#enjoyyy

✦ Bangchan: Is definitely the type to give you the princess treatment after a long night of treating you like his own person sex doll. he’d cuddle you, smother you with kisses, and praise you on how you took it all so well for him and tell you how much of a good girl you were. He would also probably feel just a tinsy bit bad for how he manhandled you a couple minutes ago. Hand over your neck as he pushed you over the edge for what felt like hours, marks all over you that looked like you just swam in a tank of mosquitos. Yeah, the least he could feel was a little sorry from it, and he was! sort of..

“You did so good baby, I know. Im sorry for going so rough on you, but how do you expect me to react when you say my name like that?”

✦ Leeknow: Teases you from the moon and back with the little energy he has left. It’s shocking how he still finds room to do so when near the end of it he was squirming under you like it was his destiny, moaning and shaking while still trying to remain his composure of course. He’d hold your waste and cuddle you under the blankets as he nibbled at your neck knowing it’d mess with you further, and when you try to shift away hed pull you back while laughing.

“Dont leave loveee, I was just joking!”

And when he jokes about how you were basically clawing yourself onto him, you’d try to dish it back by mentioning how he overstimulated himself so much drool was nearly slipping down the sides of his mouth but he always finds snarky remarks back anyways.

“You were all over me baby, how’d you expect me to stop?”

✦ Changbin: a softy in disguise. Almost as soon as you guys are done he’s plopping himself next to you, hugging you asking if you’re okay. He didn’t wanna tire you out too much, he’s understands strong guy but sometimes he tends to forget how strong he is. I mean he’s almost as bad as Bangchan , if not worse! He really doesn’t mean to though. Sometimes he just gets caught up in the moment with his pretty girl wrapped around his cock, head nuzzling into his shoulder. who could blame him? Luckily he cleans you up after a few minutes, he finds it disheartening to let his pretty girl sit there in her own mess. (which he contributed to)

“Such a messy girl, I must’ve worn you out” He said with a semi frown his face, almost like hes blaming you for it. (jokingly, of course.)

✦ Hyunjin: Soft and serious—he doesn’t play when it comes to your comfort, especially after intimate moments like this. He licks your juices clean one last time before pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead and going to get a towel and some snacks to clean you up. Like Changbin, he doesn’t like the thought of you sitting there a mess, soaked in your sweat and a bit of embarrassment after he’d just giving you the night of your life—its just too cruel. Even if he secretly loves the sight of it. He lays your head into his lap and plays with your hair as the two of you unwind with a movie. He cherishes moments like these. Yeah, its nice to see you under him, makeup a mess as tears go down your face as you plead with him to go slower—but he’d much rather just have you and him, next to eachother and living in the moment. He loves it. As you watch the movie, his eyes stay on you. He wonders how you could still look so breathtaking even after a night with no breaks. He caresses your cheek as you look up to him. he can only chuckle softly before he speaks.

“wow, you’re still looking good after all that. not fair.”

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boyfriend!jackie x reader headcannons

𐙚 very organized, his room is clean and tidy.

𐙚 he calls you doll or dollface

𐙚 he always towers over you when the two of you stand next to each other

𐙚 lays his head in the crook of your neck while holding you from behind (broke bf hug)

𐙚 takes you on motorcycle rides while you’re holding his waist

𐙚 both of you can sit in the park all day, playing catch

𐙚 makes sure to flex extra hard when you’re watching him play basketball with his friends or brothers

𐙚 his brothers never fail to call him out for doing so

𐙚 you and him cook together in the kitchen

𐙚 sings his song lyrics to you to help you fall asleep

𐙚 slow dances in the living room with you

𐙚 let’s your rub your hands up and down his abs

𐙚 gives the best massages

𐙚 the two of you cuddle up in a recliner in front of the fireplace

𐙚 won’t stop kissing your lips, especially when you ramble for too long

𐙚 always gripping your chin when he’s deepening a kiss

𐙚 has the softest voice but it gets deeper in the mornings

𐙚 when interviewers ask if he has a girlfriend, he mentions you by calling you “his lady.”

𐙚 his brothers tease him for being soft with you

𐙚 he loves it when you kiss his cheek before or after shows

𐙚 yall have matching boots

𐙚 gets jealous when his brothers make you laugh

𐙚 stubborn

𐙚 sometimes he can’t admit that he’s wrong

𐙚 very reserved but loves you loudly

𐙚 a complete flirt

𐙚 always whispering in your ear while yall are out with his family

𐙚 smells amazing

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let's you lick up and down his abs

inspired by this post by @logan-sanders-enjoyer:

and the linkin park song was directly from this post by @coolskeleton80085 (all the logan songs esp one step closer and faint were so good but i had to get in nobody’s listening!! thank you for introducing me to this banger)

ok details time!

kinda wanted to nerf him with this sheldon cooper fit because it’s thomas’ teen years! he gets to be a little relaxed. a button up and a full sleeve is basically every nerds interpretation of a casual fit anyways. the white shirt was just to make him look a LITTLE bit like a scientist in a lab coat because dress for the job you want (chemical engineering), not the job you have. also gave him those bayonetta glasses because i mean come on. we got different glasses during the early 20s i am allowed. they’re a little skewed though, and he kinda looks pissed. wonder why…

Eddie hates summer.

