The Cue
description: you’re Nancy Wheeler’s twin sister, and you couldn’t be more different. while she’s wrapped up in late-night “study sessions” with Steve Harrington, you’re escaping out the window with a book, a cigarette, and zero interest in third-wheeling. the plan is simple: disappear for a few hours. that is, until Eddie finds you first.
pairing: eddie x you (fem!reader)
tags: eddie x fem!reader, no y/n, strangers to lovers, twin sister of nancy, late night meet cute, fluff but like make it silly-goofy, secretly soft eddie (only for you, duh), smart but chaotic, sneaking out, steve sneaking in (constantly), sexual tension go brrrr, flirty banter, eddie making up excuses to talk to you, mike wheeler is suffering, chaos siblings, clumsy smut
TW: NSFW (18+) minors do NOT interact!!, PiV, unprotected (i'm sorry im a raw sex girlie, SUE me), smoking, alcohol, excessive hickeys
WC: 10.2k
A/N: I AM SO FUCKING OBSESSED WITH THIS CONCEPT OKAY?!?!?! me plotting how & when to make a series of everything I write because I fall in love with the characters & dynamics. sorry! not! sorry! reblogs are always appreciated <3!! let me know how you all like this one:)
You and Nancy sit on your respective beds, her voice filling the room while you try, desperately, to focus on reading The Feminine Mystique for the Advanced Lit paper due on Monday.
“Ohhh my god—”
“Oh. my. GOD. Nance, seriously? You can have this conversation literally anywhere else.”
She pauses, lowering the phone and covering it with her palm. “And you can read anywhere else.”
You huff a loud, dramatic breath before lifting the book back to your face, desperately trying to cover the loudest eye roll you’ve ever done.
She carries on gossiping, giggling about Steve and his impending rise to Varsity basketball captain. That is, if Billy Hargrove doesn’t bulldoze his way into it first. Not that you care about Hawkins High’s sacred basketball throne.
You exhale another long sigh and place the book down in your lap, seconds away from giving her another comment, before a tap at your window stills both of you.
Both of your heads snap to see Steve, arms resting on the outside of the sill, cheeky grin plastered across his face.
“I’ll uh—I’ll call you later,” Nancy says before placing the phone in the holster, giddily walking over to the window.
“Steve!” she hisses, though there’s no real threat behind it. “You can’t be here, what if my parents—”
“Isn’t Ted already asleep? And isn’t it your mom’s Friday night bubblebath and chardonnay routine?”
She giggles, glancing over her shoulder at you. You sigh, already standing to grab your jacket from the back of the door and your shoes from the closet.
“You sure you don’t mind?” She asks, as if it really makes a difference. Either way, you suffer.
If you say “yes, Nancy, as a matter of fact, I do mind,” she will pout the second he leaves, and you have to listen to her bitching and moaning about how she misses him.
And if you say “No Nancy, it’s okay!” you’ll have to sit through Steve and her pawing at each other while you’re “not paying attention.”
Either way, all signs point to a graceful exit, going to the one place you always find solace in: the town park.
Specifically, the town park after dark. No kids, no noise, just you, your book, and a cigarette with your name on it. Perfect bliss; quiet, dark, and entirely yours.
You wave in Steve and exchange places with him, waving a final dramatic gesture before you scale down the trellis.
The grass is still a little damp from the afternoon rain, soaking faintly through the soles of your sneakers as you cut across the park.
Hawkins at night always feels like something softer, like the whole town is holding its breath instead of buzzing the way it does in daylight. You prefer it this way.
You find your usual bench tucked beneath the old oak, the one far enough from the streetlamps that it feels almost private, but not so hidden that it’s unsettling.
Your bag drops beside you with a soft thud, and you settle in, pulling your book back out like you never left it. The Feminine Mystique falls open easily, spine already bending to your will from overuse.
You smooth a hand over the page, but before you start reading, you reach into your jacket pocket, pulling out a cigarette and your lighter.
A practiced flick, a small flame, and the quiet inhale.
You let the smoke sit in your lungs for a second before exhaling slowly, watching it curl into the night air. It feels like exhaling everything else, too.
Nancy’s voice, Steve’s stupid grin, the constant feeling of being just slightly out of place in your own house.
From your bag, you pull the small flask, unscrewing the cap with a faint metallic click.
Cheap wine, stolen from the back of your mom's not-so-secret "secret stash" in the back of the kitchen cabinet. You take a quick sip, nose scrunching slightly at the bite, then settle back against the bench.
Book in one hand. A cigarette in the other. Flask resting against your thigh. Perfect.
You actually managed to get through a paragraph this time before—
“Well, shit.”
Your head lifts immediately, eyes narrowing just slightly as you turn toward the voice. He’s leaning against the tree like he’s been there the whole time.
Or like he just appeared.
Leather jacket. Chains catching what little light there is. That messy halo of curls that somehow looks intentional even when it definitely isn’t. And his eyes, wide for a split second, like he didn’t expect to actually see you.
Eddie pushes himself off the tree slowly, hands coming up like he’s been caught doing something he probably shouldn’t be.
“Didn’t mean to—uh,” he gestures vaguely between you, the bench, the cigarette, the whole scene. “Interrupt your… whole vibe you’ve got going on here.”
You stare at him for a second, then another.
Because, yeah, you know him. Everyone knows him. The freak, the drug dealer, the guy parents warn their kids about, like he’s some kind of urban legend. Hellfire Club. Lunch table speeches. The whole thing.
But up close? He’s different. And annoyingly attractive.
You take another slow drag from your cigarette, eyes still on him as you exhale.
“Were you just lurking in the shadows, or is that a new hobby you’re trying out?”
There’s a flicker of something like surprise across his face. Then a grin, crooked and immediate.
“Hey, I prefer the term mysteriously existing,” he says, stepping a little closer but still keeping his distance, like there’s an invisible line he’s not sure he’s allowed to cross. “Lurking sounds way creepier.”
“Debatable.”
He huffs out a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I didn’t think anyone else came out here this late,” he admits, glancing around the empty park before looking back at you.
“Usually just me and my incredibly profound thoughts about, you know, life. And stuff.”
“‘And stuff’, sounds deep,” you deadpan.
“Thank you, I work very hard on my intellectual image.”
Your lips twitch despite yourself.
His eyes flick down briefly, to the book in your hand, the cigarette, the flask, and then back up to your face.
“…You’re Wheeler’s sister.” It’s not a question.
You raise a brow. “Observant.”
He winces, just a little. “Yeah, that came out way less cool than it sounded in my head.”
“You had a cool version of that?”
“Oh, absolutely. Smooth. Mysterious. Possibly British.”
That pulls a small laugh out of you, quicker than you expect. His expression softens at the sound, like he’s quietly relieved.
“I, uh—I’ve seen you around,” he adds, more careful now. “You’re not… like, Nancy.”
You tilt your head slightly. “That obvious?”
