Eddie's groupie

The road is quiet in that late-afternoon way Hawkins always seems to settle into, golden light stretching across the pavement, your window cracked just enough for the wind to tug at your hair and carry in the faint smell of something burning from someone’s backyard. 

You’re halfway through a cigarette you probably shouldn’t be smoking when you see them up ahead, two figures walking a little too close together to be accidental.

You don’t even have to squint to recognize Eleven in that oversized flannel she stole from your closet three weeks ago and never gave back.

You slow the car just slightly, not enough to be obvious, just enough to take it in. She’s looking up at Mike like he hung the goddamn moon, and he’s talking with his hands like he always does when he’s nervous, their shoulders brushing every few steps like it’s something they’re still getting used to but don’t want to stop.

It’s… harmless, objectively. Soft, even. The kind of thing most people would smile at.

You don’t.

You flick the ash out the window, press your foot back on the gas, and drive right past them without so much as a glance in their direction, because whatever this is, it’s not your problem. Not yet.

By the time you get home, Hopper’s truck isn’t in the driveway, which means you’ve got a small window of peace before the nightly interrogation disguised as dinner.

You take it without hesitation, tossing your keys on the counter and kicking your shoes off like the house belongs to you, because in every way that matters, it does.

El walks in about twenty minutes later.

You hear the door before you see her, the soft creak, the careful steps like she’s trying not to be noticed, which is almost funny considering the fact that she is, quite literally, impossible to ignore.

You’re leaning against the counter, flipping through some old magazine you found under a stack of mail, when she finally steps into the kitchen, pausing when she realizes you’re there.

Like a deer caught in headlights that doesn’t quite understand what a car is yet, but knows it should probably be afraid of it.

You don’t look up.

“You walk home?” you ask, voice casual in a way that’s almost too deliberate.

“Yes.”

You hum, turning a page. “Must’ve been a long walk.”

She doesn’t answer that, and for a second, you think she’s going to drop it, retreat, let it go the way you just did out on the road. But then she shifts, something in her posture tightening, like she’s bracing herself.

“I was with Mike.”

You glance up finally, one slow look that says everything you’re not bothering to put into words, and she lifts her chin just slightly under it, defiant in that quiet way of hers that almost makes you respect it.

“Congrats,” you say flatly, tossing the magazine back onto the counter. “Want a medal or are you just sharing?”

Her brows pull together. “You saw.”

“Yeah,” you shrug, reaching for the fridge like this conversation couldn’t matter less. “Hard to miss the whole hand-holding, walking-like-you’re-in-a-romance-movie thing.”

“It is not a movie,” she says, sharper now, stepping closer. “It is real.”

You close the fridge a little harder than necessary, turning to face her fully now, leaning back against the counter like you’ve got all the time in the world. 

“Then maybe you should be smarter about it.”

Her eyes narrow. “You think you are smarter?”

“I know I am.”

You can see it in the way her jaw sets, the way her hands curl at her sides like she’s resisting the urge to do something she’ll regret.

“You don’t understand,” she says, voice tight. “You don’t even try.”

You let out a small laugh, not kind, not cruel, just dismissive. “Oh, I understand plenty. I just don’t care.”

That’s the wrong thing to say.

You know it the second her expression shifts, something hurt flashing across her face before it hardens into something else. Something a little more calculated, a little more familiar to you than you’d like.

“You are alone,” she says quietly. “You push everyone away.”

You go still.

“And now you want me to be alone too.”

There’s a moment where you could back off, could soften it, could remind her that you won't say anything to Hopper.

“If you end up alone,” you say, voice even, “it won’t be because of me.”

The front door opens before she can respond.

Hopper fills the doorway like he always does, presence first, everything else second, shrugging off his jacket and glancing between the two of you like he already knows he walked into something he doesn’t have the patience for.

“Why do I feel like I missed a fight?” he mutters, heading toward the kitchen.

You push off the counter, grabbing your keys again. “Because you did.”

“Hey—”

“I’m going out,” you cut him off, already moving past him. “Don’t wait up.”

“Dinner’s in twenty—”

“Then eat it without me.”

You’re halfway out the door when El’s voice cuts through the air, quiet but deliberate.

“I was with Mike.”

Slowly, you turn back.

Hopper frowns. “You were what?”

El doesn’t look at you. She keeps her eyes on him.

“We were walking together. We are… dating.”

Hopper’s expression darkens. “No, you’re not.”

El’s chin lifts. “Yes. We are.”

You watch it unfold like a car crash you could’ve prevented but chose not to. Something almost detached settles over you as Hopper starts pacing, running a hand over his face.

He's already gearing up for a lecture that’s going to last longer than either of you has the patience for.

“I told you, no dating,” he says, voice rising. “You’re too young, you’re not—this is not happening.”

El’s gaze flickers, just briefly, toward you.

And then, like she’s made a decision. “Just because she does not date doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah, because I don’t want to.”

Hopper looks between the two of you, something clicking into place in that stubborn, overprotective brain of his, and you can actually see the moment the worst possible idea forms.

“…Fine,” he says.

“If she wants to date,” he continues, pointing at El, “then the rule changes.”

“Dad—”

“No dating,” he says firmly, eyes locking onto yours now, “until you do.”

Silence. You stare at him, and he stares right back.

And then you laugh, full and sharp, like this is the funniest thing you’ve ever heard.

“That’s not a rule, that’s a death sentence for El.”

“And why would that be?” 

You roll your eyes. “Please. I would never date the neanderthals in this school if they were the last living organisms on earth.”

Hopper crosses his arms, satisfied. “Then I guess nobody’s dating.”

El’s lips press together, trying and failing to hide the smallest hint of disappointment.

You point at her. “This is on you.”

The next morning feels heavier for her in a way she can’t quite name.

Hawkins High hums the same as it always does, lockers slamming, voices overlapping, sneakers squeaking against the tile.

Eleven moves through it like something slightly out of place, like the rhythm doesn’t quite match her steps. 

People notice her before she notices them, and then they look away just as quickly, conversations dipping, shoulders angling.

A group of girls by the lockers goes quiet when she passes. One of them mutters something under her breath, not loud enough to repeat, just loud enough to land.

El doesn’t react outwardly, but her jaw tightens, her hands curling into the sleeves of her sweater as she keeps walking, eyes forward, because she’s learned that looking back only makes it worse.

She doesn’t understand all of it, but she understands enough.

She finds Mike and Dustin near their usual table, both of them mid-conversation, Dustin animated as always, Mike nodding along like he’s only half paying attention until he spots her.

His whole face changes. “Hey,” he says quickly, standing up like he always does, like it’s instinct now. “Hi.”

El slows when she reaches them, glancing briefly at Dustin before looking back at Mike.

“Hi.”

Dustin leans forward immediately, eyes flicking between them. “Okay, so, I feel like something happened because you look like you just came back from, like, emotional warfare—”

“El, did you get in trouble—” Mike starts, already bracing.

“It is worse,” El cuts in.

Mike’s brows pull together. “Worse than what?”

“Hopper made a new rule.”

Dustin groans immediately. “Oh, that’s never good. Last time there was a new rule I wasn’t allowed in your house for, like, a month—”

“He says I cannot date,” she continues, voice steady but tight, “until she does.”

Mike blinks. “Until… who does?”

El doesn’t have to say it. Their heads both turn slightly, almost in sync, scanning the cafeteria like they expect to spot you immediately.

Dustin’s mouth falls open. “You’re kidding.”

“I am not kidding.”

Mike runs a hand through his hair, already stressed. “That doesn’t make any sense. That’s not even fair.”

“It is not fair,” El agrees, sharper now. “It is stupid.”

Dustin nods emphatically. “Super stupid. Like, impressively stupid. Like, I didn’t even know you could make a rule that stupid—”

Mike cuts him off. “Okay, okay—wait.” He looks back at El. “Why would he do that?”

El’s expression shifts, something more complicated flickering there. “Because she does not date.”

“…At all?” Dustin asks.

El shakes her head. “She said she would ‘never date the neanderthals in this school.’”

Dustin lets out a low whistle. “Wow. That’s… harsh. I mean, not entirely inaccurate for some of the male population here, but still. Harsh.”

Mike doesn’t laugh; he’s busy thinking.

“I want to be with you,” she says quietly. “Not in secret. Not like… like something bad.”

Mike looks at her, and whatever frustration he had a second ago shifts into something more determined. “Yeah. I know. I want that too.”

Dustin straightens, eyes lighting up just a little, that familiar spark of an idea forming, whether anyone asked for it or not. “Okay, wait. Wait, wait, wait.”

Mike groans. “Dustin—”

“No, hear me out,” he insists, pointing between them. “If the rule is that she has to date someone, then all we have to do… is make that happen.”

Mike stares at him. “You say that like it’s easy.”

“I’m not saying it’s easy,” Dustin says quickly. “I’m saying it’s… possible.”

El tilts her head slightly. “How?”

Dustin leans in, lowering his voice like he’s about to propose something highly illegal, which, in his mind, is probably half the appeal.

“We find someone who’s willing to go out with her.”

Mike blinks. “And why would anyone do that?”

Dustin pauses, considers. Then slowly, a grin spreads across his face, the kind that usually means trouble. “…Incentive.”

Mike’s eyes widen. “Oh no. No, absolutely not—”

“It could work!” Dustin presses. “Think about it, man. We just need one guy, right? One guy who’s not completely terrified of her—”

“That’s already a short list,” Mike mutters.

“—and who doesn’t care about her whole… thing,” Dustin continues, gesturing vaguely. “Someone who’d do it for the right price.”

El watches them, confusion knitting her brows. “You want to pay someone to date my sister?”

Mike winces. “When you say it like that—”

“That is what you are saying.”

Dustin shrugs. “I mean… yeah. But it’s not, like, real dating. It’s just…strategic.”

El looks between them, uncertainty flickering, but underneath it is something stronger. 

“If it works,” she says slowly, “the rule will change.”

Mike hesitates, then nods. “If it works… yeah.”

Dustin claps his hands together once, already scanning the cafeteria like he’s picking from a lineup.

“Okay. So. Who do we know that’s got a high tolerance for danger, questionable decision-making skills, and absolutely nothing to lose?”

There’s a pause. And then, almost simultaneously, both boys have the exact same thought.

Across the room, at a table that feels more like its own territory than part of the cafeteria, sits Eddie, boots up on the bench, laughing too loud at something one of the Hellfire guys just said, completely unaware that somewhere behind him, a very bad idea has just found its target.

They don’t move right away.

For a second, both of them just stand there, watching from a distance like they’re about to approach a wild animal that might be friendly but could just as easily bite.

Dustin shifts his weight from foot to foot while Mike very clearly considers abandoning the plan entirely.

“This is a terrible idea,” Mike mutters under his breath.

Dustin doesn’t disagree. “Yeah. Yeah, it is. But it’s also the only idea.”

Mike glances back at Eleven, still standing by the table, watching them with that quiet, unwavering expectation that makes it very hard to say no to her.

He sighs. “…Fine.”

The Hellfire table is loud in a way the rest of the cafeteria isn’t.

“Wheeler. Henderson,” Eddie drawls, leaning back slightly, a grin already forming like he can smell trouble from a mile away. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure? You here to finally admit my campaign last night was amazing, or—”

“We need a favor,” Dustin blurts, cutting him off.

That gets his attention.

Eddie’s brows lift, interest piqued, grin sharpening into something more curious as he slowly lowers his boots from the chair.

“A favor,” he repeats. “From me.”

Mike crosses his arms, trying to look more confident than he feels. “Yeah.”

Eddie glances between them, taking in the tension, the way neither of them looks entirely sure about what they’re about to say, and it only makes him more entertained.

“This should be good,” he says, gesturing lazily. “Go on. Enlighten me.”

Dustin steps forward like he’s presenting a business proposal. “Okay, so. Hypothetically—”

“Oh, we’re starting with hypotheticals,” Eddie hums.

“—if someone,” Dustin continues, ignoring him, “needed you to, I don’t know, go out with someone—”

Eddie snorts. “Henderson, you’re gonna have to narrow it down. My dance card is shockingly empty.”

Mike cuts in, faster this time. “We’ll pay you.”

Eddie goes still for half a second, definitely caught off guard, like he wasn’t expecting them to skip straight to that part.

“…You’ll what?” he says, slower now.

Dustin nods, serious. “Pay you.”

Eddie lets out a short laugh, dragging a hand down his face as he leans forward onto the table, eyes flicking between them like he’s trying to figure out if this is a joke he hasn’t been let in on yet.

“You’re offering me money,” he says carefully, “to go on a date.”

“Yes,” Mike says.

“With who?” Eddie asks, already half amused again.

Mike hesitates.

Dustin doesn’t.

“Hopper’s daughter.”

Eddie leans back in his seat, something thoughtful creeping into his expression now.

“…That Hopper’s daughter,” he repeats.

Mike nods. Eddie’s gaze drifts, almost unconsciously, across the cafeteria. It doesn’t take long to find you.

You’re not hard to spot, not because you’re loud or attention-seeking, but because people give you space without meaning to, a quiet radius that forms around you wherever you sit. 

You’re leaning back in your chair, one leg crossed over the other, completely uninterested in anything happening around you.

Like the entire room is background noise you’ve already tuned out. He’s never talked to you, not once. But he knows you. Everyone does.

The attitude. The sharp tongue. The way you look at people like you’ve already decided exactly what they are and found it lacking.

He watches you for a second longer than necessary, then looks back at them.

“…You want me,” he says slowly, “to go out with her.”

“Yes,” Dustin says again, like repetition might make it sound less insane.

Eddie exhales through his nose, shaking his head slightly as he leans back, running his tongue over his teeth in thought.

“You guys have a death wish or something? I mean, I’ve seen the way she looks at people. I’m pretty sure I’d burst into flames on contact.”

“You won’t,” Mike says quickly. “Probably.”

Eddie shoots him a look. “Reassuring.”

Dustin leans in. “Look, it doesn’t have to be real. You just have to take her out a couple times, make it believable, and that’s it.”

“Why?” he asks.

Mike hesitates. El answers from behind them.

“Because I want to be with him.”

All three of them turn.

El stands a few steps closer now, her gaze steady as it moves from Mike to Eddie, something earnest and unfiltered sitting right at its center.

“Hopper says I cannot date until she does,” she continues. “So she must.”

Eddie’s expression shifts, just slightly, and he glances back at you again. You haven’t noticed him. Or maybe you have, and you just don’t care.

Either way, it does something strange in his chest, something he doesn’t quite have a name for. He looks back at Dustin and Mike.

“…And you’re paying me,” he says.

Dustin nods eagerly. “Yes.”

Eddie taps his fingers against the table, thinking.

“You do realize,” he says after a moment, “this is gonna blow up in your faces, right? Like, spectacularly. Possibly with casualties.”

“Probably,” Mike admits.

Eddie huffs out a quiet laugh. Then, almost absently, his eyes flick back to you one more time, alone at your table.

He tilts his head, something like a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“…Alright,” he says.

Mike blinks. “Wait—seriously?”

Eddie shrugs, pushing himself up from the chair, grabbing his jacket like he’s already halfway committed before he’s even finished deciding.

“What can I say? I’m a sucker for a good cause.”

Dustin grins. “And the money.”

Eddie points at him. “And the money.”

Then he glances back at you, eyes narrowing just slightly, like he’s studying something he doesn’t quite understand yet but very much intends to.

“…Plus,” he adds, almost to himself, “I’ve never met a dragon I didn’t want to try and charm.”

Mike groans. “Please don’t call her that to her face.”

Eddie’s grin widens. “No promises.”

The bell cuts through the cafeteria, sharp and final, and the room shifts all at once, chairs scraping, conversations breaking, bodies funneling toward the exits in a familiar, restless wave.

You don’t rush, you never do.

You take your time gathering your things, sliding your bag over your shoulder, letting the crowd thin just enough that you don’t have to fight your way through it.

You don’t notice him at first, not until he’s already there.

Falling into step beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like this isn’t the first time he’s ever willingly placed himself in your orbit.

“Hey,” Eddie says easily, turning slightly so he’s walking half backward just to catch your eye, a crooked grin already in place. “Hopper, right?”

You don’t stop, you don’t even look at him.

“Do I know you?” you ask flatly, eyes fixed ahead.

He presses a hand dramatically to his chest, as if you’ve wounded him. “Wow. That’s cold. I’m hurt.”

“Tragic.”

He snorts, clearly entertained, and then, without missing a beat, sticks his hand out between you like he’s introducing himself at a business meeting. 

“Eddie. Munson. Local celebrity, part-time academic menace, full-time delight. Pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”

You glance down at his hand. Then back up at him. And just… stare.

He holds it there a second longer than most people would, grin twitching slightly at the edges as he realizes exactly what’s happening, and then he exhales a quiet laugh, dropping it back to his side.

“Alright, tough crowd,” he mutters, half to himself.

You keep walking.

“So,” he continues, undeterred, falling back into step beside you like he’s decided this is a long game. “I was thinking, dangerous, I know, but maybe you and I could—”

“No.”

He blinks. “I didn’t even finish the sentence.”

“I didn’t need you to.”

That earns a laugh, low and surprised, like he wasn’t expecting you to shut him down that fast but he’s not exactly mad about it either.

“Okay, fair,” he concedes, nodding like you’ve made a solid point. “But hypothetically, if I had finished the sentence—”

“You shouldn’t.”

You cut around a group of people blocking the hallway, not slowing, not adjusting your pace to make room for him.

He sidesteps neatly back into place beside you, hands slipping into his jacket pockets, glancing at you from the corner of his eye like he’s studying a puzzle he hasn’t quite figured out yet.

“You always this friendly,” he asks, “or am I just special?”

You let out a quiet, humorless breath. “You’re not special.”

“Ouch,” he says, though there’s no real sting to it, just amusement. “Gonna have to try harder, I see.”

You stop at your locker, spinning the dial without acknowledging him, and he leans casually against the one next to yours like he’s got nowhere else to be.

“I mean, come on,” he goes on, softer now, less performative, more coaxing. “You haven’t even heard my pitch.”

“I don’t care about your pitch.”

“Not even a little curious?”

You glance at him then, finally, just a flick of your eyes.

“…No.”

He grins, like that’s the answer he wanted.

“See, that’s where I think you’re wrong,” he says, pushing off the locker, stepping just a little closer. “Because if you were really not curious, you would’ve told me to shut up and left already.”

