No matter what Billy did, no one ever stood up to him. He was strong, violent, and more than a little crazy, so he was allowed to do whatever he wanted without consequences. You were sick of that. You saw him almost mow down your boyfriend's little brother, Will, just a couple of weeks ago in that stupid car of his.

His prized possession, that goddamn Camaro.

It came to a head when he showed up at Jonathan's place, already pissed off about something.

“Am I dreaming, or is that you, Harrington?” God, what a prick.

You didn’t listen to the rest of the conversation. Max looked scared, and that alone made you see red. She’d become a little sister figure to you; watching her shrink whenever he came around made something sharp and hot twist in your stomach.

So when Billy charged inside with his wild gaze locked on her, you did the one thing you knew would divert his attention – you nabbed his keys from his back pocket and ran.

If only I knew how to drive stick, you thought with a grimace as you pushed yourself forward. It was a full ten seconds before you heard his boots pounding the grass behind you.

“You’ve got one fucking chance to give them back!” he yelled, gaining ground. The only answer you gave was a middle finger thrown up in his direction. He lunged for your arm, and he might’ve caught it, had you not spun out of the way and kept moving. His frustrated roar motivated you to go faster. Your heart was pounding in your ears and your lungs burned with exertion, but you couldn’t stop. Not yet. Not until you were sure you'd bought the kids enough time to put defenses up.

It got quiet – too quiet.

You threw a look over your shoulder and saw Billy walking calmly like he was confident he’d get you sooner or later. That sent a shiver down your spine. The thought of what he might do–

He disappeared as the ground fell out from under your feet, plunging you down into darkness.

“Fuck!”

You landed on your stomach with a dull thud. Pain radiated outward from your core and you struggled to catch your breath. Billy’s keys were still clutched in your fist. For one fleeting moment, you felt a sense of vindictive pride because he’d have to come down and get them, wherever this was.

It was dark, but a strange blue glow emanating from the walls gave off just enough light to see by. Something writhed under you; they looked like vines, but they were wrong. Disgust and panic flooded your system. When you tried to scramble away, they wrapped themselves around your legs and dragged you back to where you started. Kicking did nothing; you were trapped…and heavy footsteps were approaching the hole you fell into.

This cannot fucking be happening. What do I do?

You looked around for something to fight Billy off with. By some stroke of luck, there was a pocketknife stuck in a bulbous, flower-like thing on the wall. You reached for it. Your fingers closed around the handle when the grotesque plant opened and spit something into your face. It hit you like confetti blasted out of a cannon. Worse, it was warm, clinging, and sticky. You yelped and threw your arms over your eyes, but it was too late. It coated your lips and slid into your mouth. You swallowed on instinct and instantly regretted it.

Billy dropped into the hole to find you gagging, coughing, and hopelessly stuck.

“Well, well.” The bastard was so smug about it all. You wanted to hit him. He rounded your body and crouched down. “You’re kind of a dumb bitch, you know that?” The insult hit like a punch to the gut.

It wasn’t devastating or clever. It wasn’t even particularly vicious – just Billy’s normal brand of sexism. It stunned you for a different reason.

Heat pooled low in your stomach, and you became all too aware of the fact that your skirt was hiked up high on your thighs from the struggle against the vines. Your nerve endings lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree. Every sound was sharper, every breath heavier, every inch of your skin hypersensitive.

No. This definitely isn’t happening. I’m in a nightmare, because there is no way I’m turned on by this piece of shit.

But the evidence didn’t lie.

He smelled like smoke and some vaguely spicy, floral aftershave. You’d never noticed how pleasant it was because you’d been busy keeping your distance. He was leaning in; it gave you a perfect view down his barely-buttoned shirt to his toned, tan skin. Billy smirked and grabbed your face with one calloused hand. He pinched your jaw between his fingers and forced your gaze back up.

“What did you think would happen when I caught up to you, huh?” He scoffed. “Did you even have a plan?” You glared up at him and refused to answer. He squeezed your jaw tighter. “I fucking asked you a question. Answer it.”

You took a deep breath to tell him to fuck off when that horrible alien plant sprayed more of that white fluff into the air. This time, it got him, too. Both of you coughed and wheezed. He jumped back out of reflex but the damage was already done.

“What the fuck was that?”

He stared down at your prone body, brow furrowed like he expected you to know. You couldn’t answer; the only sound that slipped past your lips was a frustrated whimper you immediately tried to disguise as a cough. He wasn’t stupid, though, and his expression changed the second you made that pathetic little sound. His pupils dilated. Any trace of smugness left his features, and all that was left was a predatory stare that made your stomach flutter.

Those spores were bad enough the first time around. Being double-dosed made existing near him damn near unbearable. Just looking at him, feeling the heat of his body gave you a visceral reaction that made you fucking furious. The last thing you wanted was to touch this jerk. He’d done nothing but bully everyone you loved, for fucks sake! You squirmed against the hold of the vines again, but it was no use. They only wound higher and tighter…and you had a mounting problem.

Your nipples were hard and sensitive and every brush of drafty air in the tunnel gave you goosebumps. A persistent pulse between your thighs ached. You were dripping like a fucking faucet, soaking through your thin cotton panties.

“God, help me out of here!” you growled at him, clenching your fists. “I’ll give you the keys, just…help me. Please.” You refused to look at him. It would only make your current situation worse. Besides, the blow to your ego at having to be polite to him made your cheeks burn with shame.

He didn’t move.

“The hell is happening to me? What did you do?” Billy demanded. Your eyes roved up to his waist. He was so hard in those tight fucking jeans you could see the outline of his cock straining against the denim in clear detail.

“Me? I didn’t do anything, you perv!” You covered your eyes and made a desperate attempt to close your legs. The vines wound tighter, keeping them spread. Your skirt slid higher and hiked over the curve of your ass. “Stupid–fucking–ugh!” you screamed in frustration, struggling harder. By the time you stopped fighting it, the fabric was bunched over your waist. “Don’t just stand there! Help me, you asshole!”

The vines shifted again and pulled your legs further apart, spreading your pussy open with a slick, wet sound.

Billy shuddered and inhaled deeply.

“Gross! What are you–” you protested. The words died on your lips when he took a step forward. Your heart skipped a beat. “Billy…”

He wasn’t listening. You watched his legs as they moved to circle behind you. Your back arched and your thighs shook; you felt like a marionette, every movement orchestrated by your body without the permission of your mind.

Every logical part of your brain was screaming.

You don’t want him! You don’t want this, you hate him! Remember Jonathan, your boyfriend? Your loyal, devoted boyfriend? You love him, you’re going to tell him that as soon as this shit is over!

It didn’t matter. All the logic in the world couldn’t stop you from clenching around nothing. It wouldn’t make your body stop offering itself up on a silver platter to the guy everyone in your life hated. Those spores, pollen – whatever it was – had wrested the controls from you.

It was a unique kind of torture, and it was getting harder by the second to resist. You were entirely at the mercy of a man who was volatile even when he wasn’t being possessed by an alien flower, and you were both fighting a losing battle.

You flinched when you felt his rough palms slide up your legs. “Billy, please…”

“I’m fucking trying,” he said through gritted teeth. “You just smell so fucking good, I–fuck, I can’t…”

His hands moved higher and you shivered. A wave of slick gushed out, hot and humiliating. Every touch stoked a fire you couldn’t put out. His fingers stilled on your thighs and dug in hard. The breath punched from his lungs in a sharp huff and you felt it through the fabric of your underwear. It only made you needier. Your hips writhed in response and he groaned, palming your ass, kneading the soft flesh.

“I–I have a boyfriend,” you stammered weakly. “Listen to me, it’s the plant. It’s the stupid fucking plant and–” His thumb traced down your inner thigh and brushed over your clit through those stupid pink panties. “Ohhh fuck.” You hissed through your teeth and a desperate whine escaped, giving away too much.

Billy stilled. For one charged moment, neither of you dared to breathe.

"No, fuck this," he spat. His voice was strained. "Give me my keys."

He was just pulling away when another one of those disgusting growths opened in the darkness and expelled more of its nastiness right by his head. His muscles locked up and his breathing grew ragged.

“...Billy?”

The vines pushed upward, lifting your hips and leaving you exposed and helpless. They were presenting you to your worst enemy; somehow, the notion made you wetter. It was obscene. It wasn't natural. Then again, nothing about the situation was normal or natural. When tendrils hooked under the waistband of your panties and pulled, you shuddered. The chilly fall air hit your clit and you writhed. It was already too much. Billy still hadn't said a word, but the clank of a belt buckle and a zipper coming down was answer enough. You felt the heat of him before he even touched you, and your hips jerked back greedily. The vines still held tight. You made one last futile attempt to remind yourself that this was wrong, but every single thought was replaced by visions of being bred mercilessly.

Billy was all too ready to oblige.

He shoved in unceremoniously and groaned so loud it echoed off the tunnel walls.

"God — fuck, if I'd have known you were hiding this perfect cunt from me, I'd have taken you sooner," he growled, gripping your hips for leverage as he pounded into you. You felt bruises blooming where his fingers dug into your skin hard. "Wasting it on Byers. Goddamn tragic." The sting of him stretching you was nothing compared to how good it felt to be so full, and you wailed as he dragged you back to meet him thrust for thrust.

"Yeah? Feels that good, huh?" You knew if he was himself, you'd be able to hear that infuriating smirk in his voice, but it was more like he was on a mission, taunting you through gritted teeth. You realized with detached horror that he was on a mission. The heat, the visions, the aid of the vines — oh god, it was trying to get you knocked up. And worse, it made you want it.

You clenched around him as the revelation hit you and he grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back to look at your face. You wanted to scowl at him for following you down here. He knew it, too. He also knew you wouldn't; he let go of your hair only to wrap a hand around your throat and pull you up against him. The change in position made your legs shake — or, it would if the vines weren't holding you still and steady. You couldn't stop him or yourself; you'd resigned yourself to that. But this position…it was too intimate, and it felt like heaven.

"Don't—" you pled.

"Shut up."

Another rough thrust choked off the retort you tried to form. Billy nipped and sucked at your shoulder, your neck, your earlobe. Anywhere he could reach, he left marks you wouldn't be able to hide easily. Your traitorous fucking hands moved of their own accord: one braced against his muscular thigh while the other snaked down your body to rub tight circles over your clit. He slapped that one away to do it himself. The pleasure was blinding and your hips bucked into his touch and high pitched, pathetic screams ripped from your lungs.

"Fuck! Oh god, please, don't stop!" The words just slipped out; to your own horror, you meant them.

His low, wicked laugh right next to your ear gave you goosebumps and you felt yourself hurtling toward the edge. Clearly he was enjoying everything this cost you. Of course — he was stuck in the same situation but still somehow found satisfaction in your helplessness. Classic Hargrove.

"How's Byers gonna feel, watching you carry my kid?" he grit out. The thought should've disgusted you. It would have, half an hour ago. Now all it did was make you flutter around him. Your body was urging him on even if you wouldn't reply. "That's what I thought. Now be a good slut and cum for me."

You didn't have a choice. The tension inside you snapped and your body shook as you came, sobbing with ecstasy. Your walls pulsed so hard you pulled an honest-to-god moan out of him. He pushed you back down into the dirt and planted his hand between your shoulder blades to keep you there while he rutted into you…as if you had any say in what was happening.