He shrugs, a little sheepish. “Not in a bad way. Just—different. You don’t look like you’d survive a pep rally without committing a felony.”
“Bold of you to assume I haven’t.”
That earns you a full laugh this time, loud enough it echoes faintly through the empty park.
“Jesus,” he mutters, grinning. “Okay. Didn’t expect that.”
“Yeah?” you say, taking another sip from your flask, then holding it up slightly. “What did you expect?”
He hesitates, like actually hesitates. Like he’s weighing whether he should say it.
“Honestly?” he says finally, softer now. “I thought you’d be more like Nancy. You are Wheelers, after all.”
You glance away for a second, watching the smoke drift instead of looking at him.
“Funny,” you murmur. “I’ve spent most of my life feeling like the extra Wheeler.”
When you look back at him, something in his expression has changed again.
“Well,” he says, after a beat, shifting his weight as he gestures toward the empty space beside you on the bench, “for what it’s worth… I think the extra Wheeler is way more interesting.”
You hold his gaze for a second longer than necessary. Then you tilt your head slightly toward the empty space beside you.
“Sit,” you say simply.
There’s a flicker of surprise across Eddie’s face, like he wasn’t entirely convinced you’d invite him at all. But he recovers quickly, pushing off the tree and making his way over.
Careful, though; always a little careful. Like he’s still expecting you to change your mind halfway through.
He drops onto the bench, leaving just enough space between you to be polite. You take another drag from your cigarette, then glance at him from the corner of your eye.
“May I?” he asks, nodding toward it. Polite, unexpectedly so.
You raise a brow, studying him for half a second before handing it over without a word.
He takes it carefully, like it’s something more valuable than it is, bringing it to his lips and inhaling. When he exhales, the smoke curls around him, catching in the low light like something almost cinematic.
“Didn’t peg you as the sharing type,” he says, glancing over.
“I’m full of surprises.”
“I’m starting to see that.”
You take a sip from your flask, letting the silence sit comfortably for a moment before…
“I thought you’d be mean,” you admit, eyes forward.
He chokes on a quiet laugh, turning toward you. “Mean?”
“And scary,” you add, finally looking at him. “You know. Cult leader. Devil worship. Sacrificial rituals behind the gym.”
“Ah, yeah, Wednesdays at five,” he nods seriously. “You just missed it.”
Your lips twitch.
“But no,” you continue, softer now, “people talk.”
He shrugs, passing the cigarette back to you.
“People love to talk,” he says. “Usually about shit they don’t understand.”
You take it from him, bringing it back to your lips.
“I thought you were mean too,” he adds after a beat.
That makes you pause. “Me?”
He nods, a little sheepish but not backing down. “Yeah. Thought you’d be one of those—” he gestures vaguely, searching for the word, “intimidating, untouchable types.”
You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head.
“Untouchable,” you repeat, like the word tastes strange.
“Hey, don’t look at me like that,” he says quickly, grinning. “You’ve got the whole thing going on. The hair, the attitude, the—” he motions toward your book, “—mysterious intellectual vibe.”
“Mysterious intellectual vibe,” you echo. “That’s new.”
“I’m workshopping it.”
You glance at him, immediately starting to see beyond the facade. The way he talks with his hands.
The way his eyes flick to you and then away, like he’s trying not to stare too long. The way he’s trying, even when he pretends not to.
“And here I thought you’d be something terrifying,” you say lightly.
“Oh, I am,” he shoots back immediately. “Just not, like… evil terrifying. More… misunderstood terrifying.”
“Tragic,” you murmur.
“Deeply.”
He leans back against the bench, one arm draped along the backrest behind you, not quite touching, but close enough that you feel it.
“You read that stuff for fun?” he asks, nodding toward your book again.
“For a paper,” you say. “But I don’t hate it.”
“Yeah?” he hums. “What’s it about?”
You glance down at the worn cover, then back at him.
“Women being miserable in their perfectly curated suburban lives.”
He snorts. “Sounds familiar.”
You raise a brow. “Oh?”
He gestures vaguely toward the direction of your house. “Big houses, nice lawns, picket fences… everyone pretending they’re not losing their minds.”
You smile, slow and knowing. Your knee shifts just slightly, brushing his for a split second before settling again. Neither of you moves away.
After a moment, he tilts his head toward you, studying you in that not-subtle way of his.
“So,” Eddie starts, voice light, “what’re you doing out here, anyway?”
You hum softly, like you have to think about it, even though you don’t.
“Escaping,” you say, taking a small sip from your flask. “Mrs. Perfect and Mr. Perfect are busy ‘studying’ for chemistry.”
He lets out a quiet snort, already catching on.
“Right,” he nods. “Studying. Very academic of them.”
“Extremely,” you deadpan. “I’m sure there are flashcards involved.”
He grins at that, shaking his head.
“Didn’t he fail chemistry?” he asks, glancing at you.
You turn your head slowly, eyes narrowing just a touch. “Didn’t you?”
His hand flies to his chest like you’ve just mortally wounded him.
“Wow,” he breathes, dramatically offended. “Okay. First of all—rude.”
“Second of all?” you prompt.
“Second of all, I didn’t fail,” he insists. “I simply have a complicated relationship with the American education system.”
“Mhm.”
“It’s mutual,” he adds. “They don’t understand me, I don’t understand them. Very tragic.”
You laugh softly, shaking your head as you look back out toward the empty park.
“Sounds like you just didn’t do the work.”
“Wow,” he repeats, pointing at you now. “You’re really coming for me tonight.”
“You started it.”
“I asked a simple question!”
“And got a simple answer.”
He huffs out a laugh, leaning back again, that crooked smile tugging at his lips.
“You know,” he says, glancing over at you, “you’re actually a lot meaner than your sister.”
“Good.”
That catches him off guard for a split second, then his grin widens.
“Yeah,” he says, a little quieter now. “Yeah, I think I like that.”
You glance at him, just briefly, before looking away again, but there’s a hint of something warmer sitting in your expression now.
Just the two of you, sitting a little closer than before, the space between you shrinking without either of you really acknowledging it.
“You always ditch them like that?” he asks after a moment.
“Pretty much,” you shrug. “I’ve learned my lesson.”
“Which is?”
“That I’m not sticking around to be the accidental third wheel in someone else’s soft-core, soft-porn romance.”
He chokes on a laugh at that, actually coughing a little. “Jesus, okay—yeah, that’s fair.”
You smirk slightly, bringing the flask back to your lips. “Figured you’d understand.”
“Oh, I definitely understand,” he says. “I’ve spent most of high school watching people make terrible decisions in dimly lit rooms.”
“Observation or participation?”
He grins, all teeth this time. “Observation,” he says. “Mostly.”
“Mostly,” you repeat, skeptical.
“Hey,” he lifts his hands in surrender, “I’m a gentleman.”
“Debatable.”
“Wow,” he says again, but he’s laughing now, shaking his head. “You really had me pegged all wrong, huh?”