You slam your locker shut. “I’m telling you to shut up now.”

He laughs, full and unbothered. “There she is.”

You sling your bag back over your shoulder, turning to walk away again, and he falls into step beside you immediately, like this is just how things are now.

“Just one shot,” he says, holding up a finger. “One sentence. If you hate it, I’ll disappear, never bother you again, you can go back to your regularly scheduled brooding—”

“You’re already bothering me.”

“—but if you don’t hate it,” he continues smoothly, ignoring that, “you hear me out.”

You stop again, slowly.

“…You have one sentence,” you say.

His grin comes back, slower this time, a little more careful.

“Go out with me.”

Silence. You stare at him, and he holds it, waiting.

And then you let out a short laugh, like he’s just confirmed exactly what you thought about him the second he opened his mouth.

“Absolutely not.” And just like that, you turn and walk away, not even giving him the chance to respond this time.

Behind you, Eddie just watches you go, something thoughtful settling in behind the amusement. Then he huffs out a quiet laugh, dragging a hand through his hair as he falls back a step.

“…Alright,” he mutters to himself, a crooked smile pulling at his mouth again. “Challenge accepted.”

By the time the plan reaches its next phase, it already feels like something that’s gotten out of hand. Not that that stops them.

The cabin is quiet when they get there. Late afternoon light spills through the windows, warm and low, dust floating lazily in the air like the place is holding its breath, and Eleven pushes the door open without hesitation.

The boys follow more cautiously.

Mike lingers just inside the doorway, already tense, eyes darting around like Hopper might materialize out of thin air, while Dustin closes the door behind them with a soft click, lowering his voice instinctively.

“This feels illegal,” Eddie whispers.

“It is not illegal,” El says, already moving toward the hallway. “It is necessary.”

Mike runs a hand through his hair. “We’re going through her stuff.”

El pauses, glancing back at him. “We are learning.”

“That’s worse.”

They find your room easily.

The door’s half-open, like you never bothered to shut it fully, and there’s something about that alone that makes all four of them hesitate for a second.

Dustin pushes it open anyway.

“Okay,” he says under his breath, stepping inside. “Recon mission.”

The room is exactly what Eddie expected. And not at all.

It’s not messy, not really, but it’s not polished either, not curated in that way some people’s rooms are.

Yours feels lived in, real. Clothes draped over the back of a chair, books stacked unevenly on your nightstand, a jacket tossed carelessly across the end of your bed like you’ll come back for it later.

There are posters on the wall, and not the ones people expect. Not pop stars or clean-cut bands, but darker, louder things, edges curling slightly at the corners, ink-heavy designs that feel more like statements than decoration.

Eddie steps further in, slower than the others, gaze dragging across the details, taking it in piece by piece like he’s reading something written in a language he almost understands.

“…Huh,” he says quietly.

Dustin’s already at your shelf, flipping through a stack of vinyls with growing enthusiasm. “Oh, this is gold. This is gold—she’s got good taste, I’ll give her that.”

Mike’s still hovering, arms crossed. “Can we not touch everything?”

“We’re not touching everything,” Dustin argues. “We’re strategically observing.”

“You’re holding it.”

“That’s part of observing.”

El moves toward your desk, fingers brushing lightly over the surface, pausing on a notebook left half-open, but she doesn’t flip through it. Not that.

Even she seems to recognize there’s a line somewhere.

Eddie, meanwhile, drifts closer to your wall. He studies the posters more carefully now, head tilting slightly, eyes narrowing just a bit as something clicks into place.

“…She’s not just mean,” he says, almost absently.

Mike glances over. “What?”

Eddie gestures vaguely at the wall. “This stuff—this isn’t random. She’s got a whole thing going on. It’s like…” He trails off, searching for the word, then shrugs. “Curated chaos.”

Dustin snorts. “That’s not a thing.”

“It is now,” Eddie shoots back, though his attention’s already shifted again, scanning the room like he’s trying to piece together a person out of fragments.

There’s something quieter in him now. Less show, more interest.

He doesn’t say it out loud, doesn’t need to, but it’s there in the way he lingers, the way he notices things the others don’t, the way his gaze softens just slightly when it lands on something small, something personal.

On your nightstand. A folded piece of paper sticks out from under a book, worn at the edges like it’s been handled more than once, and Dustin, of course, zeroes in on it immediately.

“Ooh, what’s this—”

“Don’t,” Mike says quickly.

Too late. Dustin pulls it free, unfolding it with zero hesitation, eyes scanning over it before lighting up.

“No way.”

“What?” Mike asks, stepping closer despite himself.

Dustin turns it so they can see. Tickets. Two of them. Worn slightly at the corners, like they’ve been sitting there for a while, waiting.

“To a show,” Dustin says, unnecessarily.

Eddie steps in closer, eyes dropping to the print, and something in his expression shifts again, sharper this time, recognition sparking.

“…You’re kidding me,” he murmurs.

El tilts her head. “What is it?”

Eddie reaches out, not taking the tickets, just brushing his fingers lightly against the edge like he needs to confirm they’re real. “This is—”

He lets out a short, disbelieving laugh. “—The Misfits,” he finishes.

Dustin blinks. “Is that… good?”

Eddie looks at him like he just asked if oxygen is optional.

“Is that good? Henderson, that’s not just good, that’s—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head, still half smiling. “That’s not exactly mainstream around here, alright? That’s… specific.”

Mike frowns slightly. “So she likes them?”

Eddie exhales, glancing around the room again, like everything suddenly makes a little more sense. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, she does.”

Dustin’s grin creeps back in, slow and deliberate. “Okay. So. We use that.”

Mike hesitates. “Use it how?”

Dustin gestures with the tickets. “Conversation piece.”

Eddie doesn’t answer right away. He’s still looking at the tickets, at your room. At the pieces of you scattered around it like clues he didn’t expect to care about.

“…That’s not a terrible idea,” he admits finally, quieter than before.

Mike stares at him. “You’re actually considering this.”

Eddie glances at him, one corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “I told you. I like a challenge.”

But it’s not just that anymore.

“…Guess I’ve got my opening line.”

The bell above the door gives a soft, tired jingle when it opens, the kind that’s been rung a thousand times and stopped caring somewhere around the five hundredth. You don’t look up right away.

The record store is slow this time of day, the low hum of music drifting through the speakers, something scratchy and familiar playing from behind the counter as you flip through a stack of new arrivals, reorganizing them more out of habit than necessity.

“Afternoon,” you say flatly, still not looking.

“Yeah, I’m hoping it gets better from here.”

You freeze for half a second. Then slowly, you lift your head.

Eddie stands just inside the doorway, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, looking entirely too comfortable for someone who very much does not belong here.

Your eyes narrow instantly. “…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He grins like that’s exactly the reaction he was hoping for. “Miss me?”

“No.”

“Cold,” he hums, stepping further inside, gaze drifting lazily over the shelves like he’s browsing. “I was in the neighborhood.”

“You weren’t.”

“Okay, no,” he concedes easily. “I wasn’t.”

You go back to what you were doing, dismissing him with the same efficiency you would anyone else you don’t care to deal with.

“Then leave.”

He doesn’t. Instead, he wanders closer to the counter, fingers brushing along the edge of a display, scanning the titles like he’s genuinely interested. Even though the slight tilt of his mouth says he’s enjoying this far more than he should.

“So,” he starts casually, like you’re in the middle of a normal conversation. “You got any Misfits vinyls in stock, or am I gonna have to take my business elsewhere?”

That stops you.

“…You like the Misfits?” you ask, tone edged with suspicion more than curiosity.

He catches it immediately, doesn’t flinch. Just shrugs one shoulder, like it’s no big deal.

“Yeah. Shocking, I know. Dude in a leather jacket listens to loud, obnoxious music. Real plot twist.”

You step closer, bracing your hands on the counter, gaze locking onto his like you’re trying to catch him in something.

“Name three songs.”

He blinks once. Then huffs a quiet laugh, dragging a hand through his hair. “Wow. Okay. Gatekeeping. Love that for you.”

“Name them,” you repeat, unmoved.

He studies you for a second, something amused flickering in his eyes, like he’s enjoying this far more than he should.

“…‘Last Caress,’ ‘Hybrid Moments,’ ‘Where Eagles Dare,’” he says easily, ticking them off on his fingers. “Want me to keep going or—?”

You hold his gaze a second longer. Then lean back slightly, crossing your arms.

“…Lucky guesses.”

“Ouch,” he says, though he’s smiling again, a little softer this time, like he’s pleased he got under your skin even a fraction. “You wound me.”

You turn, gesturing vaguely toward the back. “Third crate. Don’t touch anything you’re not buying.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He finds the crate easily, crouching down to flip through it, but he doesn’t speak right away this time.

But, after a moment: “Minor Threat, huh?”

You don’t turn around. “What about them?”

He glances up at you from where he’s crouched, one brow lifting. “Didn’t peg you for the straight-edge type.”

“I’m not.”

He hums, flipping to the next record. “Bad Brains.”

You go still. “…You’re just naming bands now?”

“Descendents,” he adds, like he didn’t hear you.

“How do you know that?” you ask, voice quieter now.

Eddie doesn’t answer right away.

He stands, dusting his hands off on his jeans, expression shifting just slightly, and meets your gaze.

“I pay attention,” he says simply.

You search his face, like you’re trying to find the angle, the trick, the punchline that hasn’t landed yet.

“…That’s creepy,” you decide finally.

He exhales a soft laugh, nodding like he’ll take that. “Yeah. Little bit.”

You shake your head, turning away again, but it’s not the same dismissal as before. There’s something else under it now, something you don’t quite like.

“You’re not getting a discount.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“So,” he tries again, a little lighter now, easing back into that easy charm like he never left it. “You work here often, or is this a special occasion thing?”

You don’t miss a beat. “I’m here every day.”

“Good,” he says.

That makes you look at him again. “…Why?”

He shrugs, picking a record from the crate, holding it up like that’s his whole answer.

“Makes it easier to come back.”

You stare at him longer this time. Trying to decide if he’s serious. Trying to decide if you care.

“…Buy something or leave,” you say finally, turning back toward the counter, but your voice isn’t quite as sharp as it was when he walked in.

Behind you, Eddie just smiles to himself, something thoughtful tucked behind it as he glances down at the vinyl in his hands.

Hook set, whether you realize it or not. The next day, the idea finds him again before he can talk himself out of it.

You’re at your locker when he spots you.

Same as yesterday. Same hallway, same noise, same carefully maintained distance people keep from you like it’s second nature.

You’re leaning slightly into the metal, spinning the dial with that absent, disinterested look like none of this matters, like none of them matter.

He watches you for a second, then pushes off the wall and heads over.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Eddie Munson calls lightly as he approaches, like this is already a routine between you. Like you didn’t shut him down less than twenty-four hours ago.

You don’t even look up. “Wrong person.”

He grins. “Debatable.”

You slam your locker shut, finally turning to face him, unimpressed as ever. “What do you want, Munson?”

“No hello?” he hums. “No, ‘how’ve you been, Eddie, light of my life, bane of my existence’?”

“I don’t have time for this.”

“Good,” he says easily. “This’ll be quick.”

That makes you pause, just slightly.

“There’s a party tonight,” he continues, casual, like it’s nothing, like he’s not watching your reaction a little too closely. “At Nancy Wheeler’s place. Parents are out of town, whole suburban rebellion thing, you know the drill.”

You blink once. “…And?”

“And,” he says, stepping a little closer, not enough to crowd you, just enough to keep your attention, “you should come.”

Then you laugh.

“I’d rather die.”

He winces theatrically. “Jesus. You always go straight to homicide, or is that just me?”

You shoulder your bag, already turning away. “Find someone else to bother.”

“I did,” he calls after you. “Didn’t take.”

That slows you down. You glance back, eyes narrowing. “…What.”

He shrugs, like it’s nothing, like this isn’t the entire point. “Figured I’d aim higher.”

You stare at him, and he holds it. For once, he doesn’t fill the silence with a joke.

“…I don’t think so,” you say finally.

He tilts his head, considering you, something softer slipping into his expression for half a second before the grin comes back.

“Alright,” he says.

You turn away again, done with it.

“Pick you up at eight.”

You stop.

“…I didn’t say yes.”

“You also didn’t say no,” he shoots back immediately.

You turn, ready to argue, but he’s already walking backward down the hall, hands up in surrender, grin wide and unbothered.

“Eight o’clock, sweetheart!” he calls. “Wear something scary!”

You watch him go. Annoyed... and something else you refuse to name.

That night, the cabin is quiet. Too quiet.

The kind of quiet that means something’s about to go wrong.

Eleven moves carefully, slow steps down the hallway, shoes in her hand, eyes flicking toward the living room like she expects Hopper to appear at any second.

She makes it halfway to the door.

“Where are you going?”

She freezes. Hopper stands in the doorway, arms crossed, already unimpressed.

“…Out,” she says.

“Out,” he repeats flatly. “At night. Without telling me.”

She hesitates, then lifts her chin slightly. “There is a party.”

“Oh, there is a party,” he echoes. “And you’re just gonna—what—sneak out and go to it?”

She doesn’t answer, which is answer enough.

Hopper shakes his head, already gearing up.

“No. Absolutely not. We talked about this—no dating, no parties, no—”

“She is going.”

Both of them turn.

You’re leaning against the hallway wall, arms crossed, already in something that looks like you might leave the house even if you haven’t admitted it yet.

Hopper frowns. “She is not—”

“I am,” El insists, stepping closer. “Because she is coming with me.”

You scoff immediately. “No, I’m not.”

El turns to you. And then, she does it: big eyes, slight tilt of her head.

That quiet, stubborn softness that somehow hits harder than any argument she could make. You stare at her.

“…No,” you repeat.

She doesn’t look away. “Please.”

You exhale sharply, dragging a hand over your face like this is physically painful for you.

“You don’t even know those people.”

“I know Mike.”

Hopper groans. “We are not doing this again—”

You glance at him, back at her, then at the door.

“…Fine,” you snap finally. “But if anything goes wrong, I’m blaming you.”

El’s face lights up just slightly. Victory.

Hopper points between the two of you. “No. No, no, no—hold on, I didn’t agree to this—”

Too late. There’s a knock at the door, and all three of you freeze.

You close your eyes briefly.

“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Hopper squints toward the door. “Who is that?”

Another knock. Louder this time. You push off the wall with a sigh, already heading for it.

“A mistake,” you mutter under your breath.

When you open it, there he is.

Eddie, leaning casually against the frame like he’s been there for a while, like this is perfectly normal, like showing up early to something you never agreed to is just part of his charm.

He looks you up and down once, quick. Then grins.

“…Eight o’clock felt a little late,” he says. “Figured I’d get a head start.”

You stare at him. Behind you, Hopper steps closer.

“…What the hell is this?” he asks.

Eddie straightens, instantly switching gears, hand coming up in an almost too-friendly wave. “Evening, Chief.”

You drag a hand down your face. “This,” you say flatly, “is exactly why I don’t go out.”

The drive is louder than it needs to be.

Not because of conversation, there isn’t much of that, but because Eddie keeps the music just a little too high, fingers tapping against the wheel, glancing at you every so often like he’s checking to see if you’re still there.

You sit with your elbow hooked out the window, gaze fixed on the blur of trees and streetlights, cigarette smoke trailing behind you, acting like he’s not there at all.

He doesn’t push it, not yet.

The house is already packed by the time you pull up.

Cars line the street, music spilling out through the walls, bass heavy enough to feel in your chest before you even make it to the front door.

El is out of the van the second it stops, practically sprinting toward the house like she’s been waiting for this all week.

“Hey—don’t—” you start, but she’s already gone.

Eddie watches her disappear inside, then looks at you, one brow lifting slightly, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth.

“…After you.”

You roll your eyes, brushing past him without a word, pushing the door open like you own the place, like you’re not even slightly out of your element.

The noise hits you all at once. Laughter, shouting, music too loud for the speakers it’s coming from, bodies moving through the space in a chaotic, overlapping rhythm. You head straight for the kitchen.

It’s instinct at this point, find the drinks, find something to do with your hands, something to anchor you in a room you already know you don’t want to be in. Eddie follows.

Not hovering exactly, but close enough that you’re aware of him, that steady presence at your side as you weave through people, ignoring the looks, the whispers, the way heads turn just a little too slowly as you pass.

It doesn’t take long. “Look who finally decided to show up.”

You don’t even have to turn to know the tone, but you do anyway.

A couple of guys leaning against the counter, red cups in hand, smirks already in place like they’ve been waiting for this exact moment.

“The shrew herself,” one of them adds, louder this time, making sure people nearby can hear.

“Bite me,” you say flatly, already reaching past them for a drink like they’re nothing.

“God,” Eddie murmurs, just low enough for you to hear, “you’re terrifying.”

You crack open the drink, not looking at him. “Then why are you still here?”

He shrugs, grabbing one for himself. “I’ve got a thing for danger.”

You take a sip, letting the noise of the party settle around you, and for a moment, neither of you says anything.

For Eddie, that’s new.

Instead, he just stands there, shoulder brushing yours when someone squeezes past, like he’s not entirely sure what to do with the space between you.

You glance up at him.

“Why did you want me to come, anyway?” you say, nodding toward the crowd. "What's in it for you?"

He looks down at you, like he didn’t expect the question. “What, I can’t invite someone to a party without ulterior motives?”

“You?” you say, arching a brow. “No.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, bringing the cup to his lips.

He takes a sip, pauses, then grimaces immediately. “…Yeah. Okay. That’s foul.”

You almost smile, and he catches it.

“Was that—” he leans in a little, eyes bright, voice dropping like he’s in on a secret, “—was that a smile?”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late,” he says easily. “Already planning my future around it.”

You shake your head, but there’s something softer in your expression now. He watches you for a second longer than necessary, then shrugs, a little less guarded this time.

“And for the record,” he adds, quieter, “I didn’t come for the party.”

You glance at him. “No?”

“Nah.” A small, crooked smile tugs at his mouth. “I came for the part where you show up and pretend you don’t hate me for a couple hours.”

That does it. You smile fully, just a little. And he looks like he just won something.

Across the room, the party swells, louder, messier, people spilling into hallways, voices rising, music shifting tracks. 

But Eddie sticks by your side.

The kitchen settles around you in waves, people rotating in and out, laughter rising and falling, and somehow, without you noticing exactly when it happened, you stop counting the seconds until you can leave. Eddie’s still there.