"Goddamn—that's it, take it," he panted. You felt his cock twitch and he buried himself to the hilt as he spilled into you with a ragged groan.

It felt like forever before either of you so much as moved. You were too busy trying to catch your breath and absorb what you'd done. Then it all seemed to hit both of you at once.

"Jesus Christ."

"Oh my God."

The vines receded. Billy pulled out and you rolled onto your side, covering your face with your hands. Your eyes burned; you didn't want to cry in front of him, but the sudden crushing guilt you felt left no room for restraint. The tunnel was silent except for the sound of your sniffles and pathetic whimpers. His voice was rough when he finally spoke.

"I…don't know what that was about," he murmured. "But I'm—I'm sorry. I don't, I mean I can't—I couldn't control myself. Fuck."

"S'not your fault," you replied in a small voice. "Neither of us could help it." You flipped to your back and lifted your hips to pull your underwear back on. Your mind was already racing, trying to find ways to explain what happened without breaking Jonathan's heart. When Billy offered you his hand to help you up after, you hesitated but took it anyway.

Just as your hands touched, that almost painful need slammed back into you. You pulled him down with surprising strength and wrapped your legs around his waist.

As he ripped your panties clean off of your body, you knew: the night wasn't over.

Robin Buckley — your girl, the light of your life, the very sun that warmed your skin.

The two of you met in college. It started out with shy "hellos" as new roommates and had blossomed into so much more, faster than you ever expected. There were movie marathons and sleepovers, nights where you painted each other's nails, meals enjoyed together. They were innocent to anyone else, but they meant more under the surface. You'd eventually decided to move off-campus into an apartment together. It was a huge step, but you never felt uncertain. You even adopted the most adorable orange kitten who Robin insisted be named "Garfield," like the one from the comics.

Moving off-campus cost a pretty penny, though, and both of you worked hard to secure your cozy space together. You got a job with a small paper writing "How To" articles; Robin was hired on at the local radio station. It was Robin's job that changed your lives in a big way. Even though her radio show was slated for the late-night spot, she quickly gained popularity; living in a big city with so many night-shift workers did wonders for her career. She still called herself "Rockin' Robin" after the name she coined back in her hometown when she took over as DJ, and people loved both the name and her witty personality.

As her popularity grew, she landed interviews with local newspapers and television and got invited to parties and important dinners. You were there to support her the whole way, the steadiest presence in her life.

Robin had become the "it girl" of the Boston radio circuit. Everyone wanted to be close to her. They wanted her friendship, her advice…and her heart, of course. How could they not, with a personality as magnetic as she had? She was beautiful, charming, and whip smart — a lethal combination and everyone knew it…including you.

Still, somehow, Robin only had eyes for you.

A year into living in your little apartment together, she finally confessed her real feelings for you. You'd just come back from a dinner like the one you'd attended the night before…

Robin gazed at you from across the kitchen bar with those beautiful blue eyes. She was wearing red lipstick — a bold choice and unusual for her at the time. You'd talked her into dressing up like Poison Ivy and Starfire for a Halloween party in New York. Robin was the only one officially invited, but she picked you to come along with her, RSVPs be damned. The party itself made you nervous. You wanted to drink the nerves away, but you were determined to stay sober so you could soak up every moment of her beauty.

When you made it back to the hotel room, Robin was staring at you.

"What?" you finally asked, your nervousness shining through in your voice. You wondered if you'd done something to upset her.

"I'm in love with you," she rasped without hesitation. It was the surest you'd ever seen her.

"Wh-what?"

"You drive me crazy. I'm so in love with you; I always have been but I've been too scared to say it until now. Something about you in this crazy orange body paint and red hairspray, you're still the most gorgeous person I've ever met and I…"

You laughed and shook your head. "Robin…you are not in love with me. How much have you had to drink tonight?" You couldn't believe her. She was just so out of your league, in your mind.

"Not a single drop," she replied. Your heart pounded hard in your chest when reality sank in and you realized she was telling the truth.

"Come back to bed," a sleepy Robin called from your shared room, breaking you out of your reverie.

You padded across the wooden floor, picking up your T-shirt that had somehow landed in front of the door in your haste to discard them last night. You tossed it onto the futon and crawled between the sheets. "This glitter is everywhere. I think it's, like, embedded into my skin at this point."

Robin laughed softly, her hands finding your waist as she pulled you close. "I like it."

"Yeah?" you asked with a love-drunk giggle. You turned to face her and she was just so damn gorgeous you couldn't help but kiss her. She melted into it, her hands braced against your chest.

"I love you," she whispered.

"I know." You giggled again as you ran a hand down her back and pressed her closer. Robin kissed your forehead and you snuggled into her warmth.

"Did you have fun last night?" She always asked you this, like she was afraid you'd ever say no. Like the busy nature of her life and the way she shone like a star would somehow become too much for you. It simply wasn't true — it never could be. As long as you had Robin, you knew you could handle whatever life threw at you.

"Baby, I love seeing you in your element, are you kidding me? You're always the star of the show…my Rockin' Robin. You were born for the spotlight, and I wouldn't dream of getting in the way of that."

Robin shook her head. "That's so weird to me. No one would've ever said that about me when I was a teenager. I was awkward and weird and rambly and the thought of being the center of attention would've had me breaking out in hives."

You couldn't help but chuckle. "Now you're the main attraction, the object of all their desires. What a shame for them, huh?"

"Oh?" Robin said, biting her lip.

"Well, duh. You're mine…all mine, and I'm not giving you up. Guess they'll just have to pine from a distance forever." You sighed dramatically and both of you snickered at your theatrics.

Suddenly, you were being showered with kisses. Your cheeks, your lips, your nose — everywhere she could reach. You gripped her shirt and halfheartedly tried to push her away, but she was relentless. When she finally let up, she leaned back to admire you. "I love you. You're so goddamn beautiful."

Your cheeks tinged pink as you reached out a hand, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Happy birthday, my love."

"I'm glad we decided to spend the day with just us," she said, smiling.

"Me too. I don't mind your friends or the parties, but…I won't lie. I enjoy having you alll to myself sometimes." You lapsed into comfortable silence for a moment, but Robin broke it with a tone that promised mischief.

"You know, there's something I've definitely been thinking about wanting for my birthday," she said.

"Oh yeah? Like what, Buckley?"

"Well, for starters…" she trailed off, rolling on top of you. She adjusted her hips to pin you down. You tilted your head sideways and stared up at her, giving her your full attention. Robin's long hair cascaded down, framing her face and tickling your cheeks. "I want you. This. Us."

"Well, who am I to deny the birthday girl her wishes?" you teased, feeling heat rise in your cheeks once again.

Robin leaned down, kissing a slow trail across your collarbone. You noticed when she looked back up at you that the glitter you'd seen on yourself in the mirror last night was on her lips. Flecks of gold caught the morning sunlight streaming through the window. You cupped her cheek and murmured, "Robin Buckley, you are so fucking stunning." You grinned and pulled her down to kiss the glitter off.

She smiled against your lips as she melted into you again. "I love you."

“Eds, we’ve watched this movie a million times,” you say with a halfhearted groan, sliding a hand down your face. He just grins and pops the tape into the VCR.

“C'mon, sweetheart, don’t pretend you don’t love it.” He winks at you and flops down onto the bed, scooting back so you can share a bowl of popcorn and watch The Lost Boys yet again. You know it by heart now.

Somewhere around the scene where they’re hanging from the bridge, your eyelids grow too heavy to fight sleep.

It’s not like he’ll be mad. This is, like, the fourth time, is your last thought before oblivion drags you under.

Eddie

He looks over to tell you some “fun fact” about the film that he’s already told you a million times, but you’re fast asleep. At first, he’s bummed. Nobody is as excited about this movie as him.

Nobody appreciates true cinema anymore, he thinks with a roll of his eyes. But he can’t be mad at you. You’re his best friend…and you might be more if he could gather the courage to tell you the truth. He’s been in love with you since the day you came to the trailer and didn’t crack a joke or seem put off. You, with a house in Loch Nora, spent more time in Forest Hills than anywhere else in Hawkins. You didn’t care about the stares and whispers you got when you linked your arm in his, laughing in the hallways of Hawkins High.

It pisses him off, watching the rich guys you date treat you like shit. You want to make your parents happy, and they wouldn’t be happy with “trailer trash” coming over for family dinners. (Their words, not yours.)

The latest one, Brad, cheated on you with the whole damn cheer squad, and you’d come to Eddie bawling. That’s the first time you watched The Lost Boys together, and you spent the night buried in his arms, ranting while hot vampires with mullets strutted around on the screen.

Brad spent prom that year trying to hide a split lip and a black eye.

Eddie had gotten suspended, but he just spent that week planning the next Hellfire session.

“Worth it, babe.”

He thought that maybe after that, you’d see how much he loves you, how far he’s willing to go to protect you. But it didn’t change a goddamn thing, and he tried to be okay with it.

Now, with you lying here in one of his shirts, your face soft and open, a thought he’s had a handful of times crosses his mind again.

What if she needs me to show her first? What if all she needs is one little push?

He tries to shake it off.

Don’t be a fucking creep, Munson. If she gets pissed… He didn’t have to finish the thought. You’d probably kill him. You might even call the cops.

But what if she does want it?

He tries to focus on the movie. He recites more behind-the-scenes facts he’d learned. He mouths all the words in the script. But it seems like the more he tries, the harder it is to keep himself from imagining you waking up moaning, grinding up into him when you come to your senses. Wanting it again and again. Not just sex, but movie nights spent kissing and getting lost in each other. A life spent with someone who knows you best.

And I do know her best.

Eddie got curious once when you left him in your car to get a few things from the grocery store; you insisted on cooking for him, since he was hopeless in the kitchen. Your diary was in your backpack, and he read it.

He knows what you like, what you don’t like, what your hopes and dreams are. He knows your deepest secrets…including the fantasies you’d never tell anyone about.

"I know it's obviously stupid and dangerous, but…" you'd written in your girly script, "I want a guy to want me so much he just takes me without asking, right there on the spot." He'd been about to jerk off in the car to that admission but you came back at the worst possible moment. It's been on his mind nonstop lately.

When the movie ends, he has nothing to focus on at all. It’s just static and the soft sound of your breathing. He watches the rise and fall of your chest. God, you have the nicest pair of tits he’s ever seen in his life. He was there when you got your nipples pierced last summer, holding your hand.

Boyfriend? the piercer asked with a knowing smile.

Eddie’d hoped you’d say yes, just for the hell of it. Even if it was a lie, it would’ve been better than what you actually did. You laughed.

What, him? Your shoulders shook and you had to calm yourself so your piercings wouldn’t come out crooked. No, he’s my best friend. More like a brother, really. He’s here for emotional support.

“Like a brother…” he whispers to himself. He scoffs and tries to choke down the bile that rises in his throat at the thought of you seeing him that way. He slides down in bed and lies there for a while with his arms crossed over his chest. The more he fixates on the memory, the worse he feels. You can’t possibly have meant that. Not with the way you hang onto him when you’re scared, not with the way you bat your lashes and “practice flirting.”