You glance at him, eyes flicking over his face, the way his hair falls, the way he’s still half-guarded even when he’s joking.
“Maybe,” you admit. Then, softer, “Or maybe I just never actually looked.”
He doesn’t joke this time. Just watches you for a second longer than usual, something a little more thoughtful settling in.
“Well,” he says, after a beat, voice quieter but still warm, “kinda glad you are now.”
“You know,” he says, glancing at you with that crooked grin, “for someone who ditched a perfectly good ‘study session,’ you seem pretty content out here.”
“Perfectly good is generous,” you murmur. “I’m sure they’re doing very rigorous academic work.”
“Yeah,” he nods. “Real hands-on learning.”
You snort softly, shaking your head. “Jealous?” you tease.
“Of Harrington?” he scoffs. “Please. I’ve got way better hair.”
You turn, eyeing him deliberately, letting your gaze drag just enough to make your point.
“…Debatable.”
He freezes for half a second, then laughs under his breath.
“Wow. You wound me.”
“I’m just saying,” you shrug lightly, lips twitching. “The competition’s stiff.”
“Oh, I’m aware,” he says, leaning in just slightly, voice dropping like it’s suddenly just for you. “But I’ve got my strengths.”
Your stomach does something annoying at that.
“Yeah?” you say, lifting a brow.
“Yeah.” He doesn’t elaborate.
You take another sip from your flask, then pause. Tilt it again, nothing. You frown slightly, giving it a little shake like that’s going to magically fix the situation.
“Jesus,” you mutter, squinting into it. “I think I’m drunk.”
You tip it upside down for emphasis; empty, completely.
Eddie watches this unfold, trying very hard not to laugh.
“Yeah,” he says carefully, “I was gonna say, you’ve been hitting that thing like it personally offended you.”
You glance at him, unimpressed. “It did.”
“Of course it did.”
You huff, leaning back again, head tipping slightly toward the sky. The world doesn’t spin, exactly, but it’s looser. You’re also more aware of him next to you in a way that’s hard to ignore.
“C’mon,” he says after a second, gentler now. “I’ll walk you home.”
You turn your head toward him, narrowing your eyes just slightly. “I can walk.”
“I’m sure you can,” he says easily. “But you might end up in, like, Illinois.”
“Tempting.”
“Yeah, but I feel like your sister would hunt me down, and I’m trying to avoid that whole situation.”
“Fine.”
He stands with you immediately, like he was already planning to.
The walk is quiet at first. Your shoulder brushes his once, then again. Halfway down the block, you shiver slightly, the night air finally cutting through.
Without a word, he shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders before you can argue.
It’s warm. Smells faintly like smoke and something distinctly him. You pull it a little tighter around yourself, glancing up at him.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
You walk a little closer after that.
When you reach your house, the lights are low, the whole place quiet in that heavy, late-night way. You hesitate on the lawn for half a second.
“Guess this is me,” you say.
“Guess it is.”
Neither of you moves right away.
“I’ll see you around?” he asks, trying for casual and almost pulling it off.
You look at him, almost astonished at the soft porch light catching in his hair, in his eyes.
“Yeah,” you say. “You will.”
That’s enough for him. He steps back, giving you just enough space to climb back up the trellis, watching until you make it to the window safely.
Inside, it’s dim, quiet. You land softly on the floor, slipping your shoes off immediately. And then—You freeze. Because there they are.
Nancy and Steve, asleep.
You stare at them for a long, unimpressed moment. Nancy curled up against him, Steve half-sprawled like he owned the place.
You blink once, twice. Then you walk over and smack his leg, hard enough to wake him.
“Hey,” you whisper sharply. “Romeo.”
He jolts awake, blinking up at you in confusion. “Jesus—what—?”
“Get out.”
He squints at you, still half-asleep. “What?”
“You heard me,” you say, already moving to pull your jacket off. “Out.”
Nancy stirs beside him, mumbling something incoherent. You glance at her, your expression softening for just a second, then back to Steve.
“Go home,” you tell him, quieter now but no less firm. “Before my dad wakes up and kills you.”
He groans, pushing himself up carefully, trying not to wake Nancy fully.
“Okay, okay,” he mutters. “Hostile environment…”
“Extremely.”
He shoots you a look, but there’s no real bite behind it as he climbs back out the window. You wait until he’s gone before turning back.
Nancy shifts again, pulling the blanket closer. You sigh softly, grabbing it and tugging it up properly around her shoulders.
You stand there for a second, watching her. Then shake your head, muttering under your breath as you grab your things.
“Unbelievable.” But there’s no real heat in it, just habit. And maybe, somewhere underneath it, care.
Monday mornings at Hawkins High always feel louder than they should.
Lockers slam. Someone’s laughing too hard down the hall. The fluorescent lights hum overhead like they’ve got something against you personally. It’s all a little too much, a little too bright, a little too on.
You lean against the row of lockers, shoulder pressed beside Nancy’s as she twists the dial on hers, already mid-conversation with Steve.
“I’m just saying,” Steve is going on, running a hand through his hair like he’s in a shampoo commercial, “if Coach sees the way I’ve been playing lately, captain is basically a done deal.”
Nancy hums, halfway listening, pulling out a notebook. “Unless Billy—”
“—is overrated,” Steve cuts in quickly. “Thank you, Nance, glad you agree.” She gives him a look.
You hum faintly, not really listening, flipping open your book more for something to do than anything else.
“Hey, Wheeler.”
Your stomach drops just slightly, and you look up. Eddie stands a few feet away, trying for casual and only half pulling it off.
His eyes find yours immediately, like they knew exactly where to look.
You straighten just a little. “Munson.”
He nods once, stepping closer, hand coming out of his jacket pocket.
“You, uh… forgot something on Friday,” he says, holding it out.
A ring, one hundred percent one of his. A small smile forms as you look between his face and the ring. You don’t hesitate.
“Right,” you say, like it makes perfect sense, reaching out and taking it from him. “I was wondering where that went.”
There’s the smallest flicker of surprise in his eyes, then he’s grinning.
“Yeah?” he says, playing along instantly. “Figured you might miss it.”
“Sentimental value,” you shrug, slipping it onto your finger like it belongs there. “Can’t just lose things like this.” Your fingers brush his for a second longer than necessary.
Steve is staring. Nancy is staring. Eddie notices.
“Good thing I found it, then,” he says, voice dipping just slightly, something more intentional in it now.
“Good thing,” you echo.
There’s a beat where neither of you looks away. Then he leans back just a fraction, like he’s remembering where he is.
“I’ll, uh, see you around,” he adds, a little softer.
You nod, maybe a little too quickly. “Yeah,” you say. “See you.”
He lingers for half a second longer, then turns, disappearing back into the hallway like he was never there. Except he very much was.
The second he’s out of earshot, “Okay,” Steve says slowly. “What was that?”
You open your book again like nothing happened. “Nothing.”
Nancy doesn’t say anything right away, which is how you know it’s bad.
“…You’re blushing.”