Leaning back against the counter now, one foot hooked behind the other, drink forgotten in his hand as he talks, like this is easy, like you’re easy, like the whole thing isn’t supposed to be an uphill battle.

“…and then Henderson swears the dice are cursed,” he’s saying, gesturing with his hands, animated in a way that should be annoying but isn’t, not really.

“Like, full conspiracy, thinks the entire campaign is rigged against him personally, which—honestly—not entirely wrong, but still.”

You glance at him, eyebrow lifting slightly. “You rig your own games?”

“Absolutely,” he says without hesitation. “I’m a tyrant. A menace. It’s in the job description.”

“That’s pathetic.”

He grins. “That’s leadership.”

You huff out a quiet breath, something that’s dangerously close to a laugh, and he catches it immediately, eyes lighting up like he’s just hit a milestone.

“There it is again,” he says, pointing at you. “I knew you had it in you.”

“Don’t push it.”

“Oh, I’m gonna push it,” he says easily. “That’s kind of my whole thing.”

You shake your head, taking another sip of your drink, but you don’t shut him down. He seems to clock that too, something softer settling into his expression for a second before he covers it with another smirk.

“So what,” he goes on, nudging your shoulder lightly with his own, testing the boundary. “You just sit around all day, scaring small children and rejecting perfectly charming invitations, or—”

“Children scare easily.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to see why.”

You glance at him again, like you’re trying to figure out what his angle is and coming up short.

“…You talk a lot,” you say.

“I’ve been told it’s one of my many endearing qualities.”

“It’s not.”

“Agree to disagree.”

There’s a pause. Then, before you can stop it, you laugh.

It slips out of you like you didn’t mean for it to, like it caught you off guard just as much as it does him.

Eddie goes quiet, like he doesn’t want to ruin it.

“Wow,” he says after a second, softer now, something genuine threading through the usual humor. “Okay. That— that was worth the price of admission.”

You roll your eyes immediately, the moment passing just as quickly as it came. “Don’t get sentimental on me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

But he’s still smiling. Not the loud, performative grin from earlier.

“Hey—” You both turn.

Nancy stands a few steps away, red cup in hand, looking pleasantly surprised, like she almost didn’t believe it when she heard you were here.

“Hi,” she says, a little breathless from weaving through the crowd. “I wasn’t sure you’d actually come.”

You shrug, already bracing for whatever comment’s coming next. “I didn’t plan on it.”

Nancy’s eyes flick briefly to Eddie, then back to you, something knowing in her expression that you immediately don’t trust.

“Well,” she says, smiling slightly, “I’m glad you did. It’s… nice to see you out of your shell.”

You stare at her. “I don’t have a shell.”

Eddie snorts into his drink.

Nancy laughs softly, unfazed. “You know what I mean.”

“I don’t.”

She just shakes her head, still smiling, like she’s decided not to push it, and takes a step back. “Just—have fun, okay?”

He glances at you, one brow lifting. “Out of your shell, huh.”

“Say one more word, and I’m leaving.”

He holds his hands up immediately. “Hey, hey—zip it. Noted.”

Then, quieter, “For what it’s worth,” he adds, nudging your shoulder again, gentler this time, “I think you’re doing great.”

You don’t respond. But you don’t pull away, either. And that’s enough for him.

The Hideout isn’t trying to impress anyone.

Dim lights, sticky floors, a stage that’s seen better decades, the low hum of a crowd that feels more like background noise than the main event.

It’s exactly the kind of place you’d expect Eddie to bring someone.

It’s not the kind of place you expected to like. And yet…

You’re sitting across from him in a cracked vinyl booth, one leg tucked under you, drink sweating in your hand as he tells stories.

Dumb ones, mostly, about Hellfire campaigns and arguments over rules and how Henderson once tried to “unionize the party,” whatever that means.

You don’t fully understand half of it, but you listen anyway.

“…and then he goes, ‘you can’t just kill my character because I questioned your authority,’” Eddie finishes, shaking his head, clearly still entertained by it. “And I’m like, ‘watch me.’”

You huff out a laugh, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Thank you,” he says, like it’s a compliment.

You take a sip of your drink, studying him over the rim of the glass, something quieter settling in your chest, something unfamiliar and a little unsettling. Because he’s not what you expected, not entirely.

He’s loud, yeah. Annoying. Persistent in a way that should get under your skin more than it does. But he’s also gentle, in strange, fleeting ways.

Like the way he slid into the booth first, so you wouldn’t have to squeeze past anyone. The way he asked what you wanted before ordering, like it mattered. The way he listens when you do speak, even if you only give him scraps.

It’s disarming. You don’t like that.

“…What,” he says suddenly, catching your gaze, one corner of his mouth lifting. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

You roll your eyes, looking away. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I,” he hums, leaning forward just slightly, like he’s trying to catch your eye again. “Because I’m pretty sure that was a nice look.”

“Don’t push it.”

He grins, softer this time. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Then he reaches across the table, not touching you, just tapping his fingers lightly against the surface like he’s resisting the urge to close the distance.

“I’m glad you came,” he says.

Simple, no joke attached. You don’t answer right away.

“…Me too,” you admit, quieter.

His expression shifts, just a fraction, something warm flickering there before he looks away, like he needs a second to recover from it.

“Careful,” he says lightly. “You keep saying stuff like that, I’m gonna think you actually like me.”

You scoff. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.” But there’s no bite to it, not really.

You don’t realize how far you’ve let your guard down until you stand up to go to the bathroom and he doesn’t follow. You don’t expect him to, but you notice it anyway.

The hallway’s quieter, the music muffled, the buzz of the bar fading just enough that you can hear your own thoughts again, and for a second, you let yourself breathe.

This was a mistake; it has to be. You don’t do this. You don’t sit in booths and laugh at stupid stories and let people get close enough to matter.

And yet...You push the bathroom door open, splash water on your hands, stare at your reflection for a second longer than necessary, then head back out.

You hear it before you see them.

“…I’m just saying, man, you better get your cut.”

You slow, just slightly. Voices from around the corner, familiar in that distant way you recognize but don’t care enough to place.

“Yeah, seriously,” another one adds. “How much is Henderson even paying you for going out with Hopper’s daughter again?”

Your stomach drops, cold and sharp. You step around the corner, and there he is.

Eddie, leaning back against the wall, a couple of Hellfire guys clustered around him, laughing like it’s nothing, like it’s a joke that doesn’t have a target. Like it’s not you.

He doesn’t laugh, not really. But he doesn’t shut it down fast enough.

“…It’s not—” he starts. Too late.

They notice you, and the laughter dies. Eddie’s head snaps up. And the second his eyes meet yours, he knows.

“Hey—” he says, pushing off the wall immediately, something urgent in his tone now. “It’s not like that—”

You let out a short, hollow laugh. “Wow.”

He stops a few feet in front of you, hands half-raised like he’s approaching something fragile, something that might shatter if he moves too fast. “I can explain—”

“That’s rich,” you cut him off, voice low and sharp, eyes burning into him. “'Nothing in it for you', huh?”

“I was going to tell you,” he insists, stepping closer. “I just—”

“When,” you snap. “After you got paid? Or were you waiting on a bonus for sleeping with me?”

“It’s not about the money anymore,” he says quickly, shaking his head. “It hasn’t been for a while.”

You laugh again, harsher this time. “Oh, please.”

“I mean it,” he says, more forcefully now, frustration bleeding through. “Yeah, it started that way, I’m not gonna lie to you, but that’s not what this is now—”

“You expect me to believe that,” you cut in, stepping back, putting space between you like you need it to breathe. “You expect me to believe you suddenly just—what—like me?”

“Yes,” he says. No hesitation, no joke. It almost makes it worse.

You shake your head, backing up another step, something tight and ugly twisting in your chest that you refuse to name.

“God, you’re such an asshole,” you mutter.

“I didn’t mean for you to find out like this—”

“You didn’t mean for me to find out at all,” you correct.

You swallow hard, forcing your expression back into something colder, something safer, something that doesn’t let any of that hurt show through.

“Don’t follow me,” you say flatly.

Then you turn and walk out. Leaving him standing there, the noise of the bar rushing back in around him, the taste of something good turning bitter in his mouth before he even has time to process how badly he just screwed it up.

The next morning feels different.

Not in the way anyone else would notice, not in the noise or the routine or the way Hawkins High hums along like nothing ever really changes, but in the space around you.

You move through the hallway like you always do, head high, eyes forward, expression locked into something unreadable, but there’s an edge to it now, something sharper, like you’ve sealed something off and thrown away the key.

People still move out of your way; they always do. But this time, you don’t even register them.

Eddie is leaning against a row of lockers, mid-conversation with one of the Hellfire guys, but the second you round the corner, his attention shifts completely, like everything else drops out of focus.

He pushes off the wall without thinking. “Hey—”

You don’t slow.

“Hey,” he tries again, falling into step beside you, voice lower this time, less show, more real. “Can we just—”

“No.” Not even a glance.

He exhales, quick, frustrated, but keeps pace anyway.

“Just listen for a second, okay? I know you’re pissed, I get that, but I—”

“I’m not pissed,” you cut in, voice flat. You keep walking. “I just don’t care,” you finish.

He hovers there for a second, like he’s been physically pushed back, then jogs a step to catch up again, not ready to let it go.

“That’s not true,” he says, quieter now, almost like he’s trying not to spook you. “If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t be—”

“Don’t,” you snap, finally turning to face him, eyes sharp enough to cut. “Don’t tell me how I feel.”

He lifts his hands slightly, backing off just a fraction. “I’m not—”

“You lied,” you say simply.

“I didn’t lie about everything,” he pushes, something desperate creeping in now. “I meant what I said—”

“Which part?” you cut in. “The part where you asked me out, or the part where you cashed the check.”

A couple of people nearby slow down, sensing tension, but neither of you notices or cares.

Eddie swallows, jaw tightening. “It wasn’t like that.”

“It was exactly like that.”

You step back, putting space between you again, shutting it down before he can try to spin it into something softer.

“Find someone else to entertain you,” you say, voice cold. “I’m done.”

And this time, you walk away without stopping. Without looking back. Without giving him anything to hold onto.

He just stands there for a second, staring after you, something tight and frustrated and stuck settling in his chest.

“…Shit,” he mutters under his breath.

Eddie drops into the seat across from them harder than necessary.

Dustin startles. “Jesus—”

“She won’t talk to me,” Eddie says flatly.

Mike winces immediately. “Yeah. That tracks.”

Eddie drags a hand down his face. “No, like—won’t. Won’t even look at me. I tried this morning and she just—”

He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “It’s like I don’t exist.”

El looks up at that. “You hurt her.”

Eddie exhales, nodding once. “Yeah. I got that part.”

Mike leans forward, lowering his voice. “You shouldn’t have let it go on that long.”

“I didn’t let anything—” Eddie starts, then stops, because he knows how it sounds, because he knows they’re not wrong. “…Okay, yeah. I did. I know.”

Dustin folds his arms. “So what’s the plan now?”

Eddie lets out a humorless laugh. “That’s what I’m asking you.”

They all look at each other. No immediate answer. Which is… not encouraging.

“You apologize,” Mike says finally.

“I did.”

“No, like—actually apologize,” Dustin adds. “Not the whole ‘I’m sorry but also here’s why I’m still kind of right’ thing you do.”

“I didn’t do that,” Eddie argues.

“You definitely did that,” Mike says.

Eddie groans, dropping his head briefly into his hands. “Okay, fine, whatever, I’ll apologize better. Then what?”

El watches him for a second, quiet, thoughtful. “You tell the truth,” she says.

He looks up at her. “I did.”

She shakes her head slightly. “Not just about the money. About… everything.”

Eddie leans back in his seat, staring at the table like it might give him an answer he doesn’t already know.

“…She doesn’t believe me,” he admits, quieter now. “Even if I say it, she’s just gonna think it’s another lie.”

“Then don’t make it sound like one,” Dustin says.

Eddie snorts. “Helpful.”

“I’m serious,” Dustin insists. “You can’t just charm your way out of this one, man. That’s like—your whole thing. She’s not gonna buy it.”

Mike nods. “You need to… prove it.”

Eddie glances between them. “How.”

El speaks again. “Do something for her,” she says simply.

He frowns. “Like what.”

She shrugs, small, but certain. “Something she would know is real.”

Your room feels smaller than it usually does. Not physically, nothing’s changed.

Same half-made bed, same stack of books by the nightstand, same records leaning against the wall like you meant to put them away and never did.

But it’s quieter in a way that presses in on you, like the air’s heavier, like everything’s waiting for you to do something you’re not going to do.

You’re stretched out on your bed, a book open in your hands, eyes moving over the same paragraph for the third time without actually reading a word of it.

It’s stupid, all of it. You knew better. You always know better.

A knock breaks the silence. You don’t look up.

“Go away.”

A pause. Then, softer, “Please.”

You close your eyes briefly, irritation flickering up fast and familiar.

“I said go away, El.”

The handle rattles, and you hear her try it once. Twice. Then: a quiet click.

Your head snaps up just as the door pushes open. Anger hits first.

You sit up fast, book forgotten as you swing your legs over the side of the bed, already moving.

“I told you not to do that anymore,” you snap, voice rising as you step toward the door. “What part of that is confusing to you, you little—”

You stop. Because it’s not just Eleven standing there. She’s off to the side, watching.

And in the doorway, Eddie. The anger doesn’t disappear. If anything, it sharpens.

“What the hell is this,” you say, colder now, folding your arms like that’s enough to hold yourself together. “You recruiting now?”

El looks between the two of you.

“He wants to talk,” she says.

“I don’t.”

Eddie doesn’t move. Doesn’t try to push into the room, doesn’t lean, doesn’t grin. He just stands there, hands empty, like he’s not sure what he’s allowed to do.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I figured.”

You scoff, looking away. “Then what are you doing here.”

“I gave it back,” he says.

You glance at him. “…What.”

“The money,” he clarifies, swallowing once. “I gave it back to Henderson. All of it. Told him I’m out.”

You stare at him, searching. For the angle, the lie, the performance.

“…Why.”

He lets out a breath, dragging a hand briefly through his hair before dropping it again, like he doesn’t want to hide behind the motion.

“Because it’s not what I want,” he says.

You don’t react.

“Wasn’t at first,” he adds, honest in a way that almost makes you more irritated than if he’d tried to sugarcoat it. “I’m not gonna pretend it was. But somewhere in there, it stopped being about that.”

You shake your head slightly, a bitter laugh slipping out. “And I’m supposed to just believe that.”

“No,” he says immediately.

“I don’t expect you to believe anything I say,” he continues, voice steady, even if there’s something tight underneath it. “I just… needed to say it.”

El shifts slightly by the door, unsure, watching both of you like she’s waiting for something to break.

You look at Eddie again. No grin, no attitude, no bullshit.

“…You should’ve told me,” you say, quieter now, but no less sharp.

“I know.”

“Before.”

“I know.”

“You let me sit there,” you continue, stepping a little closer, not soft, in your anger now, “and actually think you—” You cut yourself off, jaw tightening.

He doesn’t fill the space.

“That part wasn’t fake,” he says instead, softer.

You laugh, but it’s weaker this time. “That’s convenient.”

“I liked you,” he says. “I like you. That didn’t start with the money and it didn’t end when I gave it back.”

You shake your head again, but there’s less certainty in it now, less bite.

“You’re such an idiot,” you mutter.

“Yeah,” he says, a little breath of a laugh slipping through. “Been hearing that a lot lately.”

“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” he adds.

Your eyes flick back up to his.

“I’m not asking you to go out with me again,” he continues. “Or even talk to me after this.”

“I just didn’t want you thinking it was all fake,” he finishes. “Because it wasn’t.”

You don’t move, and you don’t respond.

Just stand there, caught somewhere between the version of him you decided on and the one standing in front of you now.

Behind him, El watches, quiet, hopeful in a way she’s trying not to show.

You exhale slowly, dragging a hand over your face.

“…You’re still an asshole,” you say finally.

He nods. “Yeah.”

“And you showed up to my house uninvited.”

He glances at El. “…Yeah.”

“And she broke into my room.”

“She did.”

You look at him for another second. Then, “…But you gave the money back.”

It’s not a question. He shakes his head.

“Didn’t feel right keeping it.”

“…That was stupid,” you decide.

A corner of his mouth lifts slightly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, softer now, something shifting under the surface whether you like it or not. “You could’ve at least kept it.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Thought about it.”

“…You still owe me a real date,” you say.

His head tilts, like he’s not entirely sure he heard you right. “…I do?”

You roll your eyes immediately, looking away like you already regret it. “Don’t make it weird.”

A slow, careful smile spreads across his face. Not big. Not cocky. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You cross your arms again, trying to regain some control over the situation. “And if you screw it up again, I’m not giving you another chance.”

“Fair.”

“And you’re not picking me up early this time.”

He nods, serious. “Eight o’clock.”

“Eight o’clock,” you confirm.

Behind him, El’s face brightens just slightly, relief slipping through before she quickly tries to hide it. You catch it anyway.

“Get out,” you tell her flatly. She doesn’t argue this time. Just turns and disappears down the hallway.

You look back at Eddie. He lingers in the doorway for a second longer, like he’s making sure this is real, like you didn’t just shut the door on him again.

“…I’ll see you at eight,” he says. You don’t answer, but you don’t tell him to leave, either. And when he finally does, the room doesn’t feel quite as small.

You stare at your closet like it personally offended you. Nothing looks right. Everything looks like you, which is the problem.

You tug a shirt off a hanger, hold it up, hesitate, toss it onto your bed with a quiet huff.

Your reflection stares back at you from the mirror across the room, arms crossed, expression already halfway to annoyed, like you’re judging yourself for even trying.

It’s just a date. A real date.

You roll your eyes at the thought, dragging a hand through your hair before turning back to the mess you’ve made.

After a second, you pull something else out. Simpler. Still you, just… softer around the edges. Something that doesn’t scream don’t talk to me quite as loudly.

You hesitate, then change anyway. When you step back in front of the mirror, you don’t smile. But you don’t hate it either.

“…Shut up,” you mutter to your reflection, grabbing your jacket.

The knock comes right at eight.

You freeze for half a second in the hallway, like your body needs to catch up with the fact that this is actually happening. Then you force yourself forward, pushing past it before you can overthink your way out of the entire night.

Hopper gets to the door first.