When Eddie looks over again, he wishes he hadn’t. Your shirt had ridden up at some point. With the way you’re tossing and turning, it’s no surprise…but he hadn’t expected to actually get an eyeful of those perfect tits he'd just been daydreaming about.

“Jesus Christ,” he hisses, trying hard to look away. He’s hard – painfully so – and every single minute of your interactions over the years that could be interpreted as more than just “friendly” flashes behind his eyes.

You, showing up at a gig in that tiny crop top you made with the words "Corroded Coffin" splashed across your chest. You jumped up and down with the music, standing in the very front. He almost fucked up a solo because he was watching them bounce.

Insisting on sleepy cuddles, being the little spoon because you were "cold." Yeah, right.

Kissing him on the cheek, making him food like you're married, always bringing him coffee when he's tired and grumpy.

That's it, he thinks, the ache between his legs only growing worse as he convinces himself that you've been sending him signals the entire time. I can't take it anymore.

You're lying on your back, your shirt still ridden up, looking so peaceful in your slumber. He crawls between your legs and gazes down at you. He almost has a heart attack when you mumble something, sure you'd wake up. The relief that washes over him when your breathing evens out is dizzying.

Eddie wants to yank your shorts down and thrust into you all at once, but he knows that's a risky move. The last thing he wants to do is scare you. Instead, he tests the waters. His fingertips brush your side and you don't even twitch. Ever so slowly, he inches your shorts down your thighs. You're wearing a pair of red lacy panties, only proving to him that you'd come over expecting something.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," he murmurs. "I've got you. I know what you need, even if you're too shy to say." He hooks his thumbs under that obscenely hot scrap of fabric and pulls a little faster this time. You're obviously deep asleep. His movements grow more confident and when you're finally bared to him, his breath catches in his throat. You're even better than he'd dreamed, and fuck yeah — you hadn't shaved in a while.

Come on, she had to have known that's my catnip.

Eddie spreads your legs apart slowly. He reaches for the bottle of lube in his nightstand, but he discovers he doesn't even need it. You're already wet.

"Jesus, what are you dreaming about?" he whispers. "Hopefully it's me and not Jason Patric." He smiles at his little joke, but the giddiness is growing unbearable. He almost trips over himself getting his pants off before sliding back between your thighs. He can't resist just one taste before he dives in. What he wants is to eat your pussy for at least an hour before getting his, but he wants you to be fully aware for that. He wants to hear you screaming his name, fisting his hair in your perfectly manicured fingers, tugging because it's just so damn good. Still, he licks a stripe up your slit, barely suppressing a groan. "Gonna fucking cum before I can even get inside you if I don't do it now," he huffs, laughing at himself.

Eddie hovers over you, trying to keep his breathing even and quiet. He never thought he'd get this far, not really. There's still lingering trepidation…until you moan, clearly enjoying your dream. It's all too much.

The blunt tip of his cock presses against your entrance. He stills one more time, just to check. Nothing.

When he pushes in, he bites his lip hard enough to draw blood. You twitch and moan again, and he feels your slick heat tighten around him. You're already squeezing him, and it nearly brings tears to his eyes.

"Fuuuck, fuckfuckfuck," he whispers. One shallow thrust and he's already struggling to hold out. "Come on, Munson, you can not blow your load this early. You might not get this chance again." He occupies himself thinking about the chords of a new song he's working on to keep himself sane. Another thrust, and your hips move. You moan louder this time. His eyes roll back and his restraint snaps.

His hips roll and he buries himself to the hilt rougher than he'd planned. It had to be his imagination, but he could swear you just mumbled his name.

"Yeah, baby, it's me. Let me make you feel good." Eddie's hips snap forward this time, testing his limits. All his caution is gone. If you wake up, you wake up. You feel too damn good for him to have second thoughts now. He's gotten a rhythm going, and his attempts to hold back his sounds are failing spectacularly. He's never been good at shutting up, and this is no exception. "You feel so goddamn good, I'm gonna worship this cunt, I swear to god I'll…oh fuck, I'll live and die between your legs if you let me. Mm, shit —"

You

Your dreams are vivid tonight. You're lying on your frilly bedspread at home, hand between your legs listening to Eddie's voice come through the speakers, the new Corroded Coffin demo in your tape deck, when he climbs through your window. You startle and you feel the humiliation so viscerally that your your body heats up. But instead of laughing or being horrified, he can't get his clothes off fast enough. He throws your legs over his shoulders and groans into your pussy so loud you're terrified your parents will hear.

"Eddie—" you start, but he shushes you.

"Don't worry, sweetheart, gonna take good care of you." You feel almost too aware of his tongue, his fingers. It's a strange pressure and it feels so good your back arches off the bed. In truth, you'd heard stories from the girls who got with him in secret because they wanted the thrill of sleeping with the bad boy, the "freak." It pissed you off, but you'd heard…interesting things you couldn't stop thinking about once they floated into your ears.

For the longest time you'd just seen him as a protective presence. He was your best friend, nothing more. But one day, you came over early and walked straight back to his room. You were going to surprise him with cupcakes for his birthday. They were adorned with little pumpkins and ghosts since it was so close to Halloween. You nearly dropped the goddamn tray when you saw what he was doing.

Eddie had his pants shoved down his thighs and his head tilted back on the pillows. He was stroking his cock, hand pumping furiously. He must've been at it for a while.

Oh, fuck. You tried to tear yourself away from the sight, but…you hadn't expected him to be so big. You'd felt it press against your ass a few times when you were cuddling, but you very deliberately never moved a muscle. You didn't have the full scope of it until now.

He was groaning and babbling unashamedly. After all, he thought he was alone.

"Ungh, need you so bad, baby. God, I love you. Wanna give you the whole world." It was awfully sappy for dirty talk, but that was Eddie. He always wore his heart on his sleeve. And whoever it was he was referring to, she was obviously lucky as hell. You bit your lip and turned to put the cupcakes on the counter in their small trailer. You tried to stay there until he was done. You felt like a creep, watching him while he was blissfully unaware. But you couldn't help yourself.

You crept back to his bedroom to look through the crack in his door. Your thighs were sticky and your panties were soaked and clinging to you. Slowly, your fingers slid under the waistband of your jeans, and your fingers gathered your slick and rubbed small, tight circles over your clit. The other hand came up to clamp firmly over your mouth. You didn't trust yourself not to moan his name.

You'd gone to sleep smelling his cologne and laundry detergent; you'd washed the sheets since he's so scatterbrained. He was working on a song, so you figured why not? Now, as your dream Eddie works you over with such focused hunger, you smell it again even stronger. So much stronger.

"Fuck, I love how you taste. I love you," he groans, and your eyes fly open.

Eddie

He hadn't meant to say it. He was just so pussy-drunk it slipped out. But now your eyes are open wide, your breath punching out of you in a shocked huff. He wants to stop; he really does. He wants to take time to reassure you everything is okay, but it's like he's possessed, his hips still pistoning into you with these wet squelching sounds that'd make you blush if you weren't so stunned.

"E-Eds? Eddie?" you stammer, your brow furrowing. "What…what are you doing?"

Shit, fuck, I knew it — oh god she's gonna kill me, she's gonna push me off. He can hardly force out the words through gritted teeth.

"N-needed you so bad, needed to feel you. Please, princess, gonna make you feel so good, I swear. "'M gonna do anything you want, promise."

For one breathless second, it looks like you might scream.

You

You'd come over to the trailer tonight intending to let him maybe get a peek at the new panties you'd just picked out at Frederick's of Hollywood, just to see if he'd notice. You woke up with them discarded on the floor, his cock pounding into you like he'd been starving for it.

You have half a mind to slap him for being so bold. Maybe you would, if it didn't feel like your atoms were flying apart from sheer pleasure…and if your little pervy fantasy wasn't being fulfilled by someone you actually trust.

The bed creaks louder, and he's babbling again.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I can't. Gonna have to stop me, baby. Can't do it, you're so — mm, so tight and hot and—FUCK." He swears loud as you spasm around him. The shock is quickly wearing off, morphing into something you don't know how to name. The thought of him lying beside you with his dick leaking precum, warring with himself about whether or not to take the risk, has you gushing.

He wanted me this bad, couldn't even wait. Ohhh shit.

A high-pitched whine rips from your lungs before you can stop it.

"S'okay, let it out, you sound so fuckin' sweet," he growls, lowering himself onto his elbows. Your thighs wrap around him and one of his rough, warm hands tugs your leg higher. The change in angle has your back arching for real, crying out for him.

"Eddie, I—oh god, don't stop!" That one sentence tears a sound out of him so raw it's almost inhuman.

"Never," he gasps, fucking into you harder.

Eddie

Now that he knows you're not going to stop him, he wants to give you everything. He's a giver by nature, and no way does he want your first impression to be that he's selfish. Not when you're the only person he wants to fuck for the rest of his life. His pace doesn't slow, but he leaves just enough space between your bodies to tease your clit with those thick fingers of his.

"Jesus, you needed it bad, huh? Wettest cunt I've ever felt."

Your head presses into the pillow, baring your neck to him as you moan and gasp. He sucks and nips at the column of your throat. When you tighten around him, his lips part into a groan so loud it vibrates against your skin.

"That's it, sweetheart, I've gotcha. Let go."

You

Just when you think it can't get any better, Eddie's head dips lower and finds your stiff, sensitive nipple. His tongue flicks the tip and he blows on it, making goosebumps ripple across your skin. When he finally sucks it into his mouth, you scream.

You feel that invisible coil in your core winding tighter and tighter, threatening to snap. Eddie knows; of course he does. He's so attuned to your body it's like he can read your thoughts. He puts everything into getting you to the finish line. His tongue flicks harder, his fingers keep up that steady pressure, and he thrusts into you with the fervor of a madman.

"Oh, I think I'm gonna—Eddie, I'm—!"

He doesn't slow. If anything, he gets more frantic, humming his approval against your oversensitive skin. That's what does it.

Eddie

Eddie feels you shudder and hisses at the sting of your nails raking down his back. He's doing everything he can to hold back, to make you cum first. He cries out with you as your body jerks and you pulse around him. Your walls are squeezing him so hard he almost blacks out.

"Shit! God, I'm gonna lose it, right there with you, baby," he chokes out as his cock twitches hard.

He cups your face and kisses you, his tongue shoving past your lips. You whimper and cling to his shoulders as you deepen the kiss. It's your enthusiasm that tips him over the edge.

You

He cums with a choked gasp, spilling into you in spurts that make his face twist in ecstasy. When you feel it, your body stills. He breaks the kiss and gazes down you with hazy eyes.

"Mm, I knew you just needed me to make the first move," he murmurs with that crooked, lazy smile. Your legs are still shaking, but you can't focus on the afterglow or how his dimple pops when he grins like that.

Because what the fuck just happened?

"Eds…" you whisper. "Tell me you used protection." You already know the answer, but you need him to say it.

"I…" His brow furrows. "I mean, yeah, I—I always do." But the smile slides right off his face. He knows he fucked up, and you're equally mortified because you just let him. "Shit. I am so sorry, I never forget, I don't know what the fuck is wrong with me. I just… I needed you so bad I couldn't think." You're both breathing harder than you were when you finished.

