yourself.” He clicks his tongue, and the look he gives you is one of fury but he couldn’t sound more pleased. He stands up, you don’t bother trying to as well, without your hands you know it would be useless. “Just remember that you asked for this.” His hands tangle in your hair as he gives you a warning tug, pulling you up from sitting to your knees. 

Asked for it, wanted it, needed it. 

He keeps one hand firmly in your hair, the other grabs your jaw, rougher than he’s been so far. The pad of his thumb brushes over your bottom lip.

“Open.” Your initial instinct is to snark back at him but his tone is so deathly calm a part of you automatically responds to the authority. You dart your tongue out, wetting your lips before you open your mouth. The corners of his own lips twitch.

He slides his thumb past your teeth, resting on your tongue, he doesn’t push deep enough to gag you but it certainly isn’t comfortable. 

And then you wait. 

His eyes never leave yours and he doesn’t move, he just stares at you, expectantly. 

Son of a bitch. 

He’s not gonna do anything until you give him what he wants so with a roll of your eyes you close your lips around the digit. Gingerly, you run your tongue along the length, you dare a glance up at him and he gives you a nod, grinning like a cat that finally caught the mouse. 

“Isn’t it so much easier to just follow directions?”

Oh, you could kill him.

Or fuck him, you’d take either option gladly. 

You open your mouth, ready to spit an obscenity at him but his thumb presses down on your tongue and all you can do is groan. 

“Still not enough to keep you quiet?” He raises an eyebrow and removes his thumb, his hand moves to the front of his boxers and you watch with bated breath as those long, delicate fingers trace the outline of the sizeable bulge that you’re now hyper aware of. “Is this what you need? Is this what it’ll take to make you behave?” 

Before you can think of a snarky response, before you can headbutt him in the crotch, and before you can give him the meanest glare you can muster, you lose control of yourself and your stupid body reacts faster than your brain, and you nod.

And his eyes just light up.

You’re never gonna live this down.

With your hands bound the way there are there’s no way for you to touch him, or even steady yourself. Your only anchor is his hand in your hair. It crosses your mind that he really could hurt you right now, there’s nothing you could do to stop it and you doubt the unsub would even want him to stop. He can do whatever he wants to you. 

Why does that make this even hotter? What is wrong with you? 

He never takes his eyes off of you, you can’t remember the last time he looked away, it’s an almost frightening look of concentration on his face as he tilts his head, examining you. You should be afraid. But you aren’t, because even now, in this situation, you know he wouldn’t ever really hurt you. 

And when he’s done with your mouth he’s going to take one look at your cunt and see just how much you love this. 

Behind the bravado, dominance, and faux anger in his expression, behind the show you’re putting on, you can still see that a tiny part of him is searching your face for a sign that you’re really okay with this. 

So you give him one. 

Leaning forward, you press your mouth against the outline of his cock. Peppering a trail of kisses along his length, trying to ignore the fact that the more you feel out this size of him, the less confident you are in your ability to fit him in your mouth. 

His eyes are definitely still on you when you look up at him through your eyelashes, except now you’re rewarded with the dumb look on his face as his mouth falls open. 

You’re caught off guard when he suddenly pulls you away, crouching down, you squeak as he pulls you into a kiss, nipping at you from your mouth to your chin, to your cheek, until you feel a light bite at your earlobe. He nuzzles his face into your hair and you swear you can hear him inhaling sharply  through his nose but your focus shifts when his lips return to your ear. 

“I don’t care what the reason is, if you want me to stop at any point you shake your head no and we will deal with the consequences. Nod if you understand.” He returns to standing leaving you breathless as you nod, probably a little too eagerly.

And without missing a beat he hooks a finger into the waist line of his boxers, tugging them down, effectively freeing himself. 

Oh he’s got a perfect dick.

You’re gonna need so much therapy after this. 

You feel like the last half an hour has just been you and Spencer gawking slackjawed at each other and it’s once again your turn. 

He’s got the kind of dick you see in a porn and think, ‘only pornstars have dicks like that, not regular guys.’ 

Although, Spencer Reid is the furthest thing from a regular guy but that’s besides the point. You’re face to face with the biggest dick you’ve ever seen in person. Pretty and pale with a prominent vein on the underside, you’re shamelessly ogling him at this point, staring at the pink tip as he takes himself in his hand. His free hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushes against your lips once more and this time you don’t need to be told what to do.

You open your mouth and eagerly lean forward as he slides into your mouth. 

You do your best to accommodate his size, flattening your tongue as you watch his head fall back with an obscene groan. 

All you want to hear is make him make that sound. 

You try to move your head forward but it’s awkward without being able to use your hands to balance yourself. You end up taking too much of him at once and you gag, his moan is pornagraphic but he’s quick to pull away as you cough.

“Are you okay?” He whispers, you know he’s trying to speak softly enough to not be heard but you doubt it works. You nod, catching your breath for a moment.

”I think I’m gonna need a little help.” You accentuate your point by pulling on the tie, wiggling your arms. There’s a moment of silence before he nods, once again he takes his cock in his hand, but this time once he’s past your lips you feel both of his hands tangle into your hair. He guides you slowly down his length and you take the opportunity to run your tongue across the vein you’d been eying. With a hiss he pulls you back, until all you’ve got is his tip. 

He’s overly cautious, and surprisingly gently as he pushes your head further down, he makes sure to never push you more than halfway down his length, never gagging you. It’s almost a little boring as he moves your head up and down. He lets out a few small sounds as he gingerly moves your head. You both freeze in place when you hear a click and a crackle from above.

”I thought I made myself clear, you perform or there are dire consequences. Neither one of you looks like you are enjoying yourselves. I told you to take control, I told you to take what you want. Not what makes her comfortable. It is obvious to me that you are exercising a severe amount of restraint Dr. Reid and we both know that is not what I want to see. Now do it right, show me you can make her shine, or I will find someone else who will.” He’s practically snarling into the microphone by the end of his rant, you both cringe in unison at the sound of the click followed by silence. 

When you turn to look at him his eyebrows are practically squeezed together he looks so concerned. 

“Look, Spencer, I’m fine with you doing whatever you have to do. If survival is our goal here-“ As you speak he shoves two fingers into your mouth, effectively silencing you.

”You’re done talking. The next time you speak it’ll be because I asked you to.” You hardly have a second to process what’s happening before he’s squeezing your jaw, forcing your mouth open as he slides his cock back in. His hands find your hair again but instead of moving your head he thrusts himself forward. Your throat tightens, and you gag immediately but this time he pulls back only to rock himself forward again. You let out a garbled whine as he finds a steady pace, he thankfully doesn’t gag you again, careful to go as deep as he can without choking you. 

You can do nothing but watch him as he fucks your mouth, his grip in your hair tightening as he holds you in place. His own hair falling in messy tangles across his face. 

“Look at you, finally quiet.” He groans, snapping his neck back to throw some of his hair out of his eyes as he grins down at you, groaning. 

The effect he has on you is just embarrassing at this point. You’re so turned on you’re about to straddle his foot and grind down against his socks. As you’re considering it he pulls himself out completely, a line of spit hangs from your lips to his cock. He wipes it off your lip with his thumb and taps against your cheek with his tip. 

“I bet you’ll look even better taking the whole thing.” When he pushes himself back against your lips you try to pull back, opening your mouth to protest but he just takes it as an opportunity to shove himself into your mouth as you gasp. “I didn’t give you permission to talk yet sweetheart.” You whine around him as he slides his hips forward another inch. “I know you can do it, just breathe.” He lowers his voice as he pulls your hair, hard. You let out a whimper, and he uses his free hand to brush any hair in your face behind your ears. 

You do your best to relax your throat as you feel him pushing further, you gag when he hits your throat but he doesn’t give so much as an inch of relief as he shushes you in between his groans. 

“Almost, just a little bit more, you need to relax.” 

Easy for him to say he doesn’t have a fucking baseball bat in his throat.

One hand grips your hair so tightly you feel tears prickling the corners of your eyes while the other cradles your face, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into your cheek. You swallow around him, taking shallow breaths in through your nose as he eases himself in the last inch and your nose hits that little patch of curls at the base of his cock. You gag around him but you’re expecting it so you manage to breathe through it enough that you don’t puke. 

The look on his face makes it worth it. 

Intoxicated.

Sharp little breathes as he fights back a moan, eyes dark and watching with so much intensity you feel like you’re under a microscope. His hair is in disarray and he doesn’t bother fixing it this time. 

“So good, s-such a good job.” He mumbles as his hips twitch involuntarily forward before pulling back a tiny bit. His thrusts are shallow but he stays in your throat. The tears that were forming flow freely now, he wipes a few of them away but they just keep coming. You take a shuddering breath in through your nose, drool dribbling down your chin as you squeeze your eyes shut.

As much as you want to watch his reactions it takes all of your focus to not retch as he fucks your throat. You know you won’t have to last too long because his thrusts become erratic after just a few more seconds and his soft moans turn to out of breath whines. You nose hits his pelvis once more and with a twitch of his hips you feel his cum hit the back of your throat.

You can’t help but steal a few glances, opening your eyes just in time to watch his head fall back, his face and neck flush red. With his cock still stuffed in your mouth you have no choice but to swallow as he comes down from his orgasm. 

Not that you mind all that much. 

When your throat constricts around him he seems to snap back to reality as he quickly withdraws. In one smooth motion he sinks to his knees to come face to face with you. Both hands cup your face and you know you must be a sight. Tears and drool slick on your face, the look of admiration on his face tells you he must not mind that much though. 

“Let me see.” He murmurs, tapping your chin with two fingers. You’re still catching your breath but you open your mouth and stick your tongue out, showing him the wet mess of semen and spit. “Such a good job, look how well you’re behaving now.” You’re caught off guard when he leans forward, his tongue sliding across yours, tasting the mix of the two of you. His hands find your shoulders and he lays you back against a few pillows. “You looked so pretty choking on my cock.” 

Even after everything you’re still surprised to hear him talk like that, it makes your head spin. When you don’t respond he slides his hands down your body until he reaches your panties, he wastes no time pulling them down your legs and tossing them behind him. You start to squeeze your thighs together but you aren’t fast enough, or quick enough to stop him from spreading your legs. 

His eyes practically sparkle. 

Ravaging you with just his stare, eyes consuming, memorizing, every detail between your legs. 

“Look at that.” God, he sounds so pleased with himself. 

He should be, you’re dripping and he hasn’t even touched you there.

”Isn’t that answer enough?” You sneer at him, bucking your hips. The smile he gives you is so genuine you can’t stand it. 

“There you go with that mouth again, can you only behave when you’re stuffed with cock? Do I need to keep you like that permanently? Want me to leave you like that until we’re found? Do you want the rest of the team to barge in here on a rescue mission only to find you drooling on my cock?” His fingers swipe through the wetness between your legs, the squelching sound makes your cheeks burn more than they already are. Your back arches as he sinks two into you, your cunt pulses around him immediately as you start to let out a pornagraphic groan. 

”Shut up.” You try to sit up but a small push from him sends you back into the pillows. He gives you a disapproving shake of his head. 

“I really thought we were making some progress, I guess you still haven’t learned your lesson.” He removes his fingers, rather abruptly, leaving you to whine at the absence. “I was going to be so nice to you too,” You’re getting used to being manhandled at this point, although this time you find yourself in a state of confusion as he sits beside you, lifting you by your hips and placing you in his lap. “I was going to work you open with my fingers to make this easier for you but I guess you don’t want that.” While he speaks you can feel him already hardening again against the swell of your ass. 

“Spencer…” Your tone is that of warning, like you might scold him. 

“Maybe you need another reminder of who’s in charge.” He bucks his hips, forcing you up and onto your knees as you straddle him, he’s quick and precise as he lines himself up at your entrance. Your eyes go wide as you realize what’s about to happen. The tip of his cock slides through your slick, when he bumps against your clit you nearly fall over. With a smirk he lines himself up with your hole, staring at you expectantly. When he tilts his hips and pushes himself into you, you both melt into a chorus of moans. The stretch burns so sweetly, your brain can’t seem to figure out if you want more or less. 

“Spencer, wait- please.” You start to object but he’s already shaking his head. 

“No, sweetheart. I think this is a lesson you need to learn the hard way.” He says it so gently but the glint in his eye tells you he likes this a little too much. 

Almost as much as you do.

”You’ve done so good so far, I know you can do this.” He coos, his hands wander up and down your body from your thighs to just below your chest, you sit up on your knees, impaled on his cock with your thighs already trembling. “I want you to show me how good you can be.” His voice turns to a murmur as he slides a hand under your top. You’re too focused on his monster cock trying to squeeze its way into you to pay attention to the way his hand starts exploring your chest. Slender fingers, cupping your breasts and drawing gentle circles around your nipples. You shift your body down, your thighs tense as you try to slowly lower yourself but you only make it about halfway down his shaft before you can’t take anymore, when you start to lift yourself off of him in an attempt to relieve the stretching feeling he catches your hips, locking you in place. 

“Please-” You start to whine as he holds steady, you squirm to no avail as he shakes his head. 

“You’re not getting up until you show me you can take the whole thing.” You know he means it, there’s no persuading him when you’ve come this far. And he must know a part of you enjoys this, if you didn’t you would outright tell him to stop, you’d shake your head no and he would stop. 

Probably. 

”Spencer…” You whisper his name like you’re begging but you don’t even know what you want, it’s too hard to focus on anything when the burn between your legs fizzles into a warm pleasure with every passing second. 

“What do you want, sweetheart?” His hair sticks to his forehead, a sheen of sweat coating his body, you likely match. His fingers alternate from tapping your waist frantically and squeezing the flesh of your hips. 

What do you want? 

What you want is to be at home in your own bed, in the exact same situation, with no cameras and no nightmare director watching your every move, and making demands. You want this to be real. 

You want him to buck his hips up and make you take it.

You want to know what he thinks about all of this.

You want him to force you down to the hilt, to make you take all of him.

You want to know if he feels the same guilt that you do for wanting more, and more, and more of this.

You want a copy of this recording before Garcia scrubs it from the internet so you can relive it if Spencer refuses to even look at you after this. 

”I want you.” That’s all you’ve wanted, for so long.

There’s too much sensation. Everything hurts and feels so fucking good and staring down at him doesn’t help. You’re a profiler, and a goddamn good one at that, but staring at his face you don’t get anything. You can’t decipher his body language in any meaningful way, not when your focus is all over the place.                                     

“Show me.” He sounds as fucked as you feel. “Show me how badly you want this.” He pulls his hands back so he isn’t touching you at all, holding them up almost as if he were showing you he isn’t a threat. You could easily sit up and pull yourself off of him but you’re too engrossed with the way his eyelashes flutter as he stares down to the point where the two of you meet. 

You start slow, inching yourself further down him but it hurts too much and you worry you’ll lose your resolve. Instead you look him in the eyes. Watching his tongue poke out of his mouth before he chews his bottom lip. An action you’ve seen hundreds of times at the office, now everytime you see it you’ll think of this. 

“Can you help me stay upright?” You whisper, his hands are hesitant and practically trembling when he returns to your hips. Not the same confidant movements he was displaying before. Once you’re sure he’s got you, you take a deep breath and let your knees give out. Slamming yourself down fully onto his cock. 

You’re pretty sure you scream, it’s hard to concentrate on anything other than the pressure against your cervix. When you manage to open your eyes you’re rewarded with such a treat. He’s as gone as you are, his hands flexing, digging into your skin as he bites his own lip so hard you’re worried he’ll bleed. His moans are muffled as he tries desperately to keep his mouth shut but what does slip through is delicious. 

You feel a sense of pride. 

You’re still catching your breath when he shifts himself up and on to his elbows. 

“You want me?” He sounds as needy as you feel right now. 

And all you can do is nod. 

When he lifts your hips and pulls out you whimper, the sensation of relief doesn’t make up for the lack of him. 

He’s gentle as he guides you rather than forces you this time down into a pillow. You’ve got your ass in the air and your face turned to the side so you can still see him in your peripheral vision. 

You’re expecting him to slam into you, to immediately find a punishing pace. You’re surprised when his body wraps around yours and he kisses the back of your neck, moving down your spine until he hits your lower back and sits up. 

He wordlessly lines himself back up at your entrance, and you keen when he pushes himself in, inch by inch until he’s fully sheathed within you once more. Your groan is long and drawn out as you readjust to his size. In this position he somehow feels even bigger, like he’s in your fucking stomach. 

“Jesus-” Your breath catches in your throat when he grabs you by your shoulders, pulling you back against him, somehow managing to push himself deeper. Making you feel every single inch.

“That’s not the name I want to hear.” With a snap of his hips he pulls out about halfway before thrusting fully back into you. 

“Spencer!” You’re so full, too full. 

“There it is.” He mumbles under his breath before he starts rocking his hips back and forth, experimentally shifting from quick shallow thrusts to slow long ones. Both make you bury your head in the pillow to stifle your moans. His hands stay locked on your shoulders, yanking you back against him with each thrust, pulling you closer to him. He eventually settles himself into shallow thrusts, pulling out halfway before snapping forwards, grinding himself against you, making you feel every inch. 

Slow and steady, he folds himself over you. Resting his forehead on your back as you lay there and take everything he gives you. With every thrust he brushes along that sweet spot that makes you see stars before slamming against your cervix. 

And then he fucking whimpers your name. 

Out of breath and desperate.

“Say it again, say my name.” He kisses you between your shoulder blades before latching onto your pulled back shoulder, sucking and nipping at the skin. “Please.”

And who are you to deny him when he’s asking so nicely?

With every snap of his hips you groan out the only thing you can think, over and over and over again.

“Spencer, Spence- Spencer, please.” You’re not sure when it started but you’re suddenly extremely aware of the knot forming in your core as your thighs tremble. With each jolt of his hips you’re pushed closer and closer to that edge, until all you can think about is him. His hands on your shoulders, on your hips, wrapping around you to paw at your chest, like he can’t decide on one so he has to alternate through them. His breath, hot on your back where he leaves kisses in between his moans. His cock, pulling out just enough to push your buttons so perfectly he must be doing it on purpose. 

Closer, and closer, and closer. 

Until you feel yourself nearing the point of no return, and in an instant all the sensation is gone. You don’t bother with your dignity because at this point it’s nonexistent, instead you whine and push your hips back. 

His hands are back on you, forcing you onto your back, your hands trapped under you as he flips you. His forehead is slick with sweat and you can see the sweet shade of pink flushing his neck and face, devastatingly pretty. 

“Spen-” You start to plead with him but he’s already on it, cock in hand as he eases himself back into the wet mess between your legs, in this position you can see the slick coating your thighs, you don’t get much time to watch his cock disappear into you because he’s on you like a predator on prey. His lips are all consuming on yours. He’s absolutely devouring you, biting at your bottom lip, darting his tongue into your mouth, you can’t resist the opportunity to suck his tongue. 

 God, you’re a goner. 

He finds the same pace, shallow thrusts, your body jerking with each one. Fucking into you with a brutal consistency, every thrust leaves you wanting more. It almost feels like he can read your mind when one of his hands drifts between your legs, his pointer and middle finger find your clit so fast you’d think he had a map to get there, rubbing circles in time with each snap of his hips. 

“Spencer…” At this point you’re running out of other words to say, he clearly meant it when he said all you’d be able to think about was his name, that’s certainly the case now as he coaxes your body towards an orgasm with surgical precision.  

“Do you understand why I have to do this, sweetheart?” He separates his lips from yours, nose to nose as he mumbles, when you get a good look at his face you know he’s just as fucked as you are. But his fingers have stopped their movements and all you can concentrate on is how badly you need them to start again.

You nod furiously, you’d say anything if it would make him start touching you again.

“T-to teach me a lesson, to make me behave.” It takes you a second but you manage to get through your sentence before he laughs, burying his face in your neck

“You’re a profiler, you can do better than that.” 

Does he want you to state the obvious?

“Because you don’t want him to be mad?” You know you sound unsure but you don’t care, all you can think about is his fingers dipping back between your legs. You try to rock yourself against him for any stimulation at all but his fingers squeeze your hips so tight you know you’ll have bruises there. 

“You’re so sweet.” His teeth graze your jaw, dragging down the side of your neck before he bites down, pulling a whine out of you. “So, so, so sweet. You think I care what he thinks?” He kisses the spot before he sits up, one hand on your hip and the other rubbing the mark he left. “Yours is the only opinion that matters to me.” 

He grinds himself against you, as if you’re not already full of him. 

“He said he’ll find someone else.” He’s all mumbles now. “But there’s no one else, just me, right sweetheart?” Sweet, breathy mumbles. 

“You’re not- oh my god, making any sense.” Nothing makes sense right now, not when he’s starting to thrust into you again, thrusts so shallow he’s practically just grinding his hips against yours. Like he’s trying to force himself as deep as he can, bruising you even where no one can see.

”I hate that he’s right about you.” He catches your lips in his as you start to open your mouth again, his fingers brush up against your thigh as you groan into him. He pulls away just long enough to mumble, like he’s overflowing with the words and has to get them out. “I’ve seen everything he describes, I thought it all before he ever put it into words.” His nose bumps against yours as he rambles, thrusts becoming erratic as he finally puts his focus back on your clit. “The way you shine, and sparkle, and light up a room.” 

“Spencer, I don’t-” You don’t know when you started crying again but you sure are now. Overstimulation, confusion, pleasure, you aren’t sure what brought it on. 

“I’m gonna make you light up, you- you don’t need anyone else.” His eyes are shut tight, his eyebrow twitching as he focuses. His ramblings don’t make any sense as he babbles on and on, lost in his concentration. 

“Spencer…” You softly hiss out his name as your stomach twists, he pushes hard on your clit as he continues his merciless patterns. 

It feels like you’re being electrocuted in the most addicting way possible, you twitch around him, you push your head back into the pillow supporting you as your back arches off the ground. The wave finally crashes over you as you come, hard. You clamp around him like a vice and he’s quick to follow. You aren’t fully aware of the immediate aftermath but you know he’s groaning something akin to your name as he collapses on top of you. 

You lay in a sweaty, panting heap for what feels like hours before he sits up. Both of you groan softly when he slips out of you. His touch on you is so light and cautious you’d think you were made of glass. His nimble fingers easily release the tie from around your wrists, you wince in pain as the blood rushes back to your hands. When you bring them in front of you, rubbing them gingerly you can see the raw red marks as well as the dark purple splotches starting to bloom around your wrists like sadistic bracelets. 

“I’m so sorry.” He murmurs, taking your wrist in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the mark. “I got carried away, I- I shouldn’t have.” You put your fingers over his mouth. 

“No apologies.” You lower your hand. “Neither one of us should be apologizing for anything that happens here, we’re alive and together because of you.” You’re about to continue but the buzz of the intercom snaps you both to attention. 

There’s only a moment of static before you hear a sniffling sound, it makes you stare at Spencer, both of you with eyebrows cocked in confusion. 

“Are you crying?” You can’t help yourself as you blurt it out, the absurdity of the situation still finds ways to shock you. 

“It was just such a beautiful performance.” He coughs, clearing his throat. “Thank you Dr. Reid, that was just what I was looking for.” You’re both surprised when the speaker clicks again and you’re left alone. The room dims back down to a single bulb, plunging you both into darkness. When the lock on the red door clicks again he stands, you avert your eyes as he straightens his boxers out to cover himself back up. You only look up when he tosses your panties to you. Neither one of you seems inclined to speak but he does help you to your feet, supporting you as you limp to the bathroom. Once he props you up in the shower he steps out, you know he’s right outside, waiting. 

You run the water, taking your second shower of the day. You rinse the sweat from your skin, carefully running your hand between your legs, hissing when you touch yourself there. 

You’re definitely going to be sore for a while. 

You finish up, toweling off and putting your top and panties back on but not before stealing a glance at yourself in the mirror. 

Yikes. 

No wonder Spencer’s so quiet. Your wrists are a sight but that’s nothing compared to the rest of you. When your cami hikes up you can see a myriad of bruises, up and down your waist and hips. Purple blooming all over your form, further down your thighs are a similar sight. He really did a number on you. You do your best to adjust your top so they cover everything on your torso as well as some of your upper thighs. He’s standing right beside the doorway when you step out. 

“Your turn.” You give him the best smile you can muster as he slips past you but you know it doesn’t convince him you’re okay. 

Are you okay?

Sort of. 

You’re sore, a little bruised, and tender between your legs, sure. You’re confused, by everything Spencer says to you, in and out of the scenes you’re performing. But overall, surprisingly fine. And you can thank Spencer for that. 

If you’d been stuck here with Hotch, or Morgan, or heaven forbid a stranger, you’d likely find yourself in much worse condition. Hotch and his overly seriousness. Everything is so serious and life or death with him, and then of course there’s the guilt he would feel, never ending guilt. And Morgan’s been like a big brother to you since the day you met him, even imagining intimacy with him makes your skin crawl. A part of you can’t help but be glad it’s Spencer, even if this has complicated your already complex relationship. 

You’re okay, mostly. 

You’ll be better when you aren’t being forced to follow the whims of some obsessed sexual psychopath, but you’re okay. 

You just have to hope he’s okay too. 

When he finally steps out of the bathroom he’s mopey. 

That’s the only word you can think of to describe him.

He isn’t exhibiting signs of anger, or depression. He isn’t twitching like he does when he’s anxious, he doesn’t even seem to be guilt ridden, he just seems… bothered. You give him space, after what the two of you just did it’s entirely justifiable, natural even, to need space. You bury yourself in the blankets, staring at the ceiling for forever. 

Until he joins you, bringing you a water bottle that you happily accept. 

It’s hard to remember you’re thirsty when you’re dealing with a million other far more pressing matters. He lays down beside you, rolling over to stare at you, eventually you mirror him. So you’re both on your sides, face to face.