You freeze. “I’m not—”
“You are,” she says, turning fully toward you now, eyes narrowed in disbelief. “Oh, my god.”
“I am not blushing.”
“Your face is totally red.”
“It’s warm in here.”
“It is not warm in here.”
Steve leans in, squinting at you like he’s inspecting evidence. “…You are kind of red.”
You snap your book shut, shooting them both a look. “Can you both relax?”
Nancy crosses her arms, clearly not letting this go. “Since when are you and Eddie Munson—”
“We’re not,” you cut in quickly.
She raises a brow. “Is that not his ring?”
You glance down at your hand. Right. The ring.
“It’s mine,” you say.
Nancy stares at you. Then lets out a short, incredulous laugh.
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not—”
“You’re so lying.”
Steve, for once, looks entertained instead of confused. You groan, dragging a hand over your face.
“It’s not a thing.”
“Mhmm.”
“It’s not.”
Nancy just smiles, slow and knowing in a way that makes your stomach twist. “Sure,” she says lightly. “Whatever you say.”
You look back down at your book, trying very hard to focus on the words in front of you. But all you can think about is the way he looked at you. And the fact that, yeah, you were definitely blushing.
By the end of the day, you feel like this day has wrung you out. The halls are quieter now, lockers hanging open, scraps of conversation echoing as people trickle out.
You lean against your car in the parking lot, keys dangling from your fingers, watching the last of the crowd filter out like you’re waiting for something. Or someone.
You don’t let yourself think too hard about that part.
“Hey.”
You glance over to see Nancy jogging up to you, bag slung over her shoulder, hair slightly windblown like she’s been rushing.
“Hey.”
She slows when she reaches you, giving you a look, that look, that she’s been giving you all day.
You sigh immediately. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t even say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
She smiles, just a little too pleased with herself.
“Anyway,” she says, shifting her bag, “I’m going with Steve. We have… somewhere to be.”
You stare at her for a second. “Somewhere,” you repeat flatly.
“Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting anything,” you shrug. “I’m just deeply intrigued by this mysterious commitment you both seem to have.”
She rolls her eyes, nudging your arm. “Very funny.”
“Thank you.”
“Can you drive Mike home?”
You blink. “From where?”
“Hellfire.”
You let out a slow breath, already knowing where this is going. “Of course he’s at Hellfire.”
“He needs a ride,” she says, like that explains everything. “And Mom thinks I’m taking him home.”
You turn your head slowly, narrowing your eyes at her. “So you’re not taking him.”
She winces, just slightly. “I would,” she says quickly, “but Steve and I—”
“—have somewhere to be,” you finish for her.
“Exactly.”
You stare at her, and she smiles. You sigh, long and dramatic, pushing yourself off the car.
“Fine.”
“Thank you,” she says immediately, relief washing over her face.
“You owe me.”
“I know.”
“And if Mom asks, I drove him.”
“Obviously.”
“Hey, Nance?”
She turns back.
“Try actually studying this time.”
She scoffs, cheeks pinkening just slightly. “Shut up.”
You grin, walking towards the school. “Have fun.”
She shakes her head, but she’s smiling as she heads off, already spotting Steve walking towards his car.
The drama wing is quieter than the rest of the school, tucked far enough away that the noise fades into something distant and dull.
You’re stretched out across one of the benches in the hallway, legs dangling off the side, book resting against your chest.
One arm hangs lazily over your stomach, the other holding your place on the page as you read. Or pretend to read, rather.
The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, and every now and then, you catch the rise and fall of voices behind the closed drama room doors. Dice clatter. Someone shouts. A chorus of groans follows.
Eventually, the door bursts open.
Noise floods the hallway all at once as a cluster of boys spills out, mid-argument, mid-laugh, mid-everything. Backpacks slung over shoulders, voices overlapping, the energy loud and chaotic in a way that feels entirely contained to them.
“—I’m telling you, that was a terrible move—”
“It was strategic!”
“It got us killed!”
Your eyes don’t lift from the page. Not right away.
“…Holy shit.”
The voice is quieter than the rest. Closer. Your lips twitch faintly as a shadow falls over you.
You don’t move. Don’t look. Not until—
“What are you doing out here, Wheeler?” comes that familiar voice, hovering somewhere just above you.
You tilt your head back slightly, and there he is.
Eddie is leaning over you, hands braced on the bench on either side of your shoulders, curls falling forward just enough to frame his face as he looks down at you.
Upside down, and way too close for it to be casual. Your heart does something annoying. You close your book slowly, using it to nudge lightly against his chest.
“Waiting for my brother,” you say.
His brow lifts. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“You always wait like this?” he asks, glancing down at the way you’re sprawled across the bench.
“Comfortably?”
“Dramatically.”
You hum, considering. “Depends who I’m trying to impress.”
A grin pulls at his mouth, slow and crooked. “Well,” he says, leaning just a fraction closer, “it’s working.”
Your breath catches, just for a second. Then you recover, lifting a brow. “Good.”
Behind him, the rest of the group has mostly filtered out, except for one very familiar voice.
“…Oh my god.”
Mike is standing a few feet away, staring at the two of you like he’s just witnessed something deeply disturbing.
“What are you doing here?” he demands.
You don’t break eye contact with Eddie. “Picking you up.”
Mike makes a face. “Why are you—” he gestures vaguely between the two of you, “—like that?”
Eddie glances back over his shoulder, then down at you again, clearly amused.
“Like what?” he asks innocently.
“Like that,” Mike repeats, horrified. “Can you not—like—hover over my sister?”
You finally sit up a little, just enough to ease the situation, not that you really want to.
“Relax, Mike.”
“I am relaxed,” he says immediately. “I just don’t like this. It’s like, gross.”
Eddie straightens, but he doesn’t step far. Still close, still in your space in a way that feels intentional now.
“Your sister’s cool,” he says, like that’s supposed to help.
Mike groans. “Great. Awesome. That makes it worse.”
You snort softly, slipping your book back into your bag as you stand. “Ready to go?” you ask him.
“Yes,” he says quickly. “Right now. Immediately.”
You glance back at Eddie, just for a second. He’s already looking at you, naturally.
“I’ll see you around,” he says, a little quieter now.
You tilt your head, a small smile pulling at your lips.
“Yeah,” you reply. “You will.”
Mike makes another deeply pained noise behind you. “Can we please go?”
You roll your eyes, wrapping your arm around his shoulder as you head down the hall.
The house is quiet in that familiar, late-night way. Floorboards creak if you step in the wrong spot. The hallway light hums faintly. Somewhere downstairs, the TV is still on low, your dad having inevitably fallen asleep in his chair.
You’re in bed: book open, lamp on, and not reading a single word. Because your attention keeps drifting to the window. You don’t know why you’re expecting anything. You just are.
A soft tap finally comes, barely there, like whoever’s outside isn’t entirely sure they should be. Your head lifts immediately. You sit up, already moving toward the window, pushing the curtain aside, and then you blink.