"It's gonna be okay. We're gonna be okay," he whispers over and over like a mantra. "No matter what." His hand strokes your hair softly. When you get your breathing under control, his hand slides to your face again, holding it gently.

"Y/n?"

You don't even know if you can speak. You're feeling so many emotions right now it's hard to pinpoint which one is strongest.

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

You open your eyes again to find him staring down at you again with those big, warm brown eyes. He's so sincere it takes your breath away. Part of you wants to shake him, to hit him for being so reckless when you'll be the one to bear the consequences if it sticks, but the other wonders if it'd really be so bad to be tied to him forever like that…and one wins out over the other.

"I love you, too." The words fly out before you consider whether you're ready to change your relationship with him so permanently. You can't take it back. Not with him looking at you like you've just given him a one-way ticket to paradise.

Taking it back would also mean lying. Besides, whatever happens, no matter how terrifying the thought, you know he means it, too. He loves you. He'd do anything for you if you asked…and apparently even if you didn't.

"You're not just saying that, right? Because I understand if you're too mad at me right now—" he starts, but you cut him off.

"Shut up and kiss me, Munson."

He doesn't need you to tell him twice.

"Yes ma'am."

And as your lips meet again, you know in your bones that you don't regret a single second of tonight.

Your shitty old car puttered into the driveway, the half-dead headlights barely illuminating the cabin. It was a wreck; there were holes still punched in the walls and roof from where that thing tried to take Jane last summer. You were certain the elements had damaged the wood, at the very least, and probably all of the furniture. It was going to be a pain in the ass to fix…but it was worth it.

The truth was, you couldn't stand living in Lenora Hills anymore. The Byers' were great. You loved them, and you didn't want to leave your sister. But it was 2,000 miles away from your dad — your brave, selfless dad who got himself vaporized to save the world and no one even knew. You just needed to be in Hawkins, to be near the memory of him, no matter how shitty the town was.

Months went by and things were finally looking up. Those ugly tarps to keep out the rain were gone, the floors had been replaced, and you'd gotten furniture that wasn't mildewed or broken. For the first time, you were excited to get home from your shift at the diner. Trusty old "Fast Hands" was going on about the basketball game. You couldn't help but grin. It was stupid, but Hawkins really needed a win, no matter how small. They needed something to go right for once. And Lucas had been the one to lead the Tigers to victory! You felt your chest swell with pride. You'd watched him grow up with the others; he was like a brother to you, and you were glad people were finally starting to see him for the cool kid he'd always been. That warm, fuzzy feeling carried you to the door feeling lighter than ever.

Huh. That's odd.

You were sure you'd shut the kitchen window before you left earlier. Now it was cracked just enough to raise your hackles. Your hand stilled on the doorknob as you pulled pepper spray out of your bag. Your father taught you to always be prepared. The lectures used to annoy you, but you thanked him under your breath for never letting up as certain names flashed through your mind — Bundy, Ramirez, Alcala. Creeps who preyed on vulnerable women.

The door hit the wall with a bang as you kicked it open. You weren't giving anyone the chance to get the drop on you.

"Oh shit!"

"Holy FUCK!"

You blindly pressed the nozzle in the direction of the intruder. He screamed and you turned heel, ready to run for the car and drive like a bat out of Hell all the way to the police station.

"Wait! Please, please, I can explain — oh my god am I dying? I think I'm dying — c'mon, don't leave!" The guy sounded so pitiful that you froze, against your better judgment.

"Just so you know," you huffed, turning back to him with your canister still raised, "I'm only hearing you out because you screamed like a little girl and I'm pretty sure I can kick your ass. Try anything and you'll wish I ran."

"Fair enough." His voice wavered like he was holding back pathetic whimpers of pain. He sounded…kind of familiar. You flipped a switch, bathing the kitchen in dim amber light. Hunched on the floor with his hands over his eyes was some burnout. He was rocking back and forth, cursing under his breath. He chanced a glance at you, and suddenly you felt a strange mix of relief and regret. You'd know those big brown doe eyes anywhere, even red-rimmed and brimming with tears.

"Eddie? The hell are you doing here?" You dropped your things and knelt down beside him, prying his hands from his face so you could assess the damage. He tried to answer, but only a choked, helpless noise came out. "Take your time," you murmured. "You know, you're doing pretty damn well for someone who just got maced to hell."

"Not my first time," he mumbled, taking a few deep breaths. You could tell he was really freaked out — he was shaking like a leaf. Something bad had driven him here. You took Eddie's hand and led him to the sink where you made him duck his head under the faucet. Once his eyes had been flushed of the offending chemicals, you sat him down on the couch with a cool cloth to soothe his inflamed skin. His shoulders relaxed, but he was still trembling. You needed answers…now.

"So…what's my favorite delinquent doing in my house this late at night?" Your voice was softer now, gentle.

You'd been classmates back in '83/'84. It was his first senior year and your only. He'd been failing English and Mrs. O'Donnell sat you next to him, hoping you'd be a good influence. You'd been sketched out at first; your dad told you to stay away from anyone with a rap sheet, and from what you'd heard, Eddie Munson was familiar with every cop on the force. It was just petty stuff — vandalism, speeding, loitering — and still, everyone treated him like he was dangerous. But you knew him better than that. The more time you spent tutoring Eddie and passing notes in class, the more you liked him. At one point, you'd been ready to tell your dad the truth, consequences be damned. That was, until Eddie got arrested again for something to do with drugs and his dad. There was no way you could convince Jim Hopper to hear you out after that disaster.

You graduated, he didn't, and you fell out of touch. And here he was all these years later, two seconds from falling apart.

"I'm s-sorry," he stammered, crossing his arms over his chest. "Didn't know where else to go and I thought…I thought this place was abandoned." Your heart squeezed painfully. Of course he'd think that.; everyone knew the police chief was dead.

You felt a growing sense of unease as you processed everything. Eddie's uncle wouldn't just toss him out on his ass. That meant he was in trouble. "Eds…who's after you? What did you do?"

He just laughed, a manic little giggle slipping free. "Of course it would be you. Great. Fucking fantastic." He was getting spazzy and agitated, and it was scaring you again.

"Eddie," you warned. "What. Did. You. Do?"

"I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING, I SWEAR!" he yelled. His head snapped up and the rag fell away, revealing wide, panicked eyes. "You have to believe me. I swear to god, I didn't do it. I didn't!" Eddie's hands fisted in his shaggy hair and he pulled at the roots. His face crumpled and everything he'd been holding in came out in a rush.

With every word, your heart sank further. It wasn't just that a cheerleader had been murdered — that would've been bad enough, especially with it happening in his trailer. It was worse because his story was far too fucking familiar.

Eddie saw the look on your face and wilted. "You don't believe me, do you?" His chin trembled and those sweet sad eyes shone with unshed tears again.

"I—" you started. Your words faltered and you had to clear your throat. "I do believe you."

"Bullshit!" He was getting riled up again. "God, you're gonna call it in, aren't you? I know how it sounds, I'm not stupid—"

You grabbed his shoulders and shook them to break through his panic. "Calm down! I believe you, I swear." You held your pinky out to him. He looked down at it slowly, and you both got lost in the same memory.

It was a rainy afternoon, late November of 1983. The two of you were in his van at the quarry, listening to music and talking.

"I'm serious, Edward." You used his full name like you always did when you wanted to get under his skin. "You can't tell anyone we hang out or my dad will kill me."

"Yeah yeah, princess," he'd said, waving a hand dismissively. "You're not the first girl to say that; I know the drill." He was shrugging it off, but you saw the tiniest flicker of hurt behind the mask.

"You know it's not like that," you murmured. "I'm not ashamed. You're my favorite pupil, you know that." You were trying to lighten the mood, but he just scoffed. "But I can't get caught, and you can't afford to earn the wrath of the chief." He didn't need reminding. Hopper was just about the only cop in town who didn't treat him like garbage. But if he thought the Munson kid was "corrupting" his daughter…

He held out his pinky. "Alright, I swear it'll be our little secret, 'kay? Just…promise you won't treat me like the others do?" God, he looked so sad, like he was sure you'd say no. Instead, you nodded solemnly and closed the distance, hooking your pinkies together.

"I promise."

And you'd never broken it.

Eddie hooked his pinky in yours just like he'd done nearly three years ago. His hands were clammy and cold. You set to work starting a fire in the wood-burning stove in the corner, giving him a few minutes to calm down.

"…You wanna tell me why you believe me?" he asked after a while. That was something you'd been trying to figure out yourself. You knew why… you just weren't sure how to explain. The way Eddie had described the attack was familiar in the worst way. No one liked to talk about it — the fact that your adopted little sister had killed before. Several times.

Blood pouring from their eyes, levitating, bones snapping…This girl had died the same way.

Everyone thought the nightmare was finally over. Jane was safe in California. Besides, she couldn't (and wouldn't) have done this. She'd only killed out of necessity. But that "011" tattoo meant she was only one of many, didn't it? Was it so far-fetched that another one could be out there? An evil one? You sighed and sat next to him, keeping your eyes forward. "There's something you should know…" You opened up about everything. The Lab, Jane and her powers, the truth behind Will's disappearance, the Upside Down — all of it. When you finished, you peeked over at him.

Eddie laughed and slid down the couch, landing on the floor in a heap. Nice to see he hasn't lost that Munson theatricality.

"So you're saying I'm not crazy? And that, uh, that the wild shit I put in my campaigns is more or less real, but in the most fucked up way imaginable?"He shook his head and covered his face with his hands again. "Jesus Christ." You cracked a smile, but it was halfhearted. There was still an unshakeable heaviness settled in your chest. You felt cold despite the heat radiating from the fire not ten feet away. There could be no real relief. The truth wouldn't matter to the cops or the rest of Hawkins, and it was only a matter of time before the mob picked up their torches and pitchforks.

"Eddie?" you whispered.

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

"You can stay. We'll figure this out…together." I have no idea how, you thought, but I'm not letting you go down for this. Not you.

Sure enough, it was on the news the following afternoon. Chrissy Cunningham, head cheerleader and hometown sweetheart, had been brutally slain.

The reporter stood right in front of the Munson trailer. Your blood boiled; what were they thinking?! They were begging for a lynch mob once the townsfolk realized whose house it was!

When Eddie saw, he looked hollowed out. "I'm so fucked. And, you know, maybe I deserve to be."

"Eds, no—"

"I mean," he continued over you, "I didn't do enough. I fucking ran like a goddamn coward!" His fist came down on the coffee table. "What kind of person doesn't call for help, doesn't check to see if she was still breathing?"His leg bounced, a telltale sign he was nervous and agitated. You wanted to explain that it would've been futile, but you knew it wouldn't make him feel better. So you took care of him the only way you knew how — you rolled him a joint and made some food for the inevitable munchies.

It was a beautiful spring day. The birds were chirping, golden sunlight dappled the trees, and the air was warm for the first time since last September. All you wanted was go out and find a spot to clear your head. You had a lot to think about, and being stuck inside with Eddie because you were too afraid to leave him wasn't doing your mental state any favors. Should you tell someone about him? Not the cops, but the people who'd understand? Would it matter if another body turned up? Would it be enough to clear him, or would everyone just turn on you for hiding him? Your bottom lip was bloody from being worried between your teeth, a nervous habit. Your chest ached because you knew the only person who could fix this mess was gone forever.

