eddie said reblog what you read!

After he finishes untying his boots, you take his hand in yours and lead him down the hall to your small bathroom where you busy yourself with running him a bubble bath. Your boyfriend works hard and never allows himself any time for little luxuries, so you like to indulge him whenever you get the chance. Sometimes he pretends to grumble about it and says he doesn’t need all the fuss, but he always goes along with it in the end—you know he secretly loves it when you spoil him.

While the tub is filling, you pick out some fluffy towels and squeeze a few dollops of your favorite soap under the warm running water. Then with a soft kiss to his lips you pull down the zipper of his coveralls as the room fills with the sweet scent of the bubbles.

Once you’ve helped him out of his soiled clothes, he lowers himself into the water with a groan of relief. Meanwhile your eyes drink in the sight of his body, defined by soft muscle and the little extra bulk he’s built up over years of working at the garage. He turns his head and watches with a dopey smile as you strip off your clothing piece by piece then move to join him—there’s not much extra room but you manage to squeeze in behind him.

Then you gently scrub him clean with your loofa and your hands, washing away all the sweat and grime of the workday from his skin, massaging some of your shampoo through his long, curly hair. As your nails scratch along his scalp, he swears under his breath that you’re an angel in disguise, each pass of your fingers sending tingling trails straight to his cock.

Once you’re finished you rinse away the suds, leaving tendrils of dark curls matted to his broad shoulders; the gold chain around his neck shining along with his water-slick skin.

“Now you’re all clean,” you sigh with satisfaction as you reach around his waist to grasp his thick cock in your hand, the already hard length stiffening even more beneath your touch. He’s slippery from the water and bubbles so your palm glides up and down his shaft with ease. With each stroke you can feel his low rumbly moans vibrating against your chest and you press soft kisses to the side of his neck, your breasts squishing into his back as its muscles flex.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, gripping the side of the tub and breathing heavy, stomach and thighs tensing as he starts to throb in your hand. “M’gonna cum.”

And just like promised he cums a few strokes later, gasping as warm ropes paint your hand and his chest and stomach.

“Oh-oh,” you purr in his ear as he shivers from the aftershocks of his pleasure, his soft whimpers making you smile. “Looks like we’re going to have to clean you up all over again.”

this is my first time posting on here so please be nice ❤︎₊ ⊹

“Please. You really do not need to follow me to the doorstep of my own club, which you are not invited to!” Dustin exasperated, arms flailing as you wrapped your arm around his shoulders and brought him in for a quick noogie.

“No can do. Mama's orders, Dusty! After the stunt you pulled in Summer, all eyes are locked in on you." You let Dustin go as he mumbled under his breath and fixed his perfectly stiff hair, "Plus, I haven't been able to babysit you since the Halloween of '81."

“I don't need a babysitter. I'm fifteen! Do you hear that? Teen!" You raised a brow at your brother, "Teenager!"

You simply shrugged, "You're on the younger side of the spectrum of the 'teenage years'. One day; you'll miss me."

Dustin grumbled and adjusted his Hellfire shirt. He was hoping for a cooler entrance, maybe by himself, so everyone could comment on his slick hair or the way he's styled out his outfit with his shoes. Dustin had cursed himself for creating such a noise in the bathroom with the clattering hairspray that alerted his mom, who was overly obsessed with his movements, that he was caught red-handed preparing himself to leave the Henderson household without an escort.

Then came his sister. You, who was nonchalant about nipping at his heels as he made way to the Hellfire Club. You were already on your way out to meet some friends, your hair perfectly styled and outfit curated, you assured your mom that you would be the knight in shining armour guiding your little brother to his destination.

Side-eyeing you, Dustin could only imagine the comments he would receive of his overtly embarrassing sister. It was funny, you see, they were doomed from day one, being apart of a D&D club.

However, there seemed to be a creation of hierarchy in Dustin Henderson's head. At the top of the food chain, were the basketball leagues along with their cheerleaders. Then came the party-goers who would amount to nothing but would throw parties to be spoken about for years to come. Then there were the science dudes, the musicians, the mathematical nerds, Hellfire Club, everybody else and then you: his big, openly adoring sister.

Maybe it was a slight exaggeration on Dustin's part, but he had to live with you! He had watched you try fish out your burnt toast with a fork, he has heard the sprinting down the hallway — multiple times! — when you had forgotten that you were running a bath. Your mother called it his pre-pubescent hormones which lead to him being embarrassed by everything and everyone he later on would regret pushing away.

It wasn't pushing away. Dustin had a credibility with this club. Their image was Hellfire, emphasis on the Hell part, and, shit, you were far from Hell or fire.

“You can stop walking me now.” Dustin pleaded as the doorway to the club came into view. He watched as Eddie Munson exited with a puff of smoke following him. Oh shit, this is going to be so embarrassing. Dustin looked to you, “You can seriously go!”

“Uh huh. Not a chance, Dusty. Mama said to the entrance.” You looked over to the male with one hand in his jean pocket, his eyes narrowed as two figures approached him. “Do you have a man-child friend?”

Dustin gritted his teeth, “No—”

“He is definitely not your within your age range of friends and he's smoking!” Dustin pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes as you made state of the obvious observations on Eddie Munson. You weren’t against smoking, well, because you smoked—socially—smoked. “You ever heard of secondhand smoke? You have baby lungs.”

“Oh my god.” Dustin grimaced as he came face to face with Eddie who had flicked his cigarette butt to the side. “Hey, Eddie.”

Eddie's gaze was solely upon Dustin’s sister. His lips slightly parted before closing again and taking a gulp. Dustin's brows furrowed as Eddie began gawping like a fish.

Eddie stared at you with wide brown eyes, “H–Eh, Hello.”

“Hi.” You stared back at Eddie just as hard. “I'm Dustin's sister.”

“Huh.” Eddie puffed out, “Weird.” He tilted his head to the youngest Henderson — oh, we’re so going to have a chat — and continued, “Dustin never mentioned that he had a sister. I'm Eddie, by the way.”

Dustin huffed out, “There is good reason that I don't bring up my sister. Cause she will take any opportunity to do it herself.”

Eddie and you found yourselves staring at each other for a lingering second more, a smile creeping on each of your faces. Dustin looked between you and screwed up his face at the sight.

“OK. OK!” Dustin put his hands on Eddie's chest to push him, “This is just disgusting. That's my sister, MY SISTER! She is off limits to everybody within a 5 mile radius of Hawkins; that includes you Eddie!”

Complying to the forceful shoves from the younger boy, Eddie walked backwards, his eyes trained on you, Dustin Henderson’s secret sister, who waggled your fingers in a delicate wave that had him almost clambering over the younger kid and back over to you.

“I'll come pick you up later, Dusty bug!” You called out to your brother who was still forcefully pushing at Eddie's chest, “I love you! Don't do drugs!”

Things had been on a stable incline in regard to how well your life had been since you made the mighty decision to be your little brother’s — Dustin Henderson — chauffeur to his table top fantasy game that came with its very own Hellfire merch.

It was that serious.

Eddie Munson had become a staple in your day to day. A man who yearns, is a man that earns; in your humble opinion. And, boy, had Dustin’s beloved Dungeon Master put in some elbow grease to keep the continuity of your budding relationship alive with a steady heartbeat.

No, things weren’t official.

In fact, there hadn’t been a time in which Eddie and you had a genuine moment alone.

The little brother curse fogged the time spent ogling the Metalhead. You had always assured the extent of Hawkins, Indiana, that your little brother was smart beyond his years. The hidden Einstein amongst a rotten bunch.

Unfortunately, Dustin’s intelligence came to an abrupt stop when required to read a room. Or expressions. Or anything remotely involving scarce moments between you and Eddie.

Eddie had the patience of a saint. White-knuckled patience and a stoic expression whenever Dustin — unbeknownst to him, apparently — interrupted his intentional advances with you.

It was evident in those Bambi eyes.

He was desperate. The eyes never lie.

And how Eddie ailed the desperation? By smoking a fat joint in his trailer.

Discarded clothes stuffed against the gap between the door and the flooring, so his uncle — Wayne Munson — wouldn’t catch the scent of a bad habit, Eddie would bask in the thick film of marijuana, eyes bloodshot and staring at the ceiling for answers.

Tonight was no different.

Eddie found himself in the same position. One arm propped behind his head whilst he pinched the joint in his other hand.

He took a long drag, eyes narrowed in false concentration; and exhaled.

“Oh man.” Eddie mumbled. Eyes pinned to the ceiling. “I’m going to call her.”

Her, as in you. The older Henderson sibling. The one that knocked the wind straight out of Eddie Munson’s lungs the first night that he discovered your existence. It was rare, that feeling that spread across his chest like a blistering fire. He finally understood the idea of butterflies in his stomach; although, he’d referred to them as bats eating at his stomach to keep it metal.

Eddie Munson was in love. And after 30mg of weed smoked through his system…you weren’t safe from not hearing about it.

So, the call came to the house around midnight.

The Claudia Henderson Curfew since the disappearance — and reappearance — of Will Byers was put into full effect. Chain slotted across the door, the fine China cabinet pushed just enough to block the front door from intruders attempting to get in.

“It’s as if we have an unjust bounty on our heads.” Dustin had said when you both watched your mother make it near impossible to escape during a hypothetical fire.

You’d both be sent to your rooms by nine o’clock with a cup of water and a prayer to make it through the night.

There was no question why anxiety struck the Henderson family tree.

You were perched atop of your bed, a book half read in your hand. You had just cracked the spine in order to stop the fight of the book closing mid-read, when the muffled ringing from the hallway phone started to feed into your bedroom.

There were two phones in the house. One situated in the kitchen — the cable stretched far enough to the table — and one in the hallway. Usually for emergencies. Claudia Henderson would allow the lift of the ‘Bedroom Curfew’ if you picked up the phone for an emergency.

You slipped out of bed, sock clad feet padded against the carpet in your bedroom. Brows furrowed, you unlocked your door and peered into the hallway.

Looked like you were getting a pardon on the curfew.

You reached for the phone as you leant back on the heels of your feet to stare at your mom’s door.

Huh.

You propped the phone against your ear. “Hello?”

“Hey.” Oh. There he was. He dragged out the Y’s and the smile was immediate on your face. “It is I. The Dungeon Master of Hellfire.”

You turned your body to the wall to muffle your laugh, “Eddie, I told you there’s a curfew on phone calls.”

“Yet, you still answered.”

“You’re abusing your privilege.”

Eddie hummed, “Privileges are meant to be abused. Or broken.”

Having the Henderson Household phone number was not something you had given to Eddie Munson lightly. He jumped through multiple hoops to get it, met with dead ends and a devious — but fucking gorgeous — smile from you with a tap against your nose.

Eventually, Eddie had to result in scare tactics. Dustin Henderson was hung up by the straps of his backpack, feet dangled with loud protests at his deliriously horny friend.

“It’s a house number, Eddie! Not crack!” Dustin had squealed.

He was severely wrong and ended coughing up the digits — which Eddie wrote on the palm of his hand before kissing it with glee — on one condition: Don’t take advantage.

That was then, and this is now.

Eddie Munson refused to conform to boundaries put in place by a minor.

“Where are you?” You asked when you heard Eddie take a deep inhale.

Eddie narrowed his eyes and smiled, “Just staring at the ceiling in my trailer. It started looking like you after the second smoke.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mm. Beautiful.” Eddie blinked, “Rules my life.”

You twirled the cable around your index finger, “Huh. Sounds like an intense ceiling, Eddie. Can you handle that?”

That was one thing you undeniably excelled at…the Cat and Mouse game. Eddie being the Cat.

You heard the hitch in Eddie’s breath at your retaliation, the type of breath that wavered and had you grinning like an idiot at the floral patterns of the wallpaper your mom had thought twice about.

You’d give him a moment to gather his thoughts.

What he said next was not on your bingo card.

“What are you wearing?”

“Excuse me?”

Eddie sniffed, “Not like that.” He took another hit of his joint, “Hypothetically, if I turned up at your doorstep at—” He craned his neck to check his alarm clock, “Twelve o’clock at night. Would it be first date appropriate?”

You peered down at your mismatched pyjamas “Anything is technically first date appropriate.” You retorted.

“You’re in pyjamas.” Eddie stated for you.

“Yeah.” You drawled, “Your first date will just have to wait, Munson.”

As Eddie was going to explain, in great depth, about his plan for the reality of taking you out on a date, the phone crackled and a third person jumped into the call.

“Did no one listen to the Henderson Privilege Negotiation?”

“Hey, Dusty-bug.” Eddie sung.

“You literally cannot call me that, Eddie.” Dustin argued.

You sighed as they bickered, “Dustin. What are you doing? It’s past bedroom curfew.”

“Bedroom curfew—?”

Dustin interrupted Eddie, “Same question goes to you. I was just in the kitchen getting some snacks for midnight. Then, I heard your dulcet tone in the hallway and knew you were fraternising with my Dungeon Master.”

“Shit, Henderson.” Eddie laughed loudly.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, “OK. Don’t use my words against me. Can you please hop off this call?”

“I happen to like third-wheeling. Ask Mike.”