You don’t need to be a profiler to know something is eating him up inside. You’re about to ask, you’ll force it out of him if you have to. He beats you to it. Wetting his lips with his tongue and chewing the inside of his cheek before he speaks. 

“You’re… a really great actress.” He whispers into the darkness. You can see the crest fallen look on his face the second the words leave his mouth.

That’s it?

That’s what he took away from all of this? That’s why he’s sulking? That’s why he got all quiet and sullen and pouty before you had sex? Your eye twitches, you should just roll over and go to sleep instead your mouth opens before you can stop it. 

“You’re so stupid.” You can’t help yourself as you roll your eyes. 

“Excuse me?” He sounds genuinely offended but you just scoff.

“You heard me. For someone who’s so smart you really are an idiot.” You scowl at him. Is that the best he can do? Some self loathing about how you might have been acting? You’ve been carrying the guilt of having feelings for him, and enjoying parts of this and that’s the best he can do? “Genius Doctor Reid, you’re supposed to be the brightest mind in the whole bureau and you can’t even figure this out.” Staring at the dumbfounded look on his face all you can think about is how despite this all he’s still your Spencer, no matter how much he’s put through. 

He is still the guy who makes you coffee for every plane ride, the guy who has an extra shirt if you forgot to put your pajamas in your go bag, the guy who looks confused and asks Morgan what’s so funny when they tease you about your crush. 

Tell him.

Who cares, after everything you’ve been through in the last forty eight hours? The damage to your relationship is done, you lose nothing if this goes wrong. 

“You’re being unnecessarily cruel.” He looks so genuinely upset. You inch yourself closer to him. Until your noses are almost touching, your hand wanders across his face, tucking a stray curl behind his ear. 

“Everything that’s happened to us is unnecessarily cruel.” You mumble before closing the distance between the two of you, crashing your lips into his.

The annual start-of-summer lake day was apparently sacred in Hawkins. You discovered this at exactly eight-thirteen in the morning when a bikini top smacked you directly in the face. You jolted awake with a startled noise, immediately sitting upright as Violet stood in your doorway looking entirely too awake for a college student on summer break.

"Rise and shine."

You squinted at her through messy hair. "What time is it?"

"Lake day time."

"That's not a real time."

"It is in this house."

You groaned and flopped backward into the mattress. Unfortunately for you, Violet Munson had never been known for mercy. An hour later, you were sitting cross-legged on a kitchen stool nursing a cup of coffee while Violet packed enough snacks to survive a small apocalypse.

The house was quiet in Eddie's absence. He'd left for work before either of you woke up, disappearing sometime around six in the morning after leaving a note on the counter reminding Violet, "be there around four. please try not to drown anybody."

You'd stared at that note for far longer than necessary. Not because his handwriting was attractive, that would be ridiculous.

The front door opened dramatically, snapping you out of your lovestruck focus on Eddie’s chicken scratch. A blonde girl walked inside without knocking, sunglasses pushed up into her hair, and a set of car keys dangling from one finger.

"Please tell me somebody made coffee."

"Kitchen," Violet called.

The girl immediately rounded the corner before stopping when she saw you. For a second, she simply stared, then she looked at Violet. Then back at you.

"Huh."

"What?" Violet asked.

The girl pointed. "This is the roommate?"

"Yep."

"Huh."

"What does that mean?"

The girl shrugged. "Nothing. Just expected someone different."

She extended a hand toward you. "Harper Harrington."

You shook it. "The Harrington?"

She sighed dramatically. "Unfortunately."

The rest of the group filtered in over the next half hour, the same way Harper had; no knocking, no warning, just casually wandering into the Munson house like they owned part of it. By the time everyone finally piled into their respective cars, you'd met enough people to completely lose track of who belonged to who. 

Apparently, that was another Hawkins thing. Everybody's parents knew everybody else's parents, everyone had grown up together, and somehow half the town seemed related through friendship if not blood. It was oddly comforting in a way you weren't used to, a kind of community that only seemed possible in places where people stayed.

The lake itself ended up being far prettier than you'd expected. Hawkins might've been small, but the water stretched wide beneath the summer sun, sparkling between the trees while boats drifted lazily across the surface. 

The group immediately claimed a familiar patch of shoreline, unloading coolers and folding chairs with the efficiency of people who'd been doing this every summer since birth.

Before you'd even finished laying your towel out, somebody had already started music, somebody else had started a volleyball game, and Harper was loudly accusing one of the others of cheating at something.

Hours slipped by surprisingly fast after that. You swam, floated on your back in the lake, got dragged into a game of beach volleyball despite repeatedly insisting you sucked at sports, and somehow ended up sharing a giant bag of chips with Harper while she filled you in on years of Hawkins gossip. 

By mid-afternoon, your skin was warm from the sun, your hair was damp from swimming, and for the first time since arriving in Indiana, you weren't really thinking about anything at all. Well, almost anything.

"Your eyes keep going to the parking lot."

You looked over at Harper. "What?"

She smirked. "Nothing."

Immediately suspicious, you narrowed your eyes. "Harper."

Before she could answer, a familiar roar of an engine echoed through the trees. And suddenly, half the group perked up. "Oh, they're here."

You turned instinctively toward the parking area, a big mistake. Huge mistake, actually. Because there, climbing out of the old van with a cooler balanced against one hip, was Eddie.

For a second, your brain didn't quite process what it was seeing. Then it did, and unfortunately, that made things significantly worse. Gone was the grease-stained work shirt you'd seen him leave in every morning. 

Instead, he'd changed into a pair of faded black swim trunks hanging low on his hips and absolutely nothing else. His curls had been pulled back into a messy bun at the nape of his neck, exposing the tattoos crawling across his shoulders and chest, and the late afternoon sunlight caught against every silver ring still decorating his fingers.

Sweet fucking Jesus. You suddenly understood every poor decision women had ever made throughout history.

"Wow." The word escaped before you could stop it.

Harper followed your line of sight, then she looked at you, then back at Eddie. Then at you again. "Oh."

Your stomach dropped. "Oh no."

"Oh," Harper repeated, sounding somewhere between inquiry and suspicion.

Across the beach, Steve appeared from the passenger side, carrying enough bags to feed a football team. Beside him was a woman with dark hair and oversized sunglasses, effortlessly beautiful in the way that made you immediately understand why Steve Harrington had spent years getting himself into trouble. 

"That's my mom," Harper informed you.

"She's gorgeous."

"I know. It's annoying."

Steve immediately spotted the group and lifted a hand. "Alright, move. Important people are here."

"Nobody asked you to come!" one of the kids yelled back.

Steve looked genuinely offended. "That's a terrible thing to say to the guy carrying burgers."

The entire group immediately changed sides.

"Welcome, Steve."

"Great to see you, Steve."

"We love you, Steve."

His wife snorted. "You people are shameless."

Meanwhile, you were doing your absolute best not to stare at Eddie. Unfortunately, Eddie wasn't making that particularly easy.

He'd abandoned the cooler near the picnic tables and was helping Steve unload supplies, muscles flexing every time he lifted something. The man wasn't even showing off. He looked completely unaware of the fact that he was walking around looking like every romance novel cover come to life.

Or maybe he was aware, because halfway through carrying a folding table, he glanced up. And immediately caught you staring. Fuck.

His eyebrows lifted, and the corner of his mouth twitched. Then, the bastard winked. You nearly swallowed your own tongue.

You snapped your head back to the lake, Harper immediately tilting her head. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you replied on impulse. She hummed in response, but it didn’t quite sound convinced. 

Before you could formulate a solid response to her lack of one, Eddie finally started walking toward the group. The closer he got, the worse the situation became. 

Up close, you could see the faint tan lines across his shoulders, the tattoos wrapping around his arms, the way a few escaped curls had fallen loose around his face despite the bun. It should've been illegal for a forty-year-old father to look like that.

Thirty-nine. Not that you knew that, or thought about it. Or remembered constantly.

"Hey, sweetheart." His voice alone was enough to make your stomach flip.

You looked up and immediately regretted it. Because now he was standing directly in front of you, still shirtless, still damp from whatever shower he'd apparently taken after work, and still looking entirely too pleased with himself.

"Hey."

Eddie's eyes drifted over you slowly, taking in your swimsuit, your sun-kissed skin, and your damp hair. The look lingered just long enough to make heat crawl up your neck before he finally grinned.

"Looks like you're surviving Hawkins."

"Barely."

"Mhm."

Eventually, Steve decided he'd had enough of everyone picking at chips and snacks.

"Alright, listen up!" he shouted from beside the grills. "Food's done, and if you little gremlins don't come eat now, I'm not reheating anything later."

A chorus of complaints immediately followed.

"We're literally walking over!"

"Relax, dad!"

"You're not my dad!"

Steve pointed a spatula threateningly. "I could've been."

His wife rolled her eyes from where she was arranging burger toppings. "Ignore him. Everybody grab a plate."

The entire group migrated toward the picnic tables in a noisy mass of towels, sunscreen, half-finished conversations, and dripping lake water. Harper immediately stole a burger before Steve could finish serving everyone, earning a dramatic gasp from her father that she completely ignored.

You found yourself settling onto the end of one of the benches while everyone else naturally fell into conversations that had clearly been going on for years.

Maya and the twins were arguing about something that happened last summer. Harper was making fun of a guy she'd apparently gone to school with. Logan was telling some story that required absolutely zero context for everybody except you.

You smiled when appropriate and laughed when everyone else laughed. But after a while, you started feeling it, that subtle little distance.

Nobody was being unkind. Quite the opposite, actually. Everyone had gone out of their way to include you throughout the day. But there was still a difference between being welcomed into a group and having years of inside jokes and memories with them.

You were still catching up. Still learning names, stories, histories...still the new person.

For a moment, your thoughts drifted back home. To being the odd one out at family dinners. To sitting quietly while everyone else talked around you. To feeling like there wasn't really a place carved out for you anywhere, so you picked at your food.

The feeling only lasted a minute, maybe less. Because suddenly a shadow fell across the table, then Eddie slid onto the bench beside you.

"Hey."

You glanced over. "Hey."

He balanced a paper plate on one knee and took a bite of his burger before speaking again.

"You look like you're plotting something."

You snorted. "I promise I'm not."

"Mhm."

"What?"

Eddie tilted his head slightly. "You got quiet."

"I'm okay."

"I know."

His voice was soft enough that nobody else would've heard it over the surrounding conversations.

Then he nodded toward the group, "They can be a lot."

You laughed quietly. "That's one way to put it."

"Trust me, sweetheart. I've known most of these idiots since before they could drive."

"Feels like everybody here has known each other forever."

"Pretty much."

Eddie picked at the label on his beer bottle. "Harper was born when Vi was little. Maya's parents live three streets over. Logan practically grew up at my garage. Steve's wife still makes fun of me for a haircut I got in nineteen ninety-three."

You laughed. "What was wrong with the haircut?"

"Oh, it was terrible."

"Really?"

"It was magnificent."

"Those are two different answers."

"Both can be true." His shoulder bumped yours lightly, and you couldn't help smiling.

The conversations around you continued, but somehow they felt less overwhelming now. Maybe because Eddie wasn't trying to force you into them. He wasn't doing the awkward introduction thing or drawing attention to the fact that you were newer than everyone else.

"You know," he said after a minute, looking out toward the water, "when I first moved into Wayne's, I barely spoke for an entire summer."

You blinked. "You?"

"Hard to believe, I know."

"Impossible, actually."

Eddie grinned. "Seriously. I was awkward as hell."

"No way."

"Way."

You studied him skeptically. Just before this, the man had an entire picnic table laughing at half of what he said. "You're lying."

"I'm not."

"You expect me to believe you were shy?"

His grin softened slightly. "Not shy."

He looked down at his beer. "Just didn't think people wanted me around."

The admission surprised you enough that you didn't answer right away. Because for a second, you caught a glimpse of something underneath all the confidence and sarcasm; something younger.

Eddie glanced over and immediately noticed your expression. "Hey."

"Hm?"

"Don't get all sad on me."

You laughed. "I'm not sad."

"Good."

Then he reached over and stole one of your fries, again.

"Hey!"

"Occupational hazard. Gotta make sure it’s not poison."

"That's not what that means."

"It does if I say it does."

The Hideout was somehow even more charming now than it had been in all the stories Violet told. Maybe it was the nostalgia baked into the place. The old wooden bar, the dim lighting, the neon beer signs buzzing softly against the walls. 

Maybe it was because half the people inside seemed to know Eddie by name. Or maybe it was because every few minutes someone would stop by your table to greet either Steve, Eddie, or both, and you'd get to watch them slip so naturally into the lives they'd built here.

You, Harper, and Violet had claimed a booth near the back while Steve and Eddie wandered over toward the dart boards with beers in hand. A local band was setting up in the corner, tuning guitars and testing microphones while conversations drifted through the crowded room.

Meanwhile, across the room, Steve lined up a shot at the dart board while Eddie leaned against the wall beside him. The dart landed with a satisfying thunk.

"Ha."

"Congratulations," Eddie deadpanned. "You're winning against a mechanic."

Steve ignored him. For a minute, they stood there in comfortable silence, watching the girls at the booth. Harper was talking animatedly about something while Violet argued with her. You sat between them, laughing at whatever ridiculous story was being told.

Then Steve glanced sideways. "So."

Eddie sighed immediately. "No."

"I didn't even say anything."

"You were about to."

Steve threw another dart. "You gonna tell me what's going on there?"

Eddie looked offended. "Nothing's going on."

"Bullshit."

"Steve."

"Eddie."

The older man took a sip of his beer, and Steve pointed subtly toward your booth.

"You talked to her almost the entire barbecue."

"We were talking."

"You were talking."

"That's what I said."

Steve stared, and Eddie stared back. Neither moved, then finally Steve sighed.

"I feel like I'm watching a train derail in slow motion."

"Jesus Christ."

"Eddie."

"What?"

"That's your daughter's best friend."

"I know who she is."

Steve rubbed his face. "I liked you better when your bad decisions only affected you."

Eddie barked out a laugh despite himself. "Nothing's happening."

Steve looked like he wanted to believe him, then his expression changed when his eyes drifted toward the bar. Eddie followed his gaze and immediately wished he hadn't.

Because sometime during the conversation, Violet and Harper had wandered over to grab another round of drinks. You'd stayed behind at the booth, scrolling through the jukebox selections alone.

Unfortunately, somebody else had noticed. A guy. Young, mid-twenties maybe. Definitely closer to your age than Eddie's. The guy leaned casually against the edge of your booth and said something.

You smiled politely, and the guy smiled wider. Eddie's jaw tightened instantly. Steve saw it happen in real time. 

"Oh no."

"I'm fine."

"You are absolutely not fine."

"I'm completely fine."

The guy sat down at your booth, across from you, knee brushing yours slightly under the table. Steve physically winced.

"Oh, that's bad."

"I'm gonna go say hi."

"You don't know him."

"I know enough."

"Eddie."

But Eddie was already moving. Across the room, you were only half paying attention to whatever the guy was saying.

Something about being from Indianapolis. Something about visiting family. Something about your tattoos. Honestly, he seemed perfectly nice.

Then suddenly his expression changed, and you frowned.

"What?"

The guy glanced up and immediately looked nervous. A familiar tattooed arm draped itself across the back of your booth, then another appeared on the opposite side, boxing you in completely.

"Oh," Eddie said pleasantly. "There you are, sweetheart."

The guy looked between the two of you. "Oh."

Eddie smiled, but not his real smile. The dangerous one. The one you'd already learned meant trouble. "Sorry, man. Didn't realize somebody was sitting here."

The guy stood up so fast he nearly knocked his drink over. "No, no, you're good."

"Mhm." Eddie never stopped smiling.

The guy made a very quick decision. "Well. Nice meeting you." Then he practically disappeared into the crowd.

The second he was gone, you looked up at Eddie.

"Eddie."

"What?"

"What was that?"

He looked genuinely confused. "I came to say hi."

You stared, and he stared back, for approximately three seconds. Then you started laughing, because somehow that was even less convincing than whatever excuse he'd intended to use.

"You are ridiculous."

"Maybe." His grin softened, then he brushed his fingers briefly against your shoulder. "Just checking on you."

The warmth in his voice immediately ruined any chance of staying annoyed.

"You're impossible."

"Been told that."

A few minutes later, after you'd disappeared toward the restroom, Eddie eventually wandered back to the dart boards, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

Steve was waiting with a beer in hand and a flat expression.

Eddie immediately knew. "No."

"Seriously?"

"What?"

"Seriously?"

Eddie grabbed another dart while Steve pointed toward the booth.

"The kid practically evacuated."

"He left."

"You ran him off."

"I didn't run him off."

"Eddie."

"He made his own choices."

Steve laughed in disbelief. "You are forty years old."

"Thirty-nine."

"That somehow makes this worse."

Eddie threw his dart. Bullseye. "Don't."

Steve stared at him for a second, then looked toward the bathroom where you'd disappeared, then back toward Eddie. Then finally sighed. "You're screwed."

The second you came back from the bathroom, Eddie was waiting. Not in an obvious way, not standing outside the door like some lovesick teenager. Just leaning casually against the dart board wall with a beer in one hand and entirely too much amusement in his eyes.

The second he spotted you weaving through the crowd, his face brightened ever so slightly. A tiny thing, small enough that most people wouldn't notice it.

"Sweetheart."

You rolled your eyes as you approached. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Whatever this is."

Eddie grinned. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

"Liar."

"Prove it."

You opened your mouth, then closed it, because annoyingly enough, you couldn't. Which only made his smile wider.

"That's what I thought."

"You're insufferable."

"And yet."

"And yet nothing."

"And yet you're still standing here." You hated when he had a point, especially when he looked so pleased about it.

The dart board behind him sat abandoned now, Steve having wandered off to join his wife and Harper near the booths. A few empty lanes sat open, and before you could stop him, Eddie was already pulling a set of darts from the board.

"You ever play?"

You eyed them suspiciously. "Not really."

"Oh."

The grin returned, the dangerous one. "Perfect."

Immediately, you groaned. "No."

"Yes."

"Eddie."

"C'mon."

The next thing you knew, a dart had been pressed into your hand. Five minutes later, you were learning very quickly that Eddie Munson was the most distracting teacher alive. Because at first, he genuinely tried, for all of about thirty seconds.

"You wanna hold it like this."

His hand settled over yours; warm, calloused, and large enough to completely engulf your grip. Your stomach betrayed you immediately, then he stepped behind you, which was somehow worse.

"Oh, my god."

"What?"

"You know exactly what."

"I am literally teaching you darts."

His voice was directly beside your ear, maybe lower, and definitely rougher. You hated him.

"You stand like this."

His hands settled briefly on your hips, “adjusting”, supposedly. The problem was that neither of you seemed particularly focused on darts anymore.

Your heart was pounding loud enough that you were worried somebody else would hear it while Eddie leaned slightly closer.

"Relax."

"I am relaxed."

"You just missed the board entirely."

You looked, and the dart was currently embedded in the wall. "...Okay."

Eddie barked out a laugh, the sound vibrating straight through your chest. "See?"

"Shut up."

"Can't."

His hand slid down your arm, adjusting your grip again. You were beginning to suspect the lesson wasn't real.

Across the room, Steve looked up from his booth and immediately regretted it. "Oh, for the love of God." His wife followed his gaze, then immediately started laughing.

Meanwhile, Harper and Violet were sitting across from one another sharing fries. Harper watched the dart situation unfold for approximately thirty seconds, then another thirty. Then finally turned toward her friend.

"Can I ask you something?"

Violet didn't even look up from her food. "You already are."

"Does this not bother you?"

For the first time all night, Violet's attention shifted toward the dart boards. Toward you. Toward her father. You were laughing at something Eddie had said. Head tipped back, smile huge, the kind of laugh that made your entire face light up.

Violet's expression softened immediately, and the sarcasm disappeared for a second. "Honestly?"

Harper nodded. Violet watched you for another moment before speaking. "No."

Harper looked surprised. "Really?"

"Nope."

Her fingers traced the rim of her drink absentmindedly. "That's probably the happiest she's looked in years."

Something in her tone made Harper pause. "What do you mean?"

Violet was quiet for a second. "Freshman year."

Harper waited.

"There was this guy."

Immediately Harper winced. "Oh."

"Yeah."

The response alone said enough. "Bad?"

"Not physically." Violet sighed. "But he spent two years making her feel like everything about her was too much."

Her eyes drifted back toward you, toward the smile currently plastered across your face.

"He hated her music,” she laughed softly. "Hated her clothes. Hated her tattoos. Thought she was dramatic every time she had feelings."

Harper frowned. "What a dick."

"Exactly."

The relationship had ended almost two years ago now, yet Harper noticed something sad in Violet's expression anyway.

"She hasn't dated since."

Across the room, Eddie was currently saying something that had you doubled over laughing. Whatever it was made him grin too. The look on his face wasn't subtle, not even a little.

And for some reason, instead of making Violet uncomfortable, it made her chest feel warm.

Because she remembered crying with you in your dorm room, remembered helping you pick up the pieces afterward. Remembered all the nights you'd insisted nobody would ever actually want all of you.

Not the loud parts. Not the messy parts. Not the emotional parts. All of it. Yet there you were, laughing, flirting, happy, for the first time in forever.

Harper followed her gaze, then smiled. "Oh."

"Yeah."

Violet grinned into her drink. "Besides."

"What?"

She looked back toward her father, then toward you and smirked that usual Munson smirk. "My dad's obsessed with her."

Across the room, Eddie's hand settled briefly against the small of your back as he helped you line up another throw.

Harper burst out laughing. "Obsessed is an understatement."

A couple hours later, the Hideout had gotten significantly louder.

The local band had long since started playing, conversations were being shouted over music, and somehow your group had managed to push three tables together into one giant mess of empty baskets, beer bottles, and half-finished stories. Steve's wife had eventually given up trying to keep everyone organized, settling instead into laughing at the chaos from a safe distance.

You, unfortunately, were drunk. Not blackout drunk, not Violet-at-the-lake drunk, but definitely drunk enough that everything felt pleasantly fuzzy around the edges.

Unfortunately, Eddie seemed to be in exactly the same boat, which was proving dangerous for everyone involved, especially you. Because sober Eddie at least attempted restraint. Drunk Eddie apparently thought personal space was a government conspiracy.

By ten-thirty, his arm had somehow become permanently draped across the back of your chair. Every time he laughed, he leaned into you. Every time he told a story, his hand found your shoulder, your arm, the small of your back. The man seemed physically incapable of existing more than six inches away from you.

And the worst part? You weren't exactly discouraging it.

"You are so full of shit."

Eddie pressed a hand dramatically over his heart. "That hurts, sweetheart."

"You're lying."

"I'm embellishing."

"That's just lying with confidence."

Steve nearly choked on his drink. "Jesus Christ, she's got your number."

"I don't like this," Eddie muttered.

"You love it."

"Maybe."

The answer came so fast that the entire table immediately started laughing. Harper physically dropped her head onto the table. "Oh, my god."

"What?" Eddie asked.

"Nothing."

"It was definitely something."

Across from you, Violet was grinning into her drink like this was the greatest show she'd ever witnessed. "He's not even trying anymore."

"I'm sitting right here."

"I know." The grin only got bigger.

By eleven-thirty, Steve had finally announced that he was taking his wife home before Harper somehow got herself banned from the establishment.

"I've done nothing wrong."

Steve pointed. "You started three separate arguments."

"I won all three."

"Goodnight, Harper."

The group slowly began breaking apart after that. Goodbyes were exchanged. Tabs were closed. Chairs scraped across the floor as people gathered their things. You stood up and immediately regretted it as the room tilted slightly.

"Oh."

Eddie looked over. "Oh no."

"I'm fine."

"You almost walked into a table."

"The table moved."

"The table did not move."

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously at the furniture, and Eddie started laughing so hard he nearly doubled over. Ten minutes later, you were outside in the warm summer air waiting while Steve finished saying goodbye to someone.

The night was quiet compared to the noise of the bar. Crickets chirped in the distance while streetlights cast soft yellow pools across the pavement. You were halfway through explaining a very important theory about why raccoons probably conversed through telekinesis when Eddie suddenly crouched in front of you.

"What're you doing?"

He pointed at your shoes. "You can't walk."

"I can absolutely walk."

To prove your point, you immediately stumbled. Eddie looked at Violet, and Violet looked at Eddie. The two of them started laughing.

"I hate everybody."

"No, you don't."

Then, before you could argue, Eddie hooked an arm behind your knees. You squeaked as the ground beneath you disappeared. "Oh, my god."

"There we go."

"Eddie!"

Suddenly you were being carried like it was nothing. One arm beneath your legs, the other supporting your back. You stared at him, and he stared back.

"What?"

"You picked me up."

"Congratulations."

"You're carrying me."

"Mhm."

"Why?"

"Because you're drunk."

You considered this. "Fair."

Violet made a choking noise behind you. When you looked over, she was laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes.

"What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

"You look insane."

She pointed. "No, you look insane."

The walk home wasn't particularly long, but apparently that didn't matter. Because every time you suggested being put down, Eddie refused, every single time.

At one point, you wrapped your arms around his neck and rested your cheek against his shoulder. The man practically preened.

"Look at him," Violet whispered.

"Oh my god," Harper whispered back.

"He loves this."

"He absolutely loves this."

Eddie ignored both of them, or pretended to. The smile he was trying to hide said otherwise. By the time the Munson house came into view, you'd gone completely boneless against him, warm and sleepy from the alcohol and the summer air.

"Comfortable?"

"Mhm."

"Good."

You hummed contentedly. Behind you, Violet immediately gagged.

"Dad."

"What?"

"You're gross."

"Am not."

"Are so. You carried her two miles."

"It was half a mile."

"You know that's not the point."