What would dad do?

He'd keep it close to the chest until he had to make a move. He'd only tell someone essential, and only if it had gotten too big to handle alone.

Joyce.

You waited until Eddie was in the shower to call. He was humming something vaguely Sabbath-esque and once in a while, a couple of lyrics would slip out. Even scared out of his mind, your old friend couldn't suppress the music. It lived in his blood, in his bones. You picked up the phone. It rang once, twice…and just as someone answered, you slammed it back into the cradle with a heavy thunk. You'd realized something that scared you worse than last night… the government could be listening. What if the phone had been tapped? They'd done it before; nothing was stopping them from keeping tabs on you. One wrong word, and you could put Eddie in danger. You could compromise Jane. A lump rose in your throat, and you blinked back tears.

Eddie's voice snapped you back to reality.

"Uh, I feel really stupid asking this, doll, but d'you have anything I could borrow? Didn't exactly have time to pack an overnight bag." He was standing in the doorway wearing nothing but a towel and a wry smile. You could see the beginnings of that v-shape low on his hips, and it made your face feel hot. He had a smattering of tattoos and freckles all over his torso, and dear god, were those…nipple piercings? Shiny silver barbells glinted in the light, confirming it. Suddenly, the room was spinning. Your palms were starting to sweat. "You okay there? Did I traumatize you with my pasty skin?" He grabbed at his chest, pretending to try and cover himself. Dramatic as ever. The towel almost slipped and your head whipped toward the window so fast it hurt. "Oh god, sorry!" he yelped, yanking it back up.

"N-no! No, it's fine!" Your reassurance would've been more believable had it not come out two octaves higher than normal. You scrambled to your feet and hurried to your bedroom. When you returned with your ex's old Everlast crop top and a criminally short pair of basketball shorts, he arched a brow.

"Daddy dearest know his little angel was dating Big Bad Billy Hargrove?" he snorted.

"…Not until the dumbass got pulled over with me in the car. And that was the end of that." You held the clothes out to him and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. "What?! These are the only 'boy' clothes I have!"

"Beggars can't be choosers, I guess," he sighed. "But I'll have you know I'm not above wearing girly shit. Yunno, for future reference so I never have to put my junk where his junk has been again."

"Better avoid…well, any flat surface here, in that case," you teased. Eddie gagged and shut the door in your face.

"Begone, foul wench! I must needs get decent — goddamn, did this asshole never get cold or anything? — okay, as decent as this puny barbarian garb allows!" Your shoulders shook with laughter as you walked away.

Maybe we'll get through this, after all.

The following days were rough. You couldn't afford to call out of work, and every shift was agonizing. Being away from the house made your heart squeeze with anxiety. Worse, you had to act like everything was normal when the others dropped by and dragged you away for an "emergency meeting."

"What if someone found him? What if they…?" Dustin trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. You knew exactly how he felt, and it felt shitty to keep the truth under wraps when you knew he was worried sick. You wanted to tell the kid — hell, you wanted to get them all up to speed, but you told yourself the safest bet was to wait it out until the real killer was found so Eddie's name would be cleared once and for all. How could that not be in everyone's best interest?

And…part of you, deep down, knew you wanted to keep Eddie a secret for selfish reasons. If the others knew, they'd want to lay eyes on him. They'd pull him into something he wasn't prepared for, and the thought of losing him hurt more than you expected. Because being with him was as natural as breathing. It was like the time you'd spent apart was all a bad dream you'd finally woken from.

The night before, you'd been in the kitchen making dinner. Eddie was trying his best to help you by clumsily chopping vegetables for the stew. He was wearing this frilly, ridiculous apron with heart-shaped pockets that Claudia Henderson had given you as a housewarming gift; his tongue poked out as he put all his energy into trying (and failing) to julienne an onion the way you'd shown him earlier.

"And this is the guy everyone thinks is a murderer," you snorted, shaking your head. Eddie huffed out a laugh and scraped the onion into the pan simmering on the stove.

"Tell me about it, princess. I mean, little ol' me?" He batted his long, dark lashes and laid a hand over his heart, acting scandalized. He was shirtless, and the contrast between the apron and his tattoos was comical. The knife in his hand was the icing on the cake.

Both of you broke down laughing at the same time. You gasped for air, tears springing to your eyes as you clutched your stomach. The whole situation was so fucking ridiculous. Eddie was terrified, you were technically aiding and abetting a fugitive, and you were making goddamn stew like there weren't vigilantes ready to hunt your asses down.

Once the giggle fit passed, the two of you went right back to cooking in companionable silence. It was weird; with everyone else, you felt uncomfortable if there was a lull in conversation. It was different with him. Not that Edward James Munson could stay quiet for long — within five minutes, he was humming under his breath again. That warm, fuzzy feeling you had a few nights ago (before your world turned upside down for the millionth time) was back.

You were playing Scrabble, bickering with Eddie over whether or not "Megadeth" counted when a sharp knock at the door stunned you both into silence. His eyes went wide and you motioned frantically toward the space under the floorboards your dad kept his old boxes of stuff in. Every beat of your heart made your head pound. Your eyes felt hot, your skin too clammy. Another knock came, more insistent this time.

"Coming!" you called. Your mouth had gone dry in the span of a few seconds and you swallowed hard before yelling again. "Hold your horses, damn!" The pepper spray had still been on the kitchen table and you grabbed it as you walked by. If it was someone like Carver and his minions, you had to be prepared for anything. Only when you were sure he was hidden did you open the door just a crack, enough to see who it was without letting them in.

It should have been a relief to see Dustin's familiar head of curls, but the knot in your stomach only tightened further. "Listen, buddy, now isn't really the best time—"

"I need to talk to you," he blurted before you could finish your sentence. You opened your mouth to protest but he gave you a look you'd never seen on him before. Henderson was always manic and wild-eyed and loud. But in that moment, he was dead serious. And he was determined. God damn it. You let him in and prayed that Eddie would stick with the plan.

"What's this about, Short Stack?" you sighed, sitting across from the kid at the table. You wondered if Eddie was breathing too loud or if you were just that attuned to him. Either way, you flipped the switch for the fan to cover it up.

"We know who's been killing the others. And we know because…oh Jesus, it's Max. He's going after her and we have to stop him." You fought through your horror and nausea. You loved Max like a little sister, and she'd been having such a hard time lately.

"Who? How?"

Dustin laid it all out; like you expected, it was tied to the Upside Down, to someone they called "Vecna." And the people you loved most in the world were planning to fight him.

"So, let me get this straight." You steepled your hands in front of you and breathed deep. "You plan to go into the lair of this supposed 'undead dark wizard'—"

"Technically a lich."

"Whatever. This dude with the power to snap you like a twig remotely from another dimension and, what? Have Nance shoot him? You think it'll be that simple?"

"No, but we have to save Max and I—"

"And you WHAT, Dustin?! You want to get yourselves killed in the process? You can't win this without Jane!"

"I don't care!" He banged his fists on the wood and stood up so fast his chair toppled backwards. "We have to try!" Tears welled up in his eyes. "That sick bastard might've taken Eddie or killed him and I can't just give up! I need him!" He broke down and your heart splintered. For all his genius, he was still just a child. It was easy to forget that sometimes with everything you'd all been through. He was a lonely kid who had finally found somebody who understood him. Someone he looked up to.

The floor compartment opened with a groan and Eddie lifted himself out. "Say no more, Henderson. Eddie the Banished, at your service."

You’re not sure why you’re stuck in this stupid place – all you did was fail English. 

What's the big deal? I speak it just fine, you think with a roll of your eyes as you set down your things. You slide into the desk furthest from the blackboard and look at the clock. Class should’ve started by now. Your fellow delinquents and flunkees notice, too. 

“Hey, is it true that we get to leave if the teacher is fifteen minutes late?” Tommy asks. “Like, I think we’re legally allowed to.”  

Right as the words leave his mouth, the door swings open. “Try it and I’ll kick your ass, kid,” he says. He’s tall, tan, and gorgeous. You sit up straighter in your chair. 

Wait… is that Billy Hargrove? You haven’t seen him in two years, and it doesn’t seem like anything has changed; he’s still that cocky asshole you pined for when you were sixteen. “I guess they let just anyone teach here now, huh?” you quip before you can stop yourself. Billy’s head snaps in your direction. 

“You got something smart to say?” His eyes are blazing, and his hand clenches into a fist. 

God, and he’s just as volatile as ever, too. You know it would be prudent to shut the fuck up, but it’s like your mouth is bypassing your brain. 

“Yeah, but you probably wouldn’t understand it.” You smirk when you see his jaw tick. Everyone turns to look at you like you’re a fascinating and very stupid zoo animal. Your friend, Christy, hisses at you to cool it. 

“One more smartass remark from you and you’re writing lines,” Billy growls. Your mouth stays closed just long enough for him to let his guard down. He strides over to his desk and sits, kicking his feet up like he owns the place. 

“Yes sir,” you purr. You get a few snickers for that. You all went to school with him; he’s not nearly old enough for that honorific. There could only be one purpose for saying it...especially like that.

“That’s it, (y/n). Up. Get up.” 

“Oh, come on, I’m just being respectful, sir.” You pout at him and he narrows his eyes. You know exactly what you’re doing to him. The look he gives you says this isn’t up for debate, though. Pushing his buttons is fun, but you need these credits to graduate; you stand up and reveal a skirt so short it’s borderline illegal. When you see him shift in his seat, you smile and flounce to the front of the room. “Um, what am I supposed to write?” You almost let that honorific slip again but you think better of it. It’s his turn to smirk.

“Write ‘I will not be a mouthy little slut’ fifty times.” Suddenly, the atmosphere is tense in a way that makes your classmates squirm. No one wants to look at you now. Or him. 

“What? There’s no way that’s allowed–” you try to protest, but he cuts you off.

“You think anyone gives a fuck what I make you do? If they cared about actually teaching you something, they wouldn’t put me in charge.” His smile is infuriating. He laces his hands behind his head because he knows he’s right; there’s nothing you can do but start writing. The rest of the class is quiet now because they’re waiting for him to tell them what to do. 

“Read a chapter or something,” he drawls. “I don’t give a shit; just don’t bother me.” 

By the time you get home your wrist really hurts. You feel humiliated and angry… but your thighs are sticky with arousal. In truth, every line you wrote made you wetter. When Billy looked at you like that and so casually punished you in front of everyone, it felt like you’d been struck by lightning. It was white hot and set your limbs to tingling. 

You lay in bed that night brainstorming ways to piss him off just enough to recreate that feeling. 

The air conditioning at Hawkins High has always been abysmal, but today it has completely broken down. The classroom is sweltering, even with the windows open. Billy is in a terrible mood from the start. It doesn’t help that he looks hungover. 

“Read your fuckin’ books and leave me alone,” he grumbles. He stalks toward the desk again and falters when he sees you’ve taken the seat right next to it, facing away from him. He doesn’t comment, but you can tell that pisses him off, too. He knows you’ve got something up your sleeve; he just doesn’t know what. 