It was Eddie’s turn to jump in. He spoke your name lowly, “So, what are you really wearing?”

“Mother of god.” Dustin gagged, “I’m hanging up. I’m hanging up!”

“See you at Hellfire, Dusty-bug.”

There was a click and Dustin’s line went quiet. You heard his footsteps behind you, phone still propped against your ear, you turned to the side to see your little brother shaking his head with an armful of snacks for the night.

With a roll of your eyes, you turned your back to him. “I gotta go, Eddie. Bedroom curfew is a big deal in the Henderson house. I’m overdue a lecture. Even at my age.”

“Alright. Go be abide by the rules, goody-two-shoes.” Eddie yawned into the back of his hand, “But, please, tell me what you’re really wearing before you go—”

“Goodbye, Eddie!”

Wayne looks unamused. “I’ve told you damn near a dozen times to get those pipes wrapped up, and they’re still not wrapped. If that weather guy from WSIL is right it’ll be dropping below freezing tonight, so—”

“So, you could say I’m getting to it not a moment too soon,” Eddie points out. 

You poke him again, and Eddie fakes a fall down onto the couch next to you. “What’s wrapping the pipes mean?” you ask them. 

“It’s just, like,” Eddie snuggles his shoulder up to yours, “swaddling the pipes under the trailer in blankets so they’re all warm and cozy.” 

“It’s so they don’t freeze,” Wayne corrects him severely. 

“I’ll get them done, okay? Promise.” Eddie touches two fingers to his brow. “Scout’s honor.” 

“That’s not even—” You sigh, rolling your eyes. “I’ll make sure we do them tonight, Mr. Munson.” 

Wayne’s weariness (he loves Eddie, really) softens some when he looks at you. “Alright, I’ll trust it to you. Thanks, kid.” 

You try to play it off with a shrug, but Eddie can see how happy his uncle’s esteem makes you. You’re practically preening. It’s ridiculous, but what’s more ridiculous is how insanely it makes Eddie want to kiss you. Wayne can’t leave for work soon enough.

When he does, Eddie pounces on you (a slow, romantic pounce, he swears), and you sigh into his mouth. 

He laughs. “What?” 

“I just,” you kiss his cupid’s bow, “love it here.”

“Yeah?” 

“Mhm. Did I tell you, I found one of your guitar picks in the couch earlier?” 

Eddie backs off. “No shit, really? What color was it?” 

“Red.” 

“I’ve been looking for that.” 

Your lips curve. “I thought it looked special. I put it on your nightstand.” 

“Thanks, beautiful.” Your lashes flutter closed as he kisses you again, but Eddie can’t shake the feeling that there’s something weird going on with you. You’re radiating this pleasure, this thick, syrupy content. He pulls away again, cupping the side of your neck. “That what’s making you so happy?” 

You make a soft hum like this could be more or less true. “I was just thinking about how nice it is here.” 

Eddie’s shoulders jump with a laugh. “Nice?” 

“Yeah.” 

He’d think you were making fun of him—of them, him and Wayne—if you didn’t sound so totally sincere. Eddie likes the trailer fine because it’s where they live, but he wouldn’t call it nice. The walls have stains from old leaks. His bedroom is so small he can’t fit more than a twin mattress. When it gets cold out, you have to crawl underneath the trailer and duct tape blankets around the pipes. 

“What’s nice about it?” he asks you. 

You shrug again, but your expression is earnest. “I like that there’s so much of you here. I mean, you and Wayne, but mostly you. Your posters and stuff. I like that you can leave a bowl in the sink without anyone getting pissed about it.” 

Eddie’s fingers tighten on you unconsciously. He doesn’t like the idea of you getting yelled at for something as simple as a bowl in the sink. But this isn’t a totally new revelation; you’d been shocked, when Eddie explained the concept of soaking a dish to make it easier to clean, that Wayne allowed it. He takes care to loosen his grip, thumb stroking across your jaw apologetically. “Yeah, well, give Wayne long enough. After a few days he’ll bitch me out just like he did about the pipes.” 

You smile. “That wasn’t bitching you out.” 

Eddie feigns pique, blowing air out the side of his mouth. “I sure feel bitched out.” 

“I think it’s nice that you guys can talk like that, and you know he’s not really mad at you.” You take Eddie’s thumb, bringing it to your lips for a kiss. The action is simple, thoughtless, and yet his whole wrist goes tingly anyway. “It’s cool that he lets you put your stuff everywhere, and then you find things like guitar picks in the couch—” 

“You know that’s not, like, an intentional amenity, right?” 

“I’m just saying, it’s part of it.” You look down at his thumb, like the truth in what you’re saying is suddenly too much. “It’s quiet here. It’s homey. It’s nice.” 

Eddie lets that settle. He looks at you for a while, and thinks about you feeling at home in his home. The idea has warmth unfurling in his chest. 

He moves his thumb from your mouth, sweeping it across your cheek as he treats himself to a slow, sweet kiss. “Wanna know something?” 

“Hm?” 

“I like it better when you’re here.” 

It’s one of Eddie’s most privately treasured feelings, the feeling of your smile blooming against his mouth. “Cheeseball.” 

“Dustin, this is Eddie the Banished. You there?”

Eddie’s voice over the walkie talkie roused you from sleep. You looked around, everyone else was still fast asleep. Quickly, you got up and grabbed the walkie, lowering the volume a little as to not disturb the others.

“H-hey, Eddie, um—” you winced at the sound of your voice, so raspy and hoarse from sleep, “it’s Y/N.”

“Oh, hi.” His pleasantly surprised tone caused you to let out a quiet chuckle.

You waited for him to continue, but he remained silent, so you spoke again, “Um, d-did you need to me to get Dustin for you? He’s, uh,” you looked over to where Dustin was leaning against the TV stand, softly snoring, “he’s still sleeping, but I can wake him up.”

“No, don’t wake the baby, he’ll just get cranky and you don’t need to deal with that,” you both laughed, “I, uh, I just wanted to let you guys know I will be needing a food delivery soon.”

“Okay, yeah, we’ll come by later with some food. I promise.”

“Great, look forward to seeing you.”

“You too.”

“Hey, Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“This may be a strange thing to tell you, especially given my current circumstances, but I think you sound really cute when you’re sleepy.”

Heat pricked at your cheeks and the tips of your ears as a flutter went through your chest, “Um, we’ll see you later.” You turned off the walkie and turned around, ready to go wake up Steve so he could go with you to run to the store.

“Did Eddie just say you were cute?” Steve, already awake, stood from the chair he had been sleeping in and stretched.

“No, he said she was really cute.” Robin chimed in before releasing a yawn as she sat up from where she had been leaning on the coffee table.

You ducked your head down, shying away from their teasing, “He was talking about my voice, not me.”

“Is your voice not a part of you?” Steve asked.

Robin stood up, being careful not to bump into Dustin as she rounded the table, “He likes you!”

Robin’s sing-song voice only made you feel more embarrassed, “Robin, stop, he does not.”

“Oh, he totally does,” Steve grabbed his keys, “Come on, let’s go get the freak some food.”

You pushed Steve towards the stairs, “I told you to stop calling him that.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Steve held up his hands in surrender, “Now, let’s go get your boyfriend some food.”

“He’s not—” you cut yourself off with an annoyed sigh, “shut up!”

As you stomped up the stairs, Steve turned to Robin and gave her a knowing look,

“They totally like each other.” Robin smiled teasingly.

“No, we don’t!” You yelled from the top of the stairs.

-

In the couple of days that Eddie was hiding out at Reefer Rick’s house, he had made himself comfortable. Well, at least as comfortable as he could get while the police were actively looking for him on suspicion of murder. He was lying on the couch in Rick’s living room, staring at the ceiling and trying to figure out what DND monsters all the water stains looked like. He had just identified a beholder in the corner when he heard something outside. The second Eddie heard any type of noise, whatever level of calm he had managed to achieve vanished. He rolled off the couch quickly and started crawling to the window. Slowly lifting himself up, he peeked out the window curtain, just hoping it wasn’t the cops, or worse, Jason and his goons.

 You exited Steve’s car, grabbing the bags of food and some other things you picked up for Eddie. You started walking towards the house after making sure no one was around but stopped when you didn’t hear Steve get out of the car.

You silently motioned for him to come with you, but he shook his head. With an annoyed huff, you walked back to the car, “What’s your deal?”

“I think I’m gonna sit out this delivery visit.”

“What?” You whispered harshly.

Steve shrugged, “I just think having the car here for so long could be suspicious. Also, the poor guy is probably lonely and bored out of his mind…”

“What are you implying, Steve?”

“Nothing! Just that he might like some company.” He started up the car and put it into reverse.

“Steven Harrington, you are not leaving me here!” You rushed out in another harsh whisper.

“I’ll be back later to pick you up.”

You watched as he drove away, waving to you with a smirk on his face. If you weren’t afraid of possibly drawing attention to yourself, you would have thrown a can of soda at his car. With a deep breath and a sigh, you quietly walked to the house and softly knocked on the door, two knocks followed by two quick ones, a special knock Dustin came up with so Eddie knew it was one of you.

When you walked inside, you were greeted by Eddie laying on the floor by the window, “Hi.”

“Hi.” You chuckled nervously.

“I was worried you were the fuzz.” Eddie sat up, being mindful not to be in view of the window.

“Nope, it’s, uh, it’s just me.” You set the bags down on the kitchen counter.

“Just you?” Eddie stood up, “Where’s the rest of the gang?”

You started unpacking the bags, wanting something you could focus on other than Eddie looking at you, “They’re back at Nancy’s. Sorry, you’re stuck with me for a while.”

Eddie smiled, “Well, out of all our wayward rally of cohorts, I’m glad it was you to come and keep me company.”

“Really?”

Eddie nodded, walking towards the kitchen, “Yeah, that surprise you?”

You looked down at the counter, finding Eddie’s gaze flustering, “I just figured you would have preferred Dustin to hang out with or Lucas. I mean they’re both in Hellfire with you.”

He shrugged, “Sometimes it’s nice to mix it up, especially when you find yourself in the company of someone so cute.”

At Eddie’s comment, you quickly looked up at him in surprise, only to look right back down at the kitchen counter when you saw the adorable, slightly lopsided grin on his face, “Um, I, uh, I-I brought you some creature comforts, just, um, a few things to help keep you occupied while you’re hiding out here. Uh, some books, a couple magazines, a Walkman, and I, uh, I apologize for the lack of Metallica and Black Sabbath, I-I only had the Wheeler’s cassette collection to raid through, but I did manage to find Queen and Jimi Hendrix which I thought would be more your speed than Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons.”

“Well, you got that right,” Eddie chuckled, grabbing the cassette tape to fidget with, “you didn’t need to get all this for me.”

“I wanted to…I mean, that is I couldn’t imagine what it would be like being stuck here and have nothing to entertain myself, so I thought these would be of use to you.”

Eddie leaned on the counter, the smile from earlier having grown even wider, “Cute and thoughtful. I am one lucky fugitive.”

The way Eddie was looking at you sent a flutter through your chest and caused a flustered heat to spread in your cheeks. You thought about what Robin and Steve had said to you earlier; that Eddie liked you. The idea that he might made you feel like you could walk on air.

“Eddie…are you, um, a-are you flirting with me?” You weren’t sure what had possessed you to ask, but now that the question was out there, you waited with bated breath for his answer.

“And if I were?” he placed his head in his hand, “Would you be okay with that?

“I suppose,” you began idly playing with the headphone cords of the Walkman, “though I’m surprised you could manage it given your current circumstances.”

the soft smile on your face as you sat beside him was all thanks to him. he'd cracked some joke about pedestrians, who seemed to leave their heads behind them as they cross the road blindly. his mumbled complaints didn't go unheard from you, they hardly did. you were thankful they didn't, too, it always made your mood a little better. you smile distracted him, just long enough for him to miss what was unfolding outside his car, engine rumbling as it idles at a red light. four large, raw eggs crash against your window, breaking upon impact. both of your heads whipped around to see the sight beside you, catching eye of a few basketball players as the light turns green.

"freaks!" you heard one of them yell as you drive off.

"dickheads," you mumble back, eyes rolling as you shake your head. you turn slightly to eddie as you speak some more. "they did that to my car a few days ago while i was driving home from work."

you hardly caught the way eddie's jaw clenched at your words. his eyes, rather than trailing back over to you, stayed glued on the road. sure, he could make it out to seem like he was pulling his focus there, watching out for other mindless pedestrians that seemed rampant in this town. but the real reason? he couldn't bear looking at you, not now. not when guilt was burning in the back of his throat, restricting in anger. self loathing, really, for even getting you in this situation to begin with.

he knew from the start that your reputation would crumble the moment your peers caught onto your friendship. he was convinced everything he touched was destined to fall into a pile of nothing with him. it started with his father, always degrading him, putting the blame on such a young boy for his own wrongdoings. maybe it wouldn't have stuck around for so long if everyone didn't continue to prove al's point. if eddie didn't keep proving his point. for whatever reason, that didn't stop him from befriending you, from letting you drag him around happily by your side to rather public plans. from selfishly falling in love with you.

he was uncharacteristically quiet the rest of the drive back home. it wasn't peculiar for him to be so deep in thought around you. the only difference was the lack of translating, the loud music down at a quiet decibel. his jaw stayed clenched, his breathing stayed shallow. light brown eyes turned dark, and if the light were to catch them right, you could almost describe them as misty.