“Stay,” he says over his shoulder, already reaching for the handle like you’re a dog he doesn’t trust to bolt.

You scowl but don’t argue, lingering just behind him as he opens the door.

Eddie's standing on the porch like he’s been there for a while, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, posture just a little straighter than usual, like he’s aware of exactly whose house he’s standing in.

“Evening, Chief,” he says, lifting a hand in a small wave.

Hopper eyes him up and down.

“I know you,” he says.

Eddie nods once. “Yeah. Munson.”

“I knew your dad,” Hopper adds, like that explains everything.

Eddie winces slightly. “That can’t be good.”

Hopper’s mouth twitches, not quite a smile. “Depends on the day.”

Then Hopper steps out onto the porch, pulling the door halfway closed behind him so you’re left just inside, listening whether you want to or not.

You lean slightly, just enough to catch it.

“You’re taking her out,” Hopper says, voice lower now.

“Yes, sir.”

Hopper studies him for another second, something shifting in his expression. Like he knows the reputation, but he’s also seen enough of the kid underneath it to not write him off completely.

“I don’t care what people say about you,” Hopper continues, steady. “I care how you treat her.”

Eddie nods immediately. “Fair.”

“If she asks, you bring her home. No questions.”

“Of course.”

“And if she looks even a little unhappy—”

“I won’t let that happen,” Eddie cuts in.

That pauses Hopper, just for a second. He looks at him again, sharper this time, like he’s trying to decide if that confidence is arrogance or something else.

“…Alright,” he says finally.

He steps back, pushing the door open again. “Don’t make me regret it.”

Eddie gives a small nod. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You’re already there when he steps back inside.

Leaning against the wall like you haven’t been eavesdropping, like you didn’t hear a single word of that. Eddie looks at you and stops, just for a second.

His eyes flick over you, quick but not careless, taking in the change, the effort, the fact that you showed up to this night differently than before.

Something soft crosses his face.

“…Wow,” he says quietly.

You immediately cross your arms. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t even say anything.”

“You were about to.”

He huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. “You look nice.”

You roll your eyes, pushing past him toward the door. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The drive is different this time.

“…So,” you say after a while, glancing at him. “Where are we going.”

He glances over, a hint of a grin tugging at his mouth. “You’ll see.”

“I hate surprises.”

“I figured.”

“Then why—”

“Because this one’s good,” he cuts in, softer this time.

You study him for a second, then look back out the window.

“…It better be.”

The venue isn’t in Hawkins. Small, a little rundown, lights buzzing faintly above the entrance, a line already forming outside, people packed close, voices loud, energy crackling in the air.

You step out of the van and stop, recognition hitting instantly.

“…No way.”

Eddie leans against the door, watching your reaction, something almost nervous flickering behind the usual confidence.

“Yeah,” he says. “Thought you might like it.”

You look at the sign again. At the crowd. At him.

“…Descendents?”

He nods once. “Figured I’d start strong.”

“You got tickets.”

“Had to pull some strings,” he admits. “Almost sold my soul, but, you know. Worth it.”

You huff out a quiet laugh, shaking your head slightly as something warm settles in your chest before you can stop it.

“…You’re unbelievable,” you say.

“Yeah,” he grins. “Been told.”

“…Thank you,” you add, quieter.

That hits him in a different way; you can see it. The way he stills for just a second before nodding, like he doesn’t trust himself to make a joke out of it this time.

“Yeah,” he says. “Course.”

He pushes off the van, stepping closer, not crowding you, just enough to fall into step beside you as the two of you move toward the line together.

The crowd spills out of the venue in loose waves, people shouting over each other, laughing, reliving moments that already feel bigger than they probably were.

You step out with them, breath catching slightly as the quiet starts to settle back in.

“…Okay,” you admit, pushing your hair back from your face, still a little flushed from the heat inside. “That was—”

You stop, like you don’t want to give it to him.

Eddie watches you, already grinning, hands shoved into his jacket pockets like he knows exactly where this is going.

“Go on,” he says. “Finish the sentence.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Don’t ruin it.”

“I’m not ruining anything, I’m encouraging honesty.”

You scoff, starting down the sidewalk, and he falls into step beside you immediately, like he always does now, like there’s no question about it.

“…It was good,” you say finally, quieter this time, like it costs you something.

His grin widens. “Good?”

“Don’t push it.”

“I’m just saying, I expected at least a ‘life-changing experience’ or a tearful confession—”

“I said don’t push it.”

He laughs, softer this time, not trying to get a rise out of you, just simply enjoying it.

“Alright, alright,” he concedes, nudging your shoulder lightly as you walk. “But for the record, I think I deserve more credit here.”

“For what,” you ask, glancing at him.

“For broadening your horizons,” he says easily.

You blink at him. “You took me to a band I already like.”

“Yeah,” he nods. “But I picked the right band.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no bite to it.

“…They were better live,” you admit after a second.

That catches him.

“Yeah?” he asks, a little surprised.

You nod slightly. “Yeah.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Alright, I’ll give you that one.”

You glance at him again, brow lifting. “You didn’t think they were good?”

“I thought they were fine,” he says carefully. “Like, solid. Respectable.”

You scoff. “Respectable.”

“Hey, I’ve got a reputation to maintain,” he shoots back. “Can’t just go around admitting I enjoyed something that much.”

You bump your shoulder into his, a little harder this time. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” he grins. “But you’re still here.”

You don’t respond. But you don’t move away, either.

There’s a moment as you walk, the noise of the crowd fading behind you, replaced by the quiet stretch of road, the hum of distant cars, the lingering echo of music in your chest.

And then, his arm comes up. Slow. Careful.

Not like he expects it, not like he’s claiming anything, just resting across your shoulders, light enough that you could shrug it off if you wanted to.

You feel it immediately; the warmth, the weight. You tense, just for a second. He feels it too and starts to pull back.

“Sorry, I didn’t—”

But you don’t move away. You don’t shrug him off. Instead, you pull his hand around the rest of the way.

You lean into him just slightly, your shoulder fitting more comfortably under his arm like it makes sense there.

Like it’s allowed. He goes quiet.

“…You’re quiet,” he says after a moment, softer now.

“So are you.”

“Yeah, well,” he glances down at you briefly, something warm in his expression, “I don’t want to mess this up.”

You huff out a small laugh, shaking your head. “You’ve already done that once.”

“Yeah,” he admits. “Trying not to make it a pattern.”

“…You’re doing alright so far,” you say. It’s quiet, almost lost to the night. But he hears it.

“I’ll take that,” he says.

You glance up at him for a second, catching the way he’s looking ahead, not at you, like he’s giving you space even now.

The van comes into view at the end of the lot, headlights dim, the night settling in around it like a quiet pause between moments.

Neither of you rushes toward it. Neither of you breaks the space between you.

And as you walk, side by side, his arm still draped over your shoulders, your weight just barely leaning into him; it doesn't feel fake. It doesn't feel forced. Just easy in a way you're a little scared to name.

The ride home feels softer than the one there.

The windows are cracked just enough to let the night air in, cool against your skin, the kind that keeps you awake in a way that’s not exhausting.

The music is lower this time, something steady humming through the speakers while the road stretches out in long, quiet lines ahead of you.

You’ve got your elbow hooked out the window again.

He’s got one hand on the wheel, the other tapping lightly against his thigh, like he’s still half in the rhythm of the show.

“…So,” he says after a while, glancing over at you. “Be honest.”

You don’t look at him. “I am always honest.”

He snorts. “That’s terrifying, but not what I meant.”

You finally turn your head, brow lifting. “What did you mean.”

“Scale of one to ten,” he says. “How good was it.”

You consider it for a second, dragging it out just to annoy him.

“…Seven.”

He scoffs immediately. “Seven?”

“Don’t get greedy.”

“That was at least an eight,” he argues. “Minimum.”

“Seven,” you repeat.

He shakes his head, like he’s deeply disappointed. “Unbelievable. I pour my heart and soul into planning the perfect night—”

“You bought tickets,” you cut in.

“—and this is the thanks I get,” he finishes anyway.

You roll your eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at your mouth again, one you don’t bother hiding this time.

“…Okay,” you say after a second. “Eight.”

He glances at you, quick. “Yeah?”

“Don’t make me take it back.”

“I’m just saying,” he grins, settling back into his seat a little, “I might be good at this.”

“At what.”

“Dating you.”

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “You’ve had one successful outing. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“One and a half,” he corrects. “You didn’t hate the first one until the whole… you know.” He gestures vaguely.

You exhale through your nose. “Don’t ruin the moment.”

“Right. Sorry.” He nods once. “Moment preserved.”

“…You’re not as bad as I thought you were,” you admit.

It slips out before you can stop it. The car goes quiet. He looks at you, like he’s trying to decide if you’re messing with him.

“…Wow,” he says softly. “High praise.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late,” he murmurs.

You turn back toward the window, but your shoulder brushes his arm for a second when the car shifts, and neither of you pulls away right away.

By the time you pull up to the cabin, the night’s settled in fully.

He cuts the engine, the sudden silence almost too loud after everything else, and for a second, neither of you moves.

“…Home sweet home,” he says lightly.

“Don’t say that.”

“What, you don’t like it?”

“It’s weird.”

He huffs a small laugh. “Noted.”

You reach for the door. He’s already out of the van by the time you step onto the gravel, circling around without thinking, falling into step beside you like it’s automatic now.

The walk to the door is short, too short. You notice that, annoyingly.

Neither of you says much, the quiet stretching out again, not uncomfortable, just full of something neither of you is naming.

You stop at the door, turn. He’s already looking at you.

For once, he doesn’t have a line ready. Just that same careful, steady look he’s had all night, like he’s trying not to mess this up.

“…I had a good time,” he says.

You nod once. “Yeah.”

“…Eight,” you add.

His mouth twitches. “I’ll take it.”

You should go inside, you know that. You always know when to end things. Clean. Simple. No room for anything to get complicated.

But instead, you step forward. He barely has time to register it before your hand catches lightly on his jacket, pulling him just enough, and you kiss him.

It’s quick, but not hesitant. Not soft enough to be mistaken for anything else.

You pull back just as fast, like you’ve already decided that’s all he’s getting, like if you linger, you might rethink it.

He stares at you. Completely caught off guard.

“…Wow,” he breathes.

You roll your eyes immediately, stepping back toward the door.

“Don’t make it weird.”

“I’m not—” he starts, then stops, because he is a little stunned, because that definitely wasn’t what he expected.

You reach for the handle, pause, then glance back at him over your shoulder.

“…Goodnight, Munson.”

A slow, slightly dazed smile spreads across his face.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah. Goodnight.”

You disappear inside before he can say anything else.

And for a second, he just stands there on the porch, staring at the door like it might open again. Like, he didn’t just imagine that.

Then he lets out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, dragging a hand through his hair as he turns back toward the van.

“…Eight,” he mutters to himself, still smiling.

AGHAHGDHHS okay here it is. i hope you all enjoyed :3

taglist is open!

beasbugs:

@bitterestwillow@kozume-ko, @obsessed-eddie, @doomdabss, @julxsxx, @leelei1980@hexqueensupreme @ches-86 @plaidamoosette @bobiverses@meadows-ofasphodel @whitakerstorm @dreamerjj @sariahs-stuff @serendipdipity01 @hypersexytoptobottom @m-art000 @sisteramycatherine @walleloveseve @camsmunson101 @flavorfullstevepeachpuffs25 @abirdinthehouse @m-art000 @enne02

Eddie sat across from you in the armchair, one boot kicked up on the coffee table, the other leg sprawled wide. His vest hung open over a faded Metallica shirt, curls wild and haloed by the light. The joint burned down between his fingers, silver rings glinting every time he gestured. He’d been like this all night- theatrical, loud, impossible to look away from-  but the flirting had crept in heavier with every hit. The way he’d called you “sweetheart” like it was your actual name. The way his eyes kept dropping to your mouth when you laughed. The way his knee had “accidentally” brushed yours and stayed there a second too long.

You both felt it. That thing you’d been dancing around for weeks. The late-night talks that stretched until dawn, the almost-kisses that never landed because one of you always got nervous and cracked a joke instead. You wanted him so badly it ached sometimes, but saying it out loud felt terrifying. What if it ruined everything?

The game had started dumb and safe- “Favorite D&D monster to fight?” “Worst thing you’ve ever eaten?”- but the weed had loosened every filter. Questions got sharper. Edgier. Eddie’s grin had turned wicked about twenty minutes ago, and now he was watching you like he was waiting for something to break.

He took one last slow drag, held it, then crushed the roach into the overflowing ashtray. When he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the air shifted. His dark eyes locked onto yours, playful and hungry at the same time.

“Alright, my turn,” he said, voice low and rough from the smoke. That signature Eddie Munson smirk curved his mouth, but there was something hotter underneath it. “And you can't get all shy on me now, sweetheart.”

He tilted his head, curls falling across one eye, and asked it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“When was the last time someone fucked you?”

The words hit like a live wire. Your brain stuttered hard. The high made everything spin, but that question sliced straight through the fog- blunt, filthy, and aimed right at you. Heat flooded your face so fast it felt like a fever. Your chest tightened. Your thighs pressed together on instinct. You opened your mouth and nothing useful came out, just a broken little sound.

“I… I-I’ve never…” You swallowed, voice small and cracking. “No one has. I’m… I’m a virgin.”

The confession tumbled out in a stammered rush. You wanted to disappear into the couch cushions, but you couldn’t stop looking at him. Your heart was hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it.

Eddie went still for a second, eyebrows lifting, mouth parting in genuine surprise. For one suspended heartbeat the only sound was the low thrum of the music and your own pulse in your ears.

Then that slow, crooked smile spread across his face- not mocking, not laughing at you. Something darker. Warmer. Interested in a way that made your stomach flip and your skin prickle.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, almost to himself. A soft, disbelieving laugh escaped him. “You’re serious?”

He sat back just enough to rake a hand through his curls, rings catching the light, then leaned in again, closer this time. His gaze dragged over you- slow, deliberate, taking in the flush on your cheeks, the way your fingers were still gripping the couch cushion like a lifeline. When he spoke again his voice had dropped lower, intimate, that flirty edge sharpened into something that felt like a promise.

“Damn, sweetheart… that’s actually really fucking hot.” He shook his head once, like he was trying to clear it. “No one’s ever touched you like that? Not even a little?” His eyes flicked down to your mouth again, then back up. “I’ve been thinking about you for weeks. Like, can’t-stop-thinking-about-you weeks. And now you tell me this?”

He shifted forward until his knees were almost touching yours. One ringed hand rested on the arm of the couch, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off his skin. The usual manic energy was still there, but it was tempered now by something careful. Something hungry.

“You don’t have to say anything else if you don’t want to,” he murmured, eyes never leaving yours. “We can keep playing the game. Or we can… not.” A tiny, wicked smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Your call, pretty girl. But just so you know- hearing that? It’s doing really filthy things to my brain right now.”

The air between you crackled. The high made every detail sharper- the way his voice vibrated in your chest, the faint scent of leather and smoke clinging to him, the way his fingers twitched like he was holding himself back from reaching for you.

Your face was still burning, but the embarrassment was twisting into something else- something warm and electric and terrifyingly good. The nervousness was still there, thick in your throat… but so was the want. Finally out in the open between you both.

Eddie waited, that crooked, flirty smile soft around the edges, giving you all the space in the world while his eyes said he’d been waiting for this moment longer than he’d ever admit.

The words left your mouth before you could second-guess them.

Your voice was soft, a little rough from the smoke, but steady enough. The high had your heart racing and your skin buzzing, and the way Eddie was looking at you- like he wanted to devour every shaky breath you took- made something bold and reckless rise up in your chest.

“How would you fuck me?”

Eddie’s eyes darkened instantly. That crooked, filthy grin spread slow across his face, but there was heat in it now, real and hungry. He let out a low laugh, running a hand through his curls as he leaned forward again, elbows on his knees, close enough that you could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes.

“Fuck, sweetheart…” He shook his head once, like he couldn’t believe you’d actually asked. “You want the whole picture? Alright. I’ll give it to you.”

His voice dropped lower, that theatrical Eddie drawl turning intimate and rough.

“I’d start slow. Real slow. Because I know it’s your first time and I’m not about to rush the best thing that’s ever gonna happen to either of us.” He licked his bottom lip, eyes flicking down to your mouth. “I’d kiss you until your head spins worse than this weed does. Then I’d get my mouth on your tits- suck on them nice and gentle until you’re arching up and making those pretty little sounds I already know you’re hiding. I’d take my time. Kiss down your stomach, spread your legs, and eat this pussy like it’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted.”

He was watching your face now, gauging every reaction, his own breathing heavier.

“I’d use my tongue first. Get you wet and messy. Then two fingers- slow, curling just right until you’re shaking. I’d talk to you the whole time. Tell you how tight you feel. How good you taste. How I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else.” His grin turned sharper, filthier. “And when you’re dripping and begging, I’d finally give you my cock. Nice and easy at first. Let you feel every inch stretching you open. I’d hold your hand. Kiss you through it. Tell you how fucking perfect you feel wrapped around me raw.”

He was breathing harder now, eyes locked on yours.

“Then I’d fuck you. Deep. Steady. Not hard- not yet. Just enough to make you feel me everywhere. I’d tell you how good you’re taking it. How pretty you look when you come on my cock for the first time. I’d probably lose my mind a little when you do. Might even come inside you if you let me. Fill you up while I’m still buried deep and whispering how long I’ve wanted this.”

Eddie stopped. The air between you was thick, crackling. His pupils were blown wide, chest rising and falling fast. For a second he just stared at you, that filthy little smile still playing on his lips… then something shifted in his expression. Playful. Decisive. Electric.

He let out a soft, disbelieving laugh and shook his head.

“Wait. Why the fuck am I just telling you about it when I could show you?”

Your stomach flipped hard. The high made everything feel dreamlike and hyper-real at the same time. Eddie was already standing, offering you his hand- rings cool against your palm when you took it. His fingers laced through yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he murmured, voice softer now, thumb stroking the back of your hand. “Only if you want. We can stop any time. Just say the word.”

You nodded. Your legs felt a little unsteady as he led you down the short hallway to his bedroom.

He closed the door behind you both, then turned to face you, his hands gentle as they came up to cup your face.

“You sure?” he asked again, eyes searching yours. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

“I’m sure,” you whispered. “I want you.”

That was all he needed.