You open your book slowly, holding it up directly in front of your face. No one else sees what he can. You’ve taped a Playboy centerfold to the pages just to provoke him – a busty redhead with nothing on but a pair of sunglasses, laying on a towel at the beach. You feel the anger and frustration radiating off of him before he says a damn word. 

You hear the squeak of the wheels of his office chair as he leans toward you. His voice in your ear is rough, deep. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” It’s a rhetorical question; you know you’re supposed to simply turn the page or put the book down. Anything other than what you actually do. 

“You don't like it, sir?” you stage whisper. Heads turn toward you again; they can’t believe you’re this brave – or this dumb. “I didn’t take you for that kind of guy. I’ll cut something out of Playgirl next time instead, Mr. Hargrove.” He knows what you’re implying and he doesn’t like it. 

“Get out of my goddamn classroom.” It’s not a request. You roll your eyes and stand up again, bending low to pick up your backpack. Billy can’t help but stare at your ass. After one tense, electrifying moment, he licks his lips and looks away. He must really need this job; it's the most restraint you've ever witnessed from him. 

You get your car keys from your purse and he stops you right as you’re crossing the threshold into the hallway. 

“I didn’t say you could go home, did I?” You spin on your heel. 

“Well then where the hell am I supposed to go?” You’re standing there in that tiny denim skirt and cropped shirt, giving him a pouty innocent look that’s designed to drive him crazy. His eyes darken and your breath catches in your throat. 

“Classroom 302, down the hall. You’re gonna write lines again; same thing as last time, but you’ll do a hundred. Then you’ll read your chapter out loud to yourself, since you like to hear your own damn voice so much.” You turn again and he stops you once more. “I’ll be in there to check your work, so don’t fuck around.” Your thighs clench before you can take another step. 

“Yes, sir.” You just can’t help it, can’t leave well enough alone. 

“Go before I think of something worse,” he warns.

You’re on your sixtieth “I will not be a mouthy little slut” when you hear the classroom door click shut behind you. You shiver, but you don’t stop – not even when you hear the lock slide into place. 

He just watches you for a while. The only sounds are the low buzz of the lights overhead and the scratching of chalk against the blackboard. On line eighty, he finally speaks. 

“You think you’re real cute, huh?” When you don’t answer, he scoffs. “What – nothing to say now? I’m almost disappointed.” You continue on with your silent defiance until you hear him shift, his boots striding heavy across the floor. Before you have time to turn around fully, his hand is in your hair, yanking your head back. You whimper and he grins down at you. 

“I ought to fail you for being such a tease,” he says. “I could. No one would give a fuck except for you and your parents when you have to repeat senior year. I could make your life a living hell. You want that?” 

You start to shake your head, but he holds it in place with another tug of your hair. 

“Nah, baby, go ahead and use that title you love so much for me.” You clench your jaw so hard you hear it crack, but you release before he decides to make it really hurt. 

“No, sir.” 

“That’s what I fucking thought.” Billy releases your hair fast enough to make you stumble; he laughs. “No, you don’t want to fail. I think you want to be a good girl, don’t you?” He uses a mockingly sympathetic tone that makes you blush. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Yeah… but your smart mouth just flies open before you can stop it, am I right?” He towers over you, stepping closer now. 

You nod, casting your eyes down. “Yes, sir.” 

“Seems to me,” he says, tipping your chin up with two thick fingers, “that you need some help shutting up before you get yourself into real trouble, sweetheart.” Your breath catches in your throat. “I know one way I can help. Wanna hear it?” You glance down again and your eyes land on the outline of his dick straining against his jeans. It makes your stomach flip. “Well?” he says impatiently. “Speak up.” 

“Y-yes, sir,” you reply in a small voice. 

“Good.” He leans in and speaks low in your ear again, making you shiver. “I think… your mouth can’t get you in trouble if it’s stuffed full of cock.” You gasp and your legs tremble. For once, you really don’t have anything to say. 

“Genius, isn’t it?” he murmurs. “Simple and effective. And it counts as extra credit, which if I recall correctly… you desperately need.” You try to look down again and he grabs your jaw between his fingers. “I can’t fucking hear you.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“That’s what I thought.” You hear the unmistakable clink of his belt buckle opening, followed by the zip of his fly. “Get on your knees and open that pretty mouth for me.” You slowly lower yourself to the ground in front of him, your heart frantically beating against your ribcage. 

Is this really fucking happening? 

Billy frees himself from his boxers and your eyes go wide. You’d heard stories, but nothing could’ve prepared you for how huge it is. You’re even more nervous than you were a minute ago; you’re not new to oral, but you’ve never taken anything this big. As if reading your mind, he smirks down at you, smug and proud.

“Ten inches, five around. Hope your gag reflex is under control, gorgeous; you’re taking it all, or you’re getting an Incomplete for the day.” You don’t dare close your mouth while he taunts you, and you’re drooling, saliva trailing from your lip to your breasts. 

“Fuck, that’s a good start,” he groans. “Open wider.” 

You obey and he pushes his hips forward. Just when the tip touches your lips, he turns and smacks your cheek with it. You blink, startled; no one’s ever done something so degrading to you before. 

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” he taunts, tapping it against your face again. 

“You… hit me with it,” you murmur, your cheeks flushing pink. 

“Yeah? How did it make you feel?” He tilts his head like he genuinely wants your answer.

“Um… how do you think I fe–” He waits until your mouth is open again and shoves it in. You choke and cry out. 

“Don’t fucking care.” 

You should’ve known better; nothing with Billy was ever what it seemed. His unpredictability and wild streak were what attracted you in the first place when you were just a sophomore and he was the cool senior. You scramble to get yourself under control, bracing your hands against his thighs while you try to breathe through your nose.

“Fuck, that’s so much better,” he grunts. “Finally, some goddamn peace and quiet.” He thrusts in deeper. You gag and he moans again. “Oh, fuuuck yeah. Take it all, I know you can.” To your relief, he pulls back, but he barely gives you a second to breathe before tangling his hand in your hair and pushing you forward onto it again. You gag harder, and you’re grateful you didn’t eat today. 

Billy moves you faster along his length now, fucking your throat. You can feel it twitch inside with every thrust. Embarrassing little noises burst out of you against your will, and tears form at the corners of your eyes. All the while, he never shuts up. 

“My turn to – mm, fuck – talk now, baby,” he pants. “Gotta warn you: if you cry, it only makes me harder.” You can’t help it, and he knows that. When the tears do spill over, he grunts in satisfaction and holds your head still while he pistons his hips against your mouth. Your fingernails sink into the denim and you gag and choke and whimper. “Too much?” He looks down at your face. “Yeah?” He fake pouts and laughs. “Fuck yeah, it is, and you’re taking it like a champ.” Despite yourself, his praise makes you moan. 

“Oh, she fuckin’ likes that,” he says through gritted teeth. He’s practically humping your face and you struggle to breathe. “Such a good, quiet, filthy little whore for me. So ambitious.” You whine and your fingers slide down to touch yourself. He stops moving, his cock still as deep as it can go. You gag and swallow around it. 

“Did I – fuck, sweetheart, try not to do that when I’m saying something important, yeah? – did I say you could play with your pussy?” 

“Nn-nn,” is the only sound you can get out. 

“Damn right. Put your hands behind your back or everything you’ve done is gonna be for nothing.” You don’t need to be told twice. You clasp your arms behind you and he resumes with no warning, no warm-up. 

You’re sobbing with strings of saliva dripping down your chin and mascara running in rivulets down your face. You don’t know how long it’s been, but no matter how much you hollow your cheeks or moan or swallow, he doesn’t say he’s getting any closer. No, he’s just grunting and growling and hissing through his teeth. 

“Goddamn, baby,” he grits out. “Gonna keep you in here all summer.” The thought of him using you like this everyday has your cunt clenching around nothing. You feel your core tighten and you shake. You gasp around him when your orgasm hits and his rhythm falters. “Did you just — did you just cum from being used like a fucking fleshlight?" he asks, incredulous.

That’s what finally tips him over the edge. 

When he lets go, he doesn’t give you the option to spit or swallow – he just spills into you, hot and salty and so much. 

Billy pulls out and leans back against a desk, catching his breath right alongside you. 

You slipped into your makeshift bed on the living room couch, freshly showered and feeling a little better. Warmer. Your chest still felt tight from the anxieties the night had brought, but all the possibilities of life were starting to bloom in your imagination. You could get your own apartment. You could decorate to your heart's content and leave a nightlight on or fall asleep to music if you wanted. You could sit around and do nothing on a Saturday afternoon without guilt. Concerts, spontaneous dinners out, all the movie marathons you wanted without a single person to grumble or lecture you about your choices!

But that was its own problem: without a single person…

Never in your life had you been without company in your home. You'd never had to sit in silence with yourself for long stretches of time, and imagining that put a pit of dread in your stomach. One step at a time, you reminded yourself.

You needed a distraction from your spiraling thoughts. You needed something to latch onto.

Billy.

His soft snores were muffled by his closed bedroom door and you wondered again how you got here. The Billy you'd known would never have lifted a finger to help you unless he wanted to get in your pants. Your anxiety flared again.

What if that's exactly what he wants and you fell for it? the tiny voice in your head whispered.

If that's what his goal was, don't you think he'd be out here right now pushing for sex? You warred with yourself. There was no way he'd be patient enough to play the long con, right?

But he was patient, wasn't he? The voice had a good point. Maybe he knew you'd run if he came on too strong. Maybe he's waiting until you feel safe. After all, you both know you'd let him in eventually, wouldn't you?

Your cheeks flushed, and your jaw clenched stubbornly. You wanted to deny it, to say you weren't that type of girl. But what would be the point of lying to yourself? The way your eyes wandered over him tonight in the phone booth and how you swooned when he got closer told a different story than the one you wanted to believe. You'd give him anything he wanted for saving you from that miserable purgatory. Maybe you should've felt ashamed, but you'd emotionally checked out on Danny a long time ago. It was only now that you could admit it. You rubbed your hands over your face in agitation. All you wanted to do was sleep; instead, you were thinking about jumping into something with a man you didn't know anymore. And if you were being realistic, you knew he wouldn't need to trick you into bed and so did he. Your inner voice was wrong — maybe Billy just wasn't into you like that. Why was it so hard to accept that his intentions were pure?

It felt like you'd been staring at the popcorn ceiling forever when the rain started again, pounding the tin roof of the trailer. It vanquished the oppressive quiet so you could finally relax. There was a soft echo in your head just before sleep pulled you under:

"It ain't much, but it's mine. Yours now, too, I guess."

Bare feet slapped against hot pavement, the summer sun beating down on Hawkins. It was scorching outside, and your mother had forgotten to bring sunscreen. You were busy chasing your bratty cousin; you'd been charged with watching him at the Fourth of July Bash the town held every year. There was a deep misery in you. If you lost him (and he was trying very hard to lose you), your ass was grass.

Later, mom was apologizing to you and the doctor for her carelessness. The office was cold, clean, and bright — so different from home.

"She has second degree burns. I'll give you a prescription for medicated cream, and you should consider keeping any fabric off the blisters." Your eyes were glued to one the size of a golf ball on your shoulder. When you peered up at the doc, you saw that his eyes were hard as steel. He was mad.