"it's no biggie," you whisper, eyes searching his face worriedly. you could feel him overthinking the eggs. "easy clean, really! my car needed a good wash anyways."

"that doesn't make it any better," he grumbles. "what a joke."

"would calling it a yolk make you feel any better?" you ask with a growing grin. it dropped the moment you noticed he wasn't amused. he always entertained your corniness. he must've really taken this to heart. when he pulled up to your house, he gave you a small goodbye and a weak attempt of a hug, before you slid out his passenger seat. this gave him the time to think things through, truly this time.

eddie couldn't bear the idea of letting you go through this. he could take it, the degradation and the embarrassment, even if he claimed to be thick skinned. it was still shameful occasionally living up to peoples low expectations of him, despite being used to it. despite knowing his own growth. he didn't want to drag you down on the perpetual decline he seemed to be on, endless and torturous. no amount of rough exteriors and venomous words could shield you both from the judgement of everyone else.

that's how you found yourself hopelessly waiting for eddie the next morning, coat wrapped tight around your body, listening expectantly to the rumbling of his van. you realized, ten minutes after he promised he'd be there, that he wasn't showing up. you went inside, grabbed your keys, and made your way to work all by yourself. you didn't need him to take you to work, you were more than capable of driving yourself. what you couldn't do was shove away the disappointment of being stood up out of the blue.

you worked your shift with a sour taste in your mouth. it wasn't like eddie to do this to you. if there wasn't a call informing you of his absence beforehand, there was always an apology halfway through your day. while that hardly happened, he always provided an explanation. going an entire day without any word from him was odd. your coworkers even noticed the frown that didn't seem to leave your face all day. after clocking out, you were on a mission to head home and call him, hoping it was simply just a mix-up. you shoved away the worry that something had happened to him, or something had happened between you two. had you said something wrong the day before?

"hello?" a deep, gravely voice answered eddie's landline. you recognized quickly who it was.

"hey wayne," you greeted, announcing who you were right afterwards.

"hey, kiddo, good to hear from you," wayne says. "if you're looking for eddie, he's not home. something about needing some air. i'll let him know you called."

"thank you," you tell him, carrying on a short conversation with him, before hanging up the phone.

it took two days before you heard anything from him, and it was because of your doing. after another, more worried, call, you came to the decision to corner eddie. going awol was not something he did, not without a reason. it was after your morning shift, 2 pm, and he was surely home. saturdays before band practice, he normally tucked himself inside his room, focusing on planning out new campaign ideas. he hardly changed that routine of his. only on the rare occasion you could coax him out for lunch would he be found elsewhere. you jogged from your car to the door of his trailer in the pouring rain before knocking a little frantically.

he wearily peeked out the door a minute later, glaring down at you and your wet form. his jaw clenched the moment his eyes met yours. you gave him a small, worried smile, before you spoke to him. his silence was deafening through the sound of water hitting metal.

“hey, eds,” you start cautiously, peering inside the warm, dry trailer you loved visiting. “can i come in?”

“shouldn’t be here,” he mumbled, body mostly hidden behind the door. you could feel heat rise through your neck, prickling up to your ears in embarrassment you never felt around him.

“is it not a good time?” you question. your eyebrows knit together in confusion. “i would’ve called but i’ve already tried twice, i couldn’t get ahold of you.”

“it’s for a good reason, sweetheart,” he said bitterly. a nickname he once gave you endearingly now made you feel small. your clenched at the sound of him using it so coldly. “better get out of here. wouldn’t want you to get into anymore trouble.”

“don’t be like that,” you bite, face twisting into frustration. “i signed up for whatever bullshit those idiots decide to do to me the moment i became friends with you.”

“yeah, well, you’re better off not dealing with it at all,” he bit back.

with that, he shut the door right in your face, leaving you out in the cold rain. you turned on your heels and quickly stomped back to your car. you fought the tears prickling in your eyes and the tightness gripping at your chest. you would do anything if it meant staying by eddie’s side. that, however, wasn’t plausible if he didn’t want you to stay. you weren’t going to linger where you weren’t wanted. especially not if it would prolong this gut-wrenching feeling deep inside of you.

you didn’t try to call. you didn’t show back up at his house or any of the shows his band had at the hideout. you didn’t even run into him at work, and he frequented the record store. you figured he came in on your days off in attempts to avoid you. and, as much as it broke your heart not seeing him, you weren’t going to push. if telling you to stay away wasn’t enough, slamming the door in your face made everything clear.

"i'm pretty sure he, like, hates me now," you tell steve one night, the scent of alcohol clinging to you.

it'd been nearly a month after your falling out with eddie, and it was evident to everyone something had happened. he was inquiring about eddie's whereabouts, his lack of presence rather alarming. he was always tagging along with you to these parties. you missed the way steve shared a glance with robin, who seemed just as perplexed as he was.

"I'm sure he doesn't hate you," robin speaks up, speech slurred just a little.

"how else would you explain it?"

"the dudes an idiot," steve insisted. "i'm sure it's something stupid, he'll get over himself."

you found yourself wallowing one late night at the diner you two always frequented. even three months after your friendship ended, you still couldn’t help but think about him. how could you not when things ended so abruptly? it didn’t quite help you were still in love with him, though you figured it would hurt regardless. maybe it was worse now that you were mourning the distant hope that things would bloom into romance. that was farther gone than your friendship will ever be.

the bell attached to the door rang through the diner, thouggh you didn’t bother to look up from your plate. you stayed tucked inside the corner of the booth, picking at the fries the you ordered extra of. you never ate them all, though you always made sure you got more, anyways. eddie always liked to pick some off your plate, even if he had his own to nibble. you lifted your head only when you heard his familiar voice ring through the diner.

your eyes drifted over to him as he sat at the stools, hardly hearing as he ordered a coffee. he only ever ordered coffee when he was tired. you wondered what had him so busy. the idea that it could be someone else made you sick. you didn’t get to sit in your overwhelming jealousy for long. the server pointed over right at you as he said something to eddie. your eyes fell back down to your plate, wide and panicked as you thought of what to do. you could sit and let him stare, allowing the tension to rise inside the restaurant for everyone to feel, or you could pay and storm out, saving yourself the misery of being here. after the long week you had, the last thing you wanted was confrontation. especially confrontation with him. his heavy boots echoed against the floor before you could make your decision.

“hey,” eddie greets awkwardly, standing a foot away from your table.

“hi,” you say plainly. you didn’t bother to look up at him. you heard him take a deep breath in, his leather jacket rustling slightly as he crosses his arms.

“it’s okay if you want me to leave you alone.”

“i think you’re better off if you do.”

he cringes at your words - almost a flinch -, remembering back to the last conversation he had with you. his teeth clench down on his cheek as he thought, eyes not leaving you as you fumble with a fry. he still thought you looked beautiful, even with a slight scowl on your face.

“i just want to talk,” he says, despite his previous statement. a complete contradiction, like most other things he does.

you scoffed as you finally look up at him. he looked so small standing there, despite being feet above you. his large brown eyes seemed bigger than usual. you found yourself pitying him, though you promised yourself you wouldn’t. it was his doing that put you in the position you were in. still, he had ahold of your heart, and there wasn’t much you could do about it, even now. you blinked up at him a few times, just enough to collect your thoughts. pushing away your plate, you get up with your wallet, making your way towards the server.

“you had your chance to talk months ago and you shut me out,” you tell him, giving the server a soft smile as you hand her cash for your meal. “thank you, keep the change.”

you walked right passed eddie as you made your way towards the door, shoulder just brushing his. you folded your arms against your chest as you pushed out the diner. his footsteps followed behind you quickly, trailing after you desperately. just your luck, just moments after you stepped out, rain started to sprinkle down onto you. of course the day you see him again. of course the day you walked. you started your way towards your house with a slight shiver.

“i’m ready to talk now,” he says as he continues to follow you. “are you walking out of spite?”

“no, i didn’t bring my car,” you tell him, looking over you shoulder just briefly. his eyes were still wide and doe-like. “trust me, i wish i did. easy escape from whatever the hell this is.”

“can you just hold on a minute? please?” he begged as you continued on.

when you kept walking, he called your name out once, before gripping your elbow. you whipped around to look at him, feet stopping in its tracks. he moved to stand right in front of you. you noticed then how tired he looked. you wondered if he was just as torn up as you were about this whole thing. you stared at him expectantly, and he soon caught on that you were waiting. the rain began to fall down a bit harder, dampening your skin and your clothes.

“i messed up, bad.”

“yeah,” you scoffed, eyes boring into him. his shoulders slumped under your gaze.

“i can’t stand seeing you be made fun of. it’s my fault, and you know it is. we both know i was dragging you down. i couldn’t take the guilt anymore,” he rambled, hand not leaving you elbow. you didn’t bother to move it. “but the guilt of pushing you away like that is worse. i hurt you, i know that, and you deserve better than to be disregarded. you deserve better than me.”

“that doesn’t matter,” you croak out, eyes welling up with tears again, just like the night at his trailer. “none of it does. i don’t want anyone else, eddie, just you. i would go through anything if it meant i could keep you around.”

you didn’t care about the implications of your words. you just cared about making sure he heard and understood you. you couldn’t bear being away from him for another second. eddie tugged you into a hug without a word. his arms wrapped around you torso and kept you secured to his, face finding comfort in your shoulder. the breath of relief you let out could be heard from miles away as your arms wrapped around his shoulders. you gripped onto him tight, like he’d slip away from you again. the wet leather against your skin grounded you, almost as much as his hand that soothed your back, trailing up and down slowly. you let a few tears slip from your eyes, sniffling against his warmth.

when you pulled away, eyes watering and your lower lip trembling, he didn’t dare to move his hands away. not now that he had you secured against him. there were tears in his eyes you’ve hardly seen. you brought a soft knuckle up to his cheek to wipe them away, though rain still clung to your skin. you pushed away his hair to get a proper look at him.

“that was the worst three month of my life, sweetheart,” he shook his head as he spoke softly.

not only had he kept track, your nickname was back in the same soft tone as before. you brought your other hand down to his chest, poking a finger at it as you look up at him. your eyes softened up, and he noticed, his face visibly relieved.

“that’s on you, mister,” you tell him, that pretty smile on your back on your face.

“it won’t happen again. promise.”

The record store is pretty empty when he gets there and of course, you’re behind the counter. You’re talking with the customer who’s checking out and Eddie hurries to the back corner where all of the metal records are. He knows no one else will be there and it’s a perfect hiding spot that will prevent people from speaking to him. It seems like he can’t even leave his house without someone feeling the need to say something to him. 

Jason Carver and his buddies are in the other corner, checking out the country music and Eddie grabs the first record he can find, wanting to get the fuck out of there before he’s spotted. He just wants to be able to live his life and do the things that bring him joy but apparently that’s too much to ask for. 

He can practically hear them already. He can hear them tell him that metal is “the devil’s music” and that he’s a freak for listening to it. He doesn’t know why he cares, though. Soon enough, he’ll be out of this place, touring the world, proving every single person who doubted him wrong. 

He tries so hard to not let it get to him but he can’t help it. He’s only human and when you constantly hear people say things about you, you eventually start to believe them. Maybe he is a freak. Maybe he does deserve to die alone. It’s not like anyone would want to go out with him anyway. Everyone crosses the street when he walks down it so clearly there’s something wrong with him.

No.

He came all this way to talk to you and goddamn it he’s going to do it. He makes a beeline for the register and his heart rate picks up when you grin at him. 

“There you are. I was wondering if I was ever going to see you again. Just this for you, hon?” It’s no wonder everyone likes you because of your impeccable customer service. 

“Yeah,” he nods, sliding the record across the counter. 

“Rumours, excellent choice. You know, I saw them not too long ago and wow, they really know how to put on a show.“ You flip the record over to enter in the SKU and Eddie’s surprised by the cover. So that’s what he grabbed? He’s never listened to Fleetwood Mac in his life. And it’s not like he can tell you the truth either.

“Thanks, I uh-” he scans the tracklist on the back quickly before you put it in the bag. “I really like Gold Dust Woman.” 

“Me too!” You smile even wider. “How fitting. Guess it’s fate,” you wink and he swears he could die happy right there. You honestly have no idea what you’re doing to him, do you? “Well, it’s gonna be $7.98, baby.” He knows that you call everyone that, but he’s gonna pretend that it’s just for him. It feeds his delusion that maybe you like him too. But you don’t. They never do. 

Eddie hands you a ten dollar bill and you count out the correct change before handing it to him. He leaves with a shy smile and you wonder how long it’s going to take for him to realize that you’re totally and completely head over heels for him. 

-

Eddie smiles the entire way home, proud of himself because he talked to you, and he did it without his stupid script. He wonders if maybe he’s finally got it but he’s not so sure. He could ask you out if he wanted to. He won’t because he’s scared but the option is definitely there. Because no matter how hard he tries to erase it, he will always be Eddie “the freak” Munson. 