Eddie kissed you like he’d been holding back for months- slow at first, then deeper, his tongue sliding against yours, tasting like weed and something sweeter. His hands stayed respectful even as the kiss grew hotter, one sliding into your hair, the other resting at the small of your back, pulling you gently against him. You could feel how hard he was already through his jeans, but he didn’t grind on you. He just let you feel it. Let you know.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“Gonna take such good care of you,” he promised, voice low and rough. “Gonna make it so good for you, sweetheart. You tell me if anything feels off, okay? Even if it’s just a little.”

You nodded again, breathless.

He started slow- peeling your shirt up inch by inch, kissing every new strip of skin he revealed. His mouth was warm and a little chapped from the smoke, and the contrast of his soft lips and the cool metal of his rings dragging lightly over your sides made you shiver. When your bra came off, he paused, just looking, eyes dark and reverent.

“Fuck… look at you,” he breathed. “So pretty. Been thinking about these for way too long.”

He lowered his head and took one nipple into his mouth, sucking gently, tongue swirling. Your back arched and a soft sound escaped you. Eddie groaned against your skin like the noise alone was doing things to him.

“Love the sounds you make,” he murmured, switching to the other side, one hand cupping and squeezing while his mouth worked. “Gonna make you even louder in a minute.”

Clothes came off slowly between kisses and soft laughter. When you were both down to nothing, Eddie guided you onto the bed like you were something precious. He settled between your thighs, kissing down your stomach, nuzzling the soft skin there.

“Gonna taste you now,” he warned, voice filthy and sweet at the same time. “Wanna feel you come on my tongue before I fuck you. That okay?”

“Please,” you managed.

He didn’t rush. He licked broad and slow, groaning like you tasted better than anything he’d ever had. His tongue circled your clit, then flattened against it, and two of his long fingers slid inside you- careful, checking your face the whole time. The stretch burned a little at first, but he was patient, curling them just right, finding that spot that made your hips jerk.

“There she is,” he praised, voice muffled against you. “Fuck, you’re so tight. So wet for me already. Been wanting this pussy for so long, pretty girl. Gonna take such good care of it.”

He worked you open with his fingers and mouth until your legs were shaking, until you were gasping his name and coming hard against his tongue. Eddie didn’t stop until you were whimpering from oversensitivity, kissing your inner thighs and murmuring how good you were, how beautiful you looked falling apart for him.

When he finally crawled back up your body, his mouth was shiny and he was grinning like he’d won the lottery.

“Still with me?” he asked, brushing hair from your face.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Eddie… please.”

He kissed you again, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. Then he reached toward the nightstand out of habit, fingers brushing a condom wrapper- but he paused, looking at you.

“You on anything?” he asked quietly. “I’ve got one if you want it. No pressure either way.”

You shook your head, heart pounding. “I’m on birth control. I… I want to feel you. All of you.”

Eddie’s eyes fluttered shut for a second like the words physically hit him. When he opened them again they were darker, softer.

“Fuck. Okay. Yeah. I’ve got you.”

He lined himself up, the head of his cock dragging through your slick folds. He was big- not in a scary way, but enough that you felt the stretch even before he pushed in. Eddie went slow. So slow. One hand laced with yours beside your head, the other stroking your hip, your thigh, anywhere he could reach.

“Breathe for me, sweetheart,” he whispered against your lips. “That’s it. Just like that. God, you feel… fuck, you feel perfect. So warm. So tight around me.”

He pushed in another inch, pausing when you tensed, kissing your cheek, your jaw, your mouth.

“You’re doing so good. I’ve got you. Tell me if it’s too much.”

It stung a little, then burned, then melted into something fuller, deeper. When he was finally all the way inside you, buried to the hilt, Eddie let out a shaky groan and pressed his forehead to yours.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “I’m inside you. Really inside you. You okay?”

You nodded, overwhelmed, clinging to his shoulders. “Move… please.”

He started slow- long, deep strokes that let you feel every inch. His dirty talk never stopped, but it stayed wrapped in that gentle, caring tone.

“Feel that? That’s all me, baby. Stretching this pretty little virgin pussy so nice. You’re taking me so well. Fuck, I can feel you squeezing me every time I talk like this.”

He kissed you through it, rocked into you steady and careful, one hand slipping between you to rub your clit in slow circles.

“Gonna make you come again while I’m inside you. Wanna feel you fall apart on my cock. You’re so fucking beautiful like this. All mine right now.”

The second orgasm built slower. When it hit, you cried out his name and Eddie groaned like it was the hottest thing he’d ever heard. He fucked you through it, pace still controlled, still gentle, even as his own control started to fray.

“Can I come inside you?” he asked, voice wrecked. “Please, sweetheart- I’m so close. Wanna fill you up.”

“Yes,” you gasped. “Eddie- yes.”

He came with a low, broken moan, hips stuttering, cock pulsing deep inside you as he buried his face in your neck and whispered your name like a prayer. You felt every throb, every spurt of warmth, and it made you clench around him again.

For a long minute afterward, neither of you moved. Eddie stayed inside you, breathing hard, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder, your collarbone, your lips. When he finally pulled out, he did it carefully, murmuring apologies when you winced, then immediately gathered you against his chest.

“You okay?” he asked again, softer now, the filthy edge gone, replaced by pure Eddie tenderness. “Was that… was it good for you?”

You nodded against his chest, still floating. “It was perfect.”

He let out a relieved little laugh and kissed the top of your head, one hand stroking slow circles on your back.

“Good. ‘Cause I’ve been wanting to do that with you for a really long time.” He paused, then added with a sleepy, satisfied grin, “And I’m gonna want to do it again. A lot. But only when you’re ready. No rush.”

The high was still humming in your veins, but the warmth in your chest had nothing to do with the weed. Eddie Munson- your Eddie- was holding you like you were something he’d been afraid to break and now couldn’t stop touching.

You smiled into his skin.

“Next time,” you whispered, “I want you to be a little less gentle.”

Eddie’s laugh was low and delighted.

“Oh, sweetheart… you’re gonna be the death of me.”

He pulled the blanket over both of you, tucked you closer, and let the music from the living room drift in while his fingers traced lazy patterns on your arm.

The Hawkins Theater buzzed with noise around you; sticky floors, neon lights, kids shouting near the arcade machines, but all you could focus on was Eddie leaning lazily against the hallway wall beside you, cigarette smoke still clinging faintly to his jacket.

“You’re staring,” he murmured.

“I’m not.”

“You totally are.”

You rolled your eyes, but he grinned anyway, smug and impossible.

Jonathan had dragged you there with Nancy and Steve after one of their “investigating weird shit” days. Except Jonathan barely spoke to you anymore during those outings. He and Nancy walked ahead together whispering constantly, heads bent close enough to touch, and Steve fought for his own girlfriends attention like a kicked puppy.

You noticed everything.

The way Jonathan looked at Nancy when she wasn’t paying attention.

The inside jokes you weren’t part of.

How he always seemed more awake around her. Meanwhile, you’d become background noise.

A girlfriend in title only.

So maybe that was why you kept finding excuses to talk to Eddie lately.

Because Eddie looked at you directly. Like he was interested, like he noticed when you entered a room, and maybe you were angry enough to let that matter too much.

“You wanna know something?” Eddie asked quietly.

“What?”

“You keep looking at them like you’re trying not to set something on fire.”

You followed his gaze automatically.

Jonathan was laughing softly at something Nancy said. That ache returned immediately.

Sharp. Familiar. Humiliating.

“I think he’s cheating on me,” you admitted before you could stop yourself.

Eddie’s expression shifted.

Not joking anymore.

“You know that for sure?”

“No.” You swallowed. “But I think he wants to.”

The words tasted awful out loud.

Eddie stared at Jonathan for another second before muttering, “He’s an idiot.”

You laughed weakly. “You don’t even know me.”

“Don’t have to.”

And God, maybe you were lonelier than you realized, because that almost hurt worse.

…

After that, Eddie started appearing everywhere.

Leaning against your locker after class, sliding into the seat beside you during lunch, waiting outside the arcade while you pretended not to notice him immediately.

At first you thought he was messing with you.

Most people in Hawkins treated Eddie like trouble wrapped in denim and chains.

But Eddie looked at you like he understood something ugly sitting inside your chest.

And the worst part?

You understood him too.

“You know Byers is gonna kill me eventually, right?” Eddie asked one afternoon while walking you home.

“You’re assuming he’d notice.”

The bitterness slipped out before you could stop it.

Eddie glanced sideways at you carefully.

“Huh.”

“Sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize.” His voice softened. “I just… don’t think you should talk about yourself like you’re invisible.”

You looked away immediately.

Because lately, invisible was exactly how you felt.

…

The sneaking around started accidentally.

At least that’s what you told yourself.

A ride home after Hellfire ran late. A cigarette shared behind the school gym.

Long conversations in the trailer park while music played softly from Eddie’s room and Wayne slept down the hall.

You kept saying it wasn’t serious. Nothing you’d done with Eddie was physical.

You kept saying Jonathan already emotionally left first anyway.

But guilt still crawled beneath your skin every time Jonathan kissed your forehead distractedly before running off to meet Nancy again.

Because despite everything, Jonathan still trusted you.

And you were starting to hate yourself for breaking that trust even while your heart broke too.

…

One night after a party, everything finally snapped.

You found Jonathan and Nancy alone in the kitchen talking quietly while everyone else crowded the living room.

Nancy’s hand rested on his arm.

Jonathan looked at her the way people looked at stars.

Your stomach twisted painfully. Neither of them noticed you standing there. That somehow hurt most.

You left without saying goodbye.

And twenty minutes later Eddie’s van pulled up beside you while you walked home alone down the dark road.

“Jesus Christ,” he said through the open window. “You look miserable.”

“Thanks.”

“Get in.”

You should’ve said no.

Instead you climbed inside.

The van smelled like gasoline, old leather, and Eddie’s cologne. Music played softly through blown-out speakers while rain started tapping against the windshield overhead.

Neither of you spoke for a while.

Then finally Eddie said quietly, “You love him that much?”

Your throat tightened.

“Yeah.”

“And he still makes you feel like that?”

You stared out the window. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

“Hey.” Eddie’s voice sharpened instantly. “Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Blame yourself because some guy can’t figure his own shit out.”

You laughed bitterly. “Easy for you to say.”

“No, actually, it’s pretty easy in general.” Eddie leaned back against the seat. “If I had a girlfriend who looked at me the way you look at Jonathan, I wouldn’t even know other girls existed.”

That shouldn’t have affected you as much as it did, but after months of feeling unwanted, Eddie’s attention felt dangerously comforting.

The silence between you shifted.

He noticed it too. You could tell by the way his breathing changed slightly.

“You should go home,” he murmured.

Probably.

Instead you kissed him.

It happened fast. Messy. Impulsive.

The second your hand touched his face, Eddie made this startled sound against your mouth like he genuinely hadn’t expected it.

Then suddenly his hands were in your hair and he was kissing you back hard enough to make your heartbeat stumble.

It felt wrong. It felt reckless.

It felt unbelievably good.

Teeth clashing together, knocking against each other with soft taps. His tongue wet, massaging over your own.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you breathing hard, reality crashed back immediately.

“Oh my God,” you whispered.

Eddie stared at you wide-eyed for half a second before laughing softly in disbelief.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s about the reaction I was expecting.”

Guilt flooded your chest instantly.

Jonathan.

Jonathan, who still held your hand.

Jonathan, who still said he loved you even if it sounded distracted now.

Jonathan, who might actually be innocent while you were here kissing Eddie Munson in the front seat of a van.

“I’m a terrible person,” you said quietly.

Eddie’s expression softened immediately.

“No,” he said. “You’re hurt.”

“That doesn’t make this okay.”

“No,” he admitted. “Probably not.”

Rain hammered harder against the roof.

Inside the van, everything felt small and overheated and impossible to undo now.

Eddie looked at you carefully.

“You wanna know the really messed up part?”

“What?”

“He doesn’t have to know.”

You laughed weakly despite yourself.

Then Eddie started grinning too.

And suddenly both of you were laughing quietly in the middle of this awful complicated mess because honestly, what else were you supposed to do?

…

By December, sneaking around with Eddie Munson had stopped feeling shocking.

That was probably the worst part.

At first, every secret meeting had made your stomach twist with guilt so sharp you thought you might actually confess just to make it stop.

Now it felt normal.

Dangerously normal.

You’d tell Jonathan you were studying with a friend, then end up tangled in blankets in Eddie’s trailer while Black Sabbath played low through his speakers, your legs thrown over his shoulders in a deep mating press, taking you in a way Jonathan could never quite do for you.

You’d sit beside Jonathan in class the next morning while Eddie burned holes into the back of your chair from two rows over, grinning to himself because nobody else knew where you’d been the night before.

Nobody knew.

Not Nancy.

Not Steve.

Not even Robin, and she somehow knew everything.

Especially not Jonathan.

And honestly?

After a while, you stopped feeling as bad about that as you probably should have.

Because Jonathan still looked at Nancy like she hung the moon.

He still disappeared for hours with her chasing supernatural disasters while you sat at home pretending not to notice.

Half the time he barely touched you anymore unless you initiated it first.

Meanwhile Eddie looked at you like he couldn’t help himself.

Like every room improved the second you walked into it.

It became addictive.

…

Eddie hovered over you on the mattress, curls falling into his face while his hand stayed planted beside your head, trapping you between him and the tangled blankets in a way that made your pulse feel unsteady.

One thigh rested over his broad shoulder, the other wrapped around his hips. His body forced your thighs open, body trembling with uncontrollable need.

His fingers settled deep inside, scissoring them slowly, letting the burning stretch take over.

The closeness alone was enough to make your thoughts blur a little, the smell of cigarette smoke still clinging faintly to his hair, the cold rings brushing your skin whenever he moved, the way he looked at you like he found this entire situation unbelievable in the best possible way.

Months ago, you used to leave the trailer feeling guilty.

Now you just never wanted to leave at all.

Eddie tilted his head slightly, watching your expression shift.

“There’s that look again.”

“What look?”

“The one where you remember you snuck around with me for months.”

You groaned immediately. “You are never letting that go.”

“Absolutely not.” His grin widened. “You know how insane that was from my perspective?”

“Oh, here we go.”

“No, seriously.” Eddie laughed quietly. “You’d walk into Hellfire meetings holding Jonathan Byers’ hand, then show up at my trailer three hours later looking at me like that.”

Your face burned instantly.

“Like what?”

“Like you wanted to climb me like a tree.”

You shoved his shoulder hard enough to make him laugh louder.

“You’re unbelievable. You are inside of me right now, this couldn’t wait?”

“And yet,” Eddie said smugly, leaning closer again, “still your favorite bad decision.”

The space between you disappeared again after that.

Not rushed.

Not careless.

Just magnetic.

Your hands slid up into his hair while Eddie buried his face briefly against your neck with a groan dramatic enough to make you laugh softly.

“Don’t laugh,” he muttered.

“You’re so dramatic.”

“You made me wait months, sweetheart. I earned dramatic.”

You rolled your eyes again, but your heartbeat stumbled anyway when he looked back at you.

Because teasing aside, Eddie still had this dangerous habit of looking at you too sincerely when things got quiet.

Like underneath all the jokes and flirting, he still couldn’t fully believe you chose him.

His fingers quickly became replaced with something bigger. He sheathed himself all the way in, not satisfied until his pelvic bone ground against yours.

His thumb brushed lightly along your jaw.

“You know what I think?” he asked softly.

“What?”

“I think part of you liked that I noticed you.”

The teasing tone was gone now, replaced by pure confidence and a little bit of power. That made it harder to answer.

You swallowed, because he was right.

Jonathan used to notice you once.

Then somewhere along the line, you became something familiar. Expected. Easy to overlook.

But Eddie noticed everything.

When you were upset.

When you were pretending not to be.

When you walked into a room.

When you looked at him too long.

Even now, his attention felt intense enough to make your chest ache a little.

“You looked at me like I mattered,” you admitted through strangled breaths.

Eddie’s expression changed instantly at that.

Softer, amost angry on your behalf.

“You do matter.”

The words hit harder than they should have, and he drilled in deeper with a brutal force. For a second neither of you moved, Eddie holding you there, letting you feel him pulsing inside of you.

Rain rattled against the windows.

The trailer creaked softly around you.

And Eddie just stayed there close enough that you could feel his breathing, looking at you with an intensity that made everything else feel very far away.

Then his grin returned slightly.

“Still think Byers was blind, by the way.”

You laughed despite yourself.

“There’s the ego again.”

“Massive ego,” Eddie agreed proudly before leaning down to kiss your forehead this time, slower and gentler than before. “Can’t help it. I won.”

The pace picked up again, a conversation far too deep for an act meant to be completely casual melting into pleasurable moans and deep grunts.

The mattress creaked, filling the small room with an unavoidable heat.

…

“Your boyfriend’s gonna figure this out eventually,” Eddie said one night.

You were sprawled across his mattress while cigarette smoke curled lazily toward the trailer ceiling. Outside, rain hammered softly against the windows, wet marks adorning your skin where clothes hid the evidence.

Eddie sat beside you tuning his guitar absentmindedly.

“He hasn’t so far.”

You didn’t even bother to put your shirt back on, perfectly comfortable laying spread in only your underwear.

“That’s because Byers is too busy staring at Wheeler.”

The words should’ve hurt more, instead you just rolled your eyes.

“That obvious, huh?”

“To literally everyone except him.”

You laughed quietly. Months ago that conversation would’ve made your chest ache, now mostly it just exhausted you.

Eddie noticed immediately.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Liar.”

You looked over at him.

The dim light softened the sharp edges of his face. His rings glinted silver as his fingers moved over the guitar strings lazily. The same fingers that had been knuckle deep inside of you just moments before, completely drenched with the arousal he pulled from my core mixed with the slick saliva from his messy mouth.

His dirty mouth becoming something softer after, always carrying a simple conversation, and somewhere along the line, Eddie had become easy to be around.

Too easy.

“You know what’s weird?” you murmured.

“What?”

“I thought I’d feel guiltier than this.”

Eddie stopped playing.

The room went quiet except for the rain.

“Do you wanna?”

You considered it honestly.

Then shrugged.

“Not really.”

That should’ve sounded horrible.

Maybe it was horrible.

But after months of being ignored, overlooked, and quietly replaced emotionally, your guilt had slowly burned itself out.

Jonathan still technically belonged to you, but his heart didn’t. Maybe it hadn’t for a long time.