Most people hate summer due to boredom, but if Eddie’s being honest, he’s never been bored a day in his life— Eddie can make staring at the wall a fun game if he wants to— so, no, Eddie doesn’t hate summer because of boredom. Eddie hates summer because it’s so fucking hot. It’s hot, and the sun is always out, and Eddie burns like fucking bacon in an oven— and it doesn’t help that over half of Eddie’s wardrobe is the color black. Do you know how hard it is to be a metalhead with long hair and black jeans in the middle of a summer heatwave? It’s hard.

Now, you would think that with this knowledge of his undying hate for the heat, Eddie would do everything in his power to stay out of it— except Eddie’s friend is kind of a picturesque summer lover boy and drags Eddie everywhere with him no matter how intense satan’s wrath feels that day. So now, Eddie sits in the airport carpool lane, nearly drowning in his sweat as he waits for Steve’s step-sister to get off the plane.

“I just don’t understand why you couldn’t ask Robin to come with you,” Eddie grumbles as he tugs the front of his black muscle tee open and shut in a fanning manner. It doesn’t do much to cool him down, considering the dry heat that’s settled over Hawkins. Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever been this hot in his life if he’s being honest.

Steve rolls his eyes, watching people filter out of the airport, dragging luggage behind them as they spot their rides. Steve doesn’t bother looking Eddie’s way when he responds, “I already told you— Robin’s been too busy shoving her tongue down her girlfriend's throat all summer,” he grimaces, “Plus, I know my step-sister, and I know she has at least three suitcases— all of which will fit perfectly in your van.”

Eddie’s the one to roll his eyes now, irritation settling in his bones as the seconds pass like minutes. “Asshole,” Eddie mumbles as he shifts in his seat. He’s sticky everywhere. Sticky, wet, and gross, and he’s sweating in places that he’s almost one hundred percent sure shouldn’t be sweating. He huffs as he turns his attention to the exit of the airport, eyes scanning through different people as he asks, “...Well, what’s she look like anyway?”

Steve scoffs, “You’ll know it’s her when you see her. Just look for a girl that looks like she came straight out of a Baywatch episode.”

Eddie thinks for a moment, brows furrowing before he speaks, “So… someone hot?”

Steve grimaces and turns to Eddie, “Ew. Gross, dude, no— that’s my sister—” “Step-sister.”

Steve shakes his head and turns back to people watching, “She’s from California, pervert. I meant look for someone who looks like an asshole from California.”

Eddie’s not sure why Steve would ever decide to associate Baywatch with anything other than hot, sun-bathed babes, but Eddie’s too irritated with the heat to argue his point and instead nods his head in understanding. 

“She’s probably wearing heels, and she’s probably in some over-the-top girly outfit— and again, she’s probably lugging at least three suitcases.” Steve further explains.

Eddie nods and purses his lips. “So…” he pauses and thinks for a moment, “Malibu Barbie?”

Steve snaps his fingers and points to Eddie as he glances at him, “Exactly. And forewarning— she’s a total bitch.”

Eddie nods, lips pursed as he takes the information in. Eddie scans the crowd of people for some time, growing frustrated when he finds no sign of a bitchy-looking Malibu Barbie running around Hawkins, but then…

It’s as if a cool breeze drifts through the devil’s heat, and Eddie feels something other than absolute dread when the airport's sliding doors open and out steps a girl that fits the very description Steve had just given— only, you’re even better in real life.

Eddie swears time slows down when he sees you— pretty, glowy skin glistening in the summer sun, the light wash jean skirt you’re wearing is hugging your waist sinfully, leaving little to nothing for Eddie’s imagination as his eyes travel down your legs. Soft, shiny, perfect legs with doughy thighs that Eddie thinks would make his brain short-circuit if he ever got the chance to feel them. 

Eddie’s mouth may as well become a fountain with the way it fills with spit at the sight of your soft tummy, peeking out from the tiny sliver your top leaves— god, is that a fucking belly ring? Your shirt hugs your tits in an ungodly way— well enough to make Eddie stir within his pants because, seriously, how do they look so perfect? Eddie thinks you’ve come straight out of one of the porno magazines he’s got stuffed in his junk drawer.

You’re a dream. Dreamtime fucking central. 

Sex on legs or whatever they say— Eddie doesn’t know; he just knows you’re really fucking hot, and you’re about to get into his disgusting, old, and dirty van.

Eddie’s hand nearly caves Steve’s chest in when he smacks his friend, “Dude,” his face twists in disbelief, “Why didn’t you tell me she’s like—” “Jesus Christ, Eddie, do not tell me you think my step-sister is hot.” Steve groans as he rolls his head on his neck.

“But she is!” Eddie exclaims.

“Well, she’s off limits,” Steve quickly shuts the idea down, "For everybody in this town, especially you.” He points an accusing finger at Eddie, and Eddie can’t help the way his eyes roll. What could Eddie possibly do to somebody like you? As if you would even give him a chance.