When he gets home, Wayne is in the kitchen serving up dinner. Eddie’s really hungry but he doesn’t want to eat right now. He doesn’t want to talk with Wayne because he’ll just try to convince him to talk to you. He’s always been Eddie’s biggest fan and seems to think he has way more game that he actually does. 

“Where have you been? Let me guess, the record store.” Wayne’s smirking to himself as he stirs the pot on the stove and Eddie just rolls his eyes. This is the last conversation he wants to have right now. 

Eddie just holds up the bag he’s got in his hand in response as he takes off his shoes. 

“What did you get this time?” Eddie hands Wayne the bag and he takes it, sliding the record out, surprised to see a Fleetwood Mac album. “Rumours. Good choice.” 

“Had to grab something because Jason was there.” Wayne hates that Jason was the one who started this whole thing. He’s the reason that Eddie can barely even go out in public without being ridiculed. He doesn’t understand it. Eddie is one of the sweetest people he knows and doesn’t know why so many people hate him for playing a silly little game with his friends. They’re all going to be so sorry when they realize that they’re wrong.

Sometimes he gets the urge to pack everything up and move them somewhere new. Because clearly neither of them are welcome there. And Hawkins has never felt like home anyway. There’s nothing and no one tying them here so maybe they should just get out of there like everyone seems to want. 

-

You’ve got about ten minutes left of your shift when Jason Carver comes up to the counter. He’s got on that flirty smile that he always does with you, but this time, it’s not going to work. That ship has sailed and he should know better. It was one night and you feel sick to your stomach every time you think about it because you had no idea about Chrissy. He lied to you, moaning your name over and over while his girlfriend was waiting for him to come home. 

The only good thing to come out of it is that you and Chrissy are friends now. But that doesn’t seem to stop Jason from thinking that you’ll sleep with him again. Fat chance. You’d never hurt Chrissy like that again and you certainly wouldn’t do it for some lackluster sex. 

“Just this?” You ask, not even making eye contact with him. No one has ever outright rejected him so this is uncharted territory. He doesn’t understand why you won’t just give in. It’s not like it would be wrong anymore because he broke up with Chrissy. 

“I was also going to see if you want to come over tonight.” He winks and you actively feel yourself getting sick. He will never get the hint, will he?

“Sorry, I have plans with Chrissy.” And for once, you’re actually not lying. Chrissy invited you over for a movie night and you’ve been looking forward to it. You’ve gotten really close over the past few weeks and you’re hoping that you can show her that there’s more to life than stupid boys. 

“Since when are you friends?” You know he’s trying to hit you where it hurts and you have to act like you’re not offended. You’ve always felt out of place in Hawkins and it’s just like Jason to feed on your insecurities because he knows that’s the only way he can get to you. 

You don’t respond, ignoring his jabs because you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. He’s always been a bully and it’s about time that it came to an end. You continue to ring up his stuff, silently judging what he’s picked out. 

“Since she realized that you’re a fucking loser.” 

“Listen, you little bitch. I can make your life a living hell.” He’s pointing in your face and you have no idea when he’s going to get the hint that he doesn’t scare you. He never has. He’s just a loser that peaked in high school who preys on people who are vulnerable because he’s so unhappy with his own life.

“Oh, but you already have by just existing.” You hand him his bag and take the amount he’s paid you with, hurrying to get his change so he’ll finally leave. 

“You think you’re better than me, don’t you? Well, you’re not. Especially because you hang out with Chrissy. She was only cool because of me. Now she’s just a loser by association.” His words would hurt if you actually care what he thought of you. But you actually couldn’t care less and he should know that by now.

“Please. We both know that you’re the loser here.” He’s the one who only feels good about himself if he’s tearing people down because of how insecure he is. He constantly has to be told that he’s great instead of just believing it for himself. He needs reassurance because his insecurity runs that deep. And you’re not going to let him tear you down because of it.

And it’s just like his friends to stand there, silently watching Jason behave like a dick. But that’s only because none of them have a backbone and have to be told how to feel. They’re all just a bunch of nobodies who are all clones of Jason.

“It’s actually Munson but you and Chrissy are tied for second.” You can’t help but laugh now. His pathetic attempts to upset you aren’t working. And even if they did, you wouldn’t show it. Because that’s what he wants. He wants all the power, but he can’t have it. You refuse to hand it over. 

“He plays that stupid game with kids that are much younger than him because those are the only people who actually think highly of him. And Chrissy? Well, I only kept her around so long because she looked good on my arm. And I hate to say it, but you were better than her.” 

Your blood is boiling now. Making fun of Eddie, that’s already a low blow, but comparing sex with you to sex with Chrissy? That’s where you draw the line. He can’t keep getting away with this and it’s time that you show him that much once and for all. 

Before you can stop yourself, you’re rounding the counter, feeling your heart pounding as the anger rises up. He’s taller and stronger but you can tell that he’s the one who’s scared. Especially when he sees you raising your fist. Before he can say anything, it hits him square in the face.

The force knocks his head back and once he opens his eyes, you grab hold of his shirt and yank him forward. He’s seething but that little bit of fear is still in his eyes. A little bit of blood is leaking from his nose and you have to try your best to not laugh at him. 

“It’s about time someone did something about you being a fucking dick. If you so much as look at me or my friends, next time it will be your fucking balls. Got it?” He nods and you let him go, him and his friends making a run for the door. And you can’t help but smile to yourself, knowing that Jason Carver won’t be a problem for you anymore. 

-

“Are you hungry?” Wayne asks as he leads Eddie into the kitchen where dinner is ready on the stove. It’s spaghetti-his favorite and now he’s wondering what the special occasion was. 

“Starving.” Wayne serves up some of the pasta onto a plate with a slice of garlic bread before passing it off. When they both have their meals, they head to the table where they eat in silence. This is how their meals are always enjoyed. A record is playing softly in the background, accompanied by the sound of forks scratching against plates. 

The Munsons are both men of few words, often just enjoying each other’s company even though nothing is being said. Wayne would even go as far to say that this is his favorite part of his day, always looking forward to having dinner with nephew. Because Eddie is the one person in Wayne's life that he cares about the most. And vice versa. 

All they've had is each other for years now and it’s gotten to the point where Eddie often forgets that it wasn’t always like this. He barely remembers his parents as his mother passed away when he was young and his father left shortly after that. So, for eighteen years, it’s been the two of them and neither of them would have it any other way. 

“There’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” Wayne says as he sets his fork down. He wipes his mouth with his napkin then gives his nephew a look like he means business. 

“Okay,” Eddie replies, taking a sip from his Coke can. Wayne never usually wants to talk after work because he’s tired so now Eddie’s curious as to what this could be about. 

“My coworker, Cal-you remember Cal, right?” Eddie nods and Wayne continues. “Well, his daughter hasn’t had the best luck in the dating department and I don’t know, I thought it’d be nice if you went on a date with her.”

“Like a blind date kind of thing?” Eddie’s suddenly not hungry anymore, knowing that his uncle only made his favorite meal so he’d do this favor. And he’s sure that this girl is nice, but he’s just…just so caught up on his giant crush on you that he wouldn’t even think about going on a date with someone else. Even though he doesn’t even have the fucking balls to ask you out. 

“Yeah. I think she deserves to go out with a nice boy for a change.” Eddie really doesn’t want to, but he will for Wayne. Just to see the smile on his face-just to make the man happy. Because he knows how much this will mean to him. 

“Yeah, sure.” He continues eating, hoping that Wayne doesn’t press him on his weird behavior towards the request. The man has always been able to read him like the back of his hand and will always speak up when something doesn’t seem right. But he doesn’t. The men just continue eating as Eddie thinks about how much he wishes that you were the one he was going out with. 

-

“Dad, I’m perfectly capable of getting my own date,” you tell the man on the phone that you’ve got pressed between your ear and your shoulder as you carry a basket of your laundry into your bedroom. 

You can’t believe that he’s actually trying to set you up right now even though you’ve told him countless times not to. You know he’s just trying to help but you can’t help but feel like you’re a kid again when he gets like this about your love life. 

It’s like he’s set up a timer for you to find someone and now it’s finally gone off and it’s his time to step in. You’re at the point where you’re sure that you’re destined to be alone and you have no idea why that’s so bad. Men are alone (maybe not enough) all the time and no one seems to bat an eye. 

Besides, there’s only one person you want, but it’s clear that he’s not really interested. You really don’t know how much more obvious you can make it with your flirting but he doesn’t seem to care. So that’s the only reason why you agree because you really need to get over this silly little crush. 

“Come on, bug,” he says and you can practically see that pleading look on his face that he always used to do. You’re so close to cracking, knowing that it never takes much for you to give in to what he asks of you. Especially when he uses that nickname. 

You just have to go on the date. It’s just one night, right?  Just one night and then you can go back to pining. It’s not going to be that bad. What could it hurt? 

“Alright, alright. I’ll go.” You’re the guy is going to think you’re a total loser because you had to have your dad set you up instead of getting your own date. Because your life really is just that sad and pathetic, apparently. 

“I don’t think you’re going to regret this. Well, I’ve gotta get back to work. Love you, bug.”

“Love you too, dad,” you reply and the line goes dead. You put the phone back on the hook, wondering what the fuck you just got yourself into. 

-

Eddie’s been listening to the record he bought the other day on repeat since he got it. He actually really does like Fleetwood Mac and he Gold Dust Woman really is his favorite.

He puts it on while he does dishes, he plays guitar along with it-hell, he’s even brought it to the shop to play it on their fancier record player so he can listen while he works on the cars. He’s completely obsessed and can’t stop thinking about you while he plays it. 

You’re always on his mind and it makes him feel gross going on this date tonight and not giving her his full attention. He has no idea how the fuck he’s going to spend his night with someone else when all he can think about is you. That’s not fair to her and he knows that. 

But he just can’t fathom possibly going out with someone else. He’s hyper fixated on you and only you for months. He’s fantasized about dates as well as other things and now he feels everything crumbling because now he’s committing himself to someone else. And now he feels like he’s betraying you in some way even though you definitely don’t think about him in the way he thinks about you. 

Now he’s really wishing that he hadn’t even agreed. But the thought of potentially disappointing Wayne outweighs everything. He thinks of his uncle so highly and his opinion means everything. He’s the only person who’s always been there for him and vice versa so he’s scared of Wayne thinking differently of him. There all each other has so more times than not, Eddie will sacrifice his own happiness just to make Wayne happy. 

-

You’re getting progressively anxious as you get closer to the restaurant. First impressions always make you nervous and you know there’s a lot of riding on this so you really want it to go well. You feel like you know everyone in Hawkins so you wonder if you already know the guy. If you did, that would definitely ease your nerves at least a little bit. 

There’s a part of you that still wishes it was Eddie but you know that’s not gonna happen. Your luck has never been that good so why would it be now? That’s the kind of thing that only happens in movies and you feel so fucking ridiculous for still holding onto a fantasy that you know will never ever come true. 

-

Eddie hurries into the restaurant, not only because he’s late, but also because of the rain. It’s coming down in buckets and he feels so out of place coming inside just a nice place when he’s soaked. Apparently he’s the only one who didn’t come prepared with an umbrella. And he’s actually so embarrassed when he walks up to the host stand, dripping from head to toe. 

He sticks out like a sore thumb in every single way, especially as the water drip, drip, drips from his clothes. If he didn’t fit in here before, then he definitely doesn’t now. And it doesn’t help that the other guests are whispering about him. This night is already a shit show and it hasn’t even started yet.

The woman gives him a look of disgust as she passes a hand towel over the stand. Eddie gratefully takes it and wipes his face and makes an attempt to wring out his hair. He can feel eyes on him, but he’s used to that by now. Everyone in town looks at him so this isn’t any different. Even though it’s because he’s soaking wet and not because he’s a vessel for the devil himself. 

“I have a reservation for Munson,” he tells the woman and she looks down before giving him a look as if there’s something he should know. 

“I’m sorry, sir, but we can’t seat you until the rest of your party is here. And I’m going to have to ask you to wait outside. You’re making a mess.” Eddie lets out a sigh and turns to head towards the doors, pulling out a cigarette as soon as he’s outside. 

He leans against the side of the building that thankfully has an awning that’s protecting him from the rain. He really wishes he had a joint to help relieve some of the anxiety but he’s been smoking more this week to help calm him down so now he’s out. 

The cigarette will have to do and he lets his mind drift to you because that always makes him feel better. He wonders what you’re doing tonight and he might see if the record store is still open when he leaves here. And now he’s feeling like a dick again for thinking about you when he’s supposed to be going out with someone else. 

And when he turns to his left, he’s surprised to see you walking down the street, heading in his direction. You’re wearing a beautiful red dress and you were actually smart enough to bring an umbrella. God, you look gorgeous and he’s even more surprised when you walk up to the restaurant, making a beeline for him. 

You’re shocked to see him and now you have to say something to him. And now that you’re here with him, you’re very tempted to ask if he wants to get out of here before your date shows up. You know that it would be a very rude thing to do, but Eddie’s the one you really want, not this pity date your dad set you up on.

“Eddie, fancy seeing you here. Don’t you look handsome.” He’s grinning now and feels bold enough to offer you his cigarette. You take it and take a drag before passing it back, your hands brushing as you do so.