Eddie set the guitar aside carefully.

“You ever gonna break up with him?”

The question hung heavy between you. You stared at the ceiling.

“I don’t know.”

“Bullshit.”

You frowned at him. “Excuse me?”

“You know.” Eddie leaned back against the wall behind the bed. “You just don’t wanna be the bad guy.”

That hit too directly.

Because maybe he was right.

If Jonathan officially left you for Nancy, then at least your heartbreak could stay clean.

Simple.

But this?

Sneaking around with Eddie for months while pretending everything was fine?

That made you complicated too.

Messy.

Selfish.

Eddie watched your expression carefully.

Then quieter, “I’m not judging you, sweetheart.”

“You should.”

“Nah.” He gave a crooked smile. “I like complicated girls.”

You snorted despite yourself.

“Your standards are concerning.”

“Very.”

The tension eased after that.

It always did with Eddie.

He had this irritating ability to make terrible situations feel lighter without pretending they weren’t terrible.

That was part of why you kept coming back.

With Jonathan, loving him had started feeling lonely.

With Eddie, even silence felt full.

…

The secrecy became routine.

Thursday nights at the trailer park.

Quick hidden conversations after Hellfire meetings.

Eddie’s hand brushing yours under tables while Jonathan sat three feet away completely oblivious.

Honestly, that part started becoming thrilling too.

Not because you wanted to hurt Jonathan.

But because for once, somebody was choosing you in secret instead of choosing someone else right in front of you.

“You’re staring again,” Eddie murmured one afternoon in the school parking lot.

You blinked. “At what?”

“Me.”

“I am not.”

He grinned immediately. “You totally are.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And yet here you are.”

You shoved his shoulder lightly, trying not to smile.

Eddie caught your wrist before you could pull away.

The touch lingered.

Your pulse skipped instantly.

God.

That still happened every time.

Eddie’s expression softened just slightly as he looked at you.

Not joking now.

Not flirting.

Just… looking.

“You know,” he said quietly, “you laugh more now.”

Something about that made your chest tighten unexpectedly.

Because he was right.

You did.

Even with all the lying and sneaking around and emotional disaster of your life, you laughed more with Eddie than you had in months with Jonathan.

Maybe that should’ve told you everything already.

…

The closest Jonathan ever came to figuring it out happened in January.

The three of you were at Family Video helping Steve reorganize tapes while Robin complained loudly from behind the counter.

Jonathan reached for your hand absentmindedly while talking to Nancy.

You froze immediately.

Because Eddie was standing across the store watching.

For one horrible second guilt came rushing back hard enough to make you nauseous.

Jonathan squeezed your hand lightly without even looking at you.

Automatic.

Distracted.

Like habit.

Then Nancy said something and his attention snapped right back toward her.

Your chest went cold.

Across the room, Eddie saw it too.

The hurt.

The realization.

Jonathan let go of your hand a second later without noticing your expression at all.

But Eddie noticed.

Of course he did.

Later that night, you showed up at the trailer without calling first.

Eddie opened the door already smirking. “Miss me?”

Instead of answering, you kissed him immediately.

Hard enough to shut him up.

Eddie stumbled backward laughing against your mouth. “Whoa, okay—”

“You were right.”

“That narrows absolutely nothing down.”

“About Jonathan.”

Eddie’s grin faded slightly.

You looked away.

“He doesn’t love me anymore.”

The words hurt less now.

Mostly because you’d already mourned the relationship while still inside it.

Eddie’s face softened.

Slowly, carefully, he reached up and brushed hair away from your face.

“You deserve somebody who actually sees you,” he said quietly.

And maybe that should’ve scared you more than it did.

And maybe it did.

After that night, something shifted, not between you and Eddie, that had already shifted months ago. No, the change happened inside you.

Because Eddie’s words kept echoing in your head every time Jonathan forgot to call. Every time he canceled plans because Nancy “needed help.” Every time you caught yourself sitting silently beside your own boyfriend feeling lonelier than when you were actually alone.

You deserve somebody who actually sees you.

The problem was, Eddie did see you.

Too much, maybe.

And lately that was starting to scare you.

…

“You’re distracted,” Jonathan said one afternoon.

You nearly laughed out loud at the irony.

The two of you sat together in the Byers living room while Will and Joyce argued softly in the kitchen. A movie played on the television, forgotten background noise neither of you were really watching.

Jonathan had barely spoken to you for twenty minutes.

Now suddenly he noticed something was wrong.

“I’m fine,” you answered automatically.

He studied you for a second like he wanted to believe that.

Then Nancy called the house phone, and just like that, his attention vanished again. You watched him smile at the sound of her voice.

Watched him lean forward unconsciously like hearing Nancy Wheeler speak required his full concentration.

Something inside you finally went numb.

Not broken.

Not shattered.

Just… done.

You stood quietly, grabbing your jacket.

Jonathan looked up distractedly. “You leaving?”

“Yeah.”

“You okay?”

There it was again, that guilty little crease between his eyebrows, like part of him already knew he was losing you.

You almost wanted him to fight for it anyway.

Instead he just looked tired.

And suddenly you couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked at you the way Eddie did.

“I’ll call you later,” Jonathan said.

You both knew he probably wouldn’t.

…

Eddie was waiting outside some building on the outskirts of town when you arrived.

Leaning against the brick wall, cigarette glowing between his fingers, leather jacket damp from the cold.

The second he saw your face, his expression changed.

“What happened?”

You crossed your arms tightly. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

You looked away.

Eddie sighed softly, flicking the cigarette onto the pavement before stepping closer.

“He with Wheeler again?”

You hated how easily he guessed. You hated even more that you nodded.

For a moment Eddie didn’t say anything.

Then quieter, “C’mere.”

The words were so gentle they nearly undid you. You let him pull you against his chest without protest.

His arms wrapped around you instantly — warm, solid, familiar now.

You remembered when touching Eddie used to feel dangerous, now it felt like relief.

“You know what’s really messed up?” you mumbled against his jacket.

“What?”

“I don’t even feel sad anymore.”

Eddie’s hand slowed against your back.

That got his attention.

“I just…” You swallowed hard. “I think I stopped missing him before we even ended.”

The confession sat heavy between you both, because neither of you had said it out loud yet.

Not really.

You and Jonathan were still technically together.

But it felt more like a memory than a relationship now.

Eddie tilted his head down slightly, trying to catch your eyes.

“You gonna tell him?”

“Eventually.”

“Eventually,” Eddie repeated skeptically.

“I know.”

He studied you carefully.

“You’re afraid.”

“Obviously.”

“Of hurting him?”

You hesitated.

Then whispered, “Of him not caring.”

That made Eddie visibly flinch.

His jaw tightened immediately like the idea genuinely upset him.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “He really did a number on you, huh?”

You tried laughing it off.

It came out shaky instead.

…

The next few weeks became unbearable in a different way.

Not because of Jonathan.

Because of Eddie.

Because somewhere along the line, the rules between you had gotten blurry.

This was supposed to be casual. Revenge, maybe. A distraction. Something reckless to numb the ache Jonathan left behind.

Except Eddie started memorizing things about you.

Your favorite songs.

How you took your coffee.

Which movies made you cry even when you pretended they didn’t.

And worse?

You memorized things too.

The exact sound of his laugh when he was genuinely surprised, the way he got quieter when he was tired, how he always handed you the last bite of whatever he was eating without even thinking about it.

It stopped feeling temporary.

That was the problem.

…

“You’re staring again,” Eddie said one night from across the trailer.

You blinked. “Shut up.”

He grinned lazily from the couch. “Nah, seriously. It’s getting weird now.”

“You’re literally wearing a Dio shirt and leather pants indoors.”

“And?”

“And you look ridiculous.”

“Yet deeply attractive.”

You rolled your eyes.

But Eddie caught the tiny smile anyway.

He always did.

The trailer felt warm despite the snow outside. Music played softly from Eddie’s cassette player while Wayne worked the late shift.

You sat cross-legged on the floor flipping through one of Eddie’s campaign notebooks absentmindedly.

Then you found it.

A sketch.

Messy pencil lines of your face tucked between pages of monster designs and campaign notes.

Your chest tightened instantly.

“Eddie.”

“Hmm?”

“You drew me?”

His expression changed the second he realized what you found.

For once in his life, Eddie Munson looked caught off guard.

“Uh.”

You stared at him. “When?”

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Couple weeks ago.”

“A couple— Eddie.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

But his face had gone slightly red.

Which somehow made it worse.

You looked back down at the drawing.

The detail startled you.

He’d drawn you carefully.

Like he’d spent time on it.

Like you mattered enough to study.

Something dangerous twisted low in your stomach.

“This,” you said quietly, “doesn’t really feel casual anymore.”

The room went still.

Eddie looked at you for a long moment without joking this time.

Then finally:

“No,” he admitted softly. “Guess it doesn’t.”

The silence after Eddie admitted it stretched painfully long.

Outside, wind rattled weakly against the trailer windows. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once before everything went quiet again.

You stared down at the sketch in your hands.

Eddie stared at you.

Neither of you seemed to know what happened next, because feelings complicated things.

Feelings turned this from something reckless and temporary into something capable of hurting people.

And maybe the worst part was realizing you didn’t want it to stop anyway.

“You should’ve told me,” you said softly.

Eddie let out a short laugh. “Oh yeah, because that conversation would’ve gone great.”

You looked up.

“I mean it.”

His expression shifted immediately at your tone.

“I know.” He leaned back against the couch cushions, running a hand through his hair. “I just… didn’t think you wanted this to be serious.”

You opened your mouth. Then closed it again, because months ago he would’ve been right. Months ago Eddie had been escape. A distraction. A way to feel wanted while Jonathan slowly drifted toward Nancy.

But now?

Now Eddie was the person you looked for first in crowded rooms.

The person you wanted to tell things to. The person who noticed when you were upset before you even spoke.

And that terrified you a little.

“You know what the really pathetic part is?” you murmured.

Eddie frowned slightly. “What?”

“I think I started falling for you while I was still trying to convince myself I loved Jonathan.”

The confession hung heavily between you both.

Eddie looked stunned for half a second.

Then something softer settled into his expression.

Not smugness.

Not victory.

Just tenderness so genuine it made your chest ache.

“Sweetheart,” he said quietly, “there is literally nothing pathetic about choosing someone who actually makes you happy.”

Your throat tightened immediately.

God.

Jonathan used to make you feel like this once.

Seen.

Important.

But somewhere along the line, loving Jonathan had started feeling like waiting outside a locked door hoping someone might eventually let you in again.

With Eddie, the door had always been open.

You just hadn’t realized how badly you needed that.

…

The breakup finally happened three days later.

Not dramatic.

Not explosive.

Honestly, that almost made it sadder.

Jonathan stood beside you outside the school parking lot, shoulders tense against the cold while students passed around you pretending not to eavesdrop.

You’d rehearsed this conversation all night.

None of the words sounded right anymore.

“I think we both know this isn’t working,” you said quietly.

Jonathan looked down immediately.

That told you everything.

No confusion.

No shock.

Just resignation.

Like some part of him had been expecting this too.

“Yeah,” he admitted after a moment.

The simplicity of it hurt more than yelling would’ve.

You crossed your arms tightly.

“I didn’t want us to end like this.”

Jonathan nodded slowly. “Me neither.”

But neither of you knew how to fix it anymore.

Maybe you never really could’ve.

You studied his face carefully, searching for the devastation you’d imagined for months.

It wasn’t there.

He looked sad.

Guilty, maybe.

But relieved too.

And strangely enough?

So did you.

After a long silence, Jonathan finally said quietly, “Is there someone else?”

Your heart stopped.

For one horrible second, you thought he somehow knew.

You thought about Eddie waiting for you at the trailer later tonight.

About hidden kisses and secret smiles and months of lying.

About the few times he’d have you half heartedly, and all you could think about while he shoved your face into the mattress was how much deeper Eddie could reach. Then, when it became more the physicality, how much sweeter Eddie would talk to you.

Your stomach twisted.

But Jonathan looked tired more than suspicious.

And suddenly you realized something awful:

He was asking because he hoped there had been someone else, because then maybe this wouldn’t entirely be his fault either.

You swallowed hard.

“No,” you lied.

Jonathan closed his eyes briefly.

Then nodded.

“Okay.”

That was it.

No screaming.

No accusations.

Just two people quietly acknowledging they’d already lost each other a long time ago.

When Jonathan finally walked away, you expected heartbreak.

Instead you mostly felt empty.

And underneath that emptiness:

Relief.

…

Eddie answered the trailer door already smiling.

“You’re late.”

You stared at him silently for a second.

His smile faded immediately.

“What happened?”

“It’s over.”

The words came out smaller than you expected.

For a moment Eddie just looked at you.

Carefully.

Like he was trying to figure out whether to comfort you or celebrate.

Then finally he asked softly, “You okay?”

And somehow that question broke you more than the breakup itself.

Because Jonathan hadn’t asked.

Not really.

But Eddie always did.

You laughed shakily, wiping suddenly burning eyes before tears could actually fall.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I think I am.”

Eddie stepped aside quietly to let you in.

The trailer felt warm compared to the freezing air outside. Music hummed softly from the radio while a half-finished campaign map sat spread across the table.

Normal.

Comfortable.

Homey in a way you hadn’t expected it to become.

You set your bag down slowly.

Then Eddie reached for your hand.

Not rushed.

Not secretive.

Just open.

Like he wasn’t afraid anymore.

Your chest tightened painfully at the difference.

“You know,” Eddie murmured, thumb brushing lightly across your knuckles, “this means I can finally flirt with you in public now.”

You laughed through the lingering ache in your chest.

“That’s your first thought?”

“Absolutely.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet,” he grinned softly, pulling you closer, “you still picked me.”

Saturday night you went to your best friend’s birthday party, dancing with your friends till closing time. The birthday girl bought pills from the guy by the pool table — kind of a cute metalhead from the trailer park you grew up in. You would never admit it, but you had a little soft spot for them.

Morning was way less fun. You washed down something for the headache and looked at the disaster in the mirror.

Smudged makeup, messed up hair, strap on your slip dress hanging on its last thread.

You looked in your wardrobe and realized everything was in the laundry basket except your prom dress from two years ago.

You dug deeper and found memories hiding at the bottom. A Megadeth shirt from your long gone ex. Surprisingly, you didn’t feel sad to see it this time — just recalled a few good moments you shared before things went south. You pulled out your middle school panties that said Tuesday, knee socks from that one quarter you tried cheering, and cutoffs from the same era. Small and tight.

Fuck, I’m not wearing that outside.

Yes you are, said the mirror.

Eddie slept in. He went to a club last night, made a good sale and got caught playing pool with some guys. Usually a recipe for disaster, but it turned out fine. He woke up still in his jeans, t-shirt on the floor — he must have thought he’d close one eye for a second and blacked out instead.

His hair was a mess and the tee smelled like a skunk. Okay, he thought. Coffee, cigarette, shower.

It helped. He felt human again and even optimistically checked out his lean torso in the mirror, hips wrapped in a towel. He started mentally lining up all the good things he could do today, opened his drawer and realized it was empty.

Fuck, not this again.

Eddie had missed his laundry day yesterday. He growled at the overflowing basket, sighed and started digging through the other drawers. No underwear. Sweatpants he’d outgrown two years ago, mismatched socks, and there it was, on the very bottom of the last drawer. The green shirt. The one with the “Just Say No” logo. He barely remembered how he’d ended up at a Nancy Reagan anti-drug campaign or why the hell he’d accepted the tee.

What choice do I have? Wrap in a curtain? Wear Wayne’s stuff? No one will see me in the laundry, everyone is either sleeping or at church.

Eddie closed his eyes, put the shirt of shame on, and without looking in the mirror once, gathered his hair into a semi bun, grabbed the basket, and with his Walkman playing Metallica’s new album to fix the day, set sail to the small laundry building in the back of the trailer park.

🧺🧺🧺

The laundry room is small and stripped of any personality — just a few washers and dryers, a small window, a poster with rules on the wall, and a single chair some old lady brought in.

No. No no no fucking no. Is there a person more unlucky on this planet?

In that chair sits the girl he’s been eyeing since his junior year. She’s long gone since then, only coming back to visit her mom sometimes — working in the city, fancy and beautiful. She got away.

Eddie considers running but you look up from your book and say “Hi.”

He freezes. Your clean face with no makeup throws him back to when you used to study in the same school and you were an untouchable senior and he was just a horny teenager.

You still are, dude, says his dick, waking up.

Then he registers your outfit.

Megadeth shirt!?!?!? Tight cutoffs you’ve probably had since middle school, legs grown ten inches longer since. Knee socks that don’t reach your knees anymore. The conclusion is obvious. It’s your laundry day too.

You switch the cross of your legs and return to your reading.

“Interview with the Vampire”. I died last night, this is hell. The girl of my dreams is wearing a Megadeth shirt, reading Anne Rice, and I look like I climbed out of a dumpster. At least I showered.

“Hi,” Eddie mumbles and throws his basket in without separating the colors. He leans on the washer and carefully moves his gaze to you. Ronnie has told him on multiple occasions that his lashes are unfairly long, so he half closes his eyes, pretending to be lost in the music, and watches how a loose lock of your hair caresses your long neck, how your lips part a little when you flip the page impatiently, apparently hitting an intense part, how your nipples peek through the letters of the logo.

Are we doing this, man? His dick goes half hard in three seconds.

No no no we are not. Think D&D plot. Think dead possum someone hit on the road.

You place your finger in the book and close it, thinking over what you just read.

“I can see you’re watching. It’s a good one — do you know it?”

“Do I know it — I can quote it to you.” For a second Eddie forgets the embarrassing shirt, the confusion of being this close to you in a small room, and feels the usual heat he gets when talking about something he loves.

“I just read the chapter on Claudia. It’s devastating — she’s trapped forever like that. I need a break.” 

“It’s the best one,” Eddie is too serious for the small talk in the laundry room. “Lestat acts like he gave her a gift. Immortality. But for her being frozen in one place forever might not be…enough.”

You nod and look around for something to use as a bookmark, spot only a broom and an ‘out of service’ sign propped between the wall and the washer. Dog-earing the page is not your style. 

Oh. She respects her books. Or she borrowed it from a friend.

Instinctively Eddie reaches into his pocket and to his great joy finds a receipt.

“Wait —” he takes it out and stretches his hand toward you. “Here.”