A hot bath because mom believed hot water drew burns out of your skin. She'd always get confused like that; it was cold water that helped burns, you wanted to tell her, but she wouldn't listen even if you did. What did an eight-year-old know, anyway?

Unbearable fucking pain. You cried but she just said, "I'm sorry, baby, it only hurts for a little bit. I promise." Staring straight ahead as she submerged your shoulders, reciting a poem in your head to distance yourself from the agony.

Years later, no longer under her care. Your skin was too red and hot to the touch; you'd forgotten to put on sunscreen at the beach.

"You really should've been more careful." Danny's voice this time. You always showered together but when it was your turn under the spray, this time you turned the faucet to cool down the water. He grumbled because some of the cold droplets splashed his skin in little flecks.

"I'm sorry." Your hand stretched toward the faucet, turning it hot again.

You stared straight ahead, zoning out. The pain dulled; it was easy if you knew how.

Bacon and eggs…bacon and eggs???

You blinked awake, groggy and disoriented. Panic set in when you registered unfamiliar pine-paneled walls and a clock adorned with seashells hanging next to an Alice in Chains poster. This wasn't home…then it all came crashing back. You'd left. Billy fucking Hargrove had taken you in, of all people. And now he was…making breakfast?

You padded into the kitchen on bare feet. The linoleum floor was chilly and you grimaced as you realized — right, no central heating. Not like you were about to complain, though. His back was to you as he reached into a cabinet and pulled down two plates with one hand, still flipping bacon with the other. You drew your legs to your chest in your chair at the tiny Formica table to get your toes off the icy floor while you watched him, chin propped on your knees.

"Don't get used to it," he warned without turning around. His voice was still raspy and deep from sleep. "Your stomach was growling so loud I heard it over the rain." Your heart sank; you'd made too much noise already. It was probably annoying. Not again…

"I'm sorry," you mumbled.

Billy's head turned, and the easy smile you didn't even know he'd been wearing faded. "The hell are you sorry for, huh? Being hungry?" Your face heated with embarrassment. Now you'd killed the mood. Great. Before you could stammer out another apology for being sorry in the first place — ridiculous — he set the food down on the table and dropped into the seat across from you. "Eat." Not wanting to seem ungrateful, you took a tentative bite. It was hard to fuck up bacon and eggs, but you couldn't quite trust Billy's cooking yet. Nothing about him screamed "domestic."

It was…good. He must've seen the shock on your face; he snorted and shook his head. "I'm not gonna poison you or anything. Have a little faith, won't you?" You opened your mouth to speak. "If the word 'sorry' is about to come out, save it." It snapped shut again. You glanced up at him through your lashes, guilty. He snickered. "Predictable."

"Hey!" you said, smiling despite yourself, "I'm still adjusting, alright? The last time I saw you, you were doing keg-stands and acting like the Terminator. You weren't—" you gestured at him— "like this! It's beyond freaky."

"Yeah?" he retorted. "Last time I saw you, you were giving a boring ass speech at graduation, looking like a dorky owl with those thick glasses." He made huge circles around his eyes with his fingers and you playfully flipped him the bird. "Seriously, I thought you were going to Harvard or something, and now you're…here." He gestured back at you, to his table that wobbled if you so much as looked at it wrong. "It's an adjustment for both of us, sweetheart." The laughter bubbled up from your throat before you could control it.

"Harvard?! You thought I was Ivy League material?"

"Yeah, I do, and so did those recruiters you were talking to at the College Fair." That caught you off guard; he'd been paying attention. "So why didn't you go?" There was no trace of sarcasm in his voice, just real curiosity.

"Isn't it obvious?" His furrowed brow told you he didn't think so. "I chose love over school. It seemed like a romantic notion at the time…" Your skin crawled; you felt exposed and like you were ruining the morning with your stupid, tragic life. You needed to lighten the tension. "Besides, I couldn't afford Harvard anyway. You kidding me? Harrington couldn't afford it."

"Harrington is also an idiot," Billy remarked matter-of-factly. "You're not." He paused. "Well, maybe…I mean, skipping college for Danny Larson?" He smirked and rolled his eyes. "Talk about love making you blind." You gave him a mock glare and picked your fork back up, brandishing it at him like a weapon.

"Says the guy who fucked Kelly Daniels. She looked like a clown!"

"A sexy one." He was unbothered by your teasing. You arched a brow at him.

"You got some sort of clown fetish, weirdo?"

"Nah, but you might. Danny fuckin' Larson…" he repeated, grinning smugly.

"Fair enough."

You bantered back and forth like that until he looked down at his watch and swore. "Shit, I gotta go. I'm gonna be late for work." You tried to shove down the disappointment you felt. It was Saturday; you didn't think he'd have to go anywhere.

Billy seemed to catch it in your expression. "I'm not your fancy office boy, princess. Garage doesn't close for weekends like the stock market." He polished off the rest of his food and slung his jacket over his shoulders. Before he left, he turned back to you, pausing on the steps to poke his head back in.

"Don't burn the house down while I'm gone." He winked and bounded down the steps, shutting the door behind him. The screen followed a couple of seconds later with a hollow bang.

Now what?

The first order of business was washing the dishes. He never asked you to do it, but you figured it would keep your mind busy and it'd be one way to prove you weren't the lazy slob Danny accused you of being. Billy had a small radio in the kitchen and you turned it on while you worked, humming along to The Cranberries. The local alternative station spurred you on as you went through the rooms, dusting and sweeping and folding up your blankets to make the couch inhabitable. You found some supplies under the sink and scrubbed the bathroom down, though it really didn't need much maintenance. It was surprising how neat he kept the place.

So many things about him weren't what they seemed.

Before you knew it, the trailer was nearly spotless. It was then that you realized the chores had only seemed so insurmountable before because you had someone breathing down your neck, waiting for you to slip up so he could pound your spirit into the dirt. You wanted to do it now.

The only room you hadn't explored by noon was Billy's bedroom. You knew he said this was your place, too, but it still felt like you'd be crossing a line… no matter how goddamn badly you wanted to know what it looked like. You wondered what kind of posters he had in there. What kind of blankets he slept under, if they were the scratchy wool kind or something soft like a thick, padded quilt. If he read before bed and what book you might find on his nightstand. Twenty-four hours ago, you'd have said no way he read at all, but you weren't so sure anymore.

The way he spoke to you over breakfast — the breakfast he made for you — made you feel more confused. You could chalk it up to him being a good host, but the two of you had settled into such a comfortable rhythm, like you'd been friends forever instead of practically strangers until last night. Then again, you couldn't exactly trust your own judgment; you were rusty when it came to making friends. Danny had isolated you in your time together. He always found something he didn't like about the people you loved. He bitched about them behind their backs until it was less of a hassle just to stay home. Billy was probably just being a good person. It'd be awkward to share a place with someone and act cold and distant — it was in your best interests to get along.

The more you thought about it, the more convinced you became that you were making a big deal out of nothing. For one thing, he was way out of your league, trailer or not. He could still have anyone he wanted; time only served to make him more handsome. And he still remembered you as the dorky chick with the thick glasses and a bad perm. That was depressing. You sighed and tried to push the thoughts away, but there wasn't enough busywork in the world to distract you from the enigma that was Billy Hargrove. That didn't stop you from trying, though.

Desperate, you searched the place for more to do. Once the laundry you found in the bathroom hamper was in the washing machine and the kitchen counters were gleaming, you'd killed…another half hour. You dragged your hands down your face. Goddamnit.

You’d saved up for the past year to afford to pay your share of the cabin the gang was renting over Christmas. One weekend in the Smoky Mountains – it wasn’t the height of luxury, but it was six hours from Hawkins. After the year you’d all had, you needed the escape. 

Just you, Nancy, Robin, Vickie, and Steve – one big dysfunctional family. That’s what you thought you signed up for, so it pissed you off when everyone but Nancy bailed. Steve had some Dustin emergency to tend to, and Robin didn’t want to leave him to deal with it by himself. And, of course, Vickie went everywhere Robin did.  "It's supposed to snow pretty heavy, too," they'd said.

“Isn’t the entire point of this trip to get away from the drama and neverending horrors?" you huffed, slinging your duffel bag in Nancy’s station wagon. "And who doesn't want to see snow on Christmas?” You didn’t care if there was a fucking blizzard; you would rather be stuck in the mountains than around the dinner table with people trying to pretend everything was normal. Or worse – breaking down like Joyce did over Bob, sobbing into the mashed potatoes. 

Nancy was quiet, loading the car with far more suitcases than was necessary. She pursed her lips, and her brow furrowed like it always did when she was trying to find the words to say something difficult. 

“It’s just that… Well, Dustin was hit harder than anyone by this, and he doesn’t have another adult male figure in his life,” she said quietly. “Not anymore.” 

Shit. 

“Nance,” you said, sliding into the passenger seat, “it’s not that I don’t care about the kid. I just wish–” Your eyes stung with unshed tears. “I wish he’d stop haunting me.” Eddie was your best friend, and no one could stop talking about what a hero he was. The same town that formed a witch hunt against him, the fucking reason he died, was now insisting he was a saint. He would’ve laughed in their faces. 

Nancy didn’t say another word about it, but she did give your leg a comforting squeeze before backing out of the driveway. The warmth from her fingers on your thigh lingered long after she’d taken her hand away. 

The cabin was warm, cozy, and more spacious than you expected. The glow of the flames in the fireplace made the pine paneled walls shine, and the mountains themselves were picturesque. You weren’t the type of person who tended to stare in awe of nature, but Nancy was. You found yourself watching her instead. A grin lit up her face when you stood on the balcony together and looked out over the horizon. 

“I’m glad we still decided to come,” she murmured, her delicate fingers clutching the railing. “I hope I remembered to pack the camera.” While she rushed inside to rummage around in one of her many pieces of luggage, you allowed yourself a moment of weakness. A couple of tears slipped down your cheek and you wiped them away hastily. The chill December air bit into your damp skin and brought you back to the present, just in time for her to saunter back out. 

“Smile!” Nancy said, clicking the shutter on her Polaroid camera before you could react. She couldn’t help but crack up when the photo developed and revealed you standing there in front of that gorgeous view, scowling. She recreated it – tried, anyway. Just before you snapped the picture, she burst into peals of laughter. The contrast was ridiculous. One deadpan, the other laughing so hard she was blurry. The corners of your mouth twitched up into what almost  passed for a smirk; she was impressed. 

“Well, well – looks like the infamous (y/n) isn’t unbreakable after all.” That earned her another scathing look but you didn’t really mean it. You just knew that if you did anything else, you might confide in her that you’d already been broken for a while. 

“C’mon, Nance, don’t waste any more film on me.” You headed inside before she could argue. 

Although the two of you made a valiant effort at small talk, you eventually ran out of things to say. Nancy brought board games, which might’ve been a real icebreaker, but none of them were meant for two. Nothing on this trip was. The cabin slept six people and the walls seemed to echo in a lonely way. It’s not that you two had never spoken in depth about anything before, but you’d never been alone together. It created a funny sort of tension you couldn’t shake. 