“Thanks,” he replies. “You look really pretty.” Your cheeks warm at the compliment and you step closer, closing your umbrella as you step underneath the awning. 

This feels too perfect to be a coincidence and you both seem to come to the conclusion at the same time, turning towards each other as laughs pour from your mouths. What are the odds that you’ve been set up to go on a date, unknowingly harboring very large crushes on each other? It must be fate, you think. 

“Do you want to go back to my place?” You ask, fully turning to face him. His eyes widen at what you seem to be implying and you laugh again. 

“I didn’t mean it like that. I can let you borrow some clothes and we can hang out. Low stakes.” 

“I’d really like that,” he says and you take his hand, leading him to your car, wide smiles on both of your faces because you both finally get to go on a date with your crush.

He shakes his head with careful subtlty—like any sudden movement will scare you into actually committing to this plan. 

Disbelief clouds his features, heavy and foreboding like the sky before a summer squall— 

The nerve. The gumption. The audacity so potent on such an unassuming young woman. 

You want to lose your virginity to a stranger and you’re, what, warning him first? 

It’s like you want him to disrupt your plans. 

He watches you roll your eyes, all pursed lips and impudence. 

“Oh, seriously?” you sass. “Calm down. It’s really not that big of a deal.”

Eddie practically chokes on his scoff, and the strangled sound ripples over your body, drawing out the look he knows well. Annoyance—it forces you to sit up straight. 

You squirm in your seat for a moment, like a million tiny ants are marching up your spine, dancing over the tension in your shoulders. And he knows…the argument is imminent, but not before he speaks his piece—

“Not that big of a deal? Sweetheart, stubbing your toe is not that big of a deal. Forgetting to check the mail is not that big of a deal,” his voice raises as he gestures wildly, feeling like a Bible Belt preacher wailing about temptation of the flesh. “Losing your virginity? To a stranger? That’s a pretty big-fuckin’-deal!”

Again, you roll your eyes—blatantly disregarding the way his head cocks and his own eyes narrow in warning. He hates when you do that. When you brush him off so easily, like he’s dust on your pristine shoulder—

A quiet chuckle leaves your lips as you avert your gaze, suddenly finding the speckled laminate far more interesting. 

Like a puppy hearing an unfamiliar noise, Eddie’s head cocks back the other way, trying to figure out what exactly he said that has you laughing. Usually he loves the sound, but he doesn’t like the tone of this one. There’s something deeply derisive buried beneath the nonchalant surface. 

“I’m sorry, I must’ve missed the joke there, sweets. Care to clue me in?” he rasps, goading you.

A jeering smirk pulls at your lips, like you’re finding his simmering temper and deepening voice increasingly amusing. 

After another soft huff—a sound that could almost be mistaken for a scoff—you level him with a penetrating look, your smirk slowly splitting into an incredulous grin. 

“Sorry,” you start, but a chuckle bubbles up your throat, catching on the clearly insincere apology. “Sorry, I just find this whole thing very funny.”

Eddie sucks his teeth as he watches you shrug dismissively—no longer backing down, no longer avoiding his darkening gaze. He lets your words sit in the air, hoping their stuffy bitterness will suffocate you into surrender, but instead, they seem to brandish your skin like armor. 

And just like that, out comes your most dangerous weapon: your self-satisfaction. 

From all his years with you, he knows, when your complacency reaches an all-time high, there’s almost no way to change your mind. You’ve already doubled down once, and you’re about to batten down the hatches. Because more than anything, he knows you hate being wrong and hate it even more when you’re told you’re wrong. 

And through festering nerves and itchy discomfort, Eddie realizes he just shot your idea down and danced on its grave. 

Of course, he wouldn’t have had such a strong reaction if it weren’t such a sensitive topic. But you don’t know that. All you’ve heard so far is you’re wrong, and I know more than you. 

It’s moments like these where Eddie curses his motormouth—his almost comical inability to shut up, or, god forbid, consider what he means before he opens his trap. And until he finally learns his lesson, he figures he’s doomed to live with his foot in his mouth for all eternity.

With you shifting in your seat, and time ticking against him, he knows this bomb is going to need an extra delicate defusal. But he’s not certain he can remain level-headed about this subject matter. 

Not when it’s you. 

Not when damned images of a faceless man caressing you plays in technicolor through his mind. Because sometime ago, somewhere along the night drives and the lazy days, his wires got crossed. And now those wires are sparking, threatening to burn him through and through.

Maybe you’re not the bomb, after all. 

“Oh, you find it funny, do you?” he questions, nodding his head. 

“Well, yeah. You’re sitting here trying to tell me that, what, losing your virginity is supposed to be special?” you mockingly ask, your features alight with mirth. It’s like you’re a bloodhound catching a scent—the scent of sweet, sweet hypocrisy. 

Eddie opens his mouth to answer your rhetorical question, because…yes. 

For you? 

Yes, it should be special—

“You know what? I want you to go look in a mirror and say what you just said to me, and see if you don’t laugh too.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he argues, jerking his head back. Your words might as well have physically manifested themselves into a slap because that’s how they feel, acidic and seeping into his skin with a sting.

“Please! You remember telling me about your first time? You came to school the next day bragging to me and the Hellfire guys about hooking up with some older chick in the bathroom at the Hideout! Remember that? You wore it like a badge of honor!”

He had taken you in as a freshman, just like he did every lost soul. Battling off the stifling monotony of high school together, it was no surprise you developed a crush on him. He was—is—so sweet. So funny. So unlike anyone you had ever met. 

He would play the fool just to make you laugh, but he’d defend your honor in an instant. Your very own protection against the venomous cheerleaders and mouth-breathing jocks.

When he would get himself going about something or other, marching along the tops of the lunch tables, it was like staring straight into the sun. You bloomed under his gleaming rays, flowering and reaching toward his warmth with every wild grin, every silly headshake, every teasing joke.

He was addicting, and you would come bounding into lunch every day itching for a fix. 

Then you were a sophomore and Eddie was a senior—for the first time. 

One day, he came in with a new story to tell, and no amount of sunshine could restore your wilting leaves, your shriveling flowers. No amount of water could satisfy the buds that never got to grow and now never would—

Every prideful sentence—every dirty detail boasting the changed man he had become—acted like a rain of pesticide on your delicate ecosystem.

It was a level of desecration you couldn’t undo if you wanted to. 

And you weren’t sure you were even strong enough to try.

Because it became clear that day, he wasn’t yours. He wouldn’t be yours. 

You couldn’t see him the same after that. The chemicals contaminated the image, degrading and defacing the likeness. 

He wasn’t the man you used to dream about every night. 

He didn’t look like he once had—so soft, so sweet. A man able to rot your teeth right out of your skull if you allowed him the honor.

A man so saccharine and delicate, like candy floss. 

But maybe it was the image of him that was delicate—not truly him. 

After all, your tears melted the wisps pretty easily. 

All that was left was piles of sugar—too wet for consumption, and not in the right form—and a crash unrivaled by any confectionery you’d ever had. 

White, hot anger seeps from every pore in Eddie’s skin, replaced by the shocking chill of a memory he’s tried very hard to forget.

He feels like throwing up—

This. This, right here, is why he’s vehemently opposing your plan. This feeling constricting his chest, like not enough fresh air in the world could inflate his lungs—

He thought the experience was cool at first. He thought he was being totally “metal.” 

But he was just being used. 

The woman never asked his name, and when he tried to talk to her, she crudely told him to focus less on talking and more on fucking. It was a mortifying experience. He almost wasn’t able to finish from the sheer embarrassment of it all, but eighteen year old hormones were a thing to behold.

And despite what he would have everyone around him believe, he still cared way too much about what people thought of him. So he strutted into lunch the next day, hopping up on his soapbox to spread the good word of his monumental conquest. High from the excitement of the boys, he embellished most of the story. 

And now, here you are, sitting in front of him, smug as can be, thinking you’re proving your point with his own hypocrisy. 

But he’s not a hypocrite. 

He’s just a liar. 

He has lied to you about a lot of things and, funnily enough, all those things seem to be crawling out of their grassy graves, hungry to take a chunk out of him. 

Because as much as you may think you’ve cornered him with a “gotcha” moment, your reminder of his past transgressions only makes him all the more passionate about how you should spend your first time. 

He can’t let you feel how he felt. 

Not you. 

You deserve better than empty touches and unfeeling words. 

“You wore it like a badge of honor!”

Your voice echoing in his mind has a sentiment never meant to be revealed tumbling past his lips with frightening ease—

“Yeah, and I lied!” 

Slowly, your self-satisfied smile falls off your face. Confusion overtakes your confidence. 

Capitalizing on your stunned silence, Eddie continues—

“That first time was fucking awful! I felt like shit. I only acted like it was good because I thought that’s what I was supposed to do…. Because I was stupid and young.” He utters the words with disdain, mortification and frustration mixing low in his gut until he feels more flammable than ever.

“It wasn’t good,” he repeats, a frown etched tightly into his features. “It just made me feel…empty.”

Your silence weighs heavy on his shoulders; selfishly, he steals a glance at you, at the crease in your brows and the way you seem to be reflecting. He can almost see you reliving that day in your head, searching for any twitch of an eye, any too-quick-to-fall smiles. 

But he’s a good liar. Always has been. Even when it comes to you.

The idle hum of electricity coursing into the yellow bulb above him acts as the soundtrack to your response.

“Well, I don’t plan on doing it in the Hideout bathroom, so I think we’re good there,” you shrug.

Eddie purses his lips; he knows it’s deliberate. What you’re doing, it’s purposeful, and you’re doing it to piss him off. Because you’re pissed off. 

Your eyes narrow at his, challenging him in the silence of the trailer.

A huff of air escapes through flared nostrils—he’s refraining.

But you’re killing him. 

Sometimes you can be so difficult, but he wouldn’t stick around if he wasn’t addicted to the agony of trying to figure you out.

That’s half the fun of every conversation he’s had with you. 

You push his buttons more than any woman he’s ever met, but you’ve twisted him up so bad, the only time he feels normal is when you’re looking at him. Doesn’t matter if it’s with anger or fondness or humor. 

You’re a paradox he can’t sort out because you’ve made him like this—wires crossed and incendiary feelings—but you also have a way of fixing him. Though, it’s usually just to mangle him all over again.

And he’d like to be your only victim. He’d like to burn in only your pyre, if given the chance. 

If given the chance.

If given the chance, he’d like to put a stop to this. And with the quasi-warning you’ve granted him, he feels this is as good a time as any to poke as many holes in your plan as he can—

“What’s the rush? Why now?”

He can see in your eyes, you’re taken aback by his question as your challenging gaze turns suspicious. “What do you mean, ‘Why now?’ Because I want to, that’s why.” 

Your argument is slipping; petulance curls off you in plumes as thick as smoke. And the scent is sweet to him.

Eddie settles back in his chair, sliding his hips down—looking the epitome of leisure and apathy, he hopes. Though, unable to fully transform while walking the repressive tightrope, his left hand fiddles with the rings on his right—a nervous tick he hopes you’re too annoyed to notice. 

“Well, yeah, but why not yesterday? Why not a month from now?” He shrugs, feeling flinty resentment sharpen his edges as he continues the onslaught of questions, now bordering on antagonistic. “Why not prom night a few years ago? Isn’t that where all the girls go to lose it? You went, you had a date. You could’ve.”

Your eye twitches.

“Because I didn’t want to, jackass. I’m ready now. I want to now…”

Instead of responding, Eddie just raises his brows, feeling unimpressed. Your words sit in the air, floating in between you both as they grow stale. 

The soft whistle of the A/C unit and the ticking of the old clock on the wall make him feel like he’s trapped in this liminal space where conversations never truly end because nobody’s point ever actually gets made. Like he’s just meant to sit here, staring at you, both waiting for the other shoe to drop, but nothing comes. Because that’s not how the game is played. 

Unfettered, Eddie continues to look at you, as though you’re something to be watched—consumed. A separate entity he can’t touch, but he can play the part of an onlooker, waiting for disaster to hit. 

You squirm and shuffle in your seat. He observes. Waits. Gives you the space to tell on yourself because he knows you’re not strong enough to resist it.

Your eyes sporadically flit from his to random places in the trailer as you avoid his patient gaze. 

After a few seconds, it appears the opened cereal box and empty beer cans across the room become a bore to you. 

Slowly, your far-out gaze drops down the kitchen counter, landing on the floor, sliding to the side, and back up the table until it rests on his joined hands, fingers threaded, rings bulky and glinting in the dull glow of the humming bulb. 

He sees the exact moment you buckle under his unyielding attention—the moment you give up. Your shoulders deflate the smallest amount, free of tension and low from submission. Your chest collapses under the expression of a deep, silent sigh. 

 “I’m tired of being a virgin,” you mutter, shame darkening every syllable. “I just want it over with, I don’t care anymore.”

Eddie purses his lips again, nodding, because he understands the feeling. He remembers the pressure. “And you don’t wanna wait to lose it to someone you love?” 

You don’t respond. Don’t look at him. All you do is laugh. Just a quiet, humorless chuckle. A few notes of melody that tell him you’ve got a well of emotions, thoughts, and opinions on the subject that you’ll have to spare him for time’s sake. 