“Thank you.” You read it. “Mickey’s Pharmacy. Condoms, one pack.”

Eddie turns red. Is this hell or a nightmare?

“Don’t blush. I love responsible men.” You close the book and put your elbows on your knees. “Though I’m not sure how responsible you actually are — yesterday you sold my friend some molly, and today you’re wearing this.” You point at the “Just say no”. 

Fuck. The shirt. I will burn it.

“I don’t know how I acquired it or why it survived in my drawer.”

“Let me guess — a cute girl was handing them out.”

““Must be that. And you — into Megadeth?”

“My ex’s.” You notice his smile fade and add, “Long gone and forgotten. All my stuff is in the city, I had nothing to wear.”

“Same. So which side are you on?”

“What?”

“Megadeth or Metallica. You’re wearing one and I’ve got the other. There are sides.”

“Told you the shirt isn’t mine. Which side is David Bowie?”

He scratches his forehead, thinking it over. “Bowie is a sovereign nation.”

You laugh.

 “Wanna trade?” He points to the book and takes off his headphones. “I assume you’re not allergic to metal.”

“No, I’m not. What you’ve got?”

“Metallica — Master of Puppets. Got it the day it came out, went to the city.”

“Is it good?”

Eddie lifts his eyes to the ceiling, arms spread in a speechless gesture. “It’s ultimate metal, baby.”

He hands over the Walkman and you give him the book. Time drags through the rest of the washing cycle. The air feels charged with so many things you could share. Only the sound of two washers whirring breaks the silence. 

Eddie reads sitting on the dryer while you listen to Master of Puppets and watch him with new interest. Besides his ridiculous outfit, he’s good looking — you noticed that yesterday at the party, but today he’s different. A little shy, but instantly lights up when you talk about music or books. You expected a drug-dealing metalhead but he’s so much more, he’s smart and funny, and passionate about things that matter. 

The bun is cute but your hands are itching to undo it, let his hair fall down, tangle your fingers in it — wait, what are you even thinking? Is it the music bringing back good memories and desires along with them?

The washing cycle ends and Eddie is still not making any moves, just throwing glances when he thinks you aren’t looking. Well. Two can play that game.

You pull your laundry out and start sorting your lingerie to air dry. Some sheer panties, lace bras and a black babydoll that reveals more than it covers.

Eddie turns red and gasps.

Keep it together, we got laid this month already.

Maybe it’s okay for you, but not for me. If you’re not getting me some action I’m going to signal SOS to the lady.

You dick.

I am indeed.

“What is it, bun?” you ask in your special seductive voice.

“Mhm — what are you doing?”

“This?” You dangle a black lace thong in front of his face. “Separating delicates to air dry. You should do the same with your band shirts if you want them to last.”

“This is against the Geneva Convention.”

“What, lingerie? Like what you see?”

Eddie swallows and nods.

You look down at his sweatpants and see a small wet spot beginning to form. 

“Oh! Well, hello there.” You smile. “Sorry, Eddie — my roommate is gay, I’ve lost any casual modesty.”

Sorry friend, it’s my hand again tonight. At least we’ve got something to think about.

“How can you be sure he’s still gay? After all this—”

“He brings guys home sometimes.”

“Okay. Cool. No casual modesty.”

Eddie turns the knob on the dryer a little aggressively and moves toward the door.

“Hey, don’t run away. Come here.”

He freezes like a deer in headlights as you cross the room, lift your hand slowly, and touch his ridiculous bun. Eddie  smells lightly of cigarettes and incense. 

He’s barely breathing.

“May I?” you ask.

His pupils widen instantly, the shy grin is gone. 

“Yeah,” he says and his voice drops lower. “Please.”

You undo his bun, your body brushes against his chest as you reach up. 

She likes us, moron. Don’t fuck it up.

“This isn’t real, right?” Eddie rasps as his curls fall down, messy and good.

You pinch his nipple.

“Ouch! Your place or mine?”

“We’ve got laundry to watch. Forty minutes.” You smirk and slide your hands under the elastic of his sweatpants — and that’s when you get your surprise. No underwear. You wrap your fingers around his cock. Hot and silky, so hard it has to hurt. Eddie groans as you stroke slowly.

Oh, yeah. Don’t forget to thank me later.

You take inventory. Sign on the door. Broom secures the handle.

Eddie is not shy anymore.

He pulls his shirt off and pins you to the wall, looking at you with dark eyes.

“You want it?”

“Yes.”

He presses his lips to yours. His hands slide under your shirt and find your waist. He kisses you moving his whole body, hungry, seeking more contact. His one-day stubble rubs against your skin. You open for him and his tongue takes over — he bites, licks, sucks until you moan and arch into him.

He finds your breasts, eager — palming, caressing, his mouth moving down, nibbling your earlobe, finding a sensitive spot on your neck. You dig your nails into his hair and give a slow scratch. Eddie groans and lifts you onto the vibrating dryer.

The Megadeth shirt hits the floor. Shorts undone. Your bra is lacy and pretty. Eddie frees your nipples and latches onto one while his fingers work the other. Your legs wrap tight around him seeking friction but he pulls back.

“Eddie — I need you.”

“Don’t have a condom on me.”

“Come in my mouth then.”

His whole body jerks like he’s touched a live wire.

Man if she keeps talking like that I’m going to blow right now.

I’m dying here too. What do I do?

Improvise.

Eddie brings two fingers to your lips. You open and suck them, looking into his deep eyes. “I’ll make you feel good, baby.” He pulls your shorts down, Tuesday panties and all . He’s  too far gone to comment on it. Fingers slide through your folds, tease your clit and push in.

Oh boy. He’s good.

He thrusts and twists and works his hand until you are shaking, muffling your moans with kisses, getting drunk on the sounds you make, the way you grab at his hair and shoulders and anything within reach.

“Oh — yes — Eddie, where did you learn this?”

He adds his thumb to your clit, pulsing gently.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.”

“Yes, Eddie …just like that …I’m going to come …I’m coming…”

Eddie keeps fingering you with pace, stamina and precision.

Told you, dude. Five years of jerking guitars had to pay off somewhere.

Sure, and I’ve only seen your callused hand for four of them. If you’d done ballroom dancing we’d be drowning in pussy by now.

Shut up and carry on.

You clench around his fingers, hips bucking hard. Eddie holds you tight so you don’t hit the wall.

“There you go, baby. Was it good?”

“So good. Eddie, I need you inside me.”

Eddie drops to his knees and presses his lips to your inner thigh, working his way in.

“Hello, beautiful. Ready for me?”

“Been ready since the condom receipt.”

You are open for him, slick and warm. He licks a slow line up to your clit and closes his lips around it. He can’t hold back a moan and the vibration sends a jolt up your spine.

“Eddie…stop showing off and fuck me.”

Stop showing off and fuck her.

He frees his cock and teases you at your entrance.

Don’t you dare come before her. She said in her mouth.

I’ll see what I can do.

Eddie pushes in and stills. You are so warm and tight he can barely hold it together.

Breathe, dude.

Breathe yourself. 

You open your eyes just long enough to catch his face and see  intense pleasure he's barely holding back.

“Move, Eddie,” you beg.

He pulls almost all the way out and slams back. The dryer hits the wall. You cry out. He looks at you, as if searching for approval. 

“Eddie…yes …yes yes yes yes—” you gasp each time he thrusts.

“Fuck, you’re unreal.” Eddie slows to play with your breasts, kisses you deep, his tongue moving in the same rhythm as his hips.

Then he pulls out and spins you around. You can barely stay upright. He presses your back down gently and you lay your chest on the dryer, spreading your legs for him. His cock stretches you perfectly and at this angle he reaches so much deeper. Every time he bottoms out you see sparks.

“I’m going to come again …Eddie, please don’t stop…”

He doesn’t. Callused fingers rub slow circles over your clit until the tension snaps and you fall apart, eyes watering, legs giving out completely.

“Shit …I’m going to come too, you feel so good, I can’t…”

A moment later he grabs your boneless body and helps you to the floor. You tilt your head back and open your mouth. His aim falters and he comes across your face and chest.

“Fuck…sorry, sorry, sorry…” He looks around frantically and his eyes land on the green shirt.

He turns to clean you up and the sight stops him completely: you sitting on the laundry room floor, wearing nothing but his cum on your lips, cheeks, dripping onto your chest.

It undoes him on a deeper level than the sex did. It’s worship, not just lust. 

Say something nice. Get her number. 

“Fuck, you look…” Eddie swallows hard and starts cleaning you, gently tucks your hair away. “Here. I’m sorry, I was too far gone.” 

You wipe a little from your lip and lick your finger.

“All good.”

Eddie looks down at the shirt in his hand.

“Finally. This fucking thing is good for something.”

You laugh breathlessly. “Nancy Reagan would be proud.”

You both sit on the floor with your backs against the machines, his arm draped over you, your head on his shoulder, talking nonsense — summer plans, music, vampire books — until the laundry is done.

Dryers click sharply and you fish out something to wear. 

“Take the Megadeth one — give it back next time.”

“Next time.” Eddie grins wide. “I’ll hold onto it like a dragon guards his treasure.”

The bell above the garage door jingled as Mrs. Patterson dug through her purse for her checkbook, glasses sliding halfway down her nose, while you leaned against the counter with a rag tucked into your back pocket.

“So,” you said, tapping the invoice with your pen, “the rattling sound was your serpentine belt. Thing was practically shredded.”

The elderly woman gasped softly. “Oh, dear.”

“Yeah, but you caught it before it snapped completely, which is good. We replaced the belt, topped off your coolant, changed the oil, and Eddie patched that little leak underneath your radiator.” You smiled reassuringly. “She’s good as new now.”

Beside her, Mr. Patterson squinted out toward the garage floor where the familiar sound of classic rock echoed through the open bays. “Which one’s Eddie again?”

Almost on cue, Eddie emerged from beneath a lifted pickup truck with grease smeared across his cheek and curls shoved back with a bandana. 

Sweat darkened the collar of his black tank top, coveralls hanging around his hips, while he carried over a sweating tray of lemonade cups.

“There you are,” he said, setting them carefully on the counter. “It’s too damn hot outside not to hydrate.”

Mrs. Patterson practically lit up. “Well, aren’t you sweet?”

“Tell her that more often,” Eddie said, jerking his thumb toward you. “She’s mean to me.”

You rolled your eyes. “I told you to stop using the good shop towels to wipe down your van.”

“They’re towels.”

“They are expensive towels.”

Mr. Patterson laughed under his breath while Eddie handed them their drinks with an exaggerated flourish.

“Anything for my favorite customers.”

Mrs. Patterson smiled fondly at him before looking back toward you. “That husband of yours is such a gentleman.”

You nearly choked on your own spit.

Eddie froze for exactly one second before slowly turning toward you with the most insufferable grin imaginable.

“Oh?” he said. “You hear that, sweetheart?”

“Oh my God,” you muttered immediately.

The poor woman looked horrified. “Oh! I’m sorry, I just assumed—”

“No, no,” Eddie cut in smoothly, leaning against the counter. “Please continue. This is the best day of my life.”

You shot him a glare while he looked seconds away from laughing himself unconscious.

Mrs. Patterson pointed knowingly between the two of you. “You’ve got the look.”

“What look?” you asked suspiciously.

“The ‘been in love for years’ look.”

Eddie outright cackled. You grabbed the invoice and shoved it toward them. “Okay! Your total is—.”

The elderly couple left smiling to themselves while Eddie leaned against the counter, watching you with entirely too much amusement. The second the door shut behind them, he pushed off the counter and followed you toward the office.

“Husband, huh?” he mused.

“Don’t start.”

“I personally think it has a nice ring to it.”

You dropped into the squeaky office chair with a dramatic groan. “You’re unbearable.”

Eddie leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest. “And yet you keep having me back every morning.”

“You work here.”

“Semantics.”

“Hey,” Eddie said suddenly.

You looked up, and he tossed something shiny toward you, and you barely caught it before it hit your face. Your keys, the little keychain Dustin made you years ago, swung between your fingers.

“You left ‘em by the toolbox again.”

“Oh.” You blinked. “Thanks.”

“Mmhm,” he hummed smugly. “Good thing your husband’s lookin’ out for you.”

You pointed toward the door. “Get out.”

Instead of leaving, Eddie just grinned wider, sunlight pouring in behind him from the open garage bays.

“Say it once.”

“No.”

“C’mon, sweetheart. Just one little ‘thank you, my husband.’”

You threw a balled-up receipt at his head while his laughter rang through the entire garage.

By noon, the July heat had turned the garage into a furnace.

Every bay door was rolled open, old fans rattling uselessly in the corners while the smell of motor oil, hot pavement, and cigarette smoke clung heavily in the air.

Foreigner blasted low from the radio perched near Eddie’s toolbox, occasionally cutting out whenever someone used the compressor.

You were bent over the hood of a Mustang, wiping grease from your hands while talking to a customer, your laugh carrying across the shop floor. And across said shop floor, Eddie was staring. Not subtly, either.

Steve had noticed immediately, mostly because Eddie had been holding the exact same wrench for nearly three minutes without moving.

Steve slowly lowered his sandwich. “Jesus Christ.”

“Hm?” Eddie hummed absently.

“You are down catastrophically bad.”

That got Eddie to blink. “What?”

Steve pointed dramatically across the garage where you were explaining something with animated hand gestures, sunlight catching the sheen of sweat on your skin.

“You’ve been staring at her this entire time.”

Eddie scoffed, finally looking away. “I have not.”

“You absolutely have.”

“I’m working.”

“You’ve been holding that wrench upside down.”

Eddie glanced down, and sure enough, he was.

“Shut up.”

Steve barked out a laugh and leaned back in the lawn chair they’d dragged outside for Eddie's lunch break. It was honestly kind of ridiculous to witness at this point.

Everyone in Hawkins knew something was going on between the two of you, except apparently the two of you.

The lingering touches, the teasing, the way Eddie always magically appeared beside you whenever some asshole customer got too flirty.

The way you unconsciously reached for his cigarettes to steal one straight from his mouth…and the constant staring, especially the staring.

Steve watched Eddie’s eyes drift right back over toward you again.

“Oh my God,” he groaned. “There he goes again.”

Eddie ignored him completely. You’d just looked up from the engine bay, pushing hair from your forehead with the back of your wrist, and the second your eyes met Eddie’s from across the garage, you smiled.

It was quick, maybe two milliseconds, but enough to make Eddie smile back immediately without even realizing it. Steve made a loud fake gagging noise.

Eddie finally tore his eyes away. “What is your problem?”

Steve stared at him incredulously. “Dude. I genuinely thought you two would be married by now.”

Eddie choked on his drink. “What?”

“I’m serious,” Steve continued. “Like three years ago, I would've put money on it.”

Eddie rubbed the back of his neck, trying very hard to act unaffected while heat crept up beneath the grease on his cheeks.

“Yeah, well,” he muttered. “Hasn’t happened.”

“Why not?”

Eddie began to argue, but froze up.  Because honestly? He didn’t fucking know.

Somewhere along the way, the flirting had become second nature. So had the late nights at the garage together. So had sharing fries at the diner after closing. So, had you climbing into the passenger seat of his van without asking. So had you wearing his flannels whenever the shop got cold in winter.

It had all become so normal that crossing the line felt weirdly terrifying. Steve watched the gears turning in Eddie’s head and sighed dramatically.

“You’re both idiots.”

“Says you.”

“I’m serious.” Steve pointed between him and you across the garage. “She might as well have personally invented beer by the way you stare at her. It’s honestly kinda sad, man.”

Eddie snorted. “That’s dramatic.”

Steve deadpanned, “You literally stopped mid-cigarette yesterday because she walked by in shorts.”

“That is such a lie!”

“It is the truth.”

Before Eddie could argue, your voice cut across the garage.

“Munson!” Both men looked over.

You stood beside the Mustang with your hands on your hips. “You gonna come help me, or are you too busy staring at me again?”

Steve immediately burst into obnoxious laughter while Eddie nearly dropped his beer. And from the way you smirked before ducking back under the hood, you absolutely knew what you were doing.

The next morning was somehow even hotter.

By ten a.m., the air inside the garage already felt thick enough to chew through, every fan working overtime while the sun beat down through the open bay doors. You had your coveralls tied around your waist, a cropped tank clinging to your skin with sweat, as you worked under the hood of a Jeep.

And Eddie was being an absolute menace. It started innocent enough; he’d complained dramatically about the heat for twenty minutes straight before finally yanking his shirt over his head with a frustrated, “I’m gonna die in this godforsaken town.”

You had looked up at exactly the wrong moment. Because suddenly there was just, Eddie. Shirtless. Hair tied back messily at the nape of his neck. Grease streaked across his stomach and chest. Dog tag and guitar pic hanging against tan skin. His jeans slung low on his hips while he wiped sweat from the back of his neck with a rag.

And the worst part? The asshole noticed immediately. You looked away so fast you nearly smacked your head against the underside of the hood. From somewhere across the garage, you heard another mechanic whistle loudly.

“Ohhhh,” he sang. “How the tables have turned.”

“Shut up, Mark,” you muttered.

Eddie, meanwhile, looked entirely too pleased with himself. For the next hour, he became absolutely insufferable. Needlessly stretching, standing too close, asking you to hand him tools he absolutely could’ve reached himself.

At one point, he bent over the engine bay beside you, and you caught the smell of gasoline, cigarette smoke, and his cologne and nearly forgot your own name.

“Wrench?” he asked casually, but you evidently handed him the wrong one.

Eddie bit back a grin. “Sweetheart, this is a screwdriver.”

Heat flooded your face. From behind him, Mark made an obnoxious gagging noise, and you narrowed your eyes.

Fine. If Eddie wanted to play this game? Two could absolutely play. Play a stupid game, win a stupid prize, right?

About twenty minutes later, Eddie was halfway underneath a truck when he heard your laugh ring across the garage.

That’s not unusual. However, what was unusual was the guy you were laughing with. Some customer leaned against the front counter while you smiled up at him, twirling a socket wrench lazily between your fingers.

Eddie immediately rolled himself out from under the truck on the creeper.

“What’s that?” Mark asked innocently from nearby.

“Nothing,” Eddie muttered.

“Looks like jealousy.”

“Not jealous.”

“Mhm.”

The customer laughed at something you said, briefly touching your arm, which caused Eddie to sit up straighter. Then the asshole smiled.

“Oh,” Mark murmured. “He’s flirting.”