“Plus, I’m pretty sure she’s dating some douchebag quarterback from her school. She’s got a new boyfriend every time she comes home.” Steve grumbles— which immediately confirms it; you would never give Eddie, someone who has never willingly touched any set of balls other than his own, the time of day.

That doesn’t mean Eddie can’t admit you’re drop-dead gorgeous, though. Because you are. And Eddie kind of forgets what he’s doing here in the first place until Steve unbuckles himself and gets out, and Eddie remembers— oh yeah, I’m here to pick up this extremely hot girl in my extremely run-down van.

Whatever.

Eddie will live, he thinks. He unbuckles and gets out of the van, rounding the front of his van to step onto the sidewalk, where Steve calls your name and grabs your attention. You spot them immediately, your expression unreadable as you wave a flight attendant over to follow you. And yeah, that’s more than three suitcases being pushed behind you.

You glance at Eddie when you get closer, your cute little kitten heels clicking against the cement floor— who wears heels to the airport?

“This is disgusting.” You say as you gesture to the air. And Eddie couldn’t agree more. This heat is disgusting, and he couldn’t imagine being in it with heels. 

Steve hums, “Welcome back to paradise.”

You roll your eyes, handing your carry-on to Steve. Steve grunts at the weight of it, glaring at you as he stumbles from your force, “Did you fucking move out?” he stresses when he sees the cart of suitcases behind you. You grimace, “Like I would ever move here. Where’s your car?” 

You don’t acknowledge Eddie as you glance around, and Eddie’s honestly too stunned to speak— and is that your perfume he’s smelling? Jesus Christ, Eddie wants to fall to his knees right here on this cracked pavement. 

Steve rolls his eyes at your response and turns to open the back doors of the van, “My car wouldn’t be able to hold your fifty suitcases, so I came prepared,” he throws a fake smile as he tosses your bag in, ignoring your warning to, “Be careful with my stuff, asshole.”

Steve waves you off before he gestures lazily to Eddie, “This is my friend, Eddie, by the way.”

And for the first time, you look at Eddie. It’s then that Eddie’s bodily autonomy finally comes back, and he remembers that he has control over his limbs. He waves, tossing out a lazy hey as he opens the back doors of his van, “Heard tons about you,” he grunts as he loads in another suitcase.

You huff as you cross your arms, “I doubt it.”

Eddie huffs out a laugh, “Yeah, not much.” He admits. “But when I heard Malibu Barbie was coming into town, I knew I had to see her for myself.” He winks.

You grimace, rolling your eyes with a groan, “Gross.” You grumble before yanking the side doors open and stepping in.

Eddie can’t help but smile as he finishes loading your suitcases.

Steve had run off somewhere to find an ATM; something about needing to tip the attendant who helped you with your luggage, so it’s only you and Eddie in the van when Eddie hops back into the driver's seat. 

It’s silent for a moment, achingly so, and Eddie takes it upon himself to turn the radio on, forgetting that the volume had been amped to the highest level. The music blares through his speakers— nearly blows them out— and Eddie almost jumps out of his seat as he scrambles to reduce the volume, awkwardly laughing as he glances back at you and speaks, “Sorry about that…”

You don’t say anything. Instead, you stay seated, arms crossed over your chest, legs crossed, and your glossed lips pouted in boredom. Eddie turns back to the front, the radio now a soft hum as he taps his decorated fingers on the steering wheel. He purses his lips briefly, his skin itching because Eddie has never done well with silence, so— “You listen to Iron Maiden?” He asks.

“No.” You flatly respond.

Your tone is dull and bored, and Eddie nods again as if it softens the blow. Eddie avoids opening his mouth again, too afraid that whatever comes out will just piss you off even more, so he keeps quiet. But he can’t help it when his gaze flickers up to find you in his rearview mirror, watching as you huff and gaze out the window. 

It’s silent for a few long, crippling minutes before you speak, “Does this thing not have AC?”

Eddie purses his lips, fingertips tapping against his thigh as he shrugs, “Just takes a second.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest as you mumble, “Course it does.” 

Eddie lets it fall silent for a moment again, but Eddie’s never been one to like silence, so— “How’s college?”

“Do you usually talk this much?” You suddenly ask, tilting your head and narrowing your eyes at him. Eddie snorts, glancing around the airport for any sign of Steve, and he responds, “No, actually, I usually talk more than this. Wait ‘til you get me going about D&D.” He scoffs. 

Your face twists in confusion, “D&D?”

Eddie waits for a moment before turning to gaze at you. You look at him, an unwavering expression plastered across your face as you wait for Eddie to speak.

“…You don’t know what Dungeons and Dragons is?”

You blink at Eddie, definitely contemplating if you could catch a flight back home before you respond, “Am I supposed to?”

Eddie shrugs, “Well, I mean, it’s only like the greatest game to ever fucking exist.” He stresses.

You roll your eyes and softly groan in disgust, “Ew. If you’re about to nerd out on me, I’d rather walk home in the heat.” You grimace.