Eddie just laughed, then adjusted his grip slightly and carried you up the front steps anyway. By the time you got inside, Harper was heading toward her own car parked down the street. She paused halfway down the driveway, pointing between you and Eddie.

"I'm not saying anything."

"Good," Eddie called.

"But I'm thinking a lot."

"Harper."

She grinned. "Night, lovebirds."

Then she disappeared before either of you could throw something at her. The second the front door opened, Violet immediately announced, "I am going to bed before one of you says or does something that permanently changes my brain chemistry."

You barked out a laugh. "You are so dramatic."

Violet looked toward the ceiling as if she were asking God for patience. "Goodnight." Without another word, she disappeared down the hall, and a few seconds later, her bedroom door slammed.

Eddie finally set you down on the couch like you were something fragile, which was ridiculous. You immediately sank into the cushions with a satisfied sigh.

"Oh."

His mouth twitched. "What?"

"This couch is amazing."

"It's literally a couch."

"It's a really good couch."

"You're drunk."

You pointed at him. "So are you."

"Yeah." At least he was honest.

Eddie snorted softly and dropped down onto the floor in front of you, resting his arms across his knees. The position put him directly between your legs. Not touching, but close enough that your foot bumped his shoulder.

The soft yellow kitchen light caught the amber in his eyes while he looked up at you. God, the man was unfair. His curls had mostly fallen out of the bun by now, loose strands hanging around his face. His cheeks were flushed from alcohol and laughter, eyes warm and heavy-lidded.

You were in trouble.

"So."

You narrowed your eyes. "So."

Eddie grinned. "You're drunk."

You gasped dramatically. "The audacity."

Eddie laughed, head tipping back slightly, and suddenly you understood why everybody in Hawkins liked him so much.

It wasn't just that he was funny. It was that he laughed with his entire body, like he genuinely enjoyed existing, like he enjoyed being around you. The thought made your stomach flutter.

"You know," you said after a moment.

"Oh boy."

"You scared that guy away."

Eddie immediately looked innocent. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Liar."

"I'm serious."

"You practically chased him out of the Hideout."

His grin widened. "He left on his own accord."

"Mmhm."

"He did."

"Eddie."

The man actually had the nerve to shrug. "He seemed like a smart kid."

You laughed. "Oh, my god."

"What?"

"You were jealous."

His eyebrows shot upward. "Jealous?"

"Very."

"Of a twenty-something wearing boat shoes?"

You burst out laughing since the immediate answer told you everything. "Aha."

"No."

"That's not a denial."

"It is."

"It was a terrible denial."

Eddie rubbed a hand over his face, trying and failing to hide a smile. "You are exhausting."

"Because I'm right."

"You're not."

"You totally are."

The two of you stared at each other, then Eddie sighed dramatically. "Maybe I didn't love him talking to you."

Victory. You pointed immediately. "I knew it."

"Oh, don't look so proud of yourself."

"I am."

"You shouldn't be."

But he was smiling again, the soft kind this time, the one that made your chest feel warm. His eyes drifted across your face for a second before he spoke again.

"You know what my problem is?"

"What?"

Eddie leaned back slightly against the couch. "I forget how old you are."

You blinked. "What?"

"I spend all day talking to you and hanging out with you, and it feels normal." His voice had gotten quieter. "Then some guy your age walks over, and suddenly I remember you're twenty-one."

You stared at him, because there wasn't really a joke hidden inside that one. Eddie looked away first, shaking his head. "Forget I said that."

"No."

His eyes returned to yours. "No?"

"No."

"I like talking to you." The confession left your mouth before you could stop it.

Eddie's expression softened instantly. "Yeah?"

You nodded. "Yeah."

Something warm flashed across his face, like you'd handed him something precious.

"Good." The word came out almost embarrassingly gentle.

For a second neither of you spoke, neither of you seemed particularly interested in breaking whatever this was. Then Eddie glanced upward, down the hall towards Violet’s room. And a mischievous grin slowly appeared.

"Oh."

You immediately recognized that look. "What?"

"I just realized something."

"Eddie."

"If you become my girlfriend—"

"Oh, my god."

"—Vi is gonna be so annoying about it."

You laughed so hard you nearly fell sideways off the couch. 

You were still smiling when you looked down at Eddie. He was resting his arms on the couch cushion beside your legs now, chin tilted upward as he watched you.

"You know," you said quietly, "I think Harper's gonna make fun of me tomorrow."

Eddie snorted. "Harper's gonna make fun of me tomorrow."

"Fair."

"Steve definitely is."

"Oh, absolutely."

The thought made you laugh again, and Eddie smiled immediately at the sound. God. There it was; that damn look again. The one he'd been giving you all summer. The one that always felt like he was seeing something in you that nobody else quite did.

Neither of you spoke, just slowly drifted closer until the distance between you felt ridiculous. Then Eddie's hand settled lightly against your knee. A question, not a demand, just an invitation.

You answered by leaning forward first. The kiss was soft, almost embarrassingly sweet compared to the way you'd started things the first night. Just Eddie smiling against your mouth halfway through it because apparently he couldn't help himself.

"Hi," he murmured.

You laughed. "Hi."

"Thought about doing that all night."

"You're impossible."

"Been told."

His thumb traced absentminded circles against your leg while he looked up at you. For a second, neither of you spoke. Then the thought slipped out before you could stop it.

"Would you actually want that?"

Eddie's brows knit together slightly. "What?"

You suddenly felt nervous, which was stupid, but there it was anyway. "The girlfriend thing."

"What?"

You shrugged awkwardly. "Earlier."

When realization dawned, something softened in his face. "Sweetheart."

The nickname came out quieter than usual. You looked away first, which only made him smile.

"Yeah."

Your eyes snapped back to his. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." There wasn't even a second of hesitation.

His hand slid over yours. "I wouldn't joke about that."

Your stomach did an embarrassing little flip. "Oh."

"Yeah, oh."

You laughed softly, and Eddie squeezed your hand once. "So?"

"So?"

He grinned. "Would you?"

You immediately narrowed your eyes. "Oh, now who's asking questions?"

"Me."

"You can't just reverse it."

"I absolutely can."

You laughed despite yourself, then looked down at your intertwined fingers. At the rings on his hand. At the way he was watching you.

"I'd think about it."

Eddie barked out a laugh. "You'd think about it?"

"I would."

"That's cold."

You nudged his shoulder with your foot. "Shut up."

"I'm serious."

"You should be grateful I'm considering it at all."

His grin widened. "Considering it."

"Mhm."

"Well."

The look that crossed his face immediately made you suspicious. "What?"

Eddie stood slowly, still holding your hand, still smiling. "I might have a way to improve my chances."

"Oh, do you?"

"Mhm." Eddie’s grin turns wicked as he tugs you up from the couch by your hand, pulling you flush against his chest.

“You’ve been teasing me all damn night in this little skirt,” he murmurs, voice dropping low. “Then some college prick thinks he can talk to you at the bar? Nah. I think it’s time I remind you exactly who this pussy belongs to.”

He doesn’t give you time to respond. Instead, he walks you backward down the hallway, kissing you hard, tongue claiming your mouth while his hands slide under your skirt and grab two handfuls of your ass. The second his bedroom door shuts, the switch flips completely.

“Clothes off. Now.”

You move fast, but apparently not fast enough. Eddie spins you around, bends you over the edge of his bed, and yanks your skirt and panties down in one rough motion. He kicks your legs wider, drops to his knees, and buries his face in your cunt from behind without warning.

“Fuck— Eddie!”

He eats you like a man starved. Messy, loud, and filthy. Long drags of his tongue, sucking hard on your clit, then fucking his tongue into you while his grip on your hips keeps you pinned exactly where he wants you. You’re already shaking by the time he pulls back, lips shiny.

“Think that little boy at the bar could eat this pussy like that?” he growls, standing up and shoving two thick fingers into you. “You think any of those college boys could make you drip down their chin the way you do for me?”

You moan helplessly, pushing back on his fingers. He curls them perfectly, stroking that spot that makes your knees buckle. He flips you onto your back on the bed, strips his shirt off, then yanks his belt open. His cock springs out, hard and leaking, but he doesn’t fuck you yet.

Instead, he reaches into the nightstand and pulls out the black vibrator.

“Eddie—”

“Yeah, baby?” His smile is dark, predatory. “Gonna make you so fucking sensitive you forget any other man exists.”

He clicks it on and presses the buzzing head directly against your swollen clit. At the same time, he pushes his cock into you in one slow, deep thrust. You cry out, back arching hard.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he groans, bottoming out. “So goddamn tight. This pussy was made for me.”

He starts fucking you in hard, steady strokes while the vibrator stays glued to your clit. The dual sensation is overwhelming — his thick cock stretching you open, dragging against your walls, and the relentless buzz making your thighs tremble violently.

“Look at you,” he taunts, voice rough as he leans over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other keeping the vibrator exactly where he wants it. “Taking my cock so fucking well. You’d never go back to some twenty-one-year-old loser after this, would you?”

You shake your head frantically, moaning loudly.

“Say it.”

“I—I wouldn’t,” you gasp. “Never— fuck, Eddie—”

He clicks the vibrator up a setting, and your eyes roll back.

“That’s right. Because no college boy is ever gonna fuck you like I do. None of them are gonna make you come so many times you can’t even speak. None of them know how to ruin this pretty cunt the way I do.”

He fucks you harder, hips snapping, the wet sound of you obscene in the room. The vibrator never leaves your clit, and you come the first time with a broken cry, clenching around his cock so hard he curses.

But he doesn’t stop. He keeps the vibrator pressed tight, keeps thrusting deep, drawing out every aftershock until you’re whimpering, oversensitive and twitching.

“Too much— Eddie, please—”

“You can take it,” he growls, leaning down to bite at your neck. “You’re gonna come again. Gonna soak my cock while you’re crying for me.”

He angles his hips just right and turns the vibrator even higher, and the overstimulation hits like a freight train. You’re sobbing his name, nails raking down his back, legs shaking uncontrollably as another brutal orgasm rips through you.

Only then does he pull the vibrator away, toss it aside, and fuck you like he’s trying to claim you completely. Deep, punishing strokes. His hand wraps around your throat tight, and high enough to hold you there while he stares into your eyes.

“Say you’re mine,” he demands, voice wrecked. “Say you’ll be mine. Let me take care of you all fucking summer. Hell, however long you’ll let me.”

“I’m yours,” you moan, voice hoarse. “I’ll be your girlfriend, whatever you want—fuck, I’m yours, Eddie—”

He kisses you filthy and deep, then buries himself to the hilt and comes hard, groaning your name against your mouth as he fills you. For a minute, the only sounds are your ragged breathing.

Eddie pulls out gently, then collapses beside you and immediately pulls you into his arms. His hands are soft now, stroking down your back, pressing kisses to your sweaty forehead, your cheeks, your lips.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice gentle again.

You nod, still trembling. “Yeah… Jesus Christ.”

He chuckles lowly, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Good. Because I meant every word. I want you to be mine, not just for the summer.”

You smile against his chest, pressing a kiss over one of his tattoos.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I think I want that too.”

Eddie’s arms tighten around you, and for the first time all night, his smile is soft.

“That’s my girl.”

hope you guys liked it ;)

taglist:

@bitterestwillow@kozume-ko, @obsessed-eddie, @doomdabss, @julxsxx, @leelei1980@hexqueensupreme @ches-86 @plaidamoosette @bobiverses@meadows-of-asphodel @whitakerstorm @dreamerjj @sariahs-stuff @brrrainst3w @serendipdipity01 @hypersexytoptobottom @m-art000 @sisteramycatherine @walleloveseve @camsmunson101 @flavorfullstevepeachpuffs25 @abirdinthehouse @m-art000 @micheledawn1975  @whitakerstorm @cciessuzi @blackqueenie-18 @ggdawgg @velvetdimond @enne02     @ludachrissy @izzycstairs@abbysleftbicepp @britttzy267 @ssculker @eddiemunsonsimpp @powerpuffedbjtch @lilyquinnmunson

“You’re going to absolutely hate it here.” Your roommate, Violet, says, nodding towards the Welcome to Hawkins Hell sign. 

“You’re such a delight, y’know that?” You retort, taking a puff of your cigarette.

“I’m just saying! Why you agreed to spend the summer with my dad and I is beyond me. Hawkins is literally the most boring town on the entire planet.”

“‘On the entire planet’ is a stretch, Vi. I’m sure it can’t be that bad.”

“Oh, it so is. I mean, look at that,” she motions towards the line of storefronts. “This town is stuck in the 70’s, terminally. We have to drive 20 minutes to get decent coffee. It’s deplorable.” 

You roll your eyes and shake your head, exhaling a plume of smoke out of the window. Was spending your entire summer break in small town Indiana your idea of a perfect summer? No, not by a long shot. 

But it was by all means better than going back to your house, dealing with your dad, and that witch of a step-mom. So, summer break in Hawkins with Violet and her dad seemed like the lesser of two evils. 

Besides, Violet was your best friend. You two met eachother freshman year due to random roommate assignments, and clicked off the jump. The second she started hanging Dio and Iron Maiden posters up, you knew you’d be thick as thieves. 

Not just because of the music, either. Violet looked like she’d crawled straight out of a metal magazine and into your dorm room. Dark curly hair always messy in an intentional sort of way, tattoos peeking out from under shredded band tees and leather jackets, no matter the weather. 

And somehow, you matched her freak perfectly.

The two of you moved through campus like a matched set; all dark clothes, tattoos, cigarette smoke, chunky silver jewelry, and enough attitude to make frat boys cross the street.

People always assumed you’d known each other forever. Maybe because you looked like alternate universe versions of the same girl.

Or maybe because Violet Munson was so painfully, undeniably her father’s daughter. And here you are, the summer into your senior year, and you’re closer than ever, living together for all four years.

“Alright, here we are. Home sweet shithole,” she mutters, pulling into her driveway.

Her house was not a shithole by any standard. It was a quaint, brick bi-level house with a dark blue door and bushes lining the sides. Sure, the lawn was a little overgrown, but that’s to be expected of a single dad who works long hours as a mechanic.

The driveway’s littered with evidence of him, too. A toolbox near the garage. Empty beer bottles sitting on the porch railing. A faded Corroded Coffin bumper sticker slapped crookedly onto an old cooler.

You snort softly as you climb out of the passenger seat. “Yeah, this is devastatingly awful, Vi. I may never recover.”

“Shut up,” she laughs, popping the trunk.

The summer air is thick and humid, wrapping around your skin instantly. Cicadas scream somewhere in the trees while Violet digs through her bag before triumphantly holding up a joint between two black-painted nails.

“Oh, thank God,” you sigh dramatically.

“Priorities.”

You lean against the hood while she lights it, the flame briefly illuminating the silver hoop through her nose. She takes the first hit before passing it over to you without a word.

It was easy with Violet, always had been.

You inhale slowly, letting your shoulders finally relax for what feels like the first time in months.

“Y’know,” Violet says, exhaling smoke toward the sky, “my dad’s gonna love you.”

You bark out a laugh. “You say that now.”

“No, seriously. You’re literally his exact type.”

You nearly choke. “Vi?”

“What?” she grins. “Hot goth women with emotional issues and nicotine addictions. That’s basically his demographic.”

“Ew, Vi!”

“I’m just being honest!”

Before you can respond, the low growl of an engine cuts through the quiet, and Violet immediately glances toward the street. A black-and-white van pulls into the driveway beside you both. Older model, and loud as hell.

“Speaking of the devil,” Violet mutters.

Your eyes widen slightly. “Shit, should we put this out?”

Violet looks genuinely confused. “Why?”

The driver’s side door swings open before you can answer. And oh, okay.

You expected an older guy, maybe tired-looking. Greasy coveralls. Generic middle-aged dad energy.

Not…him.

Not Eddie stepping out of the van in a black sleeveless Metallica shirt, grease smeared along his tattooed forearms, dark curls sticking to his forehead from the heat.

Late thirties, maybe early forties, sure. Still, unfairly hot.

“Hey, hon,” he calls toward Violet before his eyes land on you. They pause, just for a second too long.

Violet smirks immediately, clocking it. “Dad, this is the roommate I’ve been telling you about. Y’know, the one with functioning brain cells?”

“Mm.” His gaze flicks over you again, amused. “Heard a lot about you.”

You open your mouth to respond, suddenly very aware of the joint between your fingers.

Eddie notices too. Without missing a beat, he steps forward, plucks it right from your hand, and takes a drag like it belongs to him.

“Gotta make sure it’s not poison,” he says casually, smoke curling from his grin.

Up close, he smells faintly like motor oil, cigarette smoke, and something woodsy underneath it all. Cologne, maybe. Or just him. Unfortunately for you, it works.

“So,” he says, handing the joint back to you this time instead of Violet, “you’re the famous roommate.”

You snort softly. “Famous feels generous.”

“Nah, trust me. I’ve heard plenty.” He points toward Violet with his chin. “This one calls me every other day bitching about classes, professors, existential crises—”

“Okay, wow.”

“—and somehow your name always comes up.”

Violet flips him off immediately. “You’re obsessed with me.”

“You’re my kid. Kinda legally obligated.”

He grins when she groans dramatically, and for a second, it clicks so clearly it’s almost stupid.

The resemblance. Not necessarily in exact features, though they definitely share the same eyes and dark curls. It’s the energy. The sarcasm. The loud personality packed into black clothes and silver jewelry.

Violet really is just a female version of him, which suddenly explains a lot.

Eddie turns his attention back toward you.

“But seriously.” He gestures vaguely around the neighborhood. “Why the hell’d you agree to spend your summer in Hawkins? If Vi didn’t already mention, sweetheart, this town sucks.”

You take another drag to buy yourself a second.

Because going home meant screaming matches and slammed doors. Because your dad somehow always found a way to make you feel seventeen again in the worst possible sense. Because your stepmother looked at you like something inconvenient she accidentally stepped in.

Instead, you shrug one shoulder casually. “Figured I’d switch it up this summer.”

“Mm.” That’s all Eddie says, just that soft little hum.

But his eyes linger on you for a second too long, like he hears the thing you’re not saying anyway.

Thankfully, Violet cuts in before the moment can settle too heavily. “Dad, tell her who’s coming over later.”

“Oh, right.” Eddie pushes off the van slightly. “Gruncle Wayne’s coming for dinner.”

You blink. “...Gruncle?”

Eddie immediately looks offended. “You never heard of a gruncle?”

“No sane person says gruncle.”

“It’s efficient!”

Violet laughs around her next hit before explaining, “Wayne’s technically my great uncle, but he’s basically my grandpa, so. Gruncle.”

“And he practically raised me,” Eddie adds, softer this time. “My uncle Wayne’s a good guy.”

There’s something fond in his expression when he says it. 

You smile slightly. “Okay, gruncle’s actually kinda cute with context.”

“Thank you,” Eddie says dramatically, pointing at you. “See? She gets it.”

“Oh my god,” Violet mutters. “You found one person willing to entertain you, and now you’re never gonna shut up.”

“Correct.”

Eddie takes the joint from your fingers again before you can protest, bumping your shoulder lightly with his own as he does it. Still enough to make your stomach do something embarrassingly stupid.

“C’mon,” Violet says eventually, nudging off the van. “Before my dad starts his old man routine and lectures us about unloading the car.”

“I heard that,” Eddie calls behind you both.

“Good.”

You laugh quietly, grabbing one of your bags from the trunk while Eddie takes the heavier suitcase before you can argue. “Oh, I can—”

“Nope.” He shuts the trunk with one hand. “Guest privilege.”

“You say that now.”

“Sweetheart, I survived raising her.” He jerks his head toward Violet. “Nothing scares me anymore.”

“Wow.” Violet dramatically places a hand over her heart. “And in front of company.”

The inside of the house feels exactly like you expected, somehow. Warm lighting. Faint smell of coffee and cigarettes lingering in the air. Records stacked beside the stereo. Band posters framed on the walls like actual art pieces.

The kind of house where people actually exist in it instead of just passing through. Which weirdly makes something in your chest ache a little.

Violet leads you down the hallway while Eddie disappears toward the kitchen, already calling out something about beer and Wayne coming over “starving as usual.”

Then Violet swings open a door dramatically. “And here,” she announces, “is your luxurious guest suite.”

You step inside and immediately laugh. The “guest room” is really just a room someone shoved a bed into and hoped for the best.

There’s a full-length mirror leaning against the wall, an old wooden chair covered in clothes, and approximately six guitars scattered around the room alongside amps and tangled cords. Cases were shoved beneath the bed, and picks littered the nightstand.

You turn slowly. “...Jesus Christ.”

“I told you,” Violet grins. “My dad has a guitar hoarding problem.”

A voice pipes up from behind you instantly. “They are lovingly curated.”

You glance back to find Eddie leaning against the doorway now, beer bottle in hand. His eyes flick toward the guitar case slung over your shoulder, then back to you.

“Wait,” he says, straightening slightly. “You play?”

Something about how immediately excited he sounds makes you smile. “A little.”

“A little,” Violet repeats mockingly. “She’s being humble. She’s good.”

“Oh shit.” Eddie points at you like this is groundbreaking information. “You didn't tell me that!”

“You literally met me twenty minutes ago.”

“And you decided to withhold that valuable piece of information.”

Violet gestures vaguely around the room. “Unfortunately, there’s no space left for your guitar because my father and I are addicts.”

“Hey,” Eddie says defensively. “Half this stuff is yours.”

“Yeah, because you fed into my addiction.”

“That sounds like a personal problem.”

Violet snorts while Eddie grins into his beer bottle, and again, that warmth settles over the entire house so naturally that it almost catches you off guard. Like this is just what they’re like.

Loud, sarcastic, comfortable with each other; a real family. It makes your chest feel weird in a way you don’t want to unpack right now.

“Well,” Eddie says after another second, pushing off the doorway. “Make yourself at home, sweetheart. Wayne’ll be here in an hour, and if Vi didn’t warn you already, he’s gonna interrogate you lovingly.”

“I’ll prepare myself emotionally.”

“Good plan.”

His eyes flick toward you one last time before he disappears down the hallway. And the second he’s gone, Violet whips and pulls you toward her room so fast it’s genuinely alarming.

“Oh my god.”

You narrow your eyes immediately. “Don’t.”

“You think my dad’s hot.”

“I do not—”

“You absolutely do.”

“Violet.”

“He stole the joint from you, and you let him.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” She throws herself dramatically onto her bed. “Honestly? Respect.”

You scoff, sitting beside her. “Your father is like forty.”

“Thirty-nine.”

“That does not help your case.”

“It kinda does.”

You grab one of her throw pillows and smack her with it immediately while she cackles. “You’re insane.”

“And you wanna fuck my dad.”

“Oh, my god.”

“I’m just saying—”

“It’s all fun and games until I become your stepmom or something.” The words leave your mouth entirely on instinct.

Then Violet sits bolt upright so fast it’s horrifying, and her eyes widen. Then slowly, slowly, a grin spreads across her face so evil it should honestly be studied professionally.

“Oh,” she says. “Oh, this summer is about to be so interesting.”

“You’re a sick individual, y'know that?” 

About forty-five minutes later, the house smells like takeout pizza, cigarette smoke drifting in from the open kitchen window, and whatever cologne Eddie sprayed on himself after his shower.

Not that you noticed, at all. Heh. 

You’re perched on the counter beside Violet, nursing a beer while she digs through the fridge for ranch. Eddie’s leaning against the opposite counter in a fresh shirt now, curls still damp at the ends from his shower, tattoos on full display beneath pushed-up sleeves.

Which feels targeted, honestly.

Then the front door swings open. “Hellooo!” a voice calls.

“Kitchen!” Violet yells back instantly.

Heavy footsteps echo through the house before an older man appears around the corner carrying a twelve-pack under one arm.

Wayne looks exactly how you imagined he would, somehow. Weathered Carhartt jacket despite the heat, graying beard, tired kind eyes. The sort of face that looks permanently worn in from years of hard work and little sleep.

The second Violet sees him, she hops off the counter. “Gruncle!”

“There’s my girl.” Wayne smiles immediately, opening one arm for her to hug him. “Missed me already?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Brat.”

He presses a kiss to the top of her head anyway before finally noticing you standing there beside Eddie.

Wayne pauses, looks between you and Violet once, then twice.

“What are you two, siamese twins?”

You burst out laughing instantly. Because honestly? Fair.

You and Violet are both standing there in shorts and oversized band tees, tattoos exposed, silver jewelry glinting beneath the kitchen lights like matching warning labels.

“Basically,” Violet says proudly.

Wayne shakes his head fondly before stepping toward you. “Wayne Munson.” He offers his hand. “Nice to finally put a face to the name. Heard about you for years now.”

You shake his hand, smiling. “That bad, huh?”

“Nah.” He jerks a thumb toward Violet. “If she keeps somebody around longer than a semester, they’re usually alright.”

“Wow,” Violet says flatly. “Love the faith in me.”

“You ate glue in second grade.”

“That was one time.”

Wayne ignores her completely, attention turning back toward you. “Where you from, sweetheart?”

“Chicago.”

“Oh, big city girl,” he nods knowingly. “What’d Hawkins ever do to deserve that?”

“She lost a bet,” Eddie says from beside you.

You snort into your beer. “I’m starting to think everyone in this town’s contractually obligated to insult Hawkins at least once an hour.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Eddie says seriously. “It’s tradition.”

The kitchen settles into easy conversation after that. Wayne telling stories about Eddie as a teenager while Violet heckles both of them relentlessly from the counter.

Eddie threatening to expose childhood stories in retaliation. Beer bottles clinking against countertops while some old metal album plays low through the speakers in the living room.

And it’s strange how quickly you settle into it. Like you’ve been in this kitchen before. Like, there’s already a place carved out for you between all their sarcasm and noise.

At one point, Wayne glances toward you while Eddie and Violet argue over music in the other room.