But Eddie’s not in the business of letting you off easy. As much as you can be difficult sometimes, he can be far worse. 

He can talk, and talk, and talk for hours. Stall forever if he needs to.

Suddenly, he sits up, hunching his shoulders forward, determined. “I think you should wait…. For someone you love,” he implores.

You roll your eyes again, as though he’s spinning you an opulent fantasy and swearing it’s true.

He crosses his arms, mirroring your own movement—

“Thank you for your input, I’ll take it into consideration.” You shoot him an insincere smile before looking up at the ceiling of the trailer, as if thinking, only to return your gaze to him seconds later. “Okay. I’ve considered it. And I’m choosing to ignore it.” 

Eddie bristles, sucking in a quick breath to bolster his impending rebuttal, but you don’t even let him—

“I don’t know if you've noticed, Eddie, but there’s a distinct lack of guys lining down the block, waiting to woo me. And that’s fine, it’s whatever,” you shrug, shaking your head like you couldn’t be less bothered. “I can’t make someone love me. But this, I can control…” 

You snort, mordacious words spewing from your perfect lips. “One thing I know about men is they may not be quick to love, but they’re certainly easy to seduce.” 

Eddie shifts angrily in his seat. Not quick to love? 

As if that could be true. Who in their right mind—

Part of him wants to yell at any guy who’s ever rejected you, but the other part—the dark, untamable ego—wants to jump up in celebration, in smug satisfaction that he’s not having to duel for your devotion. 

But he doesn’t do either because love is awful. 

It’s like staring into a mirror and all his worst flaws are staring back. 

Right now, his selfishness is glaring at him, and yet, he can’t seem to care. That’s the worst part. 

He should be good. He should be better for you. Should want to be better for you. It’s what you deserve. But you’ve done something irreversible to him. 

And love is fickle. 

Because, unfortunately, he can relate to you on one thing—the woes of not being able to make someone love you. 

The pain of wanting it and not getting it. 

If he could…. 

If he could get it… 

If he could make someone love him—if it were possible—he wouldn’t be stuck here listening to you plot how you’re going to lose your virginity to some guy. Instead, he’d be half-way to the bedroom by now, your hand in his, and a million sweet kisses waiting for you. 

But love is fickle. 

“Okay, fine. Yeah, guys are easy, but you can’t lose it to a stranger. That’s probably the worst way to go about it,” he complains, regarding you with almost-pleading eyes.

You pause for a moment, your eyes narrow at the earnest display of caution on his face. But then you must remember this is the face of a liar, because—

“I mean…people hook up with people all the time. Some even after they’ve just met at a bar,” you pointedly argue, pinning Eddie to the spot with a time-hardened gaze. 

His lip curls as he regrets ever opening his mouth that day in ‘84.

If he had known it would give you the perfect shield, allowing every argument he lobs at you to bounce off and hit him square in the chest, he would have never said a word. In fact, he has half a mind to create time travel just to go back and kick eighteen year old Eddie’s ass—

“And besides, I’m not doing it with a stranger. I was thinking of asking Jimmy Royston,” you shrug, focusing on the chipped nail polish you can’t seem to stop picking at. “I sat next to him in Chemistry, like, all of junior year.” 

For the first time in what feels like forever—well, at least since you told him your plans for later—Eddie laughs. A boisterous, belly laugh that echoes around the trailer, the sound bouncing off the smoke-stained wallpaper and hitting every surface in sight. 

Too busy wiping tears from his eyes, Eddie misses the way your face sours, your lips curling into a dangerous sneer.

He starts a few sentences that immediately devolve into gibberish and giggles when he pictures you and Jimmy Royston so much as speaking. God, his stomach hurts— He always did sat you were the funnier one out of you and him. 

A terse ahem draws his attention back, and he tries to stop his body from shaking with heaving laughter.

“Oh, sorry. Phew! I needed that, I needed that.” He wipes some escaped tears off his cheeks. “Ohh, thank you, sweetheart, that was very funny. Thank you,” he says with a breathless grin, smoothing his shirt and rubbing his sore abdomen. 

Staring at him with a heavy brow, your expression remains still—

When your facade doesn’t crack—when you don’t smirk and revel in how hard you made him break, like you usually do—Eddie’s smile drops off his face, replaced by unabashed incredulity. 

You’re serious. You truly mean to tell him…Jimmy Royston is your man of choice? The guy who vomited all over himself in ninth grade when he had to dissect a frog in biology is the one you want to lose your virginity to? Jimmy ‘Puke-y’ Royston?  

What’s more, your choice is based on a year of being lab partners? Really? Eddie has known you since freshman year—known of you since elementary school—and you’re choosing an acquaintance over him? 

Not even an acquaintance—an obligatory desk-mate. How romantic. Touching, really—

He can’t help but imagine how that conversation would go. “Hey, Jimmy, remember me from Chem? Stoichiometry, am I right? That shit sucked. Anyway, do you wanna fuck me?”

All of a sudden, he starts considering whether he could win in a fight against the short, slim guy. 

Who knows? It may come to that if he fucks this up and fails to convince you never to leave his trailer—especially not for Jimmy Royston. 

“Sorry, you wanna have your first time with your eleventh grade chem partner? Are you out of your goddamn mind?” Eddie wails, a crazed, bemused look in his eyes as he leans forward over the table that separates you two. 

You groan loudly, rolling your eyes so hard your head lolls back. “Oh, what now? You don’t want it to be a stranger, I said it’s not gonna be. Now you don’t want it to be someone I know? Seriously, Eddie, you’re grasping at straws here.”

“Someone you know? Jimmy is someone you know?” he scoffs, his brows lift so high they disappear into the messy curls of his bangs. 

When you don’t say anything else, only pursing your lips and avoiding his fiery gaze, he nods fervently, his frizzy locks swaying softly with the movement. 

“Yeah, well, of course. You guys go way back,” he mocks. “You know what, while you’re at it, why don’t you call up Chris Trilcek? You were paired up for that final presentation in world history freshman year. Bet he’d be a hoot-and-a-half in the sack, and I’m sure he’s free!” 

“Oh, do you think I should?” you ask, staring off to the side of his frazzled face like you’re actually considering his teasing suggestion. “I mean it’d be nice to have options in case Jimmy isn’t up for it…”

Before Eddie has a chance to figure out if you’re being deliberately obtuse again, you’re up, leaving him to stare at the empty space across the table as you rifle through the junk-drawer in his kitchen. 

Inside the deep drawer, stray batteries and an impressive rubber band ball roll about as you dig through a shocking amount of take-out menus. Once you find what you’re looking for, you make your way back to Eddie, plopping onto your chair, letting the item drop from your hands and onto the table with a loud thump. 

Quickly, you split the phone book open, flipping through the flimsy pages to get to the ‘R’ section. 

“What the f—” 

Eddie shakes his head wildly, slamming his hand down on the binding of the book before he drags it to him and away from you—away from your deft, searching fingers. 

“Hey!” 

You reach across the table to pull the White Pages back, but before you can get your hands on it, he shoves the book off the surface like an attention-seeking cat. It goes flying, falling to the floor of the trailer with a loud, hollow thud. 

“Hey! I need that, asshole!” you yell, vexation turning your tone shrill.

You stare into his eyes for a moment, annoyance cooking your insides like a stew as you’re met with utter indifference and what looks to be a hint of smugness. You’re going to kill him. 

Stuck in another stand-off, neither of you move until you make the mistake of glancing at the ground, noting the landing spot of the heavy book, splayed out—frail pages folding under the weight of itself in haphazard creases. Eddie follows your gaze and that’s all it took to give away your next move.

In a flash, you turn, bending down, and reaching to the floor. Eddie matches your hasty movements as you both tumble out of your seats, trying to beat the other to the book. The very tips of your fingers brush the laminated cover when he lurches forward, pushing the book out of your grasp once more. 

“Ugh!” you shriek as you scramble toward it, at an advantage because, though he got it away from you in that split-second, he still pushed it to your side of the room—further away from him. You feel a brush of wind against your bare skin as he swipes at your ankle, trying to catch the limb to drag you back to him, but you’re too quick. You get a hold of the book and stand up, rushing over to the yellow landline by the door.

“Fuck!” he shouts, clambering after you. The noises of you vigorously flipping through the pages and the click of the phone coming off the hook only seem to add to his panicked fervor. 

Eddie comes to an abrupt stop behind you, his body nudging you closer to the wall with his nearly-uncontrolled speed. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, his chest warms your back as he breathes heavy. 

Right as you’re about to start typing in the number you found for the Roystons, the phone lodged between your ear and shoulder disappears—yanked free, and slammed back onto the hook by a large, ringed hand. 

Another annoyed groan tears from your throat as you feel his body loom ever-closer behind you. Hunching your shoulders, you turn away from his right hand—the one that guards the phone—to protect your precious White Pages. But it doesn’t work— 

His left hand—the one you hadn’t noticed was resting on your hip—ambushes you from the other side. 

Quickly, Eddie firmly presses the pads of his spread fingers onto the thin page you were reading from, and balls his hand into a tight fist, effectively ripping the delicate paper from the book, trapping it beneath his iron grip. In a fit of rage, you whirl around, leveling him with a sharp glare.

He backs away from you, fist still closed around the paper, shielding it from your inevitable reach. Slamming the book onto the side table beneath the phone, you march toward him. 

“Eddie, what the fuck?” you yell, matching his retreating steps with your confident stride. When he runs out of space, you corner him against the far wall and the couch, zeroing in on his fist. 

Eddie lifts his hand high above his head, fully aware of how silly this game of life-or-death keep-away is. But he’ll be damned if you get that fucking phone number. 

As you reach for the crumpled paper, he uses his body to block you—leaning back when you lean forward, stretching and giving you more of his body to reach over. You grunt and mutter obscenities at him, balancing on your tip-toes, but nothing helps. You can’t reach it. He’s never been more overjoyed at his lanky stature than in this moment—

Giggles freely escape his grinning mouth while he watches laser-sharp focus and irritation mar your face as you shove him, trying to get him to break and finally give you the page. He’d never admit it to you because you’d probably junk-punch him—especially right now—but he’s loving the way you’re all over him. 

Your touch is everywhere as you reach and pry for the bane of his existence. Not to mention you smell amazing. He has to stop himself from curling into your roving hands, but he must remain sturdy. For both of your sakes. 

“Sorry, sweetheart, but I don’t think you’re tall enough to ride this ride,” he goads, utterly drunk on you.

You let out the loudest groan he’s ever heard from you, leading him to snicker some more. But he soon regrets his overconfident teasing when you give up on aiming directly for his hand and instead start pawing at his arm. 

A sharp chop to the inside of his elbow sends shockwaves of dull pain through his nervous system as you use your full body weight to pull down on his raised arm, now partially crumpled from your assault to his joint. 

In a moment of desperation—your body hanging from his flexing bicep, slowly but surely bringing it to your level—Eddie shoves the ball of paper into his mouth and releases the tension in his arm, dropping it to his side. The sudden slack causes you to nearly fall over, but before you do, he wraps his arms around your waist, catching you. 

Your irate features melt into a look of disgust as you squirm out of his arms. 

“Ew! Egh! That’s so gross, Eddie!” 

“Mmm, phone book,” he taunts through a mouthful of White Pages. 

“You know, that was your phone book, right? You just lost yourself a whole two pages of R’s,” you say, raising a brow. 

“Don’t care.” 

His petulance is muffled by the crumpled paper in his mouth, and he can’t help but cringe at the taste. Paper. It just tastes like paper. But old. 

Suddenly, he sidesteps your body and crosses the room, heading back to the kitchen to throw the page away. He can feel the thin material softening from his saliva and it’s making him want to scrub his mouth out. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see you watching him as he spits the wet slop into the garbage, sees the way you carefully step toward the phone again. 

“Ugh, you’re a child.” 

He pauses from scrubbing a towel over his tongue—attempting to clean any remaining pieces of paper from his mouth. “And you’re a brat.” 

You huff at his declaration. “Am not!” 

“Are too!” he rebuts, dropping the towel and coming out from around the counter. 

“I’m just trying to tell you you’re gonna regret it! I’m on board with the ‘virginity is a concept’ train—hell, I’m the conductor! My point is, sure, it’s a concept, but it’s a concept with feelings attached to it. And feelings get all confusing and…feelings-y,” he rushes out, frustrated at how he can never find the right words when you’re around. “You might not believe it now, but if you go through with this, you’re gonna feel pretty shitty afterwards.” 

He ends his spiel by crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the counter, staring at you. He’s said his piece.

You watch him for a moment, then—

“Great. Thank you for the wisdom, Gandalf. But how ‘bout you go share that with someone who cares? I’ve got a ‘T’ name to call.” 

You turn around, pick up the phonebook once more, and flip through a few chunks of pages to get to the right section. 

Eddie lets out a loud, defeated sigh as he lets his arms drop to his sides. “You’re really not gonna give this up?” 

Scoffing, you shoot him a glare from across the room before looking back down at the list of names. “Exactly which part of ‘I’m gonna lose my virginity tonight’ did you not understand?”