And Eddie pauses, contemplating the amount of damage he’ll do if he continues to ramble about his favorite game— then he’ll really have zero chance with you, that’s for sure. But it’s not like he ever had one in the first place, right? 

Eddie turns back around, watching as people bustle around the airport. “Do you like games?” He can’t help but ask.

You take a slow and long breath, gathering your patience before you reply, “I can’t remember the last time I played a game, so no.”

Eddie’s face twists in concern, “What do you do for fun?” He glances in the mirror, watching as you gaze out the window.

You shrug, watching people as you speak, “Spend my dad’s money.”

Eddie lets it fall silent for a moment, a few responses rolling around in his head before you roll your eyes and speak again, “It was a joke. I’m not a spoiled brat.”

“Oh,” Eddie awkwardly laughs before glancing at you. “Well, the heels and cart full of suitcases didn’t exactly sell a ‘humble woman’ picture.”

You laugh then, “I didn’t say I was humble; I said I’m not a spoiled brat.”

“What’s the difference?”

“There’s a difference.” You mutter, crossing your arms over your chest. Eddie thinks it’s cute, the way you get flustered by his smart mouth. He wonders how much he can push and prod before you explode.

But before he can respond, Steve is swinging the passenger door open and hoping in, glaring back at you when he speaks, “Next time you come here— and god forbid you do— maybe try to keep the bags to a minimum of two. I just tipped that dude a hundred bucks.” He complains.

You teasingly coo at your step-brother, “Poor Stevie, having to use my dad’s money to pay for things.”

Eddie snorts at that, earning Steve's glare, which quickly directs Eddie’s attention to pull out of the airport. Steve settles in his seat, ignoring your annoyed mood as he grumbles, “Told you she’s an asshole.”

“Not bigger than yours.” You quickly whip back.

Eddie can’t help but chuckle. So, the princess does have humor.

The house is quiet, something you hadn’t expected given how obnoxious Steve is, though you don’t take it for granted as you flip through a magazine and let the TV play in the back.

You don’t like coming into town, you never have. It’s dull and dreary in Hawkins, and you’re not quite sure why your father would give up the sunny California weather for this. Conservative townies that grow and die here— that’s all this town has to offer.

But there’s no point in complaining; you’re stuck here for the whole summer; otherwise, your dad will stop paying for your school. So, you do what you can to take your mind off of it, which includes drifting through magazines and wasting away with shitty TV shows.

Your stepmother has been home from work for nearly an hour, but you hardly give her complete sentences, so she made herself scarce. Her son, however, doesn’t get the memo as he bursts into the room. You say nothing, eyeing him as he sits on the opposite side of the couch and puts on his shoes.

“Get up, we’re going out.”

You train your eyes back on the magazine in your hands as you boredly mumble, “Not interested.”

Steve hums in annoyance as he shoves his right foot into a shoe, “Mom said I have to include you in shit, and I’m not in the mood to get bitched at for your shitty mood, so— get up, we’re going out.” He repeats before standing up to place his hands on his hips and look at you. You glare at him from behind the magazine before closing it, folding it over your stomach as you tilt your head, “And where exactly are we going? I can’t imagine there’s anything fun in this town— at least none that you would know of.” You jeer.

Steve sneers at you, stepping forward to dig the toe of his shoe into your shin, earning an annoyed kick from you. You swat at him with the magazine, striking him and earning a few curse words as Steve rips it from you and tosses it on the coffee table. He huffs as he turns to you with a huff, “Eddie’s band is playing tonight.” 

And that’s rich. It’s incredibly bold of Steve to believe you would ever willingly submit yourself to hear his weird, gross friend spit out nonsense into a mic. As if you hadn’t had enough of them two on the drive here. You scoff, leaning forward to grab your now crinkled magazine before laying back on the couch with a scoff, “Absolutely not.”

Steve snatches the magazine yet again, tossing it onto the opposite side of the couch as he glares down at you, “Too bad.” He snaps, stepping over your legs and walking over to the front door, “I’m leaving in ten,” he grabs his keys off the mantle, “Be ready, or I’ll drag you out myself.”

You watch him walk out with a slam of the door, a refusal dancing on your tongue. And Steve is, in no way, your boss. You’ll cut off your limbs before you let Steve boss you around— but fuck. If his mom is this hellbent on you two spending time together, you’re sure she’ll throw a fit at your refusal, which will ultimately end up being your dad’s problem, and he won’t hesitate to cut you off money-wise. So, with a dramatic huff and an undeniable reluctance, you stomp up to your room and get dressed.

The bar is exactly what you’d imagined— loud, grungy, and somewhere you would never be caught dead in. Yet, here you stand, arms crossed with a tabletop dogging into your lower back and a scowl etched across your face.

The smell of sweat, liquor, and cigarettes wraps around you like a dusty old jacket, sticky floors snapping beneath your shoes with every move you make. The walls are covered in graffiti, posters, and old stickers, and the crowd is primarily full of ripped denim, fishnets, and loud groups of friends.

It's not your scene.

Though you can’t seem to stop watching.

It’s like a movie. Something is happening in every corner of the place, with loud music blaring through the speakers and dancing lights kissing the grimy space. It’s chaotic. It’s noisy and dirty. And you feel so… misplaced.