Then he leans slightly closer. Quietly, conspiratorially, he says, “Good luck surviving those two.”

You grin into your beer. “Think I’ll manage.”

By midnight, Violet is fully unconscious. Not dead, despite Eddie checking twice. Just absolutely obliterated by the combination of beer, pizza, and insisting she could “totally outdrink” both you and her father.

Which apparently she could not.

“She gets that from you, by the way,” you whisper as Eddie throws a blanket over her sleeping form, sprawled diagonally across the bed.

“Absolutely not.”

“She literally fell asleep holding a breadstick.”

“That’s called efficiency.”

You laugh quietly while Eddie shakes his head fondly at his daughter before shutting her bedroom door most of the way behind you both.

Wayne headed home an hour ago after dramatically claiming he was “too old for this shit.” The TV’s off. The kitchen cleaned up except for a couple of empty beer bottles sitting beside the sink.

You linger awkwardly for a second in the hallway, then reach into your pocket for your cigarettes.

“I’m gonna go outside for a minute.”

Eddie glances toward the pack in your hand and nods knowingly. “Yeah, me too.”

Of course he is.

The night air is cooler now, wrapping around your bare arms and legs as you step out onto the front porch. Crickets hum loudly in the grass while somewhere down the street, a dog barks once before going quiet again.

Small town silence, the kind you’re still not used to.

You sit on the porch steps while Eddie leans against the railing beside you, flicking his lighter open. The flame briefly catches across his rings and tattoos before he cups it toward your cigarette first.

A gentleman, unfortunately.

“You know,” he says after a second, smoke curling from his mouth, “you’re handling Hawkins suspiciously well so far.”

“I’ve only been here like six hours.”

“And yet you haven’t tried to flee.”

“Maybe I’m waiting until tomorrow.”

“Smart.”

You grin faintly, staring out toward the dark street ahead of you. For a minute, neither of you says anything. Just smoke quietly beside each other while the porch light buzzes overhead.

“So what’s the real reason you came here?”

You glance toward him automatically. “Hm?”

“The real reason.” He gestures vaguely with his cigarette. “Because no offense, sweetheart, but no twenty-one-year-old voluntarily spends their summer in Hawkins unless they’re hiding from something or recovering from something.”

You try to cover it with a laugh. “You always interrogate your daughter’s friends like this?”

“Nah.” His eyes meet yours then. “Just you.”

Your stomach does something deeply irritating. You look away first, exhaling smoke slowly. “My family’s just… a lot.”

Eddie stays quiet, not the impatient kind of silence either. The kind that waits.

You shrug one shoulder eventually. “My dad remarried a couple of years ago. She hates me, I hate her, my dad pretends none of it’s happening.”

“That sucks.”

You glance toward him again. “Yeah. It does.”

He nods once like he understands something you didn’t fully say out loud. Then, because apparently he can sense when you’re getting too vulnerable, the corner of his mouth tugs upward.

“Well.” He takes another drag. “Good news is you’re safe here.”

Your brows lift slightly. “Safe?”

“Yeah.” He gestures toward the house behind you. “Vi likes you, Wayne likes you, and I already decided you’re tolerable.”

You laugh softly. “That so?”

“Mhm.”

“You decide that before or after stealing my joint?”

“That was actually the deciding factor.”

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. Eddie watches you for another second before speaking again.

“Plus,” he adds casually, “you’re pretty.” 

You cough once, glaring immediately while Eddie grins outright now.

“Oh my god,” you mutter. “You flirt like a divorced dad.”

“I am a divorced dad.”

“Were you ever even married?”

“Details.”

You laugh again before you can stop yourself, and Eddie’s expression shifts slightly when he hears it. Like he enjoys making you laugh a little too much already.

Which feels dangerously good. Especially when he looks at you like that beneath the dim porch light, cigarette between his fingers, curls falling into his face while the entire town sleeps around you both.

“For real, though,” he says quietly. “Thanks for being good to my kid.”

The sincerity catches you off guard enough that you blink at him.

Eddie shrugs one shoulder, eyes drifting toward the house behind you. “Vi acts tough, but she’s always had a hard time letting people in. Most people don’t really… stick around.”

“She’s my best friend,” you say simply. “I don’t know where I’d be without her.”

Eddie looks back at you then, and whatever he sees makes something warm settle into his expression.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “I can tell.”

Then Eddie clears his throat slightly, the teasing glint returning to his eyes before the moment can get too heavy.

“Still think you’re trouble, though.”

You scoff immediately. “Me?”

“Mhm.” He points at you with his cigarette. “You walked into my house lookin’ like… And now my daughter’s already smoking weed and passed out drunk.”

“She was smoking weed before I got here.”

“Yeah, but now she has an audience.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet,” Eddie says, stepping closer just enough for his shoulder to brush yours lightly again, “you’re still out here talking to me.”

Your stomach flips in the most humiliating way imaginable, especially when he smiles afterward.

You should probably move away; that feels like the smart thing to do here.

Instead, you stay exactly where you are, cigarette dangling loosely between your fingers while Eddie sits close enough now that you can feel the heat coming off him in the cool night air.

Which is maybe a problem. A huge one, actually.

Because he’s your best friend’s dad. Because you’re living in his house all summer. Because Violet would absolutely lose her mind if she knew the way her father was currently looking at you.

And worst of all, because you really, really want him to keep doing it. You exhale slowly, trying to gather at least one coherent thought.

“I dunno if we should do this,” you admit quietly.

Eddie’s brows lift slightly. “Do what?”

“You know what.”

His mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile. “Sweetheart, all I’ve done is compliment you and steal your weed.”

“You’re flirting with me.”

“Guilty.”

You groan softly, rubbing a hand over your face. “Eddie.”

The way his name sounds coming out of your mouth makes his expression shift for half a second.

Then, casually, as anything, he says: “What, you worried about becoming Vi’s stepmom?”

Your eyes widen so fast it’s honestly embarrassing. Eddie immediately breaks into a grin.

“Oh my god,” you whisper. “She told you?”

“Nope.”

“Then how do you—”

“The walls in this house are paper-thin, sweetheart.” He takes another drag from his cigarette, clearly enjoying your horror. “And you two were not exactly quiet.”

You physically cover your face with both hands. “Oh my fucking god.”

From somewhere behind your palms, you hear Eddie laugh. Entirely too pretty sounding for a man his age, honestly.

“I’m gonna die,” you mumble.

“Nah.”

“I need Violet to actually kill me with her bare hands immediately.”

“She’d probably just ask if she needed to leave the house for us.”

You lower your hands just enough to glare at him. “That is not helping.”

“Sorry,” Eddie says, still visibly amused. “Just tryin’ to make you feel better.”

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“A little.”

The porch light catches the silver in his rings when he reaches over and gently pulls your cigarette from your fingers before it burns too close to your skin.

The gesture is so absentmindedly caring that it almost does you in completely. Then he hands his back, and your fingers brush his.

And suddenly neither of you are smiling quite as much anymore. Eddie looks at you for a long second before speaking again, quieter this time.

“Listen,” he says. “I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable.”

You shake your head immediately. “You’re not.”

That answer comes out a little too fast. His eyes flick down to your mouth for the briefest second before back up again.

“Good,” he murmurs.

Your heart stumbles over itself. Because there’s something almost unfair about the way he looks at you right now. Like he’s trying very hard to behave himself, and failing a little.

“You’re trouble,” you whisper.

Eddie smiles slowly.

“Sweetheart,” he says softly, “you walked into my house looking like that. We’re way past figuring out who the trouble is.”

The porch conversation lingers for a couple more minutes. Eddie’s looking at you like he’s already decided how the rest of the night is going to go, and you’re pretending your thighs aren’t pressed together under the thin fabric of your sleep shorts.

You don’t remember who moved first. Just that one second you’re both standing there, the next his mouth is on yours; slow at first, like he’s giving you an out, then deeper when you grab the front of his shirt and pull him closer.

He tastes like smoke and mint and something that makes your head spin. His hand slides to the back of your neck, thumb brushing your jaw, rings cool against your flushed skin.

“Inside,” he murmurs against your lips, voice rough. “Before I bend you over these steps like a fucking animal.”

You laugh breathlessly, but your pulse is hammering. He walks you backward through the quiet house, one hand on your waist, the other pushing open the door to his bedroom at the end of the hall.

The second it clicks shut behind you, the restraint snaps.

Eddie kisses you like he’s starving; tongue, teeth, hands everywhere. He peels your tank top off, groans low when he sees you’re not wearing a bra. His mouth is on your tits immediately, sucking hard enough to make you gasp, one hand kneading the other while he backs you toward his bed.

“Been thinking about this since you stepped out of that car,” he admits, voice gravelly. He pushes you down onto the mattress and drops to his knees between your spread thighs like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Look at you. Fuck.”

He doesn’t tease. He yanks your shorts and panties down in one rough tug, spreads your legs wider, and buries his face in your center like a man on a mission.

You choke on a moan.

He eats you like he’s trying to ruin you for anyone else, long, filthy licks from your entrance to your clit, sucking your clit into his mouth with obscene wet sounds, tongue fucking into you while his hands pin your hips down.

His curls tickle your thighs, nails digging into your skin, and when he groans against you, the vibration shoots straight up your spine.

“Eddie...fuck—”

He pulls back just enough to look up at you, lips shiny, eyes dark. “Taste so fucking good, sweetheart. College boys ever eat this pretty pussy like this?” 

He dives back in before you can answer, two thick fingers sliding into you, curling just right.

You swear under your breath, hips grinding against his face. He doesn’t let up. Not when your thighs start shaking. Not when you’re whimpering his name like a prayer.

He sucks your clit hard and curls his fingers again, and you come so suddenly it punches the air out of your lungs, back arching off the bed.

He keeps licking you through it, gentler now, until you’re twitching and oversensitive.

When he finally pulls back, his chin is glistening. He wipes it with the back of his hand like it’s nothing, then stands up and strips his shirt off. The sight of him, tattoos, scars, that happy trail leading down into his jeans, makes your mouth water.

He grabs something from the nightstand drawer. A sleek black vibrator. Your eyebrows shoot up.

Eddie smirks, climbing over you. “Not competition, baby. Just gonna make you feel even better.” He kisses you deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, while he works his jeans open. His cock is thick, flushed, and beyond what you had imagined. He strokes himself once, twice, watching your face.

“You sure?” he asks, suddenly serious for half a second.

You nod, pulling him down. “Yes. Please.”

He lines himself up, then presses the vibrator against your clit on the lowest setting, the buzz making you jolt.

He pushes in slow, inch by inch, until he’s buried to the hilt, stretching you open in the best way.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groans, forehead pressed to yours. “So fucking wet for me.”

He starts moving. Deep, rolling thrusts that make your toes curl. The vibrator stays pressed to your center the whole time, buzzing steadily while he fucks you.

Every stroke grinds it harder against you. You’re moaning loud enough that you’re glad Violet’s passed out cold down the hall.

Eddie’s experienced; there’s no other way to say it. He knows exactly how to angle his hips, when to speed up, and when to grind deep. He watches your face the entire time, drinking in every reaction.

“Nobodies fucked you like this, huh?” he rasps, voice wrecked as he snaps his hips harder. “Don’t eat you like this? Don’t make this pretty pussy cream all over their cock?”

You shake your head, nails digging into his back. “N-no, Eddie, fuck—”

He clicks the vibrator up a setting, and you nearly scream. The combination is devastating; his thick cock dragging against your walls, the relentless buzz on your clit, the way he’s looking at you like he wants to devour you whole.

He leans down, mouth against your ear. “Gonna make you come again. Want to feel you squeezing me when you do.”

You do, hard. The orgasm crashes over you so intensely that your vision whites out for a second. Eddie fucks you through it, cursing under his breath, pace turning punishing.

He pulls the vibrator away only when you’re whimpering, then flips you over onto your stomach like you weigh nothing. He pulls your hips up and sinks back into you in one smooth thrust, hand reaching around to circle your oversensitive clit with his fingers.

“Again,” he growls. “One more, sweetheart. Give it to me.”

You’re a mess. Face buried in his pillow, ass up, drooling and moaning while he rails you from behind. The wet slap of skin, his low groans, the way he keeps telling you how good you feel, how perfect you are, it all sends you spiraling again.

When you come the third time, clenching around him like a vice, Eddie finally lets go. He buries himself deep and comes with a broken groan of your name, hips stuttering, body shuddering against yours.

For a long minute, the only sounds are both of you trying to catch your breath.

Eddie pulls out carefully, then collapses beside you and pulls you into his chest. His hand strokes down your back, lazy and soothing.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to your damp forehead. “You’re gonna kill me this summer.”

You laugh weakly, still floating. “Good thing you’re experienced.”

He chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Damn right.”

You wake slowly to warmth and the faint smell of cigarettes. For a second, you’re disoriented. Heavy blankets. Morning light spilling gold through half-open blinds. A tattooed arm wrapped loosely around your waist.

Then everything from last night comes rushing back at once.

Oh. Oh, fuck.

Before you can spiral too hard, lips press softly against your shoulder, then your neck.

“Mornin’, sweetheart.” Eddie’s voice is rough with sleep.

You turn your head slightly to find him propped up on one elbow beside you, curls an absolute disaster, dark tattoos disappearing beneath the sheets pooled low on his hips. It’s deeply unfair that he still looks this good at six in the morning.

“You have work,” you mumble sleepily.

“I know.” He kisses you once more, quick and lazy this time. “Tryin’ very hard to be responsible about it.”

“Mm. Don’t.”

Eddie laughs softly under his breath like he can’t help it. “Dangerous thing to say to a man already running late.”

You grin against the pillow while he leans down to kiss you properly this time. Slow enough to make your stomach flip all over again. When he pulls back, he brushes his thumb along your cheek once before sighing dramatically.

“Unfortunately,” he says, “car engines wait for no man.”

“Tragic.”

“I know. I’m devastated too.”

You watch him drag himself out of bed, immediately mourning the loss of warmth while he pulls on jeans and a black work shirt.

He catches you staring when he turns around. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You were checking me out.”

“I absolutely was not.”

“Sweetheart, I’m forty, not blind.”

“Thirty-nine,” you correct automatically.

Eddie points at you immediately. “See? You know the number now. That’s intimacy.”

Eventually, you force yourself out of bed too, tugging your pajamas back on while Eddie disappears into the kitchen. By the time you walk out there, he’s pouring coffee into two mugs.

The domesticity of it hits you like a truck.

Eddie, standing in his kitchen in work boots and rolled sleeves, making you coffee like this is normal. Like this happens all the time.

He glances over when he hears you, then visibly pauses.

“What?” you ask suspiciously.

His mouth twitches. “Nothin’.”

“Eddie.”

“You put your shirt on inside out.”

You look down immediately. Fuck.

“You could’ve told me sooner!”

“Nah.” He slides a mug toward you, smirking into his own coffee. “This is way funnier.”

You flip him off while fixing it properly, and Eddie just laughs again before checking the clock.

“Shit. Okay, I really gotta go.”

He downs the rest of his coffee, grabs his keys off the counter, then pauses beside you on his way to the door. For a second, he just looks at you.

Then he leans down and kisses you once, quick but warm enough to make your face heat immediately afterward.

“Behave while I’m gone,” he says.

“You first.”

Eddie grins. “Impossible.”

Then he’s gone.

You linger in the kitchen for a while after, nursing your coffee and trying very hard not to think too deeply about the fact that you just spent the night in your best friend’s dad’s bed. Which works for approximately twelve minutes.

An hour later, Violet finally shuffles into the kitchen looking half-dead.

“Morning,” she rasps.

“Morning.”

She grabs orange juice from the fridge before narrowing her eyes at you suspiciously over the carton. 

You immediately tense. “What?”

“…Nothin’.”

“Violet.”

She squints harder, then her eyes slowly widen. “Oh, my god.”

Your stomach drops instantly. “What?”

“You fucked my dad.”

You nearly choke on your coffee. “I did not—”

“Your shirt’s on backwards, genius.”

You look down. Again?!

“Oh my fucking god.”

Violet bursts out laughing so hard she physically has to lean against the counter.

“You’re an idiot,” she wheezes.

“I hate this house.”

“No, you don’t.”

You bury your face in your hands while Violet continues cackling like this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened to her.

Finally, muffled through your fingers, you groan: “Why are you being so weirdly okay about this?”

Violet shrugs, still grinning. “Because I genuinely don’t care.”

“You should care!”

“Why?”

“Because that’s your father!”

“And you’re my best friend.” She takes a casual sip of juice. “Honestly, this is kinda ideal. Now, if you marry him, you legally can’t move out of my life.”

You stare at her in horror.

Violet points at you immediately. “Also, to be clear? I called this the second he stole your joint.”

“I’m leaving.”

“No, you’re not.”

“…Probably not.”

“Exactly.” She grins wickedly. “Besides, this is funny as hell for me personally.”

“You are a sick individual, Violet Munson!”

“Yeah, yeah. Take a number.”

personally? i am HERE for this fic. lawd knows i love me a good older man, and an older eddie? phew.

taglist is open!

beasbugs:

Your alarm blares at 5:30, ripping you out of sleep so fast you jolt upright.

God, you hate this job.

The early mornings, the bitter customers already pissed off before the sun’s even up, all of them desperate for their caffeine fix like it’s life or death. But it’s the only job you’ve ever really had. It’s easy. Muscle memory at this point. You could make a latte half-asleep—and most mornings, you basically are.

You drag yourself into the bathroom, brushing out your hair before parting it down the middle and braiding it into two long Dutch braids. A quick swipe of mascara. Good enough.

The dress code’s chill—always has been. Just the logo shirt and you’re fine. You grab one of the many black Java Blue tees from your drawer and pull it on with a pair of flared leggings.

Keys. Phone. Shoes.

You rush out the door, the early morning air biting just enough to wake you up as you make a beeline for your car. The key barely makes it into the ignition before you’re turning it.

If you don’t leave now, you’re definitely going to be late.

You speed down the main road, barely slipping through a yellow light just as it snaps to red behind you.

You pull onto the street, park a little too fast, lock your car, and hurry inside.

The second you step through the door, your mood lifts.

Melanie’s already behind the counter, warming up the espresso machine, sleeves pushed up like she’s been here for hours.

“Hey! You made it—on time, too,” she grins, pulling you into a quick hug. “When did you get back?”

“Last night,” you say, hopping up onto the counter like you’ve done a hundred times before. “New York to Hawkins is easily the worst drive on the planet.”

She laughs under her breath, testing the steamer as it hisses to life. “I don’t doubt that.”

Sydney and Ava rush in from upstairs, giggling to themselves like they’re trying—and failing—to keep a secret.

“What’s up with you two?” you ask, eyeing them.

They exchange a look, both smirking.

“One of the new chefs is exceptionally hot,” Sydney says, twirling a piece of her hair around her finger.

Those two are still relatively new—hired last summer as hostesses—and apparently very easily impressed.

“Oh yeah?” you grin, sliding off the counter. “What’s he like?” you ask, crossing your arms.

Ava lets out a little giggle. “Tall, dark, tattooed, mysterious. And insanely handsome.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Tattoos? So he’s at least eighteen,” you deadpan. “Meaning way too old for you heathens.”

They roll their eyes at you, exchanging one last look before slipping out from behind the counter and into the dining room, already fixing menus like nothing happened.

You glance upstairs, then back at Melanie. “Have you seen him yet?”

She nods, not even looking up as she wipes down the counter. “Yeah. He’s alright. Not really my type, but he’s nice. Funny, too.”

“Well,” you shrug, “no one’s your type. You’re basically married.”

Melanie huffs out a quiet laugh.

She’s been with the same girl since eighth grade. Honestly, they were made for each other.

The morning rush starts to creep in, slow at first—just a couple regulars, the bell above the door chiming every few minutes. You fall into rhythm easily. Taking orders, calling drinks, moving without thinking.

Melanie’s beside you, already two steps ahead like always.

You’re reaching for a lid, half-listening to a customer ramble about oat milk when you hear it.

Footsteps on the stairs.

Heavy. Slow. Not rushed like Sydney and Ava.

You don’t look up. You’re too busy, too focused, scribbling on a cup, sliding it down the counter.

“Can I get a—”

“Behind.”

The voice cuts in low and familiar.

Your hand stills.

Not all the way—just enough to throw you off.

You turn.

And it’s like your brain short-circuits for a second.

He’s standing right there, a tray of fresh scones balanced in one hand, the other steadying it. Taller than you remember. Broader. Tattoos crawling down his forearms, rings catching the light as he adjusts his grip.

But it’s his face that hits you.

Older. Sharper. Still him.

Eddie Munson.

He freezes just as fast as you do.

The tray dips slightly before he catches it, straightening up like he didn’t just almost drop the whole thing.

“…Hey,” he says, like he’s not entirely sure it’s actually you.

He almost didn’t come down.

Early shift, new job, new kitchen—he’d been trying to keep his head down, focus, not screw anything up. The last thing he expected was—

You.

It doesn’t register at first.

Just another barista. Someone behind the counter, moving fast, hair in braids, voice sharper than the others.

And then you turn.

And it hits him all at once.

No way.

His brain scrambles to place it—because there’s no way the girl in front of him is the same kid who used to hover in the hallway, peeking into the living room while he and your brother played guitar too loud.

But it is. It’s you. Just… not the same, not even close.

He straightens without thinking, like he’s suddenly aware of himself—how he’s standing, what he looks like, the fact that he’s been staring a second too long.

“…Hey.”

Real smooth, Munson.

You blink, still trying to catch up.

“…Eddie?”

There’s a beat.

And then he lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head a little.

“Yeah. Uh—yeah, it’s me.”

There’s a brief pause, not awkward, just charged.

You glance down at the tray, then back up at him, like you’re piecing it together.

“Didn’t peg you for a chef,” you say, tone light, but curious. “Last time I saw you, you were threatening to drop out and join a metal band.”

His mouth twitches, like he’s trying not to grin.

“Hey, that was a solid plan,” he says. “Still is, actually. This is just… slightly more sustainable.”

You hum softly, leaning back against the counter, arms crossing.

“Right. The rockstar-to-pastry-chef pipeline.”

“Exactly,” he nods, dead serious. “Very common. You’d be surprised.”

Your lips press together, holding back a smile.

He notices. And it does something to him, something small but immediate.

He clears his throat, nodding toward you. “You, uh… you work here now?”

You raise a brow.

“Have since I was sixteen.”

“Oh.” He winces slightly. “Right. Yeah. That tracks.”

He studies you for half a second too long before catching himself, shifting his weight.

“You look…” he starts, then stops.

Not smooth. Not smooth at all.

Your head tilts, just slightly. Waiting.

He huffs out a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Different,” he finishes, a little more carefully.

There’s a flicker of something in your expression, amusement, maybe.

“Yeah,” you say. “That tends to happen over ten years.”

He lets out a breath through his nose, nodding like, fair enough.

“Still,” he adds, a little quieter, “it’s good, though.”

That lands.

Not heavy. Not overwhelming.

Just enough.

You glance away for a second, like you’re deciding what to do with that, before pushing off the counter.

“Well,” you say, brushing past him just slightly, close enough to notice, not close enough to be obvious. “Don’t burn the place down, Munson. I just got back.”

His head turns immediately as you move past, watching you for a second longer than he should.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he calls after you.

Then, under his breath, “…Holy shit.”

The rest of the morning settles into something unfamiliar.

Not chaotic, not really, but different enough that you notice it.

You keep moving, same as always. Calling orders, steaming milk, sliding drinks across the counter with practiced ease. But now there’s a new rhythm layered into it. One you’re not used to yet.

Footsteps on the stairs.

The sound of trays being set down.

His voice, closer now, more frequent, weaving in and out of the space behind you.

“Behind.”

You shift without thinking, bodies just barely missing each other as he passes. It happens again. And again. Each time a little closer, a little less accidental.

By mid-morning, you’ve mapped him out without meaning to.

He hums when he’s focused. Low, absentminded, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. Taps his rings against the counter when he’s waiting. Runs a hand through his hair when an order backs up.

And he talks.

Not constantly, but enough. Little comments under his breath, half-jokes to Melanie, quick remarks to customers that make them laugh without trying too hard.

It’s easy. Annoyingly easy.

You’re reaching for a stack of lids when he steps up beside you again, closer this time, setting down another tray.

“Busy for a Tuesday,” he says, glancing out at the line.

“Summer,” you shrug. “People get bored.”

He huffs a quiet laugh at that, nodding like he gets it.

There’s a pause, but not an empty one.

“Mel said you just got back,” he adds, a little more casual than it probably is.

You glance at him briefly, then back to your hands. “Yeah.”

“From New York, right?”

“Mhm.”

He leans back against the counter slightly, crossing his arms. “College?”

You nod, popping a lid onto a cup. “Yeah. Just finished my third year.”

“Damn,” he says softly, almost to himself. “Look at you.”

It’s not teasing. Not really. You feel it anyway.

“Try not to sound so surprised,” you reply, sliding the drink down the counter.

“I’m not,” he says quickly, then catches himself, smirking a little. “Okay, maybe a little.”

You glance at him again, this time holding it for a second longer. “Didn’t think I’d make it out?” you ask, tone light but pointed.

He shakes his head immediately. “No, no, it’s not that. I just…” He trails off, searching for it, then lets out a breath. “You were, like, what, eleven the last time I saw you?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“And now you’re—” he gestures vaguely, like he doesn’t have the words, or maybe just shouldn’t say them out loud.

You raise a brow.

“Now I’m what?”

He hesitates. Then grins, a little crooked. “Different.”

There it is again.

You let it sit this time, not giving him anything back right away. Just turning, grabbing the next cup, continuing like it didn’t land exactly how it did.

“Yeah,” you say after a second. “You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true.”

You shake your head slightly, but there’s the faintest hint of a smile pulling at your mouth. He notices that, too.