Because it’s not who you expected.
Steve is perched outside your window like he owns the place, one arm braced on the sill, looking far too comfortable for someone breaking in.
He grins the second he sees you. “Hey.”
You just stare at him. “…You’ve got the wrong Wheeler.”
He laughs quietly. “Yeah, I know. Nancy said to come around back, but the window was closer.”
“Shocking,” you deadpan. “Truly.”
He glances past you into the room. “Is she awake?”
You jerk your thumb toward the hallway. “Bathroom.”
“Perfect.”
He starts to climb in, and then another voice cuts in from below.
“…You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
Both of you freeze. You lean out slightly, looking down, and there he is.
Eddie, halfway hidden in the shadows near the base of the trellis, looks up with a mix of disbelief and something that looks a lot like irritation.
Steve squints down at him. “…Munson?”
Eddie gestures vaguely upward. “Yeah. Hi. Didn’t realize there was, like, a schedule.”
You press your lips together, fighting the urge to laugh.
Steve, meanwhile, straightens slightly, fully committing to the bit.
“Occupied,” he says, nodding toward the window like he’s guarding it.
Eddie blinks. “Occupied,” he repeats flatly.
“Occupied,” Steve confirms.
Eddie lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Wow. Okay. That’s—yeah. That’s great.”
You lean further out the window now, resting your elbows on the sill.
“You gonna stand down there all night, or…?”
His eyes flick up to you immediately, expression shifting the second he sees you.
“Depends,” he says. “You planning on making this a double booking situation?”
Steve scoffs. “Absolutely not.”
You roll your eyes, pushing yourself back from the window. “Hold on.”
Steve looks at you. “What are you—”
“Don’t fall,” you say dryly, already heading for your door.
You slip into the hallway, quiet and quick, knocking once on the bathroom door.
Nancy’s voice comes through, muffled. “What?”
“Your boyfriend’s here,” you hiss.
“Just let him in!”
“Gladly.”
You head back, swinging your window open wider. “Alright, Romeo,” you say, gesturing Steve inside. “You’re clear for entry.”
He grins, climbing in as he’s done a hundred times before.
“Much appreciated.”
You glance out the window again, and Eddie’s still there. You hold his gaze for a second, then tilt your head, just slightly. Meet me.
His mouth quirks immediately, like he gets it without you saying a word.
You slip out of your room, quieter this time, grabbing your jacket on the way and easing down the stairs. The back door clicks softly behind you as you step out into the night.
He’s already there when you round the corner of the house, leaning against his van.
“Didn’t realize I had competition,” he says as you approach.
“Relax,” you reply. “He’s here for Nancy.”
“Yeah, I figured,” he mutters. “Still rude.”
You laugh softly, pulling your jacket tighter around you. “What were you even doing here?”
He shrugs. “Drove by. Thought I’d see if the mysterious, intellectual, ring-stealing Wheeler was around.”
You smirk slightly. “Lucky you.”
“Very,” he says, pushing off the van and stepping closer.
“Wanna get outta here?” he asks.
You glance back at the house once, lights low, everything quiet, then back at him.
“…Yeah.”
His grin spreads, quick and bright. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
That’s all it takes. He moves around to the passenger side, pulling the door open for you like it’s second nature.
You climb in, settling onto the worn seat, the familiar smell of smoke and leather wrapping around you again.
“Where to?” you ask.
He glances over at you as he starts the engine. “My place,” he says. “If you’re not too scared.”
You lean back, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I think I’ll survive.”
Eddie’s van crunches to a stop in front of his place, engine ticking as it cools. You don’t move right away, and neither does he.
Then he glances over, a small grin pulling at his mouth. “Home sweet home.”
You look out the window, taking it in. “Cute,” you say lightly.
He snorts. “Wow. Brutal.”
“I mean it,” you add, pushing the door open. “It has character.”
“Yeah,” he mutters, climbing out on his side. “That’s what people say when they’re trying to be nice.”
You round the front of the van, bumping the door shut with your hip. “I’m always nice.”
“Liar.” You smile.
Inside, his room is exactly what you expected, and not, all at once.
Dim lighting, a clutter of tapes and records, a guitar leaned against the wall, posters layered over each other like they’ve been there forever. It smells faintly like smoke, like him.
“Make yourself at home,” he says, tossing his keys down somewhere without looking.
You do, dropping onto his bed like you’ve been here before, shrugging off his jacket but not moving it too far from you.
He notices, and there’s a moment where he just… looks at you. Then he shakes himself out of it, moving toward the small table, rummaging around before pulling out a joint and a lighter.
He glances back over his shoulder. “You smoke?”
You lift a brow. “You’ve seen me smoke.”
“Yeah, cigarettes,” he says, holding it up. “This is different.”
You tilt your head, considering for half a second before, “Depends,” you say. “You offering?”
His grin comes back immediately. “Always.”
He crosses the space between you, dropping down onto the bed beside you. Not too close, but definitely closer than before. Close enough that your knees almost brush.
He lights it, takes the first drag, then passes it over. Your fingers brush again. It seems to be becoming a pattern.
You bring it to your lips, inhaling slowly, the smoke harsher, heavier than what you’re used to. You cough a little on the exhale, turning your head away slightly.
He laughs softly. “Easy, Wheeler.”
“Shut up,” you mutter, though there’s no bite to it, handing it back.
“I warned you.”
“You did not.”
“I implied.”
“Poorly.”
He grins, taking another drag. The room settles into something slower after that, quieter. You lean back onto his bed, head tipping slightly as you watch him from the side.
“What?” he asks, catching you.
“Nothing.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You’re just…” You trail off, like you’re not sure you want to say it.
“Just what?”
You shrug, lips twitching. “Not what I expected.”
“Yeah?” he says, echoing you from earlier, a little softer now.
“Yeah.”
He studies you for a second, then leans back too, mirroring you without realizing it. “Can I ask you something?” he says.
“Depends.”
“Are you and Nancy, like…” he gestures vaguely between his own face, “identical twins?”
You choke. Actually choke this time, coughing hard as the smoke catches in your throat.
“Oh my—are you serious?” you manage between coughs.
He’s already laughing, hand coming up instinctively like he might help, then stopping himself.
“What? It’s a valid question!”
“It’s not,” you insist, wiping under your eye. “Have you seen us?”
“I have!” he says defensively. “You look similar!”
“Barely!”
“Okay, not identical identical,” he amends quickly. “But like close enough that I had to check.”
You shake your head, laughing despite yourself. “God, no. We’re just twins.”
“Fraternal,” he says, nodding like he’s learned something important.
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you, I try.”
“You’re definitely the cooler one,” he adds.
You glance at him. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t let her hear you say that.”
“Oh, I absolutely won’t,” he says. “I value my life.”
You laugh again, softer this time, the sound lingering between you. The joint passes back and forth, slower now. Your shoulders brush, then stay. Neither of you moves away.
At some point, your hand ends up resting on the space of the mattress between you, and his is already there. Fingers close enough to touch, but not quite.