She busied herself with unpacking her things in the bedroom closest to the den while you searched through the tapes stacked next to the stereo. Most of them were lame, but Nancy loved sappy romantic ballads even though she pretended not to. You decided on some compilation, a mixtape titled “Honeymooners.” 

Gods above. Could it get any cornier?

You shook your head and smiled before popping it in. When you turned back around, Nancy was watching from the doorway. Both of you turned away at the same time. “I was just–”

“Yeah, music is a good–” 

The dam broke, and you laughed for the first time in months. It surprised you and you choked on your own breath, earning more giggles from Nancy. Suddenly, the cabin didn’t feel quite as empty as it had when you arrived. 

You watched a movie together after dinner – It’s A Wonderful Life. Nancy was watching with a thoughtful look on her face; you were just trying to make it through without thinking of Eddie too much. It’s not that he’d have liked the movie – he would’ve gagged at the mere thought of sitting through it. But it got to you when the guy’s guardian angel showed him how much worse life would be for everyone without him. 

“Hey. We can turn it off if you want,” Nancy said softly. You didn’t realize she’d been watching you, that she’d notice anything was off even if she looked. When you didn’t respond, she pressed the power button and stood up, smoothing down her pajamas like she was headed somewhere important. That was her – polished and pretty no matter what. During the battle against Vecna, she was the only one still wearing makeup. 

“C’mon, let’s see if it’s snowing yet.” She reached for your hand; you hesitated. “I don’t bite.” She flashed that perfect smile again and it was like gravity, pulling you into her orbit. You reached out. 

Just as your fingers touched, the lights flickered. Your hands clasped tightly; Nancy was shaking. Someone else may not have known. Someone from her college would probably think she was just afraid of the dark…but you knew. You remembered the way the lights flickered and burst all over town just before the rift opened in the ground and swallowed people up like a monstrous maw. The electricity going haywire meant one thing in Hawkins – evil was near. 

“Hey, it’s probably just the weather,” you whispered, squeezing her hand gently. Your words soothed her, and her fingers were steadier laced with yours. She nodded and took a deep breath. 

“Right. It has to be. It has to.” You knew she was trying hard to convince herself. In truth, you had to see it for yourself to keep your own rising panic at bay. Hand in hand, you made your way to the window. 

Nancy breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the fluffy white flakes drifting down. It must have been happening for a while; the balcony was already blanketed with a thick layer of snow. 

“Shit.” There was a new sort of danger to contend with. Mother Nature wasn’t Vecna; She was a lot scarier. “Do you think we’ll get trapped here?” you asked. Nancy’s brow creased again and she chewed on her lip, a nervous habit. 

“If we do, at least we have plenty of food and wood for the fire.” Her features smoothed back out and she perked up. There was an undercurrent of anxiety she couldn’t hide, though. You were both still spooked and jumpy. Someone had to break the spell.

Her cheeks were flushed pink from the wine you brought and the heat of the fireplace, and you could see hints of copper in her hair you’d never noticed before. The power died about two hours before, only a few minutes after the flickering began. 

“So, (y/n),” Nancy started. “Truth or dare?” 

“Um, dare.” The truth was the last thing you wanted to talk about. It would spoil the moment. “Am I gonna regret this?” you groaned, sliding your hand down your face. If you didn’t pretend to be apprehensive, she’d notice something was off again. 

“I dare you to, hmm…oh, I know! I dare you to kiss that mounted bear head,” she said. She giggled and hiccupped – and with that adorable display, how could you say no? Besides, it was way safer territory. 

“Poor guy was probably just trying to find berries and now he’s being kissed by a drunk idiot.” You gave the big dusty thing a smooch right on the nose and patted its head. You wiped your mouth and made a face. “That thing is musty and disgusting. I was very brave for that, you know.” Nancy snorted and rolled her eyes. 

“Like you haven’t kissed worse,” she quipped. 

You went quiet and still. For once, Nancy didn’t pick up on it. She was tipsy and in a much better mood than she’d been when she was shaking and pale in the dark. “I mean, you’ve gotta admit it. There have been times where Eddie’s been mustier than the bear.” She laughed and covered her hand with her mouth. “Sorry, that was mean.” 

“I…Nance, I’ve never–”

She sobered quickly. “Oh. You never kissed Eddie? I’m sorry, you guys were just so close. I thought…God, I’m an idiot.” 

“No. I mean…I’ve never kissed anyone,” you mumbled. Your cheeks burned and you curled in on yourself. It was just one of many milestones you’d never experienced, and you’d only ever told Eddie why. 

Her lips parted and she stammered. “Wh-what? I mean – you don’t – there’s no way – I mean, come on–” “Yeah, well, the dating pool isn’t exactly teeming with people I can kiss in Hawkins,” you scoffed. You weren’t thinking. The words just rushed out, embarrassed and prideful. The last thing you wanted was Nancy pitying or humoring you. 

“Sure there are!” she said, still oblivious. “I mean, maybe you were just too busy to notice,” she said, searching for anything encouraging to give you. 

“Can we just drop it?” Your voice came out harsher than you meant it to, and you instantly regretted it. Nancy’s face fell and she cast her eyes down at the floor. Your heart sank and you scrambled to make up for it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap like that. I just… it’s complicated, okay?” 

She didn’t say anything. Each second that ticked by made you feel worse. You were tired of everything coming back to the one person whose absence felt like a hole punched through your chest… the ghost you left the state to escape – and you only lashed out because you were terrified to tell her the truth. It wasn’t her fault. 

Fucking idiot. What’s your problem? It’s Nancy! 

That’s the problem, though, isn’t it? It’s her. 

Your brain was at war with your heart, and it was maddening to just sit there and see that wounded look on her face. You felt frozen and helpless. That’s when a memory floated to the surface, unbidden. 

Eddie stood in the kitchen nursing a beer while you lounged on the threadbare couch pillows. You stared at the ceiling and noticed a small water stain beginning to form. You’d have to do something about that before it got worse. 

“You know you can tell her, right?” he said, crossing one lanky leg over the other. 

“Tell her what?” You played dumb, because of course you did. He snorted, set the bottle on the counter, and flopped onto your legs like a jackass.

“You know what, asshole. That you like her. I may not be the brightest bat in the cave, but I’d have to be braindead not to notice the way you stare at her.” You glared at him, but you were blushing. That goofy, crooked grin spread across his face and he pointed in your face. “Aha! I knew it. You like Nancy Wheeler. You wanna kiss Little Miss Prom Queen!” 

You sat up and punched him in the arm. 

“Ow! Okay, okay, you hate her! She’s the worst and you wanna puke when you think about her! Happy?” You glared again and crossed your arms over your chest. 

“Jerk.”  

Eddie’s smile returned and he waggled his eyebrows. “Yeah, but you love me.” 

“Keep dreaming, Munson.” 

“Truth or dare?” Nancy asked in a low voice, pulling you out of the past. It was a test and you knew it. 

“Truth.” Your heart was pounding against your ribcage and it was like you couldn’t breathe. She nodded. It was what she was hoping to hear. 

“What’s so complicated about never having been kissed?” she asked. She looked up and held eye contact, refusing to back off. Nancy wasn’t the type of person who’d budge after she made up her mind to ask the hard questions. That’s what made her such a good journalist. 

You thought about Robin and Vickie and how she never once judged them. They’d kissed in front of the whole group lots of times. It was safe to tell her. She didn’t need to know everything, but you could give her most of the truth. 

“Nance…I’m a lesbian.” 

She opened her mouth to speak and then snapped it shut again. She tried again. “So, um, like Robin?” You nodded and tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. There was nothing you could think of to say in reply that didn’t make you want to hurl yourself off the balcony. 

“Oh,” she whispered. “I see.” You squeezed your eyes shut. There were so many questions bouncing around in your mind; it was hard to concentrate. 

Does she think I’m creepy for agreeing to be alone with her now? Does she think I’m trying to hit on her? You knew your thoughts were ridiculous but you couldn’t shut them off. Your body rocked back and forth with anxiety. 

You smelled her perfume before you saw her. It was sweet and comforting. You recognized it as the one in the teddy bear decanter Steve had gotten her for her birthday years ago. When her fingers lightly traced down your arm, your eyelids fluttered open. The path she drew tingled pleasantly; you shivered and she leaned in. 

“(Y/n?)” she murmured. “It’s your turn to ask me.” You felt the warmth of her breath fan across your cheek. 

I have to be dreaming. This doesn’t make any goddamn sense! You felt like you were losing your mind. You pinched yourself just to be certain – sure enough, she was still sitting there, staring at you expectantly. 

You had to clear your throat before you could get the words out. 

“Truth…or dare?” you asked, your voice shaky. She didn’t answer at first; she just gazed at you with heavy-lidded eyes and a lazy smile. 

“Dare.” The entire world seemed to hold its breath. If you were wrong… you didn’t even want to think about the consequences. 

“I dare you t-to, um–” 

Before you could get the words out, she grabbed your face in her hands and kissed you. Her lips were full, soft, and sweet like strawberries and wine. It was tentative but not unsure. You melted into it with a small surprised gasp. The two of you broke away with sticky, glossy mouths and red faces. 

“That was–” you breathed, dazed. She didn’t give you much time to recover.  

“Come here.” Nancy pulled you into her lap with a brilliant grin. One hand tangled in your hair, and the other splayed across your lower back; your lips met again. You looped your arms over her shoulders and clutched at the back of her shirt. She was warm – always so warm. Everyone made it seem like first kisses were awkward and clumsy, but with her it felt as natural as breathing. It wasn’t something you expected from her; she had more experience than she let on. It showed in every kiss, every touch. 

Her tongue swiped over your bottom lip and you parted them for her. An involuntary moan slipped out and she giggled without breaking the kiss. The only other sounds in the cabin were heavy breathing, the crackle of burning logs, and fingers brushing over fabric. Every touch was intense and the heat between the two of you rose to a fever pitch. 

Nancy broke the kiss and you whimpered. 

“Relax,” she said with a soft laugh. “I just wanted to ask you a question.” You looked up at her, confused and struggling to catch your breath. “Truth or dare?” she said. 

“Uh, dare?” 

“I dare you to take off your shirt.” 

You didn’t need further encouragement. “Yes ma’am.” 

You woke to the smell of something sweet sizzling on a griddle. The power must’ve come back on in the middle of the night. The rug underneath you was soft, and you were covered with a fluffy quilt you didn’t remember putting on. It was her. Of course it was. 

You padded to the kitchen with bleary eyes and the quilt wrapped around your bare skin like a dress. 

Nancy was standing there looking poised as ever, one hand on her hip while she flipped pancakes with the other. She was humming something to herself; you thought it might be some old love song, one of the sap-fests she loved so much. You leaned against the doorframe for a while, watching her, wondering if she understood how beautiful she was – in every light, with or without makeup, in fancy clothes or none at all, she was captivating. Thinking about the curves of her body in the soft orange glow of the fire made you blush again. All you wanted was to go to her and kiss her again, but you hesitated… What if she didn’t want it anymore? 

Don’t overthink it, dumbass. Eddie was in your head again, and for once, you took his advice. You crossed the kitchen and kissed her cheek, enveloping her in your quilt. 

“Merry Christmas, sleepyhead,” she said, nuzzling her nose against yours.

You’d never been more grateful to be haunted.