Another order gets called. Another drink made. The moment slips, but not really. It lingers.

By the time the rush starts to die down, it feels like you’ve been doing this, working around him, moving with him, for a lot longer than a few hours.

And every time he brushes past you, every quiet “behind,” every glance that lasts just a second too long. Just enough to keep you aware of him. All damn day.

It doesn’t happen all at once.

There’s no big moment where things shift, no clear line between then and now. It just settles into place.

By the end of the week, you don’t flinch when you hear his footsteps on the stairs anymore.

You expect them.

Mornings start earlier now, not because you have to, but because you’ve found yourself showing up ten minutes before your shift without really thinking about it.

The first time it happens, you tell yourself it’s a fluke. The second time, you stop questioning it. By the third, it’s just routine.

You push through the front door, the bell barely chiming before the smell hits you, warm, savory, something fresh off the stove. Stronger than the usual burnt espresso and sugar.

“Don’t get used to this,” Eddie calls from behind the counter, not even looking up. You glance over, dropping your bag in its usual spot.

He’s already plating something, moving like he’s been awake for hours, sleeves pushed up, hair still a little messy like he didn’t bother fixing it all the way.

Melanie leans against the counter beside him, watching like this is the highlight of her morning.

“Too late,” she says easily. “We are.”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s no bite to it. Two plates slide onto the counter. One gets nudged toward Melanie, no hesitation, no second thought. The other follows, stopping just in front of you.

You glance down. Turkey sausage. Not the regular kind. You look back up at him. “…You remembered?”

He shrugs, like it’s nothing, like he didn’t clock it three days ago when you made a face at the menu.

“Yeah, well,” he says, busying himself with wiping down the counter, “someone’s gotta save you from eating that rubber they call sausage.”

You huff out a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you pick up the plate.

“Hero.”

“Exactly,” he mutters.

Across from you, Melanie is already halfway through hers, completely unfazed.

“You’re setting a dangerous precedent,” she says, pointing her fork at him. “We’re gonna start expecting this.”

“Don’t,” he warns. “Seriously. Don’t.”

You catch the small smile he tries to hide when he turns away.

It evens out after that. He makes breakfast. You bring coffee. Not in a formal way, not something you ever talk about—it just happens.

You start grabbing an extra cup on your way in, making it without thinking. Dark roast, no sugar, just a splash of milk—because you’ve noticed that’s how he drinks it. Because of course you have.

The first time you hand it to him, he looks at you like you’ve caught him off guard.

The second time, he just takes it. By the fourth, he’s already reaching for it when you walk in.

“Timing’s impressive,” he says one morning, taking a sip. “You stalking me or something?”

“Relax,” you reply, tying your apron. “You’re not that interesting.” He snorts into his cup. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Working together gets easier, quieter, in a way. You don’t have to think about where he is anymore; you just know.

You move around each other without colliding, hands brushing occasionally, shoulders just barely grazing when space gets tight. It’s nothing. It’s something.

“Behind,” he says, softer now, like it’s meant just for you. You shift before he even finishes the word. And sometimes, just sometimes, you don’t move right away. Just to see if he notices. He does.

It’s small things. The way he lingers a second longer than he needs to. The way you don’t look away as quickly anymore. The way neither of you mentions it.

By the time a week has passed, it feels like this has always been the way it is. Like he’s always been there in the mornings. Like you’ve always known how he takes his coffee. Like this, whatever this is, has been building for longer than it actually has.

And maybe that’s the part that gets you. How easy it is. How natural. How dangerous that feels.

It’s subtle at first. Or at least—you think it is.

But Melanie’s been watching you longer than anyone else has.

She notices the way you grab an extra cup without asking. The way Eddie already has your plate set aside before you even walk in. The way the two of you move around each other like you’ve been doing it for years.

next set: Not until you’re restocking lids one afternoon, the rush finally dying down, the shop settling into that quiet lull between waves.

“You’re doing it again,” she says casually.

You don’t look up. “Doing what?”

“That thing,” she replies, leaning against the counter, watching you. “Where you pretend you’re not paying attention, but you very obviously are.”

You pause, just for a second, before stacking the lids a little too neatly.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She hums, unconvinced. “Uh-huh. And the extra coffee every morning? That just magically appears in your hand?”

“He works ten-hour shifts,” you shrug. “It’s called being nice.”

“Right,” she says. “And the sandwiches?” You glance at her, narrowing your eyes slightly.

“He makes you vegetarian ones every day, don’t start.”

“That’s different,” she says immediately.

“How?” She opens her mouth, then stops. Because she knows exactly how

And so do you. There’s a beat. Then she smirks, just a little. “You like him.”

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head as you grab the next stack. “Relax, Mel.”

“Mm,” she hums, pushing off the counter. “I’ll circle back in a week.”

The shift that day is off. Not bad. Just, Different. It starts small.

A group of girls comes in mid-afternoon, loud and giggly, the kind that linger too long at the counter. Sydney and Ava perk up immediately, but they’re not the ones the girls are looking at.

It’s him. You don’t mean to notice, but you do.

The way one of them leans a little too far over the counter. The way Eddie laughs, easy, polite, that same charm he uses on everyone, but it lingers just a second longer than it needs to.

“Anything else for you?” he asks, handing over a plate.

The girl smiles like she’s just been handed something more than food.

You press a lid onto a cup a little harder than necessary. Melanie doesn’t say anything this time. She just glances at you. That’s worse.

You busy yourself with the next order, not looking over, not paying attention. Except you are. It’s stupid. You don’t care. You don’t.

“Behind,” he says, stepping in close. You move quick this time, no hesitation.

“Careful,” he adds quietly, like he noticed something in the way you snapped back into place.

You don’t respond. He lingers for half a second. Then moves on.

By closing time, the café is quiet.

Chairs flipped, lights dimmed, and the last of the dishes were stacked in the back. Melanie clocks out first, tossing you a look on her way out. We will be talking about this later, written all over her face.

You ignore it. You’re wiping down the counter when he comes back down from upstairs, slower this time. No tray, no rush. Just him.

He drops into one of the chairs, leaning back with a quiet sigh, running a hand through his hair.

“Long day,” he mutters.

You glance over, still moving.

“Welcome to food service.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, waving you off slightly.

You finish wiping the counter, tossing the rag into the sink before finally sitting across from him, one leg tucked under you without thinking.

For a second, neither of you says anything. It’s not awkward. Just different.

He looks at you again, really looks this time, like he’s been meaning to all week and just hasn’t had the chance.

“So,” he starts, resting his arms on the table. “You and your brother still talk?”

You nod. “Yeah. Not as much as we should, but… yeah.”

He smiles faintly at that, something softer settling in his expression.

“Miss that guy,” he says. “We used to be inseparable.”

“I remember,” you reply, a small smile pulling at your mouth. “You practically lived in our house.”

“Hey,” he points at you slightly, “your mom made the best food. I had my priorities straight.”

You laugh quietly. “You mean you were a freeloader.”

“Woah,” he leans back, mock offended. “I was a guest.”

“A guest who never left.”

“Details.” Then he glances at you again, something more thoughtful this time.

“You were always around, too,” he adds. “Just… quieter.”

You raise a brow. “I was eleven.”

“Yeah, but still,” he shrugs. “Always hovering. Thought you were slick about it, too.”

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “I was not slick.”

“Not even a little,” he grins.

You sit with that for a second, the memory settling between you.

Then, “I had a crush on you,” you say, like it’s nothing.

It lands anyway. He blinks. “…Yeah?” he asks, a little slower.

You nod, completely unfazed. “Huge one.”

There’s a pause. And then he laughs, soft, a little surprised, rubbing the back of his neck again.

“Damn,” he says. “Missed my shot, I guess.”

You tilt your head slightly, watching him.

“Guess so.”

That does something. You can see it. The way he shifts, just slightly, like the ground moved a little under him. The way his eyes flick back to yours, holding there for a second longer than before.

The café is quiet. No machines, no customers, no distractions.

Just the two of you. And something that wasn’t there a week ago. Now, very much is.

After that night, something shifts. Not all at once. Not enough to name it. But it’s there.

Eddie starts lingering more. At first, it’s small and easy to brush off.

“Behind,” he says one morning, voice low like always. But this time, his hand finds your back as he passes. Just for a second. Warm, steady, guiding.

Gone before you can react. You freeze for half a beat. Then keep moving. It happens again the next day. And the day after that. Like it’s nothing.

He starts greeting you differently, too. Not words, never anything too obvious.

But when you walk in, he taps his knuckles lightly against yours in passing. A quick, casual fist bump.

You raise a brow the first time. “Really?” you say.

“What?” he shrugs. “Morale boost.”

“Right.”

But you don’t pull away the next time. Or the time after that.

Then there’s the bread. You come in one morning, earlier than usual, and it’s already sitting there. Wrapped loosely in parchment, still warm.

You glance around. Melanie’s not in yet. Eddie is, of course, moving around the kitchen like he’s been up for hours. You pick it up, turning it over in your hands.

“…This for customers?” you call out.

“Nope,” he answers from behind you.

You turn slightly. “For you.”

You blink. “Why?”

He shrugs, like it’s obvious. “Tried a new recipe. Figured you’d appreciate it more than the morning crowd.”

You huff out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Sure. That’s definitely why.”

He smirks, but doesn’t argue.

On his days off, he still shows up. Which is… weird.

You notice it the second time it happens. He walks in like any other customer, hands shoved in his pockets, hair messier than usual, rings catching the light as he leans on the counter.

“Coffee,” he says simply. You narrow your eyes at him.

“You know how to make it yourself.”

“Yeah, but then I wouldn’t get to judge yours,” he shoots back.

You roll your eyes, already turning to the machine. "You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he says, softer this time, watching you, “you keep making it.” You don’t respond to that. You don’t look at him, either. Because if you did, you’d have to acknowledge the way he’s looking at you. And you’re not doing that.

It builds like that.

Small things. Repeated enough to matter. Anyone else would see it. Melanie definitely does. But you? You don’t let yourself.

Because you’ve been here before. Not like this, not exactly, but close enough. And your brain has already decided what it means. Nothing. It has to mean nothing.

You remember being ten. Standing in the hallway, just out of sight, listening. Eddie’s voice carries easily, loud and careless, the way it always was back then. Your brother’s laughing at something.

“You’re such an idiot,” he says.

“Hey, I’ve got options, man,” Eddie replies, like he’s proving a point. “There’s, like, three girls in my math class alone that would kill to go out with me.”

“Yeah, okay,” your brother scoffs. “Name one.”

Eddie hesitates just for a second. Then laughs it off. “Alright, maybe not kill. But, y’know—close enough.”

More laughter. And then, “What about my sister?” your brother throws out, joking.

There’s a pause. Not long. But long enough.

Your brother nudges him lightly with his foot. “C’mon, man. You know she likes you. She follows you around like a lost puppy.”

Your stomach drops.

Eddie snorts, shaking his head. “Dude, she’s, like, a kid.”

Your brother shrugs. “Still.”

“Alright, what am I supposed to do with that?” Eddie shoots back, grinning. “Start planning our wedding or something?”

They both laugh. And that’s it.

You remember the way your stomach dropped. The way you stood there, suddenly too aware of yourself, your voice, your body, the way you existed in a space you weren’t meant to be in yet.

You hadn’t gone into the room after that.

Now, years later, you stand behind the counter, watching him lean a little too casually against it, watching him take a sip of the coffee you made like it’s something he’s used to.

Like you’re something he’s used to. It doesn’t line up. The version of him in your head, the one who barely saw you, who wrote you off without thinking. And this. This doesn’t make sense.

So it must not mean anything. Right?

“Careful,” he murmurs, stepping in close again, hand briefly at your back as you reach for something.

You don’t react. Not outwardly. But your grip tightens just slightly.

“Got it,” you say, a little too quickly. He lingers. Just for a second. Like he wants to say something else. Then he pulls back.

From across the counter, Melanie watches the whole thing. And this time, she doesn’t wait a week.

It gets harder to ignore. Not because anything changes drastically, but because it doesn’t.

Eddie keeps showing up on his days off. Not every day. Just enough to become a pattern. Just enough that you start expecting it.

The bell chimes, and before you even look up, you already know.

And sure enough, “There he is,” Melanie mutters under her breath one morning. You don’t respond. You don’t need to.

He walks in like he belongs there, like he didn’t just choose to spend his morning at the same place he works, on his day off, for no real reason.

Except, “Coffee,” he says, leaning on the counter, eyes flicking to you immediately.

Melanie lets out a quiet hum beside you. “Oh, I’m sure,” she says.

You nudge her with your elbow, harder than necessary. “Shut up.”

Eddie glances between the two of you, catching just enough to be suspicious. “…What?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly, already turning to the machine.

Melanie doesn’t move. She just watches him. And then, “Crazy how you only come in when she’s working,” she says, completely casual.

You freeze for half a second. Eddie doesn’t. He just smirks.

“Crazy how you’re paying attention,” he shoots back.

Melanie grins. You refuse to turn around.

The bread doesn’t stop. If anything, it gets worse. Different kinds, now. Wrapped, labeled sometimes like he’s testing recipes, but always set aside before you get there. Always for you. You stop asking about it. Because you already know the answer.

Then come the cinnamon rolls. It starts as a special.

“New item,” he says one morning, sliding a tray onto the counter, the smell immediately filling the entire café. Warm, sweet, ridiculous.

They sell out in under an hour. Sydney and Ava won’t shut up about them. Customers ask if they’ll be back tomorrow. Eddie just shrugs.

“Maybe,” he says.

The next day, they’re not on the menu. But there’s a small plate waiting for you when you walk in.

One cinnamon roll. Still warm. You stare at it for a second.

“…You’re kidding.”

He doesn’t even look up from what he’s doing.

“Didn’t make enough for everyone,” he says. “Had to prioritize.”

You cross your arms, leaning against the counter. “Right. Very fair system you’ve got going.”

“Thank you,” he nods. “I try.”

Melanie makes a noise behind you, something between a laugh and a choke. You don’t look at her. Because if you do, you’ll have to acknowledge it. And you’re still not doing that. But Melanie is.

She waits until the rush dies down, until you’re both tucked into the back, restocking, out of earshot. Then she turns to you fully. “Okay,” she says.

You sigh immediately. “No.”

“I didn’t even say anything yet.”

“You don’t have to.”

She crosses her arms. “He is so into you.”

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head as you grab another sleeve of cups. “No, he’s not.”

“Oh my god,” she says, almost offended. “Are we working in the same building?”

“Mel—”

“He comes in on his days off. He brings you food. He makes you private cinnamon rolls like you’re some kind of VIP customer—”

“It’s not like that,” you cut in, sharper than you meant to.

She pauses. Watches you. “…Then what is it like?”

You hesitate, just for a second. Then shrug. “He’s just being nice.”

Melanie stares at you like you just said the dumbest thing she’s ever heard.

“Yeah,” she says slowly. “Men are famously known for doing all of that for women they’re not interested in.” You don’t respond.

Because you don’t have one. Because there’s a part of you that knows she’s right, and a bigger part that won’t let you believe it.

It happens later that week. You’re wiping down the counter, the afternoon lull settling in, when Eddie walks up, closer than usual, but not in passing this time. He stays.

“Hey,” he says.

You glance up. “Hey.”

He shifts his weight, like he’s working something out in his head. Then, “You, uh… doing anything this weekend?”

Your hand stills slightly on the rag. Not obvious. But he notices.

“Why?” you ask, tone light.

He shrugs, but there’s something more behind it now. Less casual.

“My band’s playing,” he says. “Friday night. Nothing huge, just some local gig.”

You blink. Your brain catches on the word band immediately. “Band,” you repeat.

He grins a little. “Yeah. Still holding onto the dream.”

You huff out a quiet laugh. “Thought that was just talk.”

“Hey,” he points at you lightly, “I follow through sometimes.”

There’s a pause. Then, a little softer, “You could come. If you want.”

There it is. Clear enough. Not overwhelming. But not nothing.

You open your mouth, and before you can say anything— “Oh, she’ll be there.” Melanie’s voice cuts in from behind you.

You whip around. “Mel—”

“What?” she shrugs, completely unfazed. “She loves live music.”

You narrow your eyes at her. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Eddie looks between the two of you, something amused flickering in his expression. But there’s something else, too. Something hopeful.

He looks back at you. “Friday,” he says, a little more certain now. “8 p.m.”

You hesitate. Just for a second. Then nod. “Yeah,” you say, quieter. “Okay.”

His smile is small. But real. “Cool.”

He lingers for a second longer, then steps back.

“Don’t bail,” he adds.

You roll your eyes slightly. “Relax.” But your stomach twists anyway.

From across the counter, Melanie just grins. “Just being nice,” she mutters. You shove her lightly. But you’re smiling. Just a little.

You found his Instagram by accident. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

It’s late, you’re half-scrolling, half-thinking about Friday, and his name just… comes up. Tagged in something. One of the café posts, maybe. You don’t even really register how you got there.

Just that suddenly, it’s him.

A little grainier than real life, a little more curated, but still very Eddie. Guitar slung low, messy hair, captions that read like he typed them at 2 a.m. without thinking twice. Old flyers, random clips from gigs, the occasional blurry group photo.

You stare at it longer than you should. Then follow him.

Immediately regret it. Then, followed back. You blink at your screen.

“…Okay.” Your heart does something stupid.

Friday comes quicker than you expect.

Melanie’s been insufferable about it all day.

“You’re wearing that?” she asks, leaning against your doorframe.

You glance down at yourself: black tank, low-rise jeans, boots.

“…Yes?”

She smirks. “Just checking.”

“You’re annoying.”

“And you’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“You’re fixing your hair for the third time.”

You stop mid-motion. “…Shut up.”

The venue is small. Loud, packed, dim lighting that makes everything feel a little closer, a little more intense. The air smells like sweat, cheap beer, and something vaguely metallic.

Melanie drags you toward the front before you can second-guess it. “Trust me,” she says. “We’re not standing in the back like losers.”

You roll your eyes, but let her. And then, he walks on stage.

It hits differently.

Not the same Eddie from behind the counter, not the one leaning casually against it, asking about your weekend. This one’s louder. Looser. Confident in a way that feels natural.

Like this is where he’s supposed to be.

He doesn’t see you at first. Too busy adjusting his guitar, saying something to one of his bandmates that makes them laugh. Then he looks up. And finds you immediately. Like he knew exactly where you’d be.

There’s a flicker of something, surprise, maybe. Then recognition. Then, a grin. Not subtle. Not casual. Just for a second before he looks away again, like it didn’t just happen.

You swallow. Melanie elbows you. “Yeah,” she says. “He’s definitely not into you.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, but there’s no bite to it.

The set is loud. Good, too. Better than you expected, if you’re being honest. He’s good. Annoyingly good.

You find yourself watching him more than you should, the way he moves, the way he plays, the way he leans into it like nothing else exists when he’s up there. At one point, he glances over again.

Longer this time. You don’t look away.

After the set, everything blurs a little. People crowd around them, talking, laughing, shouting over the noise. Melanie pulls you toward the side, waiting it out.

And then he’s there. A little sweaty, hair even messier, a different kind of energy clinging to him now.

“Hey,” he says, slightly breathless.

“Hey,” you reply.

“You came.”

“You invited me.”

“Yeah,” he huffs a quiet laugh. “Good point.” He looks like he wants to say more, but someone calls his name from behind him.

“Hold on,” he says, glancing back. “Don’t disappear.” You raise a brow. “I might.”

“Don’t,” he repeats, already stepping away

You end up near the bar.

Melanie’s talking to someone, you don’t really register who, while you scroll absentmindedly through your phone.

You post a quick story. A photo you snapped of yourself before you left, a slight flirty pout in the mirror. You put "Beware" by Deftones over it.

You don’t think about it. Not until your phone buzzes.

Eddie Munson replied to your story: "hell yeah"

You stare at it. A laugh slips out of you before you can stop it. Of course, that’s what he says.

You type back before you overthink it: figured you’d approve

Three dots appear almost immediately. Then disappear. Then: they're a good band.

Your stomach flips. You lock your phone. You’re not doing this right now.

“You’re smiling at your phone.”

You look up. One of his bandmates, tall, easy smile, leaning a little too casually against the bar.

“I’m not,” you say automatically.

“Mm,” he hums, unconvinced. “You’re with Eddie, right?”

You pause. “Work with him.”

“Same difference,” he shrugs. “I’m Gareth.”

You nod slightly, giving your name. He smiles, easy and a little charming. “You staying after?” he asks. “We’re probably heading back, hanging out.”

Before you can answer, “There you are.”

Eddie’s voice cuts in. You glance over. He’s closer now, expression just slightly tighter than before, nothing obvious, but enough.

His eyes flick briefly to Gareth. Then back to you.

“We’re heading back to my place,” he says, a little more direct this time. “Just a few of us. You should come.”

Gareth smirks slightly beside you. “Yeah,” he adds. “You should.”

You look between them. Melanie appears at your side like she’s been waiting for this exact moment. “Oh, we’re going,” she says immediately.

You sigh. “Do I get a say in this?”

“No,” she says.

Eddie laughs under his breath. “C’mon,” he adds, a little quieter, looking at you now. “It’s not far. You said you live nearby, right?”

You nod. “…Yeah.”

“Yeah,” he repeats, like that settles it. And for some reason, it does.

His trailer isn’t far, just like he said. Close enough that the walk back feels easy, the night air cooling everything down just slightly, but not enough to shake the night's energy.

There’s laughter, overlapping conversations, and Melanie is already deep in it. You hang back just a little. Eddie falls into step beside you.

“Having fun?” he asks. You glance at him.

“Yeah,” you admit.

He nods, like he’s glad, but not surprised. “Good.” There’s a pause. Then, softer, “Glad you came.”

You look away slightly, a small smile pulling at your mouth. “Yeah,” you say. “Me too.”

Behind you, Gareth calls out something that makes Melanie laugh. Eddie glances back, then forward again. Just a little closer to you now than before. And for the first time, you don’t question it.

His trailer is warmer than you expected.

Not messy, just lived-in. Music posters layered over one another, a guitar resting against the wall, a couple of dim lamps casting everything in a low, amber glow that makes it feel smaller than it is.

Melanie disappears almost immediately, already mid-conversation with Gareth and one of the others, laughter blending in with the low music playing from somewhere in the background.

You linger near the door for a second. Taking it in.

“Not bad, right?” You glance over.

Eddie’s watching you, leaning back against the counter, arms crossed loosely like he’s trying to play it off casual.

“It’s very…” you pause, eyes scanning the room again, “…intentional.”

He lets out a quiet laugh. “That’s a nicer way of saying cluttered, I think.”

“Not cluttered,” you shake your head slightly. “Curated.”

That gets him. You can see it.

“Curated,” he repeats, like he’s trying the word out. “Alright. I’ll take that.”

He nods once, satisfied with that, before pushing off the counter and stepping a little closer, not too close, just enough.

“You want something?” he asks, gesturing vaguely. “Water, beer, something stronger if you trust my life choices.”

You huff a quiet laugh. “I’ll take a beer.”

“Bold,” he says, already turning to grab one.

You watch him for a second longer than you mean to. The way he moves in here is different. More relaxed. Like everything fits around him. He hands it to you, fingers brushing yours just briefly.

He tilts his head slightly, studying you.

“So—New York.”

You nod, taking a sip. “New York.”

“What’re you studying?” he asks.

“Literature,” you say. “Minor in film.”

His brows lift. “Okay,” he says. “That actually makes a lot more sense.”

You glance at him, amused. “What does?”

He gestures vaguely toward you. “The whole… vibe,” he says. “You’ve got this...” he pauses, searching, “—like you’re analyzing everything as it’s happening.”

You smile faintly at that. “I probably am.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

You lean back slightly against the counter, turning the bottle in your hands. “I like stories,” you add after a second. “How people tell them. What they choose to show, what they don’t.”

He watches you a little more closely now. “Film, too?”

You nod. “Film’s just… literature you can see,” you say. “Same idea, just different language.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Damn,” he says. “And here I am just trying to not burn cinnamon rolls.”

You glance at him, a small smile pulling at your mouth. “You’re doing more than that.”

He pauses. Just slightly. Then recovers with a smirk. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, then tell me something, professor.”

You raise a brow.

“You’ve been watching me all night,” he says. “What’s your analysis?”

You hold his gaze. Long enough to make it intentional. Then, “You’re different here,” you say simply.

He doesn’t look away. “How?”

You tilt your head slightly, considering him like you’re choosing your words carefully.

“Less guarded,” you say. “Like you don’t have to think about how you’re coming across.”

He’s quiet for a second. Then, “Is that a good thing?”

You shrug lightly. “I think so.” Then, softer, “I like this version of you better.”

“Careful,” he says, voice quieter now. “You keep saying stuff like that, I’m gonna start thinking you like me or something.”

You don’t rush to respond. Just take another sip, letting the silence stretch for a second longer than expected. “Maybe I just like observing you,” you say.

There’s a hint of something behind it. Enough to keep him guessing.

He exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah,” he says. “That sounds about right.”

Later, when the room gets too loud, you slip outside. The night air is cooler, quieter, the hum of everything else settling around you. You lean against the railing, exhaling slowly, letting the noise fade out.

“You always do that?”

You glance over. Eddie steps out, closing the door behind him, the music dulling instantly.

“Do what?” you ask.

“Disappear,” he says, walking over. “Right when things get interesting.”

You shrug slightly, gaze drifting out toward the dark street. “Sometimes it’s more interesting from a distance.”

He huffs a quiet laugh at that, like he expected the answer, and leans beside you. Close enough to feel him there.

For a second, neither of you says anything. And then, he really looks at you. Not the quick glances from behind the counter, not the passing moments during a shift. This time, it lingers.