“You know,” he says quietly, eyes flicking down to your hand, then back up, “you’re not what I expected either.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” His voice has changed.
You turn toward him fully now, closer than before, without really deciding to be.
“What did you expect?” you ask.
He hesitates, not in a joking way, but in a real way.
“Like… I shouldn’t even bother.”
That does something to you; something warm and a little dangerous. You shift just slightly closer, your knee brushing his, staying there.
“Maybe you should’ve,” you say, just as quietly. His breath catches; you can see it. Hell, you can feel it.
The space between you shrinks without either of you naming it. His eyes flick to your lips, then back up. Like he’s asking. Like he’s not sure.
But you don’t pull away. You don’t say anything. You just stay, gaze meeting his. That’s all the permission he needs. He leans in slowly, giving you time to stop him. You don’t.
The kiss is soft at first, careful. Like he’s still half convinced you might disappear if he moves too fast.
Your hand lifts without thinking, brushing against his jaw, steadying him as you kiss him back, just as gentle, just as unsure for a split second.
Then less unsure, then not unsure at all. His hand finds your waist, light, grounding. The room feels smaller, warmer. Everything else fades out a little.
When you pull back, it’s not far. Foreheads almost touching, breath still uneven.
“…Not scary,” you murmur.
He huffs a soft laugh, eyes still on yours. “Told you.”
You smile, just barely. “Maybe I was wrong about you.”
“Maybe,” he says, just as softly. But he doesn’t move away, and neither do you. Instead, he lifts your chin and brings your lips to his again.
The kiss lingers, softer than you expected, but it quickly turns deeper. Eddie’s hand stays at your waist, fingers pressing in like he’s grounding himself.
You shift closer on the bed, one leg sliding over his, and the old mattress groans loudly under you both. He laughs against your mouth, the sound low and rough.
“Fuckin’ bed,” he mutters, not pulling away. “Always cockblocking me.”
You snort, nipping at his bottom lip. “Then shut up and do something about it.”
His eyes darken. “Bossy. I like it.”
Clothes come off in that messy, uncoordinated way that makes everything feel more real.
Your shirt catches on your earring; Eddie curses under his breath and helps untangle it, nearly elbowing you in the face in the process.
When you tug his Hellfire shirt over his head, his hair gets caught in the collar, and he has to shake it free like a wet dog.
You both end up laughing quietly, but the laughter dies fast when your hands slide over his bare chest, tracing the tattoos on his chest and the line of hair disappearing into his jeans.
Eddie pushes you back onto the pillows, mouth trailing hot and wet down your neck. He’s not gentle exactly, he sucks a mark just below your collarbone that’ll definitely be there tomorrow.
But there’s a hesitation in the way his hands move, like he’s still half-waiting for you to tell him to fuck off.
When he finally gets your jeans and underwear down, they snag around one ankle. He yanks a little too hard, and you nearly knee him in the shoulder.
“Shit—sorry,” he mumbles, tossing them somewhere toward the floor.
He settles between your thighs, broad shoulders spreading you open. For a second, he just looks, pupils blown, then glances up at you with that signature smirk. “You good?”
You nod, breath already uneven. “Yeah. Just… don’t overthink it.”
He huffs a laugh. “Me? Overthink? Never.”
Then his mouth is on you.
The first lick is experimental, a little too broad, but when your hips twitch, and you let out a shaky breath, he figures it out quickly.
He gets messier and more eager, tongue dragging through your folds, circling your clit with sloppy enthusiasm.
One hand grips your thigh hard enough to leave marks, the other presses flat on your stomach, holding you down when you start to squirm.
Every time you moan, he hums against you like he’s proud of himself, the vibration shooting straight through your core.
“Shit, you taste good,” he mumbles, pulling back just enough to speak, lips brushing your folds. “Thinking about me often?”
You tug his hair, hips rolling against his face. “Nope,” but the breathy moan you just exhaled gives you away instantly.
Eddie chuckles darkly, the sound muffled against your pussy. “Liar. You’re soaked. I can feel how bad you want it.”
He licks a slow stripe up your center, then sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue flicking in tight circles that make your back arch off the bed.
You’re panting now, one hand fisted in his messy curls, the other twisted in the sheets.
He slides two fingers into you without warning, curling them just right, and the sudden stretch pulls a louder moan from your throat.
“That’s it,” he groans, voice rough. “Make those pretty sounds for me.”
He picks up the pace, fingers thrusting deep and steady while his mouth works your clit relentlessly.
He’s completely lost in it, groaning and cursing softly against your skin like eating you out is the best thing that’s ever happened to him.
You can feel yourself getting close, thighs starting to tremble around his head. Every time your hips jerk, he presses you down harder, refusing to let you escape the overwhelming pleasure.
“Eddie—” you gasp, voice breaking.
He pulls back just enough to look up at you, eyes dark and mouth slick. His fingers keep moving, slow and deep, dragging it out on purpose. “Yeah? You close already? Let me taste you, sweetheart.”
The filthy words in that smug voice push you right to the edge. You nod frantically, tugging his hair harder.
“Then do it,” he says, voice dropping lower. “Come for me.”
He dives back in, sucking your clit hard while his fingers curl against that perfect spot inside you. The orgasm hits you hard: thighs clamping around his head, back bowing off the bed as you moan his name, hips grinding against his face.
Eddie doesn’t stop, licking you through every pulse and aftershock, groaning like he’s the one coming.
Only when you start twitching and weakly pushing at his head does he finally ease off, kissing the inside of your thigh softly before crawling back up your body.
His mouth finds yours in a messy, desperate kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. He’s rock hard against your thigh, still trapped in his jeans, grinding down once without thinking.
“Fuck,” he breathes against your lips, voice hoarse. “You’re dangerous.”
You reach between you, palming him through the denim, and he hisses, hips jerking into your touch. “Then take these off already, or I’m doing it for you.”
Eddie laughs, low and ragged, sitting back on his knees to fumble with his belt. His cock springs free, flushed dark and leaking at the tip. He strokes himself once, eyes locked on you with that hungry, slightly dazed look.
He leans back over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other guiding himself between your legs. The head of his cock nudges hot and blunt against your entrance, and he pauses, breathing hard, forehead pressed to yours.
“You sure?” he asks, voice rough but surprisingly gentle underneath the usual bravado. “We can stop if—”
You wrap your legs around his waist and pull him closer. “I said take them off, not talk me out of it. Fuck me already, Eddie.”
That’s all the permission he needs. He pushes in slowly, both of you groaning at the stretch. He’s not small, and you’re still sensitive from coming, body shaking under him.
He pushes in slowly, both of you groaning at the stretch. He’s thick, and you’re still sensitive—he rocks his hips in shallow little thrusts until he’s fully seated, hips flush against yours. For a moment, he just stays there, panting against your neck.
“Shit… you feel incredible,” he mutters.