Eddie stood immediately.

Mark burst out laughing. “THERE he is.”

Before Eddie could storm over there and make an idiot of himself, the rumble of an engine pulled into the lot. All three of you looked over automatically, and then Eddie froze.

“No fucking way.”

The car rolling slowly into the garage was gorgeous: black paint gleaming beneath the sunlight, chrome shining, low growl of the engine unmistakable.

A 1967 Chevy Impala. The entire garage seemed to pause.

Even you looked impressed. “Well,” you said softly. “Would you look at that?”

The driver climbed out, explaining something about rough idling and overheating, but Eddie barely heard a word. Because holy shit, it was pristine.

You walked slowly around the car, fingertips dragging lightly over the hood appreciatively. “She’s beautiful.”

And unfortunately for Eddie? The way you said it sounded dangerously similar to the tone you sometimes used with him. Mark caught the look on Eddie’s face and immediately started grinning.

“You alright there, big guy?”

Eddie ignored him entirely, stepping beside you near the Impala. “Think it’s the thermostat,” he murmured, eyes flicking toward you instead of the car.

You glanced up, and there it was again: that stupid tension. Especially when your gaze dipped briefly down his bare chest before snapping back up. A smug little grin tugged at his mouth.

“Oh, now who’s staring?” he asked quietly.

You held his gaze for a long second before reaching forward and grabbing the grease rag tucked into the back of his jeans. Eddie blinked, then watched you slowly wipe your grease-covered hands on it while maintaining eye contact.

Mark made a strangled noise somewhere behind him while the customer looked wildly confused. And Eddie? Eddie looked like he was about two seconds away from losing his mind entirely.

By the time the sun finally started setting, the garage had gone quiet.

The OPEN sign in the front window buzzed faintly before Eddie reached up and flicked it off with grease-stained fingers, plunging the office into dim golden light. Outside, cicadas screamed into the warm Indiana night while the last of the heat clung stubbornly to the concrete floors.

Most nights ended like this lately. Just you and Eddie lingering hours after closing, claiming there was still work to finish when really neither of you seemed particularly eager to leave.

The Impala sat in the center bay now, hood propped open while you leaned halfway into the engine compartment with a flashlight between your teeth. From the radio near Eddie’s toolbox, a slow rock song crackled softly through static.

And across the garage, Eddie was still shirtless, still. All damn day.

You tightened something with your ratchet a little harder than necessary before finally glancing over toward him. He was bent over the workbench this time, curls falling loose from his hair tie while sweat gleamed across his shoulders under the overhead lights.

Honestly, it was getting ridiculous.

“You know shirts exist for a reason, right?” you called.

Eddie didn’t even look up. “Do they?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.”

You rolled your eyes, ducking back under the hood. “Pretty sure OSHA would have a field day with you.”

That finally made him laugh. Then you heard the scrape of his boots as they crossed the garage floor. A second later, Eddie appeared beside you, leaning against the Impala with crossed arms.

Still shirtless, and still oh-so-very smug. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?” he asked innocently. “You don’t like what you see?”

You made the mistake of looking at him fully then. Big mistake, because up close was somehow worse.

Grease streaked across his stomach, forearms flexing where they crossed over each other, and his stupid hair half falling out of the tie from working all day.

Your eyes dipped for half a second too long, and Eddie caught it immediately with a slow grin spreading across his face.

“Oh my God,” he murmured. “You do.”

You snapped your gaze back to the engine. “Shut up.”

“Nah.” He leaned closer. “C’mon, tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Mhm.”

“You’re sweaty.”

“Thought girls liked that.”

“I don’t.”

“Liar.”

Heat crawled up your neck as you tried very hard to focus on the engine instead of the fact that Eddie was standing close enough for his knee to brush yours every few seconds.

“You’ve been staring at me all day,” he said softly.

You scoffed. “You wish.”

“You handed me a screwdriver this morning because you were too busy looking at my chest.”

“That happened one time.”

“And then you wiped your hands on my jeans while making eye contact with me like a psychopath.”

A smile tugged at your mouth despite yourself. “That was funny.”

“It was hot.”

Your ratchet slipped loudly against the engine, then silence. Then Eddie laughed quietly under his breath. You pointed the flashlight at him threateningly. “Don’t.”

But Eddie just leaned further over the hood beside you until your shoulders bumped.

“You know,” he said casually, “if this is your way of admitting you’re into me, there are easier methods.”

You snorted. “Into you? Please.”

“Sweetheart, half this town thinks we’re married already.”

“That’s because old people are nosy.”

“That’s because you look at me like that.”

You frowned. “Like what?”

Eddie’s eyes flicked slowly over your face, enough to make your stomach flip and your face burn pink. “Like you want to kiss me every time I open my mouth.”

Eddie’s grin faltered just slightly when you stepped closer instead of backing away.

“Oh yeah?” you asked lightly.

His eyes flicked over your face. “Yeah.”

You crossed your arms, leaning against the Impala beside him now, shoulder brushing his bare arm. “What about you, huh?”

Eddie blinked once. “What about me?”

“You think I don’t notice?” you continued, voice quieter now. “The staring. Following me around the shop all day?”

“That is not—”

“You literally almost dropped a transmission last month because I called you pretty.”

“That was one time.”

A smile tugged at your mouth. “Mhm.”

Eddie opened his mouth to argue again, but you stepped even closer first, close enough now that he had to tilt his head down to look at you properly. And suddenly, he wasn’t smirking anymore.

Interesting.

“You wanna know what I think?” you murmured.

Eddie swallowed visibly. “What?”

You reached up slowly, fingers hooking around the chain of his dog tags. The sharp inhale he took was immediate.

“Oh, you like this way more than I do.”

His eyes went dark instantly. “Careful,” he said softly.

“Or what?”

Eddie laughed once under his breath, disbelieving almost, like he couldn’t decide if you were trying to kill him on purpose. Then, the tension snapped like a fan belt under too much strain.

You tugged harder on Eddie’s dog tags, pulling him down until his mouth crashed into yours. He groaned into the kiss; raw, needy, and immediately pliant.

His hands hovered at your waist like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch, even after years of circling this exact moment. You solved that for him by grabbing his wrists and planting his grease-streaked palms firmly on your ass.

“Kiss me like you mean it, Munson,” you growled against his lips.

Eddie melted. His mouth opened for you instantly, tongue sliding hot and desperate against yours while you backed him up against the Impala’s fender.

He tasted like cigarettes and the beer he definitely should not have had earlier, and he whimpered, actually whimpered, when you bit his bottom lip and sucked it between your teeth.

“Fuck… sweetheart,” he panted when you finally let him breathe. His cock was already straining against the front of his coveralls, obvious and aching. You shoved a hand between you and palmed him roughly through the fabric. Eddie’s hips jerked forward into your grip with a broken sound.

“Close the hood,” you ordered, voice low.

Eddie blinked, dazed. “Wh—”

“Now.”

He scrambled to obey, reaching over and slamming the heavy hood of the Impala shut with a solid thunk that echoed through the empty garage. The second it latched, you pushed him back, hopped up onto the glossy black hood, and spread your legs in invitation. 

Your coveralls were already half-off, tank top shoved up, work jeans unbuttoned, and yanked down your thighs along with your underwear in one impatient motion. Eddie’s eyes went wide and dark, pupils blown as he stared at your exposed pussy glistening under the overhead lights.

“On your knees,” you said, hooking a boot behind his shoulder to drag him forward.

He dropped so fast his knees probably bruised on the concrete. The first drag of his tongue was tentative, almost reverent—then you grabbed a fistful of his messy curls and ground against his face, and Eddie moaned like he’d been waiting his whole life for this.

He licked broad and sloppy, sucking your clit between his lips exactly how you liked it once you told him, “Higher—there, fuck, just like that.”

His hands gripped your thighs, spreading you wider, but he never tried to take control. Every time you tugged his hair or rolled your hips, he whimpered gratefully into your cunt and doubled down, tongue fucking into you while his nose rubbed perfect circles against your clit. 

Sweat and grease streaked his bare chest; his cock was leaking a wet spot through his coveralls. You came hard on his tongue, thighs clamping around his head as you rode his face through it, moaning his name loud enough that it probably carried out the open bay doors. 

Eddie kept licking you through the aftershocks like he couldn’t bear to stop. When you finally pushed his head back, his chin was shiny with your slick, lips swollen, eyes glassy and adoring.

For a second, you thought he was going to stay soft, sweet, and submissive, but then he grabbed your hips, spun you around, and bent you over the warm hood in one rough motion.

“Eddie—” you started, but he was already kicking your feet apart.

“Please,” he whined, voice cracked and needy as he shoved his coveralls and boxers down just enough to free his cock. It slapped heavily against your ass, dripping wet. “Need to be inside you—fuck, I can’t wait anymore.”

He didn’t give you time to answer. He lined up and pushed in with one desperate thrust, burying himself to the hilt. The broken whimper that tore out of him was pure filth.

“Oh my god—oh fuck, you’re so tight,” he gasped, forehead dropping between your shoulder blades. His hips jerked forward again, shallow and frantic. “Feels so good… so fucking good—”

You gripped the edge of the hood, moaning as he started fucking you harder. He was still whimpering and panting with every thrust, but he had you pinned now; big hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise, cock driving deep and relentless.

“Eddie—shit—”

“I’m sorry, I just—fuck—” He sounded wrecked, voice cracking as he slammed into you again, the car rocking under the force. One hand slid around to rub messy circles over your clit, too desperate to be coordinated, but perfect anyway. “Can’t stop…wanted this for so fucking long—”

You pushed back against him, and he sobbed a moan, pace turning sloppy and needy.

“Please—please let me come inside you,” he begged right in your ear, hips snapping faster. “I’ll be good—I'll be so good for you, just—fuck, I’m so close already—”

You clenched around him on purpose, and his rhythm stuttered, another broken moan spilling out as his cock throbbed inside you. 

He came with a loud, shattered moan, hips jerking as he pumped deep inside you, shuddering and whimpering through every pulse. Even after he finished, he stayed buried in you, breathing hard against your neck, cock still twitching.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasped, voice hoarse. “I think I just died.”

You laughed breathlessly and gently tugged his hair. “Good,” you murmured.

You sat on the edge of the workbench, now wrapped loosely in Eddie’s discarded flannel, while he rummaged through one of the lockers near the tiny office bathroom.

“You alive over there?” he called.

“Mhm.”

“Liar. You sound deceased.”

You laughed tiredly, resting your cheek against your shoulder as you watched him move around the shop, half-dressed and still unfairly attractive. Honestly, it should’ve annoyed you more. Instead, your chest felt warm.

Eddie finally turned around, holding a towel triumphantly over his head. “Ha! Told you I left one here.”

“You keep towels at the shop?”

“Sweetheart, sometimes engines explode on me.”

He crossed back over toward you, hair falling loose around his face again now that the tie had disappeared somewhere in the chaos.

Up close, you noticed how pink his cheeks still were, how his lips looked swollen from the relentless eating and hungry kisses.

“C’mon,” he said gently, nudging your knee apart so he could stand between them. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

The bathroom attached to the office was tiny and honestly kind of terrible. Half the lightbulbs buzzed, the water pressure sucked, and the shower curtain had little motor oil stains near the bottom from years of mechanics rinsing off after long shifts. Still, with Eddie in there with you somehow, it felt strangely intimate.

You stood beneath the spray, rinsing soap from your arms while Eddie sat on the little built-in ledge beside you, lazily rubbing shampoo through your hair with surprising gentleness.

“There’s no way you know how to do this,” you mumbled.

“I’m multi-talented.”

“You use dish soap on your hair sometimes.”

“That is slander.”

You snorted softly while he carefully worked his fingers through the ends of your hair. His touch slowed after a minute, fingertips brushing lightly along the back of your neck.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

The softness in his voice caught you off guard, and you turned slightly to look at him. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

Then he reached forward, wiping a little mascara smudge from beneath your eye with his thumb. “Pretty girl,” he murmured.

You leaned against the tile wall while Eddie stood close enough for the warm water to run down both of you at once. Then, after a long, quiet moment, he grinned suddenly.

“So.”

You narrowed your eyes immediately. “What?”

“You think fucking on an Impala counts as our first date?”

anywayy... hope you all enjoyed ;) dean winchester fic coming later today if you're interested MUAHAHAHA

Yelena had lost contact with all the Widows she set free from mind control. All, except you. She kept you close, she called time and time again to check on you.

You were the only one whom she sought out at night, when her knuckles were bloody and her lips tasted of sin. You kissed it all away. You were the one she'd hold close and press her mouth against with no words necessary.

You were the one no one knew about, the one who she'd deny being hers if anyone asked.

You were the one she couldn't let go of. And the one she'd never admit having.

"Try anyway?" You hoped, leaning down to try and find her gaze. Genuine worry for her hid behind the sweetness of your voice.

One side of Yelena's mouth quirked up. If you looked closely, you'd see her cheeks turning a soft pink. She wasn't used to having someone around, perhaps that's why you sometimes missed her, even when she was right in front of you.

Yelena reached over the table, all timid and reluctant. Her fingers brushed over your knuckles in a silent request for closeness.

It was all she'd give you out here in the streets, under so many watchful eyes. You could only love her in secret—safer that way, or so she'd say.

You turned your hand over, welcoming her touch when she tangled her fingers with yours. There were new scars on Yelena's hands. You made a mental note to kiss them later.

Yelena squeezed your hand. "Can I see you later?" She always asked. Her brows would always tilt up a little with the vulnerability she tried to hide. You could almost hear how she held her breath while you held the silence.

Yelena still feared the day you'd tell her no. The day you'd walk away, too.

You took hold of the spoon resting on Yelena's forgotten coffee. You stirred it lazily, each swirl clinking against the mug's porcelain.

Yelena glanced down, finally took the mug, and brought it to her lips. You smiled; "You better."

—⧗—

The clock read 12:36 a.m. when Yelena knocked on your apartment door.

She felt her heart skip a beat upon hearing your soft steps come to her. Yelena bit the inside of her cheek and wondered if the anticipation would ever go away. Part of her hoped it wouldn't.

When you opened the door for her, a sigh she'd been holding since leaving her father's house fell past her lips. Yelena knew the dangers of getting attached, but every time she tried telling herself it would be the last time, her throat closed up tight, and her fingers shook.

An empty cup of tea was on top of your coffee table, and the only light came from the kitchen adjacent to your living room. There was a wildlife documentary on, serving as background noise. And a fluffy blanket over the couch.

You'd been waiting for her.

Maybe it was unfair. Because Yelena would come back to you tasting of heartache and all the sins that wouldn't let her sleep at night, and still you'd kiss her, and hold her, and look at her as if she's someone worth looking at.

Yelena's hands were dripping with so much blood, but you held them anyway. And you pulled her in and you pressed your lips to each one of her scars, even the ones you couldn't see.

Yelena held onto your waist, falling forward like she had many times before. Her upper lip brushed yours. Yelena couldn't get enough of you.

"I called her," she breathed against you, Russian accent heavy on the syllables, "Just one more job and I'm done." Yelena's hands sneaked under your pajama shirt. She felt your goosebumps. She shivered at the thought of being the one to cause it.

You smiled into the kiss, hands buried in her short hair. You felt giddy at her consideration of what you'd said.

Yelena mimicked your smile with one of her own. She breathed you in. When you held her, she was free of all her sins.

Yelena loved you. She'd never tell you. You were her best kept secret.

—⧗—

New Yorkers were almost used to seeing disasters and superhumans wreak havoc in their city. You would have kept your distance from the chaos, but the city had been engulfed in a black void, and Yelena was at the heart of it.

You'd run to the eye of the storm, with fear sinking in your stomach and your heart beating at the rhythm of her name. There were fires to one side of you and rubble to the other. The smoke in your lungs made it difficult to breathe, but you needed to find her.

When you did, you caught the tail end of Valentina's speech about the new Avengers.

You stood among the crowd of civilians, rising on tiptoes, trying to catch a glimpse of who was at the front of the commotion.

Yelena froze when her gaze landed on you. Her eyes widened, and she took a step forward as if going to your side was second nature.

And you, you felt tears pooling in your eyes as soon as you finally caught sight of her. Dirty skin, bloody lip, torn clothes—but alive, and with the prettiest green eyes, finding you amidst so many people.

As soon as Valentina finished her speech, Yelena rushed forward without a second thought, pushing her way through the crowd. Reporters called out her name, and civilians tried to thank her for saving their lives. Yelena ignored them all, she kept walking, and then running towards you.

You met her in the middle, falling into a bone-crushing hug with the same kind of desperation and relief.

Yelena's arms closed tightly around your waist, her hands roamed over your back, trying to convince herself you were real. Her head fell to your shoulder, nuzzling there. You did the exact same, hands bunching up the fabric of her suit.

She smelled like smoke, blood, and sweat. But still had the same soft warmth you knew so well. Your lips found the space just under Yelena's ear, you placed a kiss there. It was gratitude for her coming back to you and a plea that she'd never leave again.

"What are you doing here? Are you okay?" Yelena's voice broke in the middle, out of relief, or something deeper.

You pulled away only to look her in the eyes, feeling the taste of tears on your lips. "Me? What about you? I was so worried, Lena."

A chuckle escaped her then, all shaky and happy. Her own tears left a clear path down the dust on her cheeks. "I'm okay. I'm okay now."

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Yelena's new teammates throwing very curious glances your way. An older man in red seemed especially excited, and the one you knew to be Bucky Barnes had to hold him back from running in your direction.

Part of you almost instinctively felt compelled to let go of Yelena, to put a respectable distance between the two of you. Yelena had always kept things private and hidden, after all.

But today, she didn't let you. Yelena's hold was strong for both of you; she wouldn't let you take a single step away.

You sighed, feeling your heart rate slow down for the first time in what had been an exceptionally long day. You let your forehead fall against hers at last. "Some last job, huh?"

"I'm sorry," Yelena whispered, one of her hands found your jaw. You felt the warmth of her skin and the fabric of her glove. "Please don't leave."

You closed your eyes. Your nose bumped hers when you shook your head vehemently. "I would never."

Yelena kissed your lips with poorly concealed love. Her hands held the back of your neck, fingers tangled in your hair and pressing into the skin there—it gave beneath her fingertips, as if it'd been made for her touch alone.

Yelena's love was familiar. You felt the taste of it on your lips, felt the shape of it on your skin. It had always been there.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

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Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3