The way your hair falls over your shoulders, the braids long gone now, replaced with something looser, softer. And there, subtle but impossible to miss, a streak of pink woven through it.

It catches the light just enough. And it throws him off for a second. Because he remembers pink.

Just not like this. Not the same shade, not the same girl.

Not the kid who used to sit cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by dolls, humming to herself while he and your brother made too much noise in the next room. You’re not that girl anymore. Not even close.

“Y’know,” he says after a second, voice quieter now, “you’re a lot different than I remember.”

You glance at him, already half-expecting that.

“Yeah,” you say lightly. “You’ve mentioned.”

He smiles a little at that, shaking his head. “No, I mean it,” he says. “Like… I remember you always having something pink on. Thought it was, like, your whole thing.”

You follow his gaze for a second, fingers brushing absently against the streak in your hair. A small smile tugs at your mouth.

“It’s just weird,” he admits. “Seeing you now and trying to line it up with… that.”

You tilt your head slightly, studying him. “You don’t have to,” you say. “They’re not really the same person.”

He looks at you again. Longer this time. Like he’s realizing that’s true. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I can see that.”

“I think I like this version better.” You don’t respond right away. Just let the words settle between you, quiet and steady. Then, after a second, a small, almost private smile crosses your face.

“Good,” you say softly.

He watches you for a moment longer. Like he’s trying to figure out something he’s not quite ready to say out loud yet.

Inside, someone calls his name. He doesn’t move right away. Just lingers there beside you, in that quiet space you carved out. Then, “Don’t disappear again,” he says.

You glance at him, that same knowing look in your eyes. “No promises.” He smiles. Like he expected that answer.

The summer settles into something steady. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just consistent.

The kind of rhythm you don’t notice at first, until you realize you’ve stopped thinking about it altogether. Mornings come with the same routine.

You show up early, earlier than you used to, and the smell hits you before anything else. Something warm, something fresh, something that isn’t just coffee anymore.

Eddie’s already there.

There’s always a sandwich waiting. Melanie's set off to the side, vegetarian without question. Yours beside it, turkey sausage, never the regular kind, like he made a point of remembering that once and never letting it go.

You stop commenting on it after a while. Because he doesn’t make a big deal out of it. And neither do you. You just eat.

Coffee becomes your thing. You bring it without asking, sliding it across the counter before he even looks up.

He takes it without hesitation now, like it’s expected. Like you are.

“Timing’s still impressive,” he says one morning, taking a sip.

“You’re predictable,” you reply.

“Wow,” he scoffs. “And here I thought I was mysterious.”

You glance at him briefly. “You try to be.”

That gets a laugh out of him every time.

The cinnamon rolls don’t come back to the menu. Customers ask. Sydney and Ava complain. Eddie just shrugs it off like it was a one-time thing.

But every few mornings, there’s one waiting for you. Just one. Still warm. You don’t ask about that, either.

On his days off, he still shows up. Always around the same time. Always for “coffee.” You’ve stopped pretending it’s a coincidence. He’s stopped pretending he doesn’t know that you know. But neither of you says it out loud.

It builds like that. Small things. Repeated enough to matter. Until suddenly, it’s July.

“Your birthday’s coming up,” Melanie says one morning, like it’s a warning. You glance at her. “Don’t make it weird.”

“I’m not gonna make it weird,” she says.

You narrow your eyes. “You’re definitely gonna make it weird.”

She grins. “I’m just saying. End of July. Big deal.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It is to me.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real resistance behind it.

Eddie doesn’t say anything about it. Not at first. Not to you. But he notices. And one afternoon, when you’re in the back, grabbing inventory, and Melanie’s alone at the counter, he asks.

“Hey,” he says, a little quieter than usual.

She looks up immediately, already suspicious. “What?”

He leans on the counter slightly, casual, but not really. “It’s her birthday soon, right?”

Melanie’s face changes instantly. Not subtle. Not even a little bit. “…Why?” she asks.

He rolls his eyes. “Relax. I’m just asking.”

She studies him for a second longer than necessary. Then, “You’re making her something,” she says.

Melanie breaks into a grin, “Oh my god.”

“Keep it down,” he mutters.

“You like her.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He sighs, dragging a hand over his face. “Are you gonna help me or not?”

She crosses her arms, satisfied.

“What does she like?” He pauses. Then, quieter, “Something she wouldn’t expect.”

Melanie thinks for a second. Then smirks. “Tiramisu.”

He nods once, like he’s locking it in. “Alright.”

“And Eddie?” she adds.

He looks at her.

“Don’t mess it up.”

He scoffs. “I won’t.”

Your birthday doesn’t feel like a big deal. You and Melanie spend most of the day out, walking around, getting lunch, doing nothing in particular but making it feel like something anyway.

By the time evening rolls around, you’re tired in that good way. “You wanna head back?” she asks casually.

You shrug. “Yeah, sure.”

She’s already texting someone. You don’t question it.

When you walk past Eddie’s, the lights are on.

You pause slightly. "Isn't he working tonight?”

Melanie just smiles. “Something like that.”

You narrow your eyes, but follow her anyway. She opens the door without knocking.

“Hello?” she calls out.

You step inside, slower. And then you see it. Nothing over the top.

No decorations, no big scene. Just the table cleared off. A small cake sitting in the center. And Eddie, standing off to the side like he’s trying to pretend this is casual. Like he didn’t plan this.

You stop. “…What is this?”

Melanie nudges you forward. “Your birthday, genius.”

You look at him. “You did this?” you ask

He shrugs, but it’s not convincing. “Yeah, well,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, “figured you deserved something.”

You step closer to the table. Glance down. Tiramisu.

Your brows lift slightly. “…How did you—” You stop and turn slowly toward Melanie.

She grins. “Don’t look at me.”

You shake your head, a small laugh slipping out. “That’s… actually insane.”

Eddie watches you carefully. “Is that good or bad?”

You look back at him. And for once, you don’t deflect. “Good,” you say, softer now. “Really good.”

Something in his expression eases. Just a little. “Alright,” he says. “Cool.” There’s a pause. Then, “Happy birthday.”

You hold his gaze for a second longer than usual. “Thank you.” And this time, you mean more than just the cake.

It’s mid-shift when he brings it up. Not during a quiet moment, either, right in the middle of everything, like it’s casual. Like it’s not.

He leans against the counter, wiping his hands on a towel, glancing between you and Melanie. “So,” he says, “you two doing anything tonight?”

Melanie doesn’t even look up. “Depends,” she replies. “Why?”

Eddie shrugs, but there’s something behind it. “Bar down on Maple’s got a couple tables open. Figured we could hang out. Play a game or two.”

You glance at him briefly, then back to the drink you’re making. “Since when do you play pool?” you ask.

“I contain multitudes,” he says dryly.

Melanie snorts. “Alright,” she says. “I’m in.”

You raise a brow at her. “That was fast.”

She shrugs. “I like pool.”

“Since when?”

“Since right now.”

You narrow your eyes slightly. Something’s off. You can feel it.

Eddie watches the exchange, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. “Cool,” he says. “Then it’s settled.”

An hour later, Melanie suddenly isn’t so available.

“I can’t go,” she says, way too casually, tying her apron like she didn’t just agree.

You blink at her. “…What?”

“Something came up.”

“What came up?” you ask.

She shrugs, avoiding your eye. “Just—stuff.”

You stare at her. She refuses to look back.

Across the counter, Eddie huffs out a quiet laugh. “Damn,” he says. “That’s rough.”

You shoot him a look.

He just lifts his hands slightly, innocent. “Guess it’s just us, then.”

It lands. Not heavy. But not nothing. You glance between the two of them. Melanie finally looks at you, and the look she gives you is way too knowing.

“Have fun,” she says.

You sigh. “…Unbelievable.”

But you grab your bag anyway. Eddie pushes off the counter, grabbing his keys.

“C’mon,” he says, already heading for the door. “Don’t bail on me now.”

You shake your head, following him out. “I’m not bailing,” you mutter.

“Good,” he says, glancing back at you, that same grin pulling at his mouth. “Would’ve been a real shame.”

The bar is dim, low-lit, the kind of place that feels like it exists outside of time. Music hums softly through the speakers, something slow and familiar.

“Play?” he asks, tapping the table lightly.

You glance at the cue stick. “…I’ve never played.” It comes out easy. Too easy.

His brows lift slightly. “Really?”

You shrug. “Guess I missed out.”

He watches you for a second, like he’s deciding if he believes you. Then hands you a stick anyway. “Alright,” he says. “C’mere.”

He steps behind you, closer than he’s been all night. Not touching, just there.

“Hold it like this,” he says, reaching around you, but stopping just short, letting you mirror him instead. You follow along, biting back a smile. “Like this?”

“Yeah,” he says, voice lower now. “Almost.”

You line up the shot. Pause. Then, a clean hit. Ball sinks instantly. You don’t react. Just straighten slightly. “…Beginner’s luck.”

“Uh-huh,” he says.

By the third shot, he knows. By the fifth, he’s laughing. “You’re such a liar,” he says, shaking his head.

You glance at him, faintly amused. “I said I’d never played.”

“That was not what you implied.”

You tilt your head slightly. “Sounds like a you problem.”

He huffs a laugh, stepping closer again. “Alright,” he mutters. “Noted.”

You play for longer than you mean to. The game turns into something else. Not really about winning. Just, proximity. Conversation.

The way he leans against the table, watching you line up a shot like it’s more interesting than it should be. The way you catch him looking, and don’t call him out on it.

The walk back is quieter than the bar. Not awkward, just heavier in a way you can’t really name. Eddie walks a little closer to you now, hands shoved in his pockets, glancing over every so often like he’s still deciding something.

When you get inside, the energy shifts again. Softer. Contained. Like the rest of the world, stayed outside.

He kicks the door shut behind him, tossing his keys onto the counter before turning back to you.

“Alright,” he says, stretching slightly, “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

You raise a brow, setting your bag down. “That sounds ominous.”

He smirks. “I heard your playlist’s good.”

You blink. “…From who?”

He shrugs, way too casual. “Sources.”

You narrow your eyes. “Melanie.”

“Maybe,” he says. “Maybe not.”

You shake your head slightly, but there’s a faint smile there. “You want me to DJ?”

“Yeah,” he nods, stepping aside, gesturing toward his setup. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

You hesitate for half a second. Then move. It feels weirdly personal. Handing someone your music always does. You scroll for a second before hitting play. Something slower. Atmospheric. A little heavy, but not overwhelming.

The kind of song that fills a room instead of demanding it. Eddie watches you while it starts. Not the screen. You.

“Alright,” he says after a second, nodding. “Yeah. This tracks.”

You glance at him. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” he says, leaning back against the counter, “this is exactly what I expected you to listen to.”

You tilt your head slightly. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

He smiles a little. “Nothing bad,” he says. “Just… you’ve got a vibe.”

You huff quietly. “You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true.”

At some point, the music fades into the background. He grabs the remote, flipping through something before settling on a film. Black and white. Grainy. The kind of thing most people wouldn’t pick.

You notice immediately. “…You’re kidding.”

He glances at you. “What?”

“You’re putting this on?”

“Yeah?” he says. “Problem?”

You shake your head slowly, stepping closer to the couch.

“No,” you say. “Just didn’t think you were the type.”

He pauses. Then, “I’m not,” he admits. “But you are.”

You look at him for a second longer than usual. “…You asked Melanie.”

“Maybe,” he repeats.

You shake your head, but you sit anyway. The movie starts. A slow-burning mystery, all shadows and long pauses, dialogue that feels heavier than it sounds. You settle into it almost immediately. He notices that, too.

You end up side by side again. Closer this time, not quite touching, but not far.

“You’ve seen this?” he asks quietly.

“A few times,” you say. “It’s good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod, eyes still on the screen. “You have to pay attention, though.”

He glances at you instead. “I can do that.”

You don’t look at him, but you feel it.

Time stretches. The movie plays. The music hums underneath it. And slowly, he shifts closer. Not all at once. Just enough.

“C’mere,” he murmurs after a while, softer than before. “You’re still sitting too far away.”

You glance at him briefly. Then move. This time, you don’t stop halfway. You settle beside him, shoulder brushing his.

He exhales quietly. Like he’s been waiting for that

His arm comes up along the back of the couch, then slowly, carefully, his hand finds your back again. Familiar now. Expected. His fingers move lightly, tracing slow patterns, pressing just enough to make you aware of it.

You don’t pull away.

“You always this observant?” he asks after a while, voice low.

“Sometimes,” you reply.

“Explains a lot.”

You hum softly, not asking what he means. Because you already know.

The movie keeps playing, but neither of you is really watching anymore. His hand drifts up your back, into your hair, fingers catching gently on the pink streak.

“Still thinking about this,” he murmurs.

You glance at him. “You’re easily distracted.”

“Only sometimes.”

His hand moves again, resting against your leg now, thumb brushing slowly, absentminded. You let it happen. Again, longer this time. And the whole night feels like that. Like you’re both standing right on the edge of something, just seeing who moves first.

Eventually, the movie ends. Neither of you moves right away. The credits roll quietly in the background, the room dim, the air heavier than it was before.

You sit there for a second longer than necessary. Then, “…I should go,” you say, softer this time.

His hand stills against your back. But doesn’t leave. “Yeah,” he replies, just as quiet.

Neither of you sounds convinced. You shift slightly, pulling away just enough to stand. The loss of contact is immediate and noticeable.

You grab your bag, fingers fidgeting with the strap for a second before you look back at him. He’s already watching you.

“Thanks,” you say, a small smile pulling at your mouth. “For tonight.”

“Yeah,” he says, standing now, a little closer than before. “Anytime.”

You hesitate, then step forward, closing the distance just slightly. Your arms lift, tentative for a second before settling around him in a quick, soft hug.

He exhales quietly, like he wasn’t expecting it, but his hands come up anyway, one resting lightly against your back.

It lingers, just a second longer than it should. And when you pull back, you don’t go far. Your hands drop, but you’re still close. Too close.

His face is right there. Closer than it’s ever been.

You can feel it now, that shift, that quiet pull that’s been building all night, all summer. Neither of you moves at first.

His eyes flick down, just briefly. Then, back up, you feel your breath catch slightly. And then, you both lean in. Slow. Careful. Like giving the other time to stop. But neither of you does. And when your lips meet, it’s soft. Just a brush.

Like testing it, like confirming it’s real. And then it settles. Just enough to feel it. Just enough to change everything. When you pull back, it’s barely an inch. Still close, still there.

His forehead almost brushes yours, breath uneven now. “Okay,” he murmurs, like he’s half-laughing, half in disbelief.

You don’t say anything. You just look at him. Because there’s nothing left to pretend about now. The line’s already been crossed.

The second your lips part, the air between you feels charged, like the hush right before the turning point in a novel you’ve read a hundred times.

Eddie’s forehead stays pressed lightly to yours, his breath warm and uneven against your mouth. His hand is still at the small of your back, fingers splayed like he’s afraid the chapter might end too soon if he lets go.

“You…” He swallows, voice rough. “You have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do that?”

You don’t answer with words at first. Your heart is hammering, but there’s a spark of that familiar wit flickering through the haze.

“Careful, Munson,” you murmur, lips brushing his as you speak. “Keep talking like that, and I might start quoting poetry at you. And nobody wants that mid-kiss.”

He laughs softly, the sound low and warm, and it loosens something tight in your chest. “Poetry, huh? Fuck, you’re trouble.”

This time, when he kisses you, it’s deeper. Slower. His mouth moves against yours with a kind of careful hunger, like he’s savoring every line of you. You make a tiny, involuntary sound, half sigh, half whimper, and he answers it by sliding his free hand up to cradle the back of your neck, thumb stroking along the pink streak in your hair.

Your body responds before your mind catches up. You’ve done this before, with other boys, other fumbling moments, but never with him. Never with someone who feels like he’s rewriting the whole story just by touching you.

You clutch at the front of his worn Black Sabbath tee, fingers twisting in the soft fabric, and he smiles against your lips like he can feel how quickly you’re unraveling.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide. “We don’t have to rush. Tell me if it’s too much.”

You shake your head, a small, wry smile tugging at your mouth despite the flush creeping up your neck. “Too much? Please. I’ve read worse cliffhangers.” But your voice is softer than the words, breathy, giving away how much you’re already yielding to him.

He seems to understand anyway. One corner of his mouth lifts, soft and crooked. “Yeah? Then let’s make this one worth the reread.”

His thumb traces your bottom lip, then he leans in again, kissing you like he’s got all the time in the world and none at all. You let him lead, melting into it, letting your body follow wherever his hands guide you.

When his tongue brushes lightly against yours, you shiver hard, a helpless little sound escaping you, and he groans quietly, pulling you closer until your chest is flush against his.

Somehow you end up on the couch again, only this time you’re not sitting politely beside him. You’re in his lap, straddling his thighs, your skirt riding up without either of you acknowledging it yet. His hands settle on your hips, warm and steady, thumbs rubbing slow circles through the thin fabric.

“You’re shaking,” he whispers against your mouth.

“I’m okay,” you breathe, then add with a touch of that sharp wit, “Just… recalibrating the plot twist.”

“Good nervous?” His lips trail along your jaw, then lower, pressing an open-mouthed kiss just beneath your ear.

You nod, eyes fluttering shut. “The best kind.”

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours. One hand slides up your back, under your shirt, fingertips grazing bare skin. The touch is so gentle that it makes you arch into it without thinking.

He rewards you with another kiss, deeper this time, tongue stroking yours until your head spins and you’re clutching his shoulders like he’s the only solid thing left in the room.

When he finally pulls back again, his gaze drops to your mouth, then lower, taking in the way your chest rises and falls too fast. “Can I take this off?” he asks, fingers curling at the hem of your shirt. “Just the shirt. We can stop whenever you want.”

You bite your lip, then nod, lifting your arms for him with a quiet submission that feels natural, like turning the page when you know the next scene will change everything. He peels it away slowly, reverently, like he’s revealing the first vulnerable line of a new chapter.

The cool air hits your skin, and you instinctively start to cover yourself, but he catches your wrists gently. “Don’t,” he says, voice low and rough. “Let me look. Fuck… you’re beautiful.”

Heat floods your face. You’re not used to being looked at like this, seen so completely by someone who’s known you in fragments for years. But the way his eyes move over you, dark and worshipful, makes something warm and liquid pool low in your belly.

He leans in and presses a kiss to the center of your sternum, then another just above the lace of your bra. When his teeth graze the soft swell of your breast you gasp, fingers threading into his messy curls.

Eddie groans. “Love the sounds you make… so fucking sweet.”

He shifts beneath you, and you feel him—hard, pressing insistently against the apex of your thighs through his jeans. The realization sends another jolt through you, sharper this time because it’s him. You rock forward experimentally and his head falls back against the couch with a hissed curse.

“Shit, careful, baby. You keep doing that, and this is gonna be over way too fast.”

You freeze for a second, but then that witty spark flickers again. “Wouldn’t want to spoil the ending,” you murmur, voice teasing even as it trembles.

He laughs, dark and breathless, and pulls you down for another kiss, slower, soothing. His hands roam up your ribs, over the curve of your waist, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts until you’re whimpering into his mouth, all wit dissolving into soft, needy sounds.

Then, without warning, he turns his head and bites your cheek.

Not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to leave a mark. His teeth sink into the soft, rounded flesh of your face just below your eye, holding for a second before he soothes the spot with his tongue. You squeak in surprise, a startled little sound that makes him chuckle darkly against your skin.

“Been wanting to do that since you walked in with that pink streak and those big eyes,” he murmurs, voice husky. “Gonna look so pretty with my teeth marks on you tomorrow. Like a secret annotation only I get to read.”

Your whole body flushes hotter. The possessive little bite, the casual way he says it—like marking a favorite passage—does something dangerous to the submissive part of you that’s been quietly humming under your skin all night. You duck your head, hiding against his shoulder for a moment, but he catches your chin and tilts your face back up.

“Hey. No hiding. Not from me.”

He kisses you again, deep and claiming, and this time when his hands slide down to your thighs and start pushing your skirt higher, you don’t stop him. You let him guide you, let him lay you back against the couch cushions, let him settle between your legs like he belongs there.

His mouth finds your neck, sucking lightly, then harder, leaving little blooming marks that match the one on your cheek. Every time you make a soft, needy sound, he rewards you with more, more kisses, more touches, more murmured praise against your skin.

“Such a good girl for me… so fucking pretty when you let go…”

Your hands stay in his hair, tugging gently, guiding him without words because even with your experience, this feels different—deeper, like the first real intimate scene after years of buildup. But he seems to know anyway. He always has.

When his fingers finally slip beneath the waistband of your panties, slow and careful, you’re already soaked. He groans at the first touch, forehead dropping to your shoulder.

“Jesus Christ, sweetheart… all this for me?”

You can only nod, breath hitching as he strokes you with reverent, teasing fingers. He takes his time, learning every little reaction, every gasp and shiver, until you’re trembling beneath him, hips rocking up into his hand without shame, your usual wit reduced to breathless whispers of his name.

Only when you’re whimpering for more does he finally ease your panties down your legs, kissing every inch of skin he reveals. Then he’s back between your thighs, mouth replacing his fingers, and the world narrows to the wet heat of his tongue and the low, filthy sounds he makes like he’s the one being rewarded.

You come apart with his name on your lips and his teeth grazing the inside of your thigh, the bite on your cheek still tingling like a secret brand only he’s allowed to leave.

Afterward, he pulls you into his chest, both of you breathing hard, skin damp, and hearts racing. He presses a soft kiss to the bite mark on your face, then to your swollen lips.

“Still with me?” he whispers, voice tender now.

You nod, curling closer, fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest like you’re mapping out the next few pages. “Yeah,” you murmur, a hint of that wit slipping back in. “Just… bookmarking this moment.”

Eddie smiles against your hair, arms tightening around you like he never plans to let go.

The next morning feels… off. Not bad, just different.

You wake up later than you meant to, the light already too bright through your window, your phone buzzing with missed alarms you definitely slept through.

For a second, you just lie there, staring at the ceiling. Replaying last night. And then—“Shit.”

You’re barely on time. Rushing in, hair still slightly damp, heart beating a little faster than it should for a normal shift. The bell chimes as you push through the door. And he’s already there.

Behind the counter, mid-conversation with Melanie, sleeves pushed up, moving like nothing happened. Like last night didn’t exist. Your steps slow just slightly. He looks up, sees you, and for a split second he freezes.

Just enough to notice. “Hey,” he says.

It’s normal, too normal.

“Hey,” you reply, also normal.

Melanie looks between the two of you immediately. Eyes narrowing. “…Oh my god.”

You shoot her a look. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” she says, already grinning. “I didn’t even say anything.”

“You’re thinking it.”

“I am,” she confirms. “Very loudly.”

Eddie huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he turns away slightly, grabbing something off the counter. But he’s listening.

You move past them, setting your bag down a little too quickly. Everything feels hyper-aware now. Where he’s standing. How close he is. The way your shoulders almost brush when you pass him, and how neither of you acknowledges it.

The shift is weird. Not in a bad way. Okay, maybe a little. Like you’re both trying not to do anything that gives it away. But somehow that makes it more obvious.

Melanie notices everything. The way you avoid eye contact for too long. The way he lingers just slightly closer than usual. The way neither of you mentions last night.

“You’re both acting insane,” she mutters at one point, wiping down the counter.

“We’re not,” you say.

“You are,” she insists. “It’s painful.”

Eddie snorts under his breath.

“Leave her alone,” he says, but there’s no real argument behind it.

Melanie looks at him. Then back at you. Then, “Oh my god, something did happen.”

You don’t respond. You don’t have to. Your silence says enough.

Her jaw drops. “I knew it.”

“Mel—”

“I knew it,” she repeats, pointing between the two of you. “You’re both so obvious.”

Eddie laughs quietly again, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, alright,” he says. “Relax.”

“Relax?” she echoes. “You—”

“Melanie,” you cut in, sharper now.

She stops. But she’s still smiling. Because she’s right.

Later, when things quiet down, he finds you. Not dramatic. Just slipping beside you while you’re restocking, voice lower than usual.

“Hey.”

You glance at him. “Hey.”

There’s a pause. Different from before. More aware. “So,” he says, “tomorrow’s your last day, right?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

He shifts slightly, like he’s working up to something. “Then… come in early,” he says. “Before your shift.”

You raise a brow. “Why?”

He hesitates. Just a second. Then, “Sunrise,” he says. “Figured we could—y’know. Before everything.”

It’s simple. But not.

You study him for a second, then nod. “…Okay.”

His shoulders ease slightly. “Okay.”

But the next morning? Everything goes wrong.

You wake up to a text from Melanie: you need to get here. now.

No context. No explanation. Just that. Your stomach drops.

When you get there—

it’s chaos.

The back area is a mess.

Flour everywhere. Containers knocked over. A shelf—one of the main ones—completely collapsed, ingredients scattered across the floor like something exploded.

Melanie’s in the middle of it, already trying to clean. And Eddie? Eddie looks stressed.

More than you’ve ever seen him. He’s pacing slightly, running a hand through his hair over and over.

“What happened?” you ask, stepping in quickly.

Melanie looks up. “Shelf gave out. Everything came down.”

You glance at him. He barely meets your eyes. “I—I didn’t check the weight,” he mutters. “I thought it’d hold.”

There’s a tightness in his voice you haven’t heard before.

“I’m gonna get fired,” he adds, quieter.

You don’t think, just move. “Okay,” you say, already grabbing a towel. “Then we clean it up.”

Melanie nods immediately. “Yeah.”

Eddie looks at you. “Hey, you don’t have to—”

“I know,” you cut in, not looking up. “I want to.”

There’s no hesitation in your voice. No teasing. He watches you for a second. Then nods, “Alright.”