Your outfit isn’t screaming country club, but it surely isn’t screaming anything close to this.

Steve brought a few other friends along, none of whom you care to learn the names of or attempt to hold a conversation with. You’re too busy trying to ignore the intense burning sensation of smoke in your eyes. 

“So, how long are you in town for?”

You glance over at the girl; you think her name is Robin, and shrug, “Unfortunately, the whole summer.” You sigh.

Robin hums, lips pursing in an apologetic look, “Bummer. Can’t imagine giving up a Californian summer for Hawkins.” 

You huff, something like a grim smile splitting your lips, “Wasn’t exactly my choice, but,” you shrug again, “No point in crying now.”

Robin raises her glass to that and takes a sip, allowing you to turn back to gaze about the room. You catch a few people headbanging near the stage, smiling as they enjoy the music pouring through the speakers. After a few moments, you lean into Robin. “Is it always this… rowdy?” you ask.

Robin follows your eyes to the group of friends by the stage and smiles, “This place was a shit hole a few years back, actually. Wasn’t much of anything, but Corroded Coffin brings some traction and, well, their music is pretty intense, just like their listeners.”

Your face twists in confusion then, “Corroded Coffin?”

Robin smiles with a nod, “Yeah, Eddie’s band.”

You nod and drag in a breath, diverting your attention back to the stage. So these people listen to Eddie’s music, or at least music similar to Eddie’s. You find yourself annoyingly intrigued. 

You gaze at the empty stage that awaits the band, and you hardly realize your mind has wandered as you begin to wonder what kind of show Eddie’s band will put on. Are they any good? You doubt it, honestly— you’re two minutes from a headache already. 

You’re not left wondering for long before the boys step onto the stage— four of them, all incredibly different in style yet cohesive in presentation. 

The lights shift, reds and blues pouring over the stage as the band takes their place, adjusting instruments and whatnot. You recognize Eddie immediately as he steps up to the mic, testing it for feedback.

He looks different up there. He looks like he belongs. Like this is his place, where he’s meant to be. The messy hair that you’d wrinkled your nose towards at the airport fits perfectly beneath the dim, flashing lights. His tattoos almost look as if they’re on display, like this is an art museum, and he is presenting the art on himself, there on the stage beneath the red hues.

He’s wearing a worn-out band tee with a name you don’t recognize, the sleeves cut off, and the sides ripped open just enough to be irritating. You can see his muscles working beneath his skin, tensing and relaxing as he moves about. He adjusts the mic, entirely at ease, like he’s done this a thousand times before. 

He greets the small crowd, humble with the low rumble of his voice, and beside you, Robin hollers out a small cheer that makes you jump— you’d been so lost in watching everyone that you’d almost forgotten you weren’t here alone.

His eyes drift towards the back where you are seated with Steve and his friends, mumbling a low thank you to Robin in the mic before his eyes dance a little to her left, and he meets yours. It’s only for a second before he looks away, and you find yourself relieved not to have been caught in that situation as he glances down at the guitar slung across his body, skilled fingers working the tuning pegs.

And then he smiles to himself.

It’s lazy and confident, the kind of smile that says I know you’re watching.

Your teeth dig into your tongue, your gaze immediately snapping away as if you’ve been caught looking at something you shouldn’t have been looking at. 

And as if he knew you were grappling with your resolve and only aimed to torment you more, the first note crashes through the speaker, and the show begins. 

It’s loud and raw. Nowhere close to the polished music you listen to, but despite your innate desire to hate everything about it— the rowdy crowd, the thrumming of bass on your chest, the chaos of it all— you only find yourself fascinated more than anything.

You sneak a few glances at Eddie every now and then. Quick ones that you will, later on, string together in your mind to create a stop-motion picture. He’s lost in it. He sings like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted to do besides breathing. His fingers fly over the fret of his guitar like he was born with it in his hands— and he works the stage like it’s nothing. He owns every inch of this room whether you like it or not— and the scary part is… you don’t seem to dislike it.

And as if that isn’t bad enough, Eddie keeps looking at you.

At every glance, no matter how little or discreet you try to be, Eddie’s eyes always find yours first. As if they never left. And in between songs, when he’s changing the tuning of his instrument or addressing the crowd, his eyes drift off towards the back and onto you, lingering long enough for you to feel it. 

And you refuse to react. You know what this is. You know what he’s doing, teasing and provoking your disdain for this night, and you won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you crack.

After what feels like an eternity, the set ends. The bar erupts in applause, hoots, and hollers, and the band thanks them all as they hop down from the stage.

You stay glued to your seat, untouched drink resting on the table beside you as you watch Eddie and his band pack up the stage. You lose interest after some time, eyes going back to watching the different scenes of the room. And you had been so focused on everything around you that you didn’t even notice the curly-headed boy make his way up to you.

“Didn’t peg you for a metal fan, princess.”

You look at him, the devilish smirk on his face as he drags a barstool next to you and swings a leg over— invading your space. You can feel how warm he is, seeping through your clothes and penetrating your very soul as you wonder if he knows the concept of personal space.