Then he starts moving, slow, deep rolls of his hips at first, like he’s savoring it. The old bed creaks with every thrust, but he quickly finds a steady rhythm, pulling almost all the way out before sinking back in.
He lasts longer than you expected, changing pace whenever he feels himself getting too close, slowing down, grinding deep, sometimes just holding still inside you while he kisses your neck and catches his breath.
One hand slides between you, thumb rubbing messy circles over your clit. His mouth stays on your skin, sucking marks along your collarbone and the top of your breast, murmuring rough, broken praise between kisses.
“Taking me so fucking well… look at you,” he groans, hips snapping harder for a moment before he forces himself to slow again. “You’re gonna kill me, Wheeler.”
You come again with his thumb on your clit and his cock dragging perfectly inside you, clenching tight around him.
Eddie curses, hips stuttering, but he doesn’t let himself go yet. He fucks you through it, slower now, drawing it out until your breathing evens.
Only when you’re boneless and trembling does he finally let go. His thrusts deepen, a little erratic, his grip tightening on your hip.
“Fuck—gonna come,” he warns, voice strained. You hum in approval, locking your lips around his neck to send him over the edge.
He thrusts deep a few more times and comes with a low, guttural groan, hips pressed tight against yours as he spills into you, pulsing hot and deep.
He rides it out with lazy little rocks until he finally collapses half on top of you, both of you slick with sweat and breathing hard.
For a long moment, there’s just the sound of your breathing.
Eddie eventually lifts his head, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, and gives you a lazy, satisfied grin.
He presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, then shifts so he’s not crushing you, though he stays buried inside you for a little longer, like he doesn’t want to pull out yet.
His eyes drift over your neck and chest, and his expression shifts, something between smug and sheepish.
“Shit…” he mutters, thumb gently brushing over one of the darker marks he left on your collarbone.
“I, uh… got a little carried away with the hickies. Sorry about that.” He winces, but there’s a soft laugh in his voice. “You’re gonna look like you got attacked by a vampire. Nancy’s gonna kill me if she sees these.”
You snort, still catching your breath, and run your fingers through his messy curls. “You didn’t exactly hold back.”
“I know, I know.” He leans in and kisses the worst of the marks gently, almost apologetically, then rests his forehead against yours.
“They look kinda hot on you, though. Like… property of Eddie Munson or something.”
He pauses, realizing how that sounded, and his cheeks flush a little. “Okay, that was fucking stupid. Ignore me, please.”
You laugh softly, the sound warm between you, and tug him down for a slow, lazy kiss. He melts into it immediately, one hand cupping your face like you’re something precious.
When you pull back, you smirk. “You’re such a dork.”
For a while, neither of you says anything. The air in the trailer is warm, heavy, quiet except for the sound of your breathing slowly evening out.
Eddie shifts slightly, careful this time, easing his weight so he’s not crushing you, but he doesn’t go far.
Doesn’t want to. He stays close, really close, one arm draped loosely over your waist like it just belongs there now.
Your fingers are still tangled in his hair, lazily combing through the damp curls at the nape of his neck.
He lets out a soft breath at that, eyes fluttering shut for a second like he didn’t realize how much he needed it.
“…You trying to put me to sleep?” he mumbles.
“Maybe,” you murmur back. “You seem like you could use it.”
“Rude,” he says automatically, but there’s no bite to it. “I was performing.”
You huff out a quiet laugh, thumb brushing over his cheek. “Yeah, Munson. Stellar performance.”
“Thank you,” he says, voice a little smug now. “I aim to please.”
You roll your eyes, but your hand doesn’t leave him. He tilts his head slightly, looking up at you properly now, softer than before.
“You okay?” he asks, quieter.
You nod, just as softly. “Yeah.”
There’s a moment where he just studies your face, like he’s making sure you mean it. Then his expression shifts again, lighter this time, a crooked smile pulling at his mouth.
“Good,” he says. “Would’ve hated for my big moment to be a total disaster.”
“Your big moment?” you echo.
“Yeah,” he nods seriously. “Gonna go down in Hawkins history.”
“Oh, absolutely,” you deadpan. “I’m sure there’ll be a plaque.”
“Hey,” he points at you lazily, “you’re laughing. That means I did something right.”
You are laughing. You shift slightly, tucking yourself a little closer into him without thinking. Your leg hooks loosely over his, your head finding a spot against his shoulder that feels easy.
He stills for half a second, then relaxes into it. Like he’s trying not to make a big deal out of the fact that you chose to fuck him and stay.
His fingers trace slow, absent patterns along your side, not pushing, not rushing anything.
“You always like this after?” he asks after a minute, voice quieter again.
“Like what?”
“Cute. Cozy. No ‘tude?”
You glance up at him. There’s a hint of something real under that question. You shrug slightly, fingers still playing with his hair.
“Depends who I’m with.”
That earns you a small smile. “Guess I’m lucky, then.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late.”
You both fall quiet again. Eventually, you let out a soft breath and sit up, stretching slightly as reality starts to creep back in.
“I should go,” you say, glancing toward the clock like you already know it’s late.
Eddie groans quietly, flopping back against the mattress.
“Or,” he offers, “you could not do that.”
“Tempting,” you admit, sliding off the bed to gather your clothes. “But I’d like to survive the rest of the week.”
“Fair.”
He props himself up on his elbows, watching you as you get dressed, not even trying to hide it.
“Eyes up here.”
“No promises.”
“Eddie.”
He grins, completely unashamed. “Worth a shot.”
You shake your head, but you’re smiling. By the time you’re ready, he’s pulled on his jeans, grabbing his jacket again like it’s second nature.
“I’ll take you,” he says.
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
The ride back is quieter than before, but not in a bad way. Your hand rests between the seats, and at some point, his fingers brush yours, then they stay.
When he pulls up outside your house, the engine idles for a second longer than necessary.
“You good?” he asks again.
You nod. “Yeah.”
“I’ll see you around?”
You glance at him, a small smile tugging at your lips.
“Yeah,” you say. “You will.”
You open the door, then pause, shooting him one last look, debating your actions. Then, you tilt your head back, landing a soft kiss on his cheek.
He turns his head down to face you, stunned, then that usual smirk grows once more.
“Yeah, I’m definitely seeing you again.”
“You’re an idiot.”
Inside, the room is not quiet. You barely close the window before Nancy’s voice cuts through your soul.
“Oh, my god, finally.”
You freeze and slowly turn.
Nancy’s sitting up in bed, wide awake. And Steve is right beside her, looking way too present for someone who was definitely supposed to leave hours ago.
You stare at them. They stare at you.
“…Hi,” you say.
Nancy’s eyes narrow immediately. “You were gone for a while.”
You sink a little, then immediately point at Steve, “Yeah, and he’s supposed to be gone. It’s 1 a.m!”
“You just got back,” she retorts.
“I live here. He does not.”
Steve leans forward, squinting at you. “…Whoa.”
You blink. “What?”
He points. “Your neck.”