You work like that for a while. Quiet, focused, side by side—but not in the same way as before. This time, it’s not about tension. It’s about showing up.

The sun rises without you noticing. The plan, forgotten. Ruined even. But neither of you says it out loud.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. By the time the shift winds down, the mess is gone, the café looks normal again, and the adrenaline has worn off just enough for everything else to settle back in.

You’re wiping down the counter when he finds you again.

“Hey.”

You glance up. “Hey.”

There’s a pause; short, but not empty. “Band’s playing tonight,” he says. “One last thing before you ditch this place for good.”

You huff softly. “I’m not ditching.”

“Leaving,” he corrects. “Abandoning me. Same thing.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a hint of a smile there. “What time?”

His expression shifts just slightly. “Eight.”

You nod. “Yeah. Okay.”

The venue is louder than last time. More crowded, more bodies packed together, the air thick with heat and movement.

Melanie’s with you again, but she drifts off pretty quickly, pulled into a conversation with someone near the bar. You stay closer to the stage. You always do.

Eddie spots you before the set starts. There’s that same look, quick, but unmistakable. Then he’s gone again, pulled into it.

You watch from the side this time. Closer than before, close enough to feel it. The bass, the drums, the way the floor almost vibrates beneath your feet. He’s different up there again, looser, more confident.

And every so often, his eyes flick over, just to check. Just to make sure you’re still there.

Between sets, the crowd shifts.

Another band takes the stage, heavier this time, louder, the energy in the room changing almost instantly.

The pit opens up before you even realize it. Bodies pushing, shoving, movement turning chaotic in seconds.

“Hey—” A hand catches your arm steadily.

Pulling you back just enough to keep you out of it. You turn, Eddie. Closer than usual, expression focused now, not teasing.

“Careful,” he says, guiding you slightly behind him. You don’t argue. Just let him.

He positions himself between you and the edge of the pit, one arm still lightly at your side like he hasn’t fully let go.

“You good?” he asks, glancing down at you.

“Yeah,” you say.

His hand lingers for a second longer. Then drops. But he doesn’t move far.

Later, outside, the air feels cooler. Quieter.

You lean against the brick wall, pulling a cigarette from your pocket, tapping it lightly against your hand before lighting it. He watches.

“Didn’t take you for a smoker,” he says.

You shrug, taking a drag. “Occasionally.”

“Occasionally,” he repeats.

You glance at him, amused. “You repeat everything I say.”

“Only the interesting stuff.”

You roll your eyes slightly, exhaling. He steps closer. “Lemme see that,” he says, nodding toward the cigarette.

You hand it over without thinking. He takes it, bringing it up, but instead of immediately taking a drag, he pauses, the filter resting between his teeth. Biting it. Absentminded.

Like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

Your eyes linger on it for a second longer than they should. The slight pressure of his jaw. The way his rings catch the light as his fingers hover near them.

“…You do that a lot?” you ask, before you can stop yourself.

He glances at you. “Do what?”

You gesture vaguely. “That.”

He looks down at the cigarette in his hand. Realizes. Lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

“Yeah,” he says. “Didn’t even notice.”

Then his eyes flick back to yours, something a little more aware settling in now. “Why?”

“Nothing,” you say lightly, taking it back from him. “Just… noticed.”

He watches you for a second longer. Like he knows it’s not nothing. But he doesn’t push it. Just smirks slightly, stepping back.

“Careful,” he mutters. “You keep paying attention like that, I’m gonna start getting nervous.”

You hum softly. “Good.”

He huffs a quiet laugh at that, shaking his head slightly, but his eyes linger on you for a second longer than before. Like he’s trying to figure out what you meant. You don’t let him.

The door behind you swings open, voices spilling out, the sound of laughter and overlapping conversation cutting through the quiet. You glance over your shoulder at his bandmates. Perfect.

You push off the wall slightly, taking another drag before flicking the ash off the end, using the distraction without making it obvious.

“So,” you say, like nothing just happened, “I got something to show you.”

He raises a brow. “Yeah?”

You nod, already pulling your digital camera out. “From your set.”

That gets his attention immediately. You scroll for a second, then turn the screen toward him.

Photos from earlier; angles caught between movements, lighting hitting just right, grain from the low light giving everything this raw, almost cinematic feel.

He leans in. Closer than necessary. “…Wait,” he says, taking the phone gently from your hand, eyes scanning. “You took these tonight?”

You nod, watching him. “Yeah.”

He flips through them, slower now. Really looking. “Holy shit,” he mutters under his breath.

“You’re good,” he says, glancing up at you briefly before looking back down at the screen. “Like, actually good.”

You shrug slightly, like it doesn’t matter. “It’s just timing.”

“Yeah, well,” he says, still scrolling, “your timing’s insane.”

Behind him, one of his bandmates leans over. “Yo, what are you looking at?”

Eddie doesn’t even hesitate. “Her photos,” he says, holding the camera up slightly. “From the set.”

The way he says it is not casual or dismissive. Just proud. You feel it.

His bandmate takes the camera, scrolling quickly. “Damn,” he says. “These are sick.”

Another one steps in. “Lemme see.”

Eddie shifts slightly, closer to you now, without thinking, watching them look through them like he’s already decided they matter. “Told you,” he says, glancing back at you for a second, a small smirk pulling at his mouth. “Best ones we’ve got.”

You raise a brow slightly. “That so?”

“Yeah,” he says easily. “Might have to start bringing you to every show.”

There’s a pause. You tilt your head slightly, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Careful,” you say. “Sounds like a commitment.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh.

After that night, the texts started getting shorter.

At first, it was just the usual lag: hey, sorry, band shit ran late, or catch you tomorrow? But tomorrow kept sliding into the day after, and the day after turned into radio silence. You tell yourself it’s nothing. People get busy. Life isn’t a neatly plotted novel where every absence means foreshadowing.

Still, you catch yourself rereading the last message he actually sent, the one with the little smirking emoji after you’d sent him a photo of the bite mark on your cheek fading to a faint bruise. Looks good on you. That was three days ago.

Now it’s the night before you leave, and your suitcase is half-packed on the bed like an open wound. The pink streak in your hair feels suddenly childish under the lamplight, like a detail you added to a character who was never meant to stay in this chapter.

A soft knock at the door. Melanie lets herself in before you can answer, eyes already a little too bright, a little too shiny. She closes the door behind her and leans against it, arms crossed like she’s trying to hold something in.

“Hey,” she says, voice quieter than usual.

You force a small smile, the kind that doesn’t reach your eyes. “If you’re here to talk me into staying, the answer’s still no. I’ve got that train ticket burning a hole in my wallet and everything.”

She doesn’t laugh. Instead she crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed, next to the open suitcase. Her gaze flicks over the folded clothes, the book you’re halfway through (a dog-eared copy of something melancholic and Russian, because of course it is), then back to you.

“I saw Eddie today,” she says finally. The words land heavy.

You go still, fingers pausing on the zipper. “Yeah?”

She nods once. “He was… off. Distant. Kept finding reasons to be in the back room, didn’t stick around for the usual bullshit banter.” A pause. Her eyes glisten, but she blinks it away fast. “Looked like shit, honestly. Like he hadn’t slept.”

Your chest tightens, but you keep your tone light, wry. “Classic Munson. Probably stayed up rewriting the campaign again. Or listening to the same three Metallica tracks on repeat until his brain melted. Very on-brand.”

Melanie hesitates, then exhales slowly, choosing her words with care. She doesn’t tell you the rest — that she had mentioned you were leaving tomorrow, that Eddie had already known and tried to joke it off at first (“Yeah, well, Hawkins can’t keep all the pretty ones forever”), before the tone turned serious because she can pull confessions out of anyone.

She doesn’t tell you how he’d cracked under her stare, admitting that knowing you were about to disappear had twisted the knife on every old insecurity he carried: that he was always the one left behind, the older brother’s best friend who was never supposed to matter, the guy who pushed first so no one else could reject him later.

She keeps all of it locked away. Because she knows you — your soft, sympathetic heart that would immediately offer to transfer somewhere small and close just to give him more time, just to fix what he was breaking on purpose. She won’t let you do that to yourself.

Instead she simply says, “I didn’t bring you up at all, actually. Didn’t want to make it worse.”

The half-truth sits between you, heavy but safe.

You let out a quiet laugh that doesn’t sound like one. “God, Mel. You make it sound like I’m the tragic heroine in some Victorian novel. All pining and unanswered letters.”

But the wit feels thin, even to you. Underneath it, your throat aches. Because she’s right about the cycle. You’ve felt the shift; the way his replies grew drier, the way he stopped initiating, the way the warmth that had wrapped around you on that couch suddenly had teeth. Insecurity, probably. Eddie’s always carried it like an old scar he pretends isn’t there.

You just didn’t think you’d be the one he’d push away first.

Melanie reaches over and squeezes your hand once, quick and tight. “I love you,” she murmurs. “And I’m sorry. I wish he wasn’t such a coward about his own heart.”

You hug her back when she pulls you in, pressing your face into her shoulder for a second longer than necessary. When she finally leaves, the room feels quieter than before.

You pick up your phone, thumb hovering over his name. The last message thread stares back at you, your words getting longer, his getting shorter, until they stop altogether.

You don’t type anything.

Instead you set the phone face-down, close the suitcase, and turn off the light. Tomorrow the train will leave, and the story will keep moving whether he shows up in it or not.

But the bite mark on your cheek, faint now, almost gone, still tingles sometimes when you touch it. Like a footnote you can’t quite erase.

Weeks later...

The lecture hall smells like old paper and cheap coffee, the kind of scent that usually pulls you into the story on the page. Today it just feels distant, like you're reading a chapter from someone else's life.

You sit near the back, notebook open, pen tapping idly against the margin. The professor is droning on about unreliable narrators in Russian literature—how the protagonist convinces themselves the ending is inevitable when it's really just fear wearing a clever mask. Your mind keeps drifting anyway.

To messy curls and tattooed forearms. To the low rumble of "behind" against your back. To the faint mark on your cheek that finally faded weeks ago but still ghosts under your fingertips when you touch it without thinking.

Your phone buzzes in your lap. You glance down.

Eddie Munson: that new Deftones album is actually insane. listened to it twice already. you win this round

You smile despite yourself; small, private, and type back before you can overthink it.

figured you'd approve. the bridge on track 4 feels like a plot twist you don't see coming

Three dots appear, then vanish. Then: yeah, exactly. like the song knows something you don't yet

Nothing more. No how's school, no when are you coming back, no real substance. Just these little threads, random song replies, a photo of a new guitar pedal he found, a blurry shot of the café kitchen with the caption your sausage substitute is judging me.

You send him one back a few days later: a flyer screenshot from a small venue in the city, an indie metal night that might suit his band.

thought this spot looked decent. good sound, not too corporate. might be worth checking if you're ever up this way

His reply comes hours later, during your evening reading: damn. looks sick. thanks for the heads up. we'll see

That's it. No follow-up. No miss having you around the counter. Just enough to keep the page from fully turning.

You tell yourself it's fine. This is what distance looks like in real life, not dramatic goodbyes or grand gestures, just quiet footnotes trailing off. You've read enough stories to know when a character is holding their breath, waiting for the next line that never quite comes.

Eddie stares at his phone screen in the dim light of the trailer, the glow casting shadows across the cluttered counter. The TV is on low, some old horror flick he’s not really watching, but his thumb keeps scrolling.

Your story pops up first tonight: a quiet shot of campus at dusk, leaves turning, overlaid with a line from some book he doesn’t recognize but feels like it was written for moments like this. Then another, a mirror selfie with that pink streak catching the light, headphones in, expression half-lost in thought. Caption: when the unreliable narrator starts sounding too familiar.

He watches it twice. Then again.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, tossing the phone onto the couch like it burned him.

He’s been doing this more than he should. Checking for new stories the second he wakes up, during breaks at the café, late at night when the silence gets too loud. Each one feels like a tiny window into a life that’s moving forward without him.

College. New city. New chapters. And here he is, still in the same damn trailer, still making the same damn cinnamon rolls for a counter that doesn’t have you behind it anymore.

He almost quit last week.

The new restaurant downtown offered him full-time—better hours, better pay, no early mornings slinging pastries for the same familiar faces who still look at him like the town freak who never quite left. He had the resignation half-written in his head. Walk in, hand it over, cut the cord clean.

But then he thought about summer. About you, maybe coming back for break, sliding onto that counter like you used to, braids and wit and that soft way you’d let him brush past you just a little too close. About the chance, however small, that you’d walk through the door again and he’d get to see that faint smile when he remembered your stupid turkey sausage.

So he stayed. Told the new place maybe later. Held out like an idiot, hoping for a plot twist he knows better than to expect.

Because he already knows how this ends. You’re leaving, Melanie had let it slip that night at the café, and he’d tried to joke it off, but the truth settled heavy anyway. Everyone leaves eventually. Better to start pulling away first. Keep the texts light. Random songs. Gig spots. Nothing real.

Nothing that lets you see how much he’s still thinking about the way you’d melt under his hand on your back, or the quiet sound you made when he bit your cheek like he could mark a place for himself in your story.

He picks the phone back up. Your last message sits there, the venue flyer. He stares at it a second longer, thumb hovering.

Then he closes the app without replying.

Not tonight.

Maybe tomorrow he’ll send something stupid about a new recipe. Keep the thread alive just enough.

Just in case you decide to come back for one more summer.

will she, wont she? the world may never know. unless... ;)

anyway, thank you always for your appreciation. this one hit a little too close to home, honestly.

bye

badfish 1, badfish 2, & badfish 3: eddie x fem!reader| NSFW (18+) |finished series

Hawkins’ golden girl meets the town’s most infamous outcast, and somehow, neither of you walks away unchanged. You’re the mayor’s daughter. Perfect on paper, watched from every angle, expected to be everything Hawkins wants you to be. Eddie is the exact opposite. Loud, unapologetic, and already written off by the same people who expect you to stay in line.

is it really you?: eddie x fem!reader| NSFW (18+)

You come back home for the summer expecting everything to feel the same. Same café job, same routine, same version of yourself you left behind. But the café’s different now. Renovated, busier… and apparently staffed with one very familiar face. Eddie Munson. The same Eddie who used to sit in your living room with your brother, who called you “kid,” who never really saw you the way you wanted him to. That was years ago. Now you’re twenty-one. And he’s definitely looking.

demolition lovers (1), demolition lovers (2): eddie x fem! eddie's POV| NSFW (18+)

You were Eddie Munson’s first love, first song, and the one mistake he never really recovered from. Years after he let you go for a dream that never happened, you return to Hawkins with a band, a voice, and a history neither of you ever learned how to let go of. Now, with unfinished feelings and too many songs that say what neither of you ever did, Eddie is left with one chance to prove he won’t run again.

all i wanted: eddie x fem! reader|

you were thirteen when you first moved to Hawkins, which was just supposed to be another pitstop in a long line of schemes your father wrangles himself into. first, you met Ronnie, and then came Eddie. somewhere in between, he became your first everything, and the one thing you never learned how to leave behind.

hold on till may (1) , hold on till may (2): eddie x fem!reader|NSFW (18+) |finished series

A heavier, more raw story about a girl trying to hold herself together in a house that’s constantly pulling her apart. Between a cruel older sister and pressure that never really lets up, you’re used to surviving more than living. Eddie sees it, maybe before anyone else does.

the ghost of you: eddie x fem!reader| ongoing

A high-stakes, emotionally charged story set during the final battle, where love, fear, and sacrifice collide in the Upside Down. When the plan falls apart, you realize too late that Eddie was never meant to wait for you. And when Vecna sets his sights on him, it becomes painfully clear why. With everything unraveling, you’re forced to choose between the mission and the person you can’t lose.

lover, you should've come over: eddie x fem!reader|

A slow-burning, tension-filled story about history that never really stayed in the past. When you and Eddie cross paths again, it doesn’t feel like a first meeting; it feels like picking up something unfinished. Between late-night run-ins, sharp banter, and the quiet weight of what went wrong years ago, every interaction walks the line between familiarity and frustration. Because the real problem isn’t that you don’t know each other. It’s that you do, and neither of you ever said what mattered when it counted.

petals (1), petals (2): eddie x fem!reader| NSFW (18+) | ongoing

You, Max's older sister, have enough on your plate. Between protecting Max from a volatile home, clashing with Billy, and refusing to play nice for anyone, you don’t have time for distractions, especially not one with messy curls and a smirk that keeps finding you. But the more your worlds overlap, the harder it gets to ignore him and the life you’re trying to build beyond survival.

flawless execution : eddie x fem!reader, dual POVs| maybe ongoing, haven't decided

A slow-burning story where control starts to slip. You live your life in counts, routines, and expectations; pushing your body past its limits for something bigger, something worth it. There’s no room for distractions. No room for mistakes. Then there’s Eddie. What starts as curiosity becomes harder to ignore, pulling you out of your rigid world and into something unpredictable, messy, and real. But when everything you’ve built depends on discipline, the question becomes: how much are you willing to lose to feel something?

A part of you died with him the day they lowered his casket into the ground, and no one seemed to notice they were burying two people instead of one. Every inch of your body felt hollow, like something had been scooped out and left behind, your eyes fixed, unblinking, on the perfect six-foot rectangle carved into the earth. It felt wrong, all of it, the neatness, the quiet murmurs, the way people dressed in black like that could ever be enough to honor something as loud and alive as him. You almost laughed at the absurdity of it, the way they made such a careful, reverent spectacle for an empty coffin. Eddie would have hated it. God, he would have hated it.

You remember days before, your hands shaking as you held his torn, blood-soaked body in your arms, the metallic scent of it thick in the air, clinging to your skin like it never planned to leave.

Your team had the “easy” part. That’s what they called it. Distract the demo-bats, buy time, get back through the gate. Simple. Clean. Manageable. But nothing in the Upside Down was ever simple, and you learned that quicker than anyone. You and Dustin sat on top of the trailer, your legs dangling over the edge while Eddie stood behind you, guitar slung low, fingers moving like second nature even as the world around you pulsed and rotted and breathed wrong. The sound cut through the air like a challenge, like a dare.

When the swarm shifted, when you saw that black, writhing mass change direction and come for you, everything after that blurred into panic and noise and instinct. You were supposed to jump. You were supposed to run. You were supposed to survive.

Inside the trailer, the bats came anyway.

They forced themselves through every crack and splintered edge, their bodies folding in unnatural ways, screeching and clawing and snapping as if the metal walls meant nothing at all. You could feel them before you could see them, the rush of wings, the heat of them, the sound drilling into your skull. You scrambled, all of you, tripping over each other, breath ragged, hands searching for something, anything.

Eddie got you to the rope.

You remember his hands on your waist, lifting, steady even as everything else fell apart. You remember the way your fingers burned as you climbed, the way your heart slammed against your ribs as you pulled yourself back into the right-side-up, gasping like you’d been drowning. Dustin was beside you a second later, and then you were both there, above him, reaching, screaming, begging—

“Eddie, come on! Come on, please!”

He looked up at you, and for a moment, for one horrible, suspended second, you thought he would. But something in his face changed.

And before you could understand it, before you could stop it, he pulled the knife from his pocket and sliced through the rope in one clean motion. It snapped, recoiling upward, leaving nothing but empty air between you.

“No—Eddie, no, what are you doing?!” Your voice broke, hands grasping at nothing. Your only way to him. His only way out. Gone. When you found him, it was already too late.

The ground was damp beneath your knees as you dropped beside him, the world narrowing down to the sight of him, barely recognizable beneath the blood and torn fabric, bite marks littering his chest and sides like something had tried to take him apart piece by piece. You didn’t feel yourself move, didn’t remember crossing the distance, only that suddenly his head was in your lap, your hands cradling him as if you held him carefully enough, gently enough, he wouldn’t slip away.

Tears blurred your vision, falling unchecked onto his face as you tried to keep him with you, tried to anchor him there. “C’mon, Eds,” you sobbed, your voice cracking as you hooked your arms under his shoulders, trying to lift him, trying to do something, anything. “Just—fuck—come on, please, please—”

He didn’t move. A broken, guttural sound tore from your chest as panic clawed its way up your throat. “Dustin!” you screamed, your voice echoing uselessly through the trees. “Help! Please!”

But Dustin was already there, or trying to be, dragging himself across the ground, his movements slow, uneven, his face twisted in pain from the ankle he’d wrecked on the fall. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t fast enough.

“H–hey,” Eddie rasped, the sound wet and thin, barely there. His hand found yours, fingers weak as they curled around it, giving the smallest squeeze. Your heart shattered all over again.

“You…you gotta get outta here.”

You shook your head violently, tears spilling faster, your grip tightening like you could keep him here by force alone. “No. No, I’m not leaving you. I’m not—I’m not doing that, okay? You just need help, you need a doctor, you’re gonna be fine, you’re gonna be fine—”

He coughed, and this time the blood didn’t stay hidden, spilling from the corner of his mouth, dark and thick, trailing down his cheek.

“I love you,” he whispered, like it was something fragile, something he was placing carefully into your hands. “You know that, right?”

“Eddie—” your voice broke on his name, splintering completely.

His chest rose once more. Then stilled. The grip on your hand loosened, slipping, his fingers falling away as if they’d never been there at all. A single tear tracked slowly down the side of his face, cutting clean through the dirt and blood. And just like that, he was gone.

And now, here you were, trembling over a casket that held nothing of him, your body swaying as the first drops of rain began to fall, slow and deliberate, like the sky itself was grieving something it couldn’t name. The clouds had swallowed the sun whole, casting everything in a dim, suffocating gray, and still, you didn’t move.

You didn’t feel the rain at first. Not when it soaked through your clothes, not when it clung to your skin, not when your hair began to cling to your face in damp strands. It was as if your body had forgotten how to register anything but the absence in front of you.

Wayne pressed an umbrella into your hand at some point, his fingers lingering like he wasn’t sure you’d stay standing without it, like you might collapse into the grave right alongside him. But you never opened it. You couldn’t.

Because leaving, even by something as small as stepping back, felt too much like letting him go.

So you stood there, unmoving, rain pouring over you in quiet sheets, eyes locked on the hollow space beneath the lowering coffin, waiting, impossibly, for something to change.

The last of the mourners drifted away in quiet fragments, their voices low, their footsteps soft against the soaked ground, as if even sound itself had the decency to tread lightly around him. Dustin lingered the longest, his arms wrapping around you in a damp, trembling hug, his breath uneven against your shoulder, like he was trying not to fall apart in your hands. Gareth followed, quieter, his grip tight for a fleeting second, like letting go might mean something permanent. And then they were gone.

It was just you and Wayne Munson, standing at the edge of something neither of you knew how to survive.

His hand came to rest on your shoulder, heavy, grounding, though it felt like nothing could anchor you anymore. When you finally looked at him, his eyes were rimmed red, worn down by something deeper than tears, something that had settled into his bones. He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, like he was asking something of you he didn’t have the words for.

“It’s time to go.” The sentence didn’t land so much as pass through you.

You didn’t respond. Didn’t trust your voice not to break apart entirely. Your body moved before your mind could catch up, slow and mechanical, one foot in front of the other, as if you were learning to walk again in a world that no longer made sense. The distance between the grave and the car felt endless, stretched thin by everything you were leaving behind.

The drive blurred. The road, the rain, the silence, all of it smeared together until the trailer came into view like something distant, something familiar in a way that hurt. There was no conversation when you stepped inside. No agreement spoken out loud. Wayne didn’t ask you to leave, and you didn’t ask to stay.

He just let you exist there, in the space his nephew had once filled so effortlessly, as if he understood that sending you anywhere else would be like losing him all over again. And for the last three weeks, that’s where you returned.

Night after night, you found your way back to his room, the door creaking softly as you pushed it open like you were afraid of disturbing something sacred. His bed still smelled like him, faint but unmistakable, woven into the sheets, the pillows, the air itself. You would lie there in the dark, curled into the space he used to occupy, clutching at what little remained, like if you held on tightly enough, it wouldn’t fade. Like he wouldn’t fade.

You soaked in every trace of him you could find, every lingering ghost of warmth, every memory stitched into the walls, desperate and unwilling to accept that this was all that was left. Nighttime was the worst.

The dreams didn’t come gently; they came in waves, pulling you under before you even realized you were drifting. At first, they were almost kind, almost merciful. You and Eddie in some sunlit field that didn’t exist anywhere you’d ever been, the grass brushing against your legs as you ran, his laugh loud and bright and alive in a way that made your chest ache even inside the dream. He would grab your hand, spin you, say something you could never quite remember when you woke, and for a moment, just a moment, it felt like nothing had ever gone wrong.

And then it would shift like it always did. The sky would darken too quickly, as if something were swallowing the light whole, and that familiar, suffocating red would bleed across the horizon. The air would turn thick, metallic, the scent of blood creeping in until it coated the back of your throat. His hand in yours would grow cold, too cold, and when you looked at him, he wouldn’t be him anymore.

Flashes. Quick, violent, impossible to hold onto. His body on the ground. Blood. Teeth. Stillness.

You would wake up gasping, heart slamming, hands grasping at sheets that never felt like enough. But then the dreams changed, and they no longer pretended to be kind.

They dropped you straight into something darker, something that felt less like memory and more like a warning. The sky above you would be black, endless, stretching on forever without a single star to break it apart. And the sound, God, the sound.

Ravens circled above you, their silhouettes cutting across the darkness, their caws sharp and relentless as they called down to you, over and over again, like they were trying to say something you couldn’t understand. You would try to move, to sit up, to run. But you couldn’t. Because you were lying down.

Flat on your back. Surrounded by wood. The edges of a coffin pressing in around you, suffocatingly close, the lid just inches above your face. You could feel the weight of the dirt above you, could almost hear it, shifting, settling, sealing you in. Your chest would heave, panic clawing its way up your throat as the ravens grew louder, closer, their beaks tapping, scratching, like they were trying to break through.