He sucks his teeth as he watches your finger find Chris’s last name, your hand already reaching for the phone. 

Fuck it—

“Fine. If you really wanna lose it to someone, and you don’t care who, then lose it to me,” he shrugs, crossing his arms again. 

He glances away from your now-still figure, your shoulders so high, they’re nearly up to your ears. 

Forcing a level of indifference he’s never quite been capable of—especially not when it comes to you—he stares downward, as if the well-worn carpet beneath his feet could ever be more interesting than the woman whose second home is his subconscious.

You’re pretty sure you can hear the fibers unfurling beneath his shifting feet. Or maybe it’s your feet. Maybe it’s your heartbeat in your ears, not his. Everything is a little confusing and you can’t seem to look away from the wall. It feels like a safe place to rest your unseeing eyes. 

Your arm aches and you retract it from where you were reaching for the phone—you hadn’t made it, you were half-way there when he said it. 

Carefully, you turn your head to him, trying to figure out if this is some shitty joke he’s spouting just to piss you off or if he has well and truly lost it. But his face is devoid of any humor and he looks as sane as he ever did—which was never a lot, but no different to now. 

More than anything, he looks almost vulnerable as he avoids your shocked gaze. 

“What? Eddie—” you start, already exasperated because you’ve decided that, even though he appears to be completely serious, he must be joking, “if this is another way for you to try and–”

“It’s not.” He shrugs his shoulders again, finally meeting your eyes while shoving his hands into the back pockets of his ripped jeans. “You win. I capitulate to her majesty.” 

You raise a brow at the medieval lilt and his waving bow to you, but before you get to reprimand him for the joke, he continues— 

“If you’re gonna go have sex with someone you feel nothing for, then why not feel nothing for me?”

You almost want to laugh at his “foolproof” logic, but the familiar pain in your chest is accompanied by something else. Something almost warm. Like rays of sun fighting through cumulonimbus clouds.

Damp dirt, new leaves, and fertilizer.

He’s offering something you only ever dreamed of like it never crossed your mind. 

Like it would mean nothing.

An agreement. A one-time deal. No strings attached; an easy fix to your problem.

But what if you want strings? 

Does he want strings? 

Strings do get messy when left untied. All the criss-cross feelings and knotted touches. 

But it’s him—

“Eds—”

Like he’s been burned by your solemn tone, Eddie cuts you off in a hurry. “At least it’d be with someone you know. Like really know…. Someone who cares about you—about your experience.”

The fragility in his eyes makes you want to console him. To tell him you believe every word. That you’re sure he would be good to you. 

Because he looks like him—

The soft, sweet man you saw all those years ago. The one you prayed to at night like a deity, asking for a few more seconds of his hand on your lower back, or more moments of just you and him. More laughter, more affection, more time. More, more, more. 

All the little things that molded you into a reverent devotee in the first place. 

Asking for every small thing to bolster your faith.

And now, he’s finally offering something much larger. 

Reaching for you with a divine gift.

How could you possibly say no?

Criss-cross feelings, you remind yourself.

Strings to tie your heart down, could be useful—

Fuck it. 

Slowly, you set the phone book down and make your way over to his spot against the kitchen counter. Stopping right in front of him, you look up with hesitant curiosity. 

You’ve never really been this close to him. Not with this much on the table. 

Mindlessly—shamelessly—you glance at his lips before succumbing to the cloudy glint in his eyes, the darkness that falls like a veil over his once-lively irises. 

There’s something there, you find. 

Something else that swirls deep in the molten shade of brown. 

Something you want to know more about. 

Your hands hang uselessly below you, resting against your body as you nervously fiddle with your fingers. The pointed tip of your tongue glides along the soft skin of your lips, leaving your mouth parted—like a siren call to his. 

You couldn’t be any closer to him. Butterflies flutter in your stomach as you feel the soft puffs of air from his wanton mouth. But you won’t move anymore. 

You leave yourself for him. He can have you if he wants. 

A sacrifice.

Eddie’s eyes rove over your face, looking down at the way you’re almost reaching for him, but it’s as if you won’t allow the touch. Won’t allow the crossing of some imaginary barrier you’ve built. 

Steadily, he lifts his hands—crosses the line—trailing his fingers up your neck like a ghost of a touch, until he settles his gentle grip on either side of your head. Stealing a moment from Time itself—just a second, a blip, like he’s plucking a ripe berry to savor in the thousand milliseconds he’s stolen—he smooths his thumbs over your temples, granting himself the selfish gift of feeling you.

His eyes consume all, admiring the dainty flutter of your mascara-blackened lashes, the softness of your skin—he marvels at the feeling.

Simmering from the heat of your body, he tries to memorize all your prettiest features, seen through an advantage he’s never had before. To be this close. To never be again. 

He’s going to make it worth his while. He has to.

A lowly victim to your gravitational pull, he finds himself leaning toward you, like light toward a collapsing star. And there’s no escaping you, not when you so easily warp the fabric of his being with frightening ease.

Loud in his straining ears, he hears the slight hitch in your breath when he nearly brushes his lips with yours, but he loses himself before he can truly feel you. Instead, he plants a cowardly, chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth.

Simply not enough, but more than he could have ever dreamed of getting. Another bittersweet paradox.

“D’you want this?”

He’s so quiet, but he can feel the way you shudder against him. The way you feel him, his words mumbled devoutly into your skin.

“I wanna lose my virginity,” you whisper confidently, like it’s the only thing you're absolutely certain of.

Eddie tries to fight the way his face falls, but he can’t seem to manage it when your words serve as a reminder of how little this all matters to you. Or, at least, how little you care who you lose it to. 

But, ever-observant, you notice, and he catches the worry as soon as it draws your brows together. 

“T-To you…” you amend. “Can I?”

The frail uncertainty in your voice feeds the fire deep in Eddie’s gut, like bone-dry wood being thrown into the hearth on a years-long winter night. 

The flames, once dim and hopeless, time-weathered and starving, roar back to life. 

Subtly, he nods, relishing the way you relax. Bound to your request, he allows his palms to glide down your form, taking his time to explore the new terrain until he grabs ahold of your soft hands. 

Side stepping your body, he gently pulls you to his room. His backwards strides are confident—a sign of comfortability in the home he’d call yours, just the same as he’d call it his. After all, these walls have seen nearly every iteration of his care for you. From acquaintances to friends to—

Neither of you speak as he guides you around his frame—you, now in front of him, and him, leaning his weight against the bedroom door until it clicks shut. 

Wayne is on a fishing trip for the weekend with some buddies from the plant, but he’s not particularly known for remembering to pack everything, and Eddie is keen on protecting your modesty and ensuring your comfort. Like you deserve. Like he knows he can—better than anyone.

He drops one hand from yours only to lock the door. Once he’s certain there will be no interruptions, he walks you back toward the bed until you’re standing right in front of it. 

Dropping your other hand, he reaches up and gently smooths the hair near your temple again, addicted to the way your eyes flutter. His hands slide down your figure until he’s toying with the hem of your t-shirt—his t-shirt, the one you stole in tenth grade and never gave back. 

His selfishness befriends the possessive fiend he fights back daily, because you’re moving through the world marked by him. And in this moment, Eddie wonders if you really could have let another man touch you in the shirt that whispers his name against your soft skin.

Heat thrums just below your surface, boiling and bubbling, nearly spilling over when you feel him tugging at your shirt, silently asking for permission. His hands wait patiently.

You don’t respond. Don’t know how to speak. Nerves rattle against your ribcage. Or maybe it’s your heart testing its prison, looking for a way out as it pounds and pounds and pounds—

“Can I take this off?” 

His low mutter—almost a monosyllabic slur of sound—registers a second later in your hazy brain. You nod, forcing your lungs to expand, but nearly choke at the faint scent of his cologne. 

It’s familiar. Piercing, clean, and rich—

You remember the day he got it. When he dragged you to the mall, forcing you to smell every option. He bought the one you liked the most. Even when he wasn’t too sure about it. You remember warning him about the price tag, about how he should pick one he really likes if he’s going to splurge on it. But he wouldn’t hear it—

“Words.”

A confused hum creeps up your throat as you greedily bask in his scent, feeling the world move in slow motion around you. His unending touch carves canyon-like ripples into the tissue of your mind.

When you manage to focus on his eyes, there’s a level of fondness in them that has you grabbing onto his wrist for support.

“Wanna hear your words, sweetheart. Y’gotta tell me what you want.”

Understanding washes over you like cool hose water on a hot summer day. Quickly, you open your mouth to ask him—no, beg him—to undress you, but before a single word can crawl out from between your parted lips, you feel his warm fingers dancing along the delicate skin of your waist, leaving a wave of goosebumps in their wake. 

Your breath catches, and you shudder because he’s both hot and cold—

His attention warms you; his touch leaves you shivering from a chill that is so frigid it begins to manipulate your frayed nerves, tricking you into feeling the burn as if it were born from the bluest flame and not the calloused hands of your best friend—

“I— I, um…”

You shake your head as you try to remember what you were about to say before the words ran away from you and into his arms, stealing whatever desperate sentiment you meant to express. But no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to figure it out, to fill in the blanks—like a cipher missing its key. 

His thumbs are drawing little shapes into the soft skin beneath your shirt, aiding and abetting the thieving words. The unfamiliar affection makes your abdomen twitch and your core pulse with need.

Before you get the chance to draw up some semblance of sanity, Eddie leans into you, effectively shrinking your entire world to just him. He’s everything you feel, everything you smell, everything you see, everything you touch, everything you…want to taste.

You so desperately want to know what flavor his kisses are—

Bitter smoke from the habit he can never quite kick? Malt sweetness from the beer he loves to drink? Cool mint from the gum he always carries around?

Would you grow ravenous at the first hint of Marlboro Reds? Would you crumble under the eager pressure of his lager-soaked tongue? Would your mouth water at the lingering scent of menthol on his breath?

You’re trapped in his thrall the second he closes in on your space. His head tips to the side, running his lips along your warm cheeks, your jaw. You shiver at the soft brush of his mouth—an action you’re painfully aware is not meant to be shared among friends. No, this kind of touch is reserved for lovers only— 

“What do you want, sweetheart? Want me to touch you? Want me to hold you?” he murmurs, heavy gaze locked on the way your lips part, and you quietly pant. Your head bobs toward his mouth, body leaning into his arms, drawn to the heat of him. 

You hear the sharp intake of breath, feel his nose nuzzling your hair. Then, as if fighting for control, his hands flex, only to grab onto your hips and drag you tight against him, like he lost the battle. Or maybe he surrendered. The way he hangs over you, almost relieved at the closeness leads you to believe it’s the latter.

Emboldened by his body against yours—all growing hardness and twitching muscles—your hands paw at his abdomen, his waist, kneading and pulling him impossibly closer.

“What do you want, baby?” 

You bite back a whimper at the new endearment. 

Because that’s reserved for lovers too—

“I want…W-Wan’ you. I wanna be…be with you,” you mumble breathlessly, mindlessly.

In a huff of impatience, he pulls your top over your head. You hear the way he swallows back a groan and you wish he wouldn’t have. 

With expert dexterity, he removes your bra, and this time, he doesn’t hold back. You practically bloom under his attention—his wide, hungry eyes, his almost pained rasp of humming appreciation. 

His hands slide up the sides of your body, featherlight fingers following the length of your ribs, brushing inward as he traces the skin just below the curve of your breasts. 

Your wandering hands fiddle with the hem of his shirt before slipping under the material, flexing and groping at his toned abdomen. You pull at his narrow waist, a wordless plea for him to touch you more. 

But he seems uninterested in your needy silence and you remember his instructions—

“Eddie, please. Please, touch me. I need you…. Wanna feel you.”

“Whatever you want,” he agrees, nodding.

Electricity prickles and dances across your skin like invisible lightning as he finally slides his hands over your sensitive breasts. Gently kneading the weight, he smooths his thumbs over your pebbled nipples. You gasp at the sensation, the way it directly triggers the heat twisting and turning low in your core with a quickness you’re not accustomed to. 

Leaning down, Eddie attacks your jaw and neck with greedy, open-mouthed kisses. His nose nudges you zealously, like he’s devouring your delicate flesh and still aching for more, so you tilt your head away, eager to provide. 

You tug his shirt up his body, but quickly realize you’ll need him to break away from your neck to get the material over his head. You lightly push on his abdomen, and he begrudgingly stops his assault, understanding what you’re looking for.

With a level of speed you’ve never once seen him use, he peels his shirt off, balls it up, and blindly tosses it somewhere in the corner of the room. 

Unabashedly, you ogle his body in a way you’ve never allowed yourself before. Your heavy-lidded gaze is first drawn to the pick hanging just below his collarbones, sitting perfectly against his pale skin. Then, your eyes drop, admiring the tattoos that litter the expanse of his chest. 

You’ve only ever seen them a few times—mostly at the Hawkins pool on hot summer days, and once when you walked in on him changing. You remember how you couldn’t get the image out of your mind. The contrast, the searing visage of inky-black against milky-white, pressed into skin like a pretty decoration meant to be admired. 