Your hand flies up instinctively. Nancy’s eyes follow the movement, and then widen.
“Oh my god,” she breathes. “Are those—”
“No,” you say immediately.
“They are,” Steve cuts in, already grinning.
“They are not.”
“They are so hickeys,” he says, delighted.
Nancy scrambles off the bed, grabbing your arm and pulling you toward the mirror. “Let me see—”
“Nancy—”
“Oh my god,” she laughs, covering her mouth. “You’re covered!”
“I am not covered.”
“You absolutely are,” Steve calls from behind you. “Munson really went for it, huh?”
You whip around. “Shut up.”
He holds his hands up, still grinning. “Hey, I’m just saying, respect.”
Nancy is still staring at you like she’s just unlocked the biggest secret in Hawkins.
“You and Eddie Munson?” she says, half shocked, half impressed. “You’re the one blushing earlier and now this—”
“I was not blushing.”
“You were.”
“You’re deflecting,” Steve adds helpfully.
You groan, dragging your hands down your face. “Can you both not do this right now?”
“Nope,” Nancy says immediately.
“Absolutely not,” Steve agrees.
You look between them, already exhausted. “…I hate both of you.”
Nancy just smiles. “Yeah,” she says lightly. “But you had fun.”
You pause, just for a second, and that’s all they need.
“Oh my god,” Steve says. “She did.”
“I’m going to bed,” you announce, already moving to shove him toward the window.
“Hey—hey!” Steve protests, laughing.
“Out,” you snap, pointing. “Now.”
Nancy is still smiling as she climbs under the covers. “This is not over.”
“It is for tonight.”
Steve pauses halfway out, shooting you one last grin.
“Munson, huh? Didn’t see that coming.”
“Goodnight, Steve.”
Morning comes too fast. You’re awake before the alarm. Not because you want to be, but because your brain won’t shut the fuck up.
You’re flat on your back, staring at the ceiling, one arm tucked behind your head, the other resting over your stomach like you’re trying to physically hold yourself still. It doesn’t work, by the way.
Because every time you close your eyes, it’s him.
The way he looked at you. The way he laughed. The way his hands felt, the way his voice dropped when he got quiet, the way his face looked between your thighs…It’s annoying. Deeply.
You groan softly, dragging a hand over your face.
“You’re thinking so loud right now.”
Your head turns. Nancy is propped up on her elbow, watching you like she’s been awake for a while.
“You can’t hear thinking,” you mutter.
“I can when it’s this dramatic.”
You roll your eyes, staring back up at the ceiling. “Go back to sleep.”
“No,” she says simply. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Nothing’s going on.”
“Mhmm.”
Silence stretches for exactly three seconds.
“…It’s Eddie.”
You immediately regret saying it.
Nancy’s face lights up. “I knew it.”
“You didn’t know it.”
“I absolutely knew it.”
You turn your head, narrowing your eyes at her. “You didn’t know anything.”
“You were blushing at your locker.”
“I was not—”
“You had hickeys.” You freeze.
She raises a brow. “…Continue.”
“Shut up.” You say, but there’s no real bite to it.
“Okay, okay,” she says, still grinning. “So what? You hooked up. That doesn’t mean you have to—”
“It’s not just that,” you cut in, quieter now.
That makes her pause. “…Then what is it?”
You hesitate, picking at a loose thread on your blanket. “I don’t know,” you admit finally. “He’s just not what I expected.”
Nancy softens, just a little. “Different?”
“Yeah.”
“How?”
You exhale, frustrated with yourself.
“He’s not trying to impress anyone. He’s not pretending. He just is.” You shake your head slightly. “And it’s… kind of hot. But, I dunno. You know what people say about him."
Then Nancy smiles. “Then go for it.”
You blink at her. “What?”
“Go for it,” she repeats. “He obviously likes you.”
You scoff automatically. “You don’t know that.”
She just looks at you.
“You don’t bring someone home, give them your jacket, and then show up at their locker with a fake excuse to talk to them if you don’t like them. And, the hickeys are like, a dead giveaway.”
You hesitate. “…Okay, yeah. Maybe.”
“Maybe,” she echoes.
“Fine,” you sigh. “He does.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
You don’t answer because you don’t have one.
Nancy nudges your leg with her foot. “You don’t have to marry him,” she says, softer now. “Just… try.”
You sit with that. Long enough that it starts to feel like a decision instead of a suggestion. Then you swing your legs over the side of the bed.
Nancy’s brows lift immediately. “…What are you doing?”
“I don’t know,” you say, already standing. “Something impulsive.”
“That checks out.”
You move to your side of the closet, pulling it open and immediately frowning.
“Why do I have nothing to wear?”
Nancy snorts. “You have everything to wear.”
“I have nothing appropriate.”
“For what?” she asks.
You pause. “…I don’t know yet.”
She gets up, walking over and pushing past you to start flipping through your clothes.
“Okay, not that,” she mutters. “Definitely not that. Oh—wait—this.”
She pulls something out and holds it up. You eye it.
“…Really?”
“Yes, really,” she says. “It’s still you, just… slightly less chaotic.”
“I’m not chaotic.”
“You’re curated chaos.”
“Same thing.”
“Not even close.”
You take it anyway. You get dressed faster than you want to admit, checking yourself in the mirror once, then again, adjusting something small that didn’t need adjusting.
Nancy watches the whole thing. “You’re nervous,” she says.
“I’m not nervous.”
“You’ve fixed your hair four times.”
“I always fix my hair.”
“You’re doing it again.”
“…Stop looking at me.”
She smiles, stepping closer. “For what it’s worth,” she says, softer now, “he’d be an idiot not to like you.”
“…Thanks.”
She nods once. “Go!”
You grab your jacket and leave before you can overthink it. The drive feels shorter than it should. Or maybe you’re just not paying attention.
Before you know it, you’re pulling up to the trailer, engine idling as you stare at the door.
You could leave. You could absolutely just turn around and pretend this never happened, but you don’t. You exhale, pushing the car door open and stepping out before you can change your mind.
The gravel crunches under your shoes as you walk up, each step louder than the last. You knock once, twice.
A pause, then the door swings open, and there he is.
Eddie, hair a mess, shirt halfway on like he just dragged it over his head, eyes still heavy with sleep, and then he sees you. And freezes.
“…Wheeler?”
You don’t give yourself time to think. You tilt your head slightly, a small, confident smile pulling at your lips.
“Come on, Munson,” you say.
His brows knit together, still catching up. “What?”
“You’re taking me on a date.”
IM SO OBSESSED WITH THIS OKAY!?!? IM SORRY HELLO???
anyways....let me know if you want more, yk me and how I love making everything into a series LMAO
beasbuggies:
@bitterestwillow, @kozume-ko, @obsessed-eddie, @doomdabss, @julxsxx, @leelei1980@hexqueensupreme @ches-86 @plaidamoosette @bobiverses @meadows-of-asphodel @whitakerstorm @dreamerjj @sariahs-stuff