“I’m not.” You boredly reply.

His brows raise for a split moment, taunting just like his voice as he asks, “No?”

“No.”

“And yet here you are.” He gestures to the dingy bar. 

You scoff out a humorless laugh, “Not by choice.” 

Eddie grins, shifting on the barstool to let his legs hang more open. You look— just for a second. The thickness of his thighs, the way they strain against his jeans. Stupid. You snap your gaze away before he can notice.

Eddie snags your drink without asking. “You looked like you were enjoying yourself.” He says, briefly sniffing the drink before deciding it’ll do. His lips press right over the stain of your lipstick. You know he notices. 

Your stomach tenses, but your expression never falters from neutral as you watch him toss the drink back. He drags his pink tongue between his lips, savoring the taste. 

The sight is infuriating. 

“Take drugs before your little show?” You ask, voice dry.

Eddie hums, snapping his tongue at the taste of your drink before pointing a finger at you matter-of-factly, “I did, actually.”

You condescendingly coo, “Must explain your hallucinations then.”

Eddie chuckles, slow and lazy, as if he expected that response. He shifts on the barstool, taking his time to think, swirling his finger around the rim of the glass a few times before tilting his head toward you, “No one’s gonna, like, lose it if you say you liked the show, you know?” He points out. 

Your jaw tightens. 

“I mean,” he continues, “given the few precious hours I’ve gotten to know you,” he places a faux-heartfelt hand over his chest, leaning in like he’s making some grand confession, “I don’t think you’d waste a second being somewhere you don’t want to be.”

You grimace at his theatrical performance. But the worst part?

He’s not wrong.

You hate wasting your time, and you don’t put yourself in situations you can’t stand. But did you really have a choice tonight? Not when Steve’s mom is at home, probably working out a million ways to make your life a living hell by forcing you to spend time with her perfect son.

You shrug, playing it off, “Again, not by choice.”

Eddie hums, clicking his tongue as he shakes his head, “Everyone has a choice, princess.” He lulls, slowly letting a lopsided grin split across his lips when he looks at you. 

The heat that pricks at the base of your neck is aggravating. Not from embarrassment— from irritation. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself. And you thank god the lights in here are dim because, god forbid, Eddie sees any physical evidence of his effect on you.

He’d probably misconstrue it and think you liked him. 

You ignore him, “Don’t call me that.” 

Eddie hums, tilting his head like he didn’t hear you, “What? Princess?” 

“Yes.”

He purses his lips briefly, considering, before grinning again, “Would you rather be called Barbie— because those are my top names for you, doll.” He offers. 

Your stomach churns at the thought. 

You visibly cringe then, looking at him as you make a sound of disgust, “Neither.” 

Eddie gives shrugs, “Why not? It fits you.”

You roll your eyes, unable to keep the annoyed look off your face, “Because it’s annoying.” 

“So are you.”

You freeze.

Your eyes snap to him, glaring and hot.  He’s smirking around the rim of your glass before tipping back the rest of the drink like it’s his.

“Excuse me?” You bite out. 

Eddie puts the empty glass down and slides off the barstool with a deep sigh, swinging it back over to the table he’d stolen it from before throwing a wink your way, “Thanks for coming to the show, princess.”

And as he walks away, leaving you steaming, you realize—

This is going to be your entire summer.

The first weeks of summer are miserable.

A thick and relentless heatwave has settled over Hawkins, turning every breath into a chore. It clings to you, wrapping around your bones from the second you wake up to the moment you rest your head on your pillow again. It makes every movement exhausting. 

You spend most of your days sitting in front of a fan, dreaming about California— the cool ocean breeze, the lack of mosquitoes, the ability to breathe without suffocating. 

When the sun begins to dip behind the trees, you escape to the backyard, wasting hours by the pool, dangling your legs in the water, relaxing in the few hours of cool air the evening brings you

At night, you run up the phone bill, flipping onto your back and spending hours talking to friends from school, twirling the cord around your fingers, your friend's voices drifting through the static. You talk about everything— who’s dating who, what parties you’re missing, how much you want to be anywhere but here. 

Inevitably and routinely, Steve ruins it.

He always does.

“Shut up!” He yells from the intercepted line, “Some of us actually want to sleep!” 

You roll your eyes, pressing the phone harder against your ear. You don’t shut up, and you don’t ever plan on it.

Steve isn’t the only problem this summer, though.

No— he’s not even the worst one.

Because for the first time in the history of knowing Steve, he is not the leading cause of your headaches. 

That honor belongs to Eddie Munson.

Eddie is obnoxiously, disgustingly everywhere. 

And you don’t know why.

You’re not sure what path of destruction Steve has chosen, but suddenly, Eddie is constantly in your house. 

It’s like some rotting, stoner apocalypse has overtaken the upstairs— video games blaring, pantry raids, the distinct smell of weed they air out through Steve’s window— it’s twenty-four seven.

And no matter what you do or where you go, Eddie makes sure you know he’s there.

— As you walk past Steve’s room:

“Bring up a soda when you come back, princess!”

“No!”

“Worth a shot.”