And then: through the chaos, through the blur of wings and shadow, you would see him. Not fully. Never fully.

Just a silhouette standing above you, framed by darkness, still and unmoving as everything else spiraled around him. You couldn’t see his face, couldn’t reach him, couldn’t tell if he was looking at you or through you. But you knew.

“Eddie—”

And then you would wake up. Every time. The next night, you didn’t even try to sleep.

Instead, you found yourself back at the cemetery, like something had pulled you there without asking, your feet carrying you over familiar ground until you reached him. The fresh dirt hadn’t settled yet, still uneven, still wrong, the headstone too clean, too new, like it didn’t belong there.

You lowered yourself beside it slowly, your body heavy, exhaustion clinging to you like a second skin. The grass was damp beneath you as you lay down, curling slightly into yourself, your shoulder brushing the edge of his grave as if proximity alone could make this feel any less unbearable.

For a while, there was nothing. Just the quiet hum of the night, the distant rustle of trees, the steady rhythm of your own breathing. And then, a sharp, piercing caw cut through the silence.

Your eyes snapped open. Perched on the headstone above you, dark against the dim glow of the night, was a raven. It stared directly at you. Its feathers seemed almost too black, swallowing the light around it, its head tilting slightly as if studying you, recognizing you. Another caw echoed from its beak, louder this time, sharper, like a call meant only for you.

Your breath caught. Because something about it felt wrong. Familiar. Like you had seen it before. Like it had seen you. And for a split second, just as it shifted its wings, just as the shadow moved, you could have sworn you weren’t alone.

You began to see them everywhere.

On your walk home from work, perched along the telephone wires like sentries, their silhouettes sharp against the fading sky, heads turning in eerie unison as you passed beneath them. Through the classroom windows, just beyond the glass, one would sit unmoving on the branch of a dying tree, watching, always watching, its dark eyes fixed on you like it knew something you didn’t. At night, they gathered outside Eddie’s bedroom window, claws scraping softly against the glass, wings shifting in restless, whispering movements that kept you from ever truly sleeping.

At first, you told yourself it was a coincidence. A trick of your exhausted mind. Grief, warping the edges of everything until nothing felt quite real anymore. But it didn’t feel random. It felt deliberate.

Each encounter lingered a second too long, each bird holding your gaze with an intensity that made your chest tighten, like there was something just beneath the surface, something trying to reach you, trying to be understood. They weren’t afraid of you. They didn’t scatter or startle or fly off like they should. They stayed. And worse, you started to recognize them.

Not in any way that made sense, not in a way you could explain without sounding completely unhinged, but there was a strange, creeping familiarity in each glossy feather, in the tilt of their heads, in the way they seemed to follow rather than appear.

Like it wasn’t different birds at all. Like it was the same one. Over and over again. You told yourself you were losing it. That grief had finally snapped something in your brain, twisted your reality into something you couldn’t trust.

But every time you met its gaze, you felt it. That pull. That awful, aching recognition. Like you weren’t looking at a bird at all. Like something was looking back. It wasn’t just the birds anymore.

It spread, slow and insidious, bleeding into everything you looked at, everything you felt. You started to catch him in the edges of your vision, in the spaces just beyond where your eyes could fully focus. A figure in the corner of a room that vanished the second you turned your head. A shadow that lingered a moment too long, shaped just enough like him to make your breath hitch.

And it wasn’t just sight. It was worse than that. You could feel him.

In the air, in the stillness, in the quiet moments where the world seemed to hold its breath. Sometimes it was the faintest brush of something against your arm, gone before you could react. Sometimes it was the unmistakable scent of him, cigarette smoke and something warm, something his, curling through the room when you knew, you knew, there was no reason for it to be there.

It crawled under your skin, settled into your bones. It was driving you insane. You stopped trusting yourself. Stopped trusting what was real and what wasn’t. Every shadow felt like a trick, every reflection something you couldn’t look at for too long without your heart starting to race.

Yet still, you kept looking. Dustin found you like that.

Standing too still, eyes locked onto the raven perched across the street, your vision blurred with tears you hadn’t even realized were falling. The rest of the world felt distant, muffled, like you were underwater and everything else was happening somewhere far above you.

“Hey.” His voice was gentle, cautious, like he was afraid of startling you. His arm came to rest on your shoulder, grounding, warm, real. “You okay?”

You nodded once, the motion delayed, your throat tight as you forced yourself to swallow around the weight sitting there.

“Yeah,” you said, but it came out quieter than you meant it to.

You hesitated. Then, softer, “Do you ever feel like…” your voice faltered, eyes flickering back to the bird, still watching, still unmoving. “Like you see him?”

Dustin doesn’t answer right away. You feel it before you see it, the way his hand stills slightly on your shoulder, the way the air between you shifts into something heavier, something careful.

“No,” he says finally, and it’s quiet, but it lands hard. “No, I… I don’t.”

You turn to look at him then, searching his face for something else, something that might contradict it, but all you find is worry. Real, unfiltered, settling into the lines of his expression in a way that makes your chest tighten.

“Hey,” he adds quickly, his voice softening, like he’s trying to reach you without pushing too hard. “That doesn’t mean anything’s wrong with you, okay? I mean—” he lets out a small breath, shaking his head slightly. “You went through… a lot. We all did. But you—” his voice catches for a second, like even he doesn’t know how to say it. “You were there. With him.”

You look away.

“I just think…” he continues, a little more hesitant now, “maybe you should talk to someone. Like, actually talk. Not just… keep it all up here.” He taps lightly at his own temple, offering you a small, almost apologetic smile. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

You nod again, automatic, distant. “Yeah,” you murmur. “Maybe.”

But you don’t mean it. Because later that night, you find yourself somewhere else entirely. Lover’s Lake. 

The air is colder here, quieter, the surface of the water stretching out into a dark, endless mirror that swallows whatever little light the moon offers. The trees crowd close around the edges, their shadows long and reaching, like they’re trying to pull everything inward. You don’t remember deciding to come.

The bottle in your hand is already half-empty by the time you sit down near the edge, the damp earth soaking through your jeans as you stare out across the water. The burn of it lingers in your throat, sharp and familiar, something you welcome only because it’s something you can feel.

The lake is still, too still. You take another sip, your hand unsteady now, your thoughts quieter than they’ve been in days, like the noise has finally burned itself out and left nothing behind.

Your eyes drift to the water, tracing the faint ripples, the way the darkness seems to stretch on forever. You wonder, briefly, how cold it would be. How long would it take before you stopped feeling anything at all?

It wouldn’t be so bad, would it? Not if it meant…You swallow hard, your grip tightening around the bottle. Not if it meant being with him again. The thought settles into you, heavy, dangerous, but not unwelcome.

Romantic, almost. Tragic in a way that feels fitting. You could see him again. You could hear him, touch him, stop this constant, aching absence from tearing you apart piece by piece.

Your feet shift slightly against the ground, closer to the edge now, your gaze fixed on the black water like it’s calling to you, like it’s offering something in return.

And then, something moves. Not in the water, but across it. Your breath catches. On the opposite side of the lake, just beyond where the trees thin out into shadow, there’s a figure.

Still. Watching. Your heart slams violently against your ribs, the world snapping back into sharp, suffocating clarity as you push yourself up, stumbling slightly, your eyes straining to make sense of what you’re seeing.

It’s just a shadow, it has to be. But…The shape. The stance. The way it stands like it belongs there, like it’s been waiting. Your voice breaks before you can stop it. “Eddie?”

The figure doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. But it doesn’t disappear either. And for the first time since the ground closed over his empty casket, you don’t feel alone. 

The figure doesn’t move. It doesn’t come closer, doesn’t call out, doesn’t do anything except stand there, just far enough away to feel unreachable, just clear enough to make your heart stutter painfully in your chest.

“Eddie?” your voice breaks, fragile, hopeful in a way that terrifies you.

And then, it’s gone. Like it was never there at all. The space across the lake is empty again, nothing but trees and shadow and the faint shimmer of water reflecting a sky that refuses to give anything back. You blink hard, once, twice, your breath catching as your eyes dart across the shoreline, searching, begging for something to reappear.

Nothing. Your chest caves in on itself. A sharp, broken sound tears out of you before you can stop it, something between a laugh and a sob, your hands dragging through your hair as you stagger back a step.

“Of course,” you choke out, shaking your head, your voice splintering. “Of course you did. You finally fucking lost it.”

The bottle is still in your hand. You don’t think, don’t hesitate, just tip it back and swallow what’s left in one go, the burn harsh and unforgiving as it tears down your throat, making your eyes water, your stomach twist. You barely register it, barely feel it over the ache already consuming you.

It doesn’t help. It doesn’t quiet anything. If anything, it makes it worse. Because now there’s nothing left to distract you from it. From him. From the empty space where he should be.

Your knees give out before you realize what’s happening, the damp ground unforgiving as you collapse onto it, your hands digging into the dirt like you’re trying to hold onto something solid, something real.

A sob rips through you, violent and uncontrollable, your body folding in on itself as everything you’ve been holding back finally breaks loose. “I can’t do this,” you cry, the words raw, torn from somewhere deep inside your chest. “I can’t—I can’t do this without you, I can’t—”

Your voice dissolves into nothing, your shoulders shaking as you press your forehead into the ground, the cold seeping into your skin, into your bones, until you can’t tell where it ends and you begin. It hurts. It hurts so much.

And suddenly, there’s only one way to make it stop. The thought comes quietly this time. Not frantic. Not panicked. Just certain. You lift your head slowly, your breath uneven, your vision blurred as your gaze drifts back to the lake. It stretches out in front of you, dark and endless, the surface barely disturbed, like it’s waiting.

Like it’s always been waiting. You push yourself up, unsteady, your body heavy but your mind eerily clear now, each step toward the water deliberate, measured. The mud shifts beneath your shoes as you move closer, the edge of the dock just a few feet away now.

Your heart slows. The noise fades. It would be so easy. One step, that’s all it would take. You inhale shakily, your eyes closing for a brief moment as you steady yourself, your lips parting as if to say something, though you’re not sure what.

Maybe goodbye. Maybe his name. Your foot moves forward—“Hey.” The voice is quiet. Too quiet, but it stops you instantly. Your eyes snap open, your breath catching as you turn, your entire body going rigid. 

He’s there. Closer now. Not across the lake. Not hidden in shadow. Right behind you.

Eddie.

Your heart lurches violently, your vision swimming as you take him in, every part of you screaming to move, to run to him, to throw your arms around him and never let go. But you don’t, because something is wrong.

He looks like Eddie. The same hair, the same frame, the same familiar silhouette you’ve memorized a thousand times over. But there’s something off in the way he stands, too still, too composed, like the movement has been drained out of him.

His skin is pale. Not just pale—ashen, like something that hasn’t seen warmth in too long.

And his eyes…You can’t quite make them out in the dark, but you know, somehow, they aren’t right. He tilts his head slightly, studying you in a way that makes your stomach twist.

“You weren’t supposed to do that,” he says softly.

Your breath stutters. “…Eddie?” you whisper, your voice barely there.

He takes a step closer. And the air around you drops, cold and suffocating, like something unseen has wrapped itself around your lungs.

“I told you,” he murmurs, his voice familiar but distant, like it’s echoing from somewhere far away, “you gotta get outta here.”

Your heart breaks all over again. Because it sounds like him. It looks like him. But whatever is standing in front of you isn’t. Your breath stutters, then breaks entirely.

“No–no, no–” you scramble backward, your foot slipping in the damp earth as you fall hard onto your hands, the impact jolting through your arms. Your chest heaves, panic crashing back in full force, sharper than before, more real. This isn’t him. It can’t be him.

Your head shakes violently, eyes wide, darting over him like if you look hard enough, you’ll find the flaw, the crack, the thing that proves this is exactly what you think it is. A trick. A sick, twisted trick.

“Stop it,” you choke out, your voice trembling as you push yourself further back, your palms dragging through mud and dead leaves. “Stop! This isn’t funny, this isn’t—”

Your gaze flickers to his face again, and your stomach drops. Because he isn’t reacting the way Eddie would. He isn’t rushing to you. Isn’t panicking, isn’t asking what’s wrong, isn’t anything.

He’s just watching you. Too still. Too quiet. Like he’s waiting. Vecna.

The name slams into you like a warning, cold and immediate. Of course. Of course, this is what it is. You let out a broken, breathless laugh, something hysterical creeping into it as you shake your head harder, tears spilling freely now.

“You don’t get to do this,” you snap, your voice cracking as you drag yourself to your feet, stumbling back another step. “You don’t get to use him—”

Your heel catches on uneven ground, nearly sending you down again, but you catch yourself just in time, your body already turning, already moving. Run.

The instinct hits fast and hard, adrenaline surging through your veins as you spin and take off, your breath ragged, your vision blurred by tears and darkness as you push yourself forward, away from him, away from whatever the hell is standing back there pretending to be something it’s not. Branches snap under your feet, the sound too loud, too sharp in the otherwise suffocating quiet of the night. Your lungs burn almost instantly, your body still weak, still exhausted, but you don’t stop.

“Don’t—” his voice cuts through the air behind you, closer than it should be, closer than makes sense. “Don’t run.”

You ignore it. Your heart is pounding too hard, your thoughts spiraling, the image of him burned into your mind in the worst way, wrongwrongwrong—A hand wraps around your wrist. Hard.

You’re yanked back so abruptly it knocks the air straight out of your lungs, your body jerking to a stop with a choked gasp as your feet stumble beneath you. The world tilts, disoriented, your free hand flying out to steady yourself as you try to twist away, panic surging all over again.

“Let me go!” you shout, your voice breaking as you struggle against the grip, your nails digging into his arm, pushing, pulling, anything to get free. “Get off me—!” But he doesn’t budge, not even an inch.

His hold is firm, unyielding, like iron, like something that doesn’t tire, doesn’t falter. Your chest heaves as you finally manage to turn toward him, your breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts, fear written plainly across your face as your eyes lock onto his.

Up close, it’s worse. So much worse. Every familiar detail is there, every line and angle and piece of him you know by heart, but it’s like something has been hollowed out. Like he’s been pulled from somewhere he shouldn’t be.

“Look at me,” he says, and it’s quiet, but there’s something in it, something heavier, something that makes it feel less like a request and more like a command.

You don’t want to. God, you don’t want to. But you do, and your breath catches all over again. “Please,” you whisper, your voice shaking, your eyes searching his desperately, trying to find him, just him, somewhere in there. “Please don’t do this to me.”

Something in his expression shifts. The stillness fractures, just enough for something warmer to bleed through, something achingly familiar that makes your chest seize. Something him.

Your breath hitches. “Eddie…?” it comes out broken, barely more than a whisper, like saying it too loud might shatter whatever this is.

His grip on your wrist falters, less like a restraint. More like he’s holding on. “Just—” his voice catches, rougher now, strained in a way that feels wrong and right all at once. He swallows hard, like even that is an effort. “Just listen to me, okay? Please.”

The word please nearly undoes you. Because it sounds like him. Not the hollow echo from before. Not the distant, wrong thing that made your skin crawl. This sounds like Eddie at two in the morning, voice low, a little desperate, trying to get through to you when you’re both too stubborn to back down.

Your knees almost give out. You shake your head anyway, tears spilling faster now, your free hand coming up to cover your mouth like you can hold yourself together if you just try hard enough.

“No,” you whisper, the denial weak, unraveling even as you say it. “No, you’re not—you’re not him, you can’t be, I watched you—”

Your voice breaks. His face tightens, something pained flickering across it, like your words are landing somewhere deep, somewhere he can still feel.

“I know,” he says quickly, stepping closer without thinking, like instinct is pulling him toward you even if everything else is wrong. “I know, I know—I remember, okay? I remember you—” his voice stutters, falters, like the memory itself is too heavy to carry all at once. “You were there. I saw you.”

Your heart stutters violently. “I’m not—” he drags a hand through his hair, the motion almost frantic, almost alive, like he’s trying to piece himself together as he speaks. “I’m not… the same. I can feel that. I know that. But I’m still—” He stops, like he doesn’t know how to finish it. Like he’s afraid to.

His eyes find yours again, and this time, there’s no distance in them. No emptiness. Just something raw, searching, and terrified. “Just don’t run,” he says, softer now, the words careful, like he’s placing them between you instead of forcing them. “Please don’t run from me.”

For a second, neither of you moves. His hand is still wrapped around your wrist, but the tension in it has changed entirely, no longer something holding you in place, just something holding on.

Then, slowly, like he’s afraid the moment might shatter if he does it too fast, he lets go. Your skin feels cold where his touch disappears. He takes a step back, putting space between you, hands lifting slightly like he’s trying to show you he’s not going to stop you this time, not going to trap you here if you decide to run.

“I’ll explain everything,” he says, his voice steadier now, but still threaded with something urgent, something fragile. “I swear to you, I will. Just…” he exhales shakily, dragging a hand over his face like he’s trying to ground himself. “Just please don’t run from me.”

You don’t move. You don’t trust yourself to. Your chest is still rising too fast, your thoughts too tangled, but your feet stay planted where they are, even as every instinct screams at you to leave.

He notices. And something in his shoulders drops, just slightly, like he was bracing for you to disappear. “I tried,” he says after a moment, quieter now, his gaze flickering away from you briefly before returning, like even looking at you is something he has to build up to. “I tried to stay away.”

Your brows knit, confusion cutting through the fear. “What…?” your voice is hoarse, barely there.

“I didn’t want to do this to you,” he continues, shaking his head faintly, his jaw tightening. “Didn’t want you to see me like this, didn’t want to—” he cuts himself off, swallowing hard. “I thought it’d be easier if you just… remembered me the way I was.”

“But I couldn’t,” he admits, and there’s something raw in it now, something that sounds dangerously close to guilt. “I kept checking in. Just from a distance, making sure you were okay.”

“I saw you,” he says, softer now, like he’s stepping carefully through something delicate. “At the trailer. At night. You wouldn’t sleep. And when you did—” his expression tightens, something pained flashing across it. “You were having nightmares. Bad ones.” Your stomach drops.

“I didn’t mean for you to see me,” he adds quickly, like he can hear the panic starting to rise again. “Not like that. The ravens, the—” he gestures vaguely, frustrated, like he doesn’t have the words for it. “It’s just easier. For me. To be there like that.”

Your heart is pounding all over again. “You were… watching me?” you whisper, the words fragile, caught somewhere between fear and something else you don’t want to name.

His face falls. “Not like that,” he says immediately, shaking his head, taking another careful step back instead of forward this time. “I wasn’t—God, I wasn’t trying to scare you. I just…” he exhales, the sound uneven. “You were getting worse.”

“I saw you at the grave,” he continues, voice low, steady but strained. “Every night. And tonight—” his eyes flicker toward the lake, then back to you, something sharper settling in them. “You weren’t just sitting there anymore.” Your throat tightens.

“I couldn’t stay away after that,” he says quietly. “Not when I knew what you were thinking.”

Your legs give out before you can stop them.

The adrenaline drains too fast, leaving you shaky, hollow, your body suddenly too heavy to keep upright. You stagger back a step, then another, until your back hits the rough bark of a tree, the impact grounding and jarring all at once. Slowly, like you’re afraid of collapsing completely, you sink down, knees pulling into your chest, arms wrapping tightly around them like it’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart.

You can still feel where he touched you, but you don’t look at him, not yet. Your breathing is uneven, hitching every few seconds like your body hasn’t decided whether it’s safe to calm down or not. Your fingers dig into the fabric of your jeans, gripping too tightly, like you need something solid, something real.

“Why…” your voice cracks immediately, barely audible, and you have to swallow hard before trying again. “Why didn’t you—” You stop, shaking your head, the question falling apart before it can fully form. Nothing makes fucking sense.

Your eyes squeeze shut for a second, like maybe if you block it all out, it’ll go away, reset, something. It doesn’t.

“Why didn’t you come sooner?” you manage finally, the words rushing out unevenly, tripping over each other. “I—I was there, I was—every day, I kept going back, I kept—” your breath stutters, your voice breaking again as frustration bleeds into it. “You saw me, you said you saw me, so why didn’t you just—just—”

You let out a sharp, shaky laugh, something on the edge of hysterical as you drag a hand over your face, smearing tears you didn’t even realize were still falling. “I thought I was losing my mind,” you whisper, softer now, more fragile. “I thought...I thought I finally snapped or something, seeing you everywhere, hearing you—” your voice drops, barely there. “I thought it was just grief.”

Your head tilts back against the tree, eyes finally opening, staring up at the dark canopy above you like it might give you an answer you can’t find anywhere else. “But you were there,” you say, quieter, the realization settling in slowly, painfully. “You were actually there.”

Your gaze flickers toward him then, hesitant, uncertain, like you’re afraid he might disappear if you look too directly. “Why didn’t you just… come to me?”

His answer doesn’t come right away. For a moment, all you hear is the quiet rustle of leaves, the soft movement of water behind you, the uneven rhythm of your own breathing as you sit curled into yourself at the base of the tree.

“I tried.” Your fingers tighten around your knees.

“I did,” he repeats, softer now, like the words cost something. “I tried to come to you. More than once.”

Your head tilts slightly, brows pulling together. “Then why didn’t you?” Your voice shakes. “I was right there. I kept going back—I kept—”

“I know.”

He steps closer, slow, careful, like approaching something fragile that might shatter if he moves too fast.

“I saw you,” he continues, voice low. “At the grave. At the trailer. You wouldn’t sleep.” His jaw tightens slightly. “And when you did… I was there for that, too.”

Your stomach drops. “The birds,” you whisper.

He nods once. “Easier that way. Less me.” Silence stretches.

“You could’ve just come to me,” you say again, quieter now, more confused than angry.

He exhales slowly, dragging a hand through his hair like he doesn’t even know where to start. “I’m not the same,” he says finally.

It’s subtle. Easy to miss if you weren’t staring. But there’s something too still about him. Something too controlled. Like every movement is intentional, like he’s holding himself together instead of just being.

“What does that mean?” you ask, your voice barely steady.

He hesitates. Then, quieter, “I came back wrong.”

The words settle heavily between you. Your breath catches. “What kind of wrong?”

He lets out a short, humorless breath, glancing away for a second like he can’t stand to watch your reaction. “I can hear things,” he says. “Too much. Heartbeats. Blood moving. It’s like everything’s louder now, all the time.” His jaw flexes. “And it doesn’t stop.”

A chill creeps over your skin. “And when I get too close to people…” he trails off, shaking his head slightly. “It gets worse.”

Your heart starts pounding, and immediately, his eyes flick back to you. Too fast, too sharp, like he felt it. Like he heard it.

“I didn’t want you to see that,” he says quickly, taking a step back now instead of forward, like he’s correcting himself, putting distance where there wasn’t any before. “Didn’t want you to look at me and realize I’m not—” he swallows. “Not safe.”

Not safe.

“But I tried to stay away,” he continues, softer now. “Just check in. Make sure you were okay.”

A broken sound leaves you. “I wasn’t.”

“I know.”

His gaze drops for a second, something like guilt flickering across his face. “I saw you tonight,” he adds, voice quieter. “Walking into the lake like it didn’t matter if you came back out.” Your chest tightens painfully.  “I couldn’t stay away after that.” 

“There’s something else,” he says, more hesitant now.

You brace yourself. “What?”

He looks at you again. And this time, there’s no distance in it. Just something conflicted. Something restrained. “It’s you,” he admits quietly.

Your breath catches. “What about me?”

He lets out a slow breath, like he’s trying to stay in control of something you can’t see. “I can hear you,” he says. “Even when you’re not close. Your heartbeat, your breathing—” his voice drops slightly. “It cuts through everything else.”

Your pulse stutters.

“And it’s…” he searches for the word, frustrated. “It’s harder. Around you.”

Your chest rises and falls a little faster. His eyes flicker to your throat for half a second, then back to your face. “I haven’t hurt anyone,” he says quickly, like he needs you to know that. “I won’t.”

“I just didn’t trust myself to stand this close to you and still be me.”

You don’t say anything at first. You just sit there, staring at him like if you look long enough, hard enough, you’ll be able to separate what’s real from what isn’t. Your chest is still rising too fast, your thoughts tangled, but something in you has shifted.

The fear is still there. But it’s not the loudest thing anymore. “…I don’t care.” The words come out quieter than you expect, but they land heavy all the same.

His expression tightens immediately. “Don’t—”

“I don’t care,” you repeat, stronger now, your grip tightening around your knees before you push yourself up, unsteady but determined. “You keep saying that like it matters.”

“It does matter,” he snaps, sharper than before, something defensive flashing across his face. “You don’t get it—”

“No, you don’t get it.” Your voice breaks through his, raw and desperate, cutting him off completely. “You think I care about ‘safe’ right now?” The word sounds almost bitter on your tongue.

You take a step toward him, and he takes one back. That alone makes your chest ache.

“I watched you die,” you say, your voice dropping, quieter now but somehow more intense. “I held you while you were dying, Eddie. Do you understand that? I felt it. I felt you—” your breath stutters, your composure cracking as your voice falters. “And then you were just… gone.”

His face softens, something pained pulling at his features, but you don’t stop.

“And now you’re standing here,” you continue, tears slipping freely down your cheeks, your hands shaking at your sides. “You’re here. I can see you, I can hear you, I—” your voice breaks again. “And you’re telling me to what? Be careful? Be scared of you?”

You laugh, but it’s hollow, uneven. “I’ve been sleeping in your bed for three weeks,” you whisper. “Talking to a grave like you could answer me. I almost—” you cut yourself off, your throat tightening painfully. “I almost walked into that lake just to be with you again.”

His entire posture shifts at that, something darker flickering across his face, something angrier, but not at you, but at himself.

“You don’t get to come back,” you say, softer now, your voice trembling, “and then tell me to stay away from you.”