— Late at night, when you’re sneakily digging through your stepmother’s stash of chocolate:

“Don’t you get tired of having to match all of your pajamas? I’ve never seen you in regular shorts and t-shirts.”

“Don’t you get tired of wearing that ratty old t-shirt every day?”

Eddie grins, “You noticed. Cute.”

— Or in the backseat of Steve’s car as he drives you to a friend's house:

“You look good today, special occasion?”

“Stop trying to hit on me. Steve, tell your friend to stop hitting on me.”

Steve rolls his eyes as Eddie responds, “I think you like it.” 

“It kills me inside a little, honestly.”

“God, that’s so hot.”

“Gross.”

It’s constant.

It’s guaranteed at this rate that if Eddie is in the vicinity, he’ll find a way to get on your nerves. And the most annoying part of it all is you feel something. There in the pit of your stomach, or sometimes your chest. 

You think it might be early onset asthma from the amount of secondhand smoke you’ve had to endure around him.

That being said, since you’ve spent the past few weeks growing used to Eddie’s constant presence, you can’t help but notice how he has yet to bother you at the bonfire Steve has dragged you to— another courtesy of his darling mother.

You hadn’t seen much of Eddie all night, only at the start of the evening when he had first arrived. And with Eddie and Steve being your only ‘friends’ here and the former having gone missing, you’re kind of pissed when Steve says he’s going off to be with some girl for the night.

“Why can’t you drop me off at home now?” You frown as you storm after your stepbrother. Steve groans, “Because it’s a total boner killer— oh, sorry, I just have to drop off my sister at home real quick,” he mockingly says before cringing, “Are you kidding me? No.” He scoffs.

You’re the one to groan now, stomping after him as he weaves through the cars parked on the hill in front of the lake— “You can’t just leave me here, Steve!” You stress as Steve makes it to his car, which is already occupied by a girl in the passenger seat as she waits for him.

Steve glances at you, “Would you relax? I’m not leaving you stranded; I’ll be gone for an hour— maybe two.” He rolls his eyes when you dramatically groan. “Look, just talk to someone to pass the time. And if you really want to leave, find Eddie.” He shrugs before opening his door.

“I haven’t even seen him all night.” You point out, to which Steve just shrugs again before pointing over your shoulder, “Couldn’t have gone far if his van is still here.”

And sure enough, when you glance over your shoulder, Eddie’s van is parked just a few cars down. You turn back to plead for Steve to take you home but are disappointed to see him already in his car, waving a taunting hand in farewell as he backs out.

Then you’re stranded. You’re stuck, all by yourself, at a bonfire you could care less about with people you don’t even know.

And you miss home more than you can afford to admit.

You find yourself walking towards Eddie’s van, leaves crunching beneath your feet as you grumble your way to the front of the car. Given the height of the vehicle, it's hard, but you manage to climb your way up onto the van's hood, cool metal pressing against your thighs as you settle on it. 

You’re hardly paying attention when Eddie walks up, too busy plotting ways to escape back to your home when he clears his throat. You look up, catching his gaze as he walks up to the front of the van, tilting his head in question as he looks at you perched upon his car.

“Didn’t know you’re so eager to see me, doll.” He smirks.

You roll your eyes, glancing away at the distant flicker of fire, “Don’t flatter yourself; Steve left me stranded here, so I need a ride home.” You grumble at the last part, glaring at him when he hums.

Eddie grins, walking closer until he can turn and rest against the car's grille, “Left you with good company then.” He teases as he digs out a cigarette from his pocket.

You roll your eyes, ignoring the heat of his body seeping into the skin of your leg. “I’d beg to differ.”

He snickers, pearly teeth peeking out behind his grin as he sticks the cigarette between his lips. You watch him light the end of the stick, thin trails of smoke leaving the side of his mouth before he pulls in one quick drag. 

He exhales, a cloud of smoke wrapping around you both as he glances at you, shifting with a deep sigh before he speaks, “So,” he starts, “What’s it like? The whole college thing.”

You think for a moment, glancing at the bonfire some yards away before you shrug, kicking your heel again, “Fast. Loud. Always something going on.” You briefly reply. 

Eddie hums as he takes another drag, “Sounds awful.”

You huff a small laugh, “Yeah, you’d hate it.” You agree— which is true. Most days, you hate it, too.

You nudge him with your foot, suppressing a grin when he nudges you back as you ask, “What about you?”

Eddie snorts, “M’not in college, princess.”

You roll your eyes, “I know that,” you dismiss, “I meant, like… Do you ever plan on leaving this place?”

Eddie hesitates momentarily, distracting himself with his cigarette before he shrugs, “Nah.”

You suspect he’s lying, but he doesn’t give you a chance to pry before he speaks up, “You ever smoked before?”

Your lips curl in disgust, “No. Gross habit.” You grumble.

Eddie glances at you, raising an eyebrow as he takes a drag. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” he says, plucking the cigarette from his lips and raising it to you. “Go ahead, princess. Let’s see what you’re made of, " he challenges. 

Your face twists in disgust as you glare at the burning paper between his fingers, “No thanks.”

Eddie hums, tilting his head tauntingly, “Scared?” He teases. 

“No.” You snap.

He wiggles the cigarette at you, “Then take a hit.” He says with a teasing lilt to his voice.

You glare down at him, eyes slightly narrowed— and it’s so stupid. You know Eddie is only doing this as some silly way of provoking you. You know he wants you to do the predictable thing, which is snap back with some witty remark, but as you look at the curly-haired boy smirking up at you with that dark glint in his eye, you know there’s only one thing you have to do.

You take the cigarette.

“Fine.” You grumble. 

Eddie raises a brow as he turns to face you. He now stands before you, watching you turn the burning paper between your fingers. “Pointers?” You ask.

Eddie’s lips twitch in a smirk, boots crunching against the leaves as he steps closer, the chain on his pants brushing against your ankle. “Don’t cough and embarrass yourself.” He teases, to which you roll your eyes, “Helpful.” You mutter. 

He grins as he cages you in, one palm pressed to the hood of the car as the other gestures to the unlit end of the cigarette, “Lips here and just inhale slow; don’t overthink it.” 

You nod, gazing at the cigarette before you shrug and bring it to your lips with not much of a mental preparation— because how hard can it be to smoke a cigarette? Apparently, it’s hard— because one moment you’re breathing just fine, and the next you’re coughing up a lung on Eddie Munson’s car hood.

You cringe, coughing violently as your eyes well up with tears. “Shit—” you hold up the cigarette with a grimace, “People actually like this stuff?” You question with a groggy voice, coughs still sputtering up from your chest. Eddie laughs, a real, guttural laugh, as he takes his gift from you, “Good, right?” He asks.

You shake your head, eyes wild, as you look at him. “No! Not at all, " you stress. “I won’t be trying that again.” You shake your head, watching as he takes a drag, lips pulled into a smirk as he looks at you.

He blows the smoke off to the side, still gazing up at you as he jokes, “You’re already halfway to a badass reputation, princess.”

You roll your eyes, pressing your palms onto the car hood as you slightly lean forward, your body slowly relaxing after having nearly lost a lung. “Right, because sharing a cigarette with a guy like you in the middle of a shitty bonfire is exactly how I pictured my future as a child.”

Eddie rolls his tongue behind his cheek for a moment, his lips twitching with something like a lazy smile before he asks, “A guy like me?”

You hum in confirmation, and he slightly narrows his eyes. “What does that look like?” He asks.

Your eyes dance, something charged dancing between you both that you, upon weak judgment, decide to ignore. 

“Reckless. Irresponsible. Cocky.” You list off.

Eddie hums, feigning understanding, “Bad company for a girl like you, I assume?” He prods. 

And you don’t have to ask what he thinks you are before you nod, “Absolutely.”

It falls silent momentarily, that charged sensation thickening between you both. And maybe you hadn’t been aware of it; perhaps you had been so wrapped up in the conversation, but you’re not exactly sure when Eddie’s hands had gotten so close to yours.

You can feel his warmth; right there, just inches away for you to grasp and sink your palms into. His calloused fingertips are ghostly sensations against your soft knuckles, daring you to inch forward and just touch him. The space between your fingers buzzes, like a current threatening to connect. 

You could do it.

You kind of want to do it.

It would take nothing to close the distance. 

And Eddie? He’s waiting.

His brown eyes— dark and rich like the earth you walk on— flicker downwards and take in the sight of the space between your hands. 

And you know Eddie.

You’ve been around Eddie enough to know that he likes touch; Eddie communicates through it like his words won’t do his warmth justice. So, when his gaze flickers back to you, and there’s that look swimming in his gaze, you know what he wants to do.

You know he wants to let his touch speak for itself.

And you nearly let your desires win.

But in the distance, a bottle crashes, and an eruption of cheers lifts, and you’re back in your body.

Your spine stiffens. Your throat tightens. Your stomach churns. And your fingers curl away from him.

You pull away— not abruptly, but just enough that the moment feels as if it’s lingering like the smoke that had left Eddie’s lungs minutes ago.

You blink, pulling in the crisp summer air as you sit up, putting space where there was none.

“So, can you drive me home or not?”

Eddie blinks, the moment fractured between you— and you think he might speak on it. 

But he says nothing. 

Disappointment swirls in his eyes, barely showing before it’s gone. You take in a breath, glancing away as he pulls back and clears his throat, dusting his thumb across his nose in nervous habit as he nods, “Uh,” he blinks, flicking the cigarette to the ground and crushing it beneath his boot.

You hate the feeling that stirs in your chest, and you hate that you want to fix it. But Eddie nods anyway, fishing his keys from his pocket and forcing a half-hearted smile.

“Yeah, princess, let’s get you home.”

I wanna take you home

I won't do you no harm, no

You've gotta be all mine, all mine

Aw shucks, foxey lady

- foxey lady x jimi hendrix

part two.

cutie teeny taglist: @kellsck @your-nightmaredoll @hereforshmut @emxxblog @mdurdenpitt @glassbxttless @peculiarwren @aactuaaltraash @daveythorntonslocker

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