And like a set path guided by nothing but desire, your eyes track down, down, down his body—all heat and hardness. Your mouth waters when you catch sight of the tuft of coarse hair trailing from his navel to whatever lies beyond the waistband of his jeans. 

Whatever lies—

But you already have an idea; you feel him pulsing against your stomach, you felt him twitch when you whimpered moments ago.

All heat and hardness.

Drawing you from your trance, Eddie’s deft fingers fiddle with the button on your jean shorts, making quick work of the fastenings and dragging the material down your legs. He drops to his knees, peering up at you with something in his eyes so…raw that it has you grabbing onto him, your balance escaping you. 

With your hands on his strong shoulders, you watch with rapt attention as he removes your shoes and socks, then he gently cups one ankle, lifting it and helping you out of the leg of your shorts before doing the same to the other. His touch is so soft—so gentle—you think you might cry.

Barely anything has happened yet and he’s taking such good care of you. You shudder to think how this would have gone had you called up Jimmy or Chris. 

Nobody could compare to Eddie. 

Feeling weightless, heavy, high, and stone-cold sober all at once, you meet his eyes. 

“You look…” he pauses, swallowing harshly, “you’re so beautiful.”

Your ears ring at the hidden sentiment between those three words. A million extra meanings you can’t catch, but you heard them like a whisper in the wind—real and slipping through your fingers the moment his hungry lips grace your skin once more.

Large hands squeeze the backs of your thighs, and you feel the tickling brush of his frizzy curls against your bare legs. 

Wet, searing kisses travel upward, his hands slide in tandem with the needy affection. He holds you with a type of reverence you couldn’t have foreseen—as if you could have ever foreseen this. He moves along your body like you’re allowing him, not like he’s the one doing you a favor. 

You sigh when you feel the heat of his breath over the place you need him most. He’s stopped at the apex of your thighs, panting like a desperate man, blocked by a flimsy slip of fabric that you’re certain he could shred to pieces with the way his eyes have darkened. 

“C-Can I?” His strained voice breaks through the music in the room, disrupting the melody of syncopating gasps and pants. 

It feels like the world is moving as you stay perfectly still, staring down at him, his arms wrapped around your legs, fingers greedily curling in the waistband of your panties. You find yourself thankful for his steady, obedient grip. 

Underneath his wanton gaze, you feel the weight of roles reversed. It’s like it’s his first time, the way he’s looking up at you like your permission will fix him. Your touch will mend something broken. 

With wide eyes and parted lips, you nod. “Y-Yes. Please, Eddie.”

A sound torn from deep within his chest rumbles out, reverberating around the room, bouncing off of every wall and hitting you like a spell. Low, where his breaths warm you, a fiery enchantment unfurls in volant tendrils like ink in water.

Suddenly, Eddie drags the thin material down from around your hips, another appreciative groan rips from his throat as he watches the gusset of your panties fall last, stuck to your wet folds. A delicate string of arousal clings to the fabric, unable to part from it. 

You watch his efforts slow, his lids grow heavy like he can’t control the need. Then, he presses his face between your thighs, the very faint graze of his tongue leaves you trembling. 

With one targeted swipe, Eddie’s tongue snaps the silky string, catching what he can with overwhelming zeal.

“Want more,” he mumbles into your heat. “Sweets…”

“Yes,” you interrupt, already drowning in desperation. “Need you—”

He growls and pulls your panties the rest of the way down your legs before his large hand lifts one of your thighs to sit on his shoulder, allowing him easier access to your soaked core. He hums brokenly—a lewd sound of appreciation. 

The second he drags the flat of his tongue through your dripping folds, your gasps devolve into messy moans, but the sound only seems to encourage him more. With foreign ferocity, he devours you. 

“Oh, god, Eddie,” you mewl, hips twitching against his face, hands threading through his fluffy hair for balance. 

Vibrations from his responding groan move through you, tearing you apart until you’re nothing but wanton shreds. Your knees almost buckle beneath you, but he presses into you. Harder. More persistent. The force sends you falling backward onto the bed, your hands hurry to break your soft descent.

Your hips hang off the edge of the mattress—one foot still planted on the ground, the other dangling over Eddie’s right shoulder. His hands grope and knead the fat of your thighs as his tongue eagerly laps up your arousal like a man starved. Your arms give out from under you, sending your back barreling down to the untucked sheets on his mattress. 

You’re panting and burning up; the heat of his breath meets the warmth of your folds, creating a smoldering furnace where his mouth dances over you. It’s an unfamiliar sensation, and one you think no other man could ever replicate. 

Your hips react ardently to every twist and flick of his tongue, the talented muscle toying with you until you’re shaking and whining and bucking against his mouth for more. 

The moment you feel the tip of his tongue draw tight circles around your swollen clit, your head flies back in ecstasy. Your hands wander the space around you for something to grab, first, trailing over your breasts with a teasing squeeze before reaching for the sheets beside you. But it’s not enough. The material is so thin, you can’t get the grip you need. 

Like he can sense the desperate energy rolling off of you in tidal waves—like he knows the feeling—Eddie grabs your hands, momentarily sacrificing his fragile skin to your clawing, pressing, sinking, crushing—

Your thoughts are plucked from somewhere high in the ether and placed back into your head the moment you feel his dragging touch, then, softness. Peering down the winding, curving terrain of your body, you meet his dark eyes, see the way he’s moved your restless hands into his hair.

The whine falling past your lips is drowned out by his aching growl deep within your wet folds. He tightens his grip around your hands before letting go, encouraging you to hold onto him—to use him.

And you do.

You tug him closer, grinding your core against his mouth until you arch at the dull pressure of his tongue breaching your entrance, pressing into you powerfully, exploring untouched territory you wish could be marred by his ministrations. Like a token to memorialize this moment in time. Something that says you’re his—

Quickly, your hips start to lose their rhythm against his face, recklessly twitching and squirming with every break he takes from fucking you to flicking your clit with searing precision. 

“Eddie, Eddie, I’m gonna— Please, Eds, I—”

Not even bothering to pull away, he moans his pleas right into your pussy. “Give it to me, baby. Mmmph, give it to me, sweets. Taste so fuckin’ good—” 

The tone he’s using, the way he pauses after every other word to slurp and lap at your quivering folds, almost makes it feel like he’s not even talking to you. Or maybe not just you. But it’s like he’s speaking directly to your weeping cunt, pleading for more—more arousal to devour, more fluttering pulses to tickle his tongue.

Your brows contort in pleasure as tears prick at your waterline—almost there, almost there.

Suddenly, you miss the pressure of his mouth for a split-second while you hear a sucking sound, then your chest wracks with desperate sobs as you feel him slip a single finger inside you. 

“Oh, god! Oh, fuck!”

His other hand holds your hips down, blunt nails sinking deeper into the surface of your skin as electricity speeds along a high-strung coil—crackling and tight—just below his large palm. But the coil soon snaps when he starts to drag his long, thick finger against your velvety walls, thrusting in and out—gentle yet firm in his actions. 

“Eddie, Eddie, oh, fuck!” 

Unmade and raw, all you can do is babble incoherent whines and pleas as he teases you even past your orgasm, his tongue working your clit until it throbs to the beat of your racing heart.

When your legs start shaking from overstimulation, you finally gather enough strength to push on his head—appealing for mercy.

Like he’s not ready to part from you just yet, Eddie doesn’t yield to your push, though he does begrudgingly grant you reprieve. But he stays between your legs, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s not just breathing deeply to catch his breath. The way he inches infinitesimally closer, the way he won’t let your thighs close—it’s like he’s reveling in your heady scent—

“Fuck, you’re so pretty when you cum. Squeezin’ my finger so hard. God, this was just one, baby,” he boasts, utter glee defiling his already dirty words.

You whimper. One finger, and you felt so full.

In response, he garnishes your twitching pelvis with wet, sloppy kisses, like he’s searing a promise into your skin—

His hands do their best to hold your hips down, allowing him to take a tour of the tops of your thighs, the divot where your folds meet your legs, your mound—soaked and slobbered on by his overzealous mouth. 

Peering down your body, open-mouthed and desperate, you nearly mewl at the way his eyes are glazed over. He looks drunk on the taste of you. Completely and utterly wasted. What’s more, his face is covered in you. 

All the way up to his nose, his skin shimmers in the light, glistening with your juices. But he doesn’t seem ashamed of the indecent display. Instead, he seems proud. Proud to wear you on him—like a badge of honor.

“Eddie, please. I want more,” you whine, breathless from the come-down. 

“Pretty girl,” he purrs, nuzzling your thigh, “so desperate. Am I turning you to the dark side already?”

You shudder at his smug grin, but you can’t find it in yourself to care about his overly-inflated ego. Your mind is mush, and all you can think is his name prefaced by the dangerous word “my.”

“Please,” you mewl. 

His grin widens, and you note the hunger no longer hidden in the dark brown of his irises. Because he’s not aiming for decency anymore. Not in the way he’s eyeing you like you’re a meal and he’s famished, and not in the way his words are rife with untapped desire. 

“Alright, pretty.” He pats your thigh before backing away from you. “Up on the bed.”

It’s a soft order. A gentle command as he grabs your forearms and helps you scoot your hips all the way onto the mattress before letting go, allowing you to shuffle to the top of the bed. 

Once your head hits the pillow, he watches you settle into place, shoving the untucked sheets out from beneath you and off to the side. Without taking his eyes off of your movements, he works to remove his jeans, shoving them down his legs, along with his boxers. 

Now that your moans have ceased, the room is so quiet, he can hear your sharp intake of breath when his hard cock bobs free from its constraints. He bites his lip at the subtle shock shifting across your face. It’s flattering, but more than anything, he’s leaking at the thought of fitting inside you. 

“That’s— You’re—” 

Every one of your sentences seems to die on the first word, and he watches your thighs clench as your focus stays on his thick length. 

Heat warms Eddie’s cheeks as he tries to stop the smile from overtaking his face. He shouldn’t be like this—he should be calm, cool, and collected, but clearly exceeding your expectations has him feeling a myriad of things. Giddy, confident, smug…eager. 

Mindlessly, he wipes a hand down the lower half of his face, gathering your slick arousal on his palm, then collects the precum pouring from his ruddy tip, and spreads the combination of juices over the expanse of his thick cock. He grants himself a firm, teasing squeeze as he steps toward you, but quickly detours to the bedside table to rifle through the top drawer. 

“I’ll make sure it feels good, don’t worry. You’re gonna help me with that,” he says lowly, then stills his searching hands as he looks to you for a nod of agreement. When you give it to him, he smiles fondly. “Good girl.”

A quiet huff of amusement escapes him when he hears your strained whimper—the way you so obviously try to keep yourself quiet, but can’t help it. 

He’s starting to catch onto what you like. How you like to be spoken to. And your responses are addicting. The clench of your thighs, the pulse of your walls. The need that crawls up your throat like it’s fighting its way out of you.

He desperately wants to know what else his words can elicit. Or maybe even try something more than his words—

His body warms as he wonders what you’ll sound like when you’re wrapped around him. His mind conjures its best guess at the noises you’ll make when his thrusts knock the air out of you, like sweet rasping melodies meant to torture him. 

He wants to know just how shrill your cries will get when you’re nearly there, searching for just a little bit more. 

But most of all he wants to hear the sweet words that will slip past your loose lips, your mind too cockdrunk to stop the affection you’ll share. The secrets you’ll spill. God, he’s aching to hear you.

If he could, he’d lock you in his room and run experiments on you for a week straight—just to find out what makes you tick. He’d take you apart piece-by-pretty-piece, just to put you back together again. He’d hold you tight and play with you passionately, like you were his favorite toy. 

His.

Drawn from his thoughts by your shifting body, his attention diverts to the box of condoms he manages to find deep in his bedside drawer. He tears at the paperboard and pulls one out, showing you the foil packet before ripping it open—

“Safe sex,” he declares, sliding the oily-feeling latex out of the wrapper. 

His wry smile widens to a goofy grin when you giggle at his words, easing the tension. 

“Stupid,” you mutter, knocking your shin against the side of his thigh as he hovers near the head of the bed, putting the condom on. 

Once he’s done, he crumples the wrapper in his hand, glancing over at you before throwing it on the cluttered surface of the nightstand. “You sure you wanna do this?”

You roll your eyes, smirking. “Yes, Eddie. You already ate me out.”

That leaves him frowning—

“Sweetheart, just because we did that doesn’t mean you have to continue. We can be done. Nothing more needs to happen if you don’t want it to.”

You remain silent, only staring up at him with so much…something…in your gaze, it makes him want to fold in on himself like the discarded foil. And he thought the ease with which you crossed his wires was bad— 

“I know,” you mutter softly. “But I want to. With you. Will you…. Will you take care of me?”

Eddie’s breath hitches, and there’s a stinging feeling behind his eyes—one he knows all too well. 

You sound so small, so nervous. As if he could ever deny you something that was meant to be yours. His care. His devotion. 

“‘Course I will.” 

He nods one too many times, entranced by the way you seem so delicate under his watchful eyes. 

Delicate because you’re asking him to take care. In the way he’ll touch you. The way he’ll guide you. The way he’ll—

Slowly, he steps closer. You scoot to the side, making room for him to knee his way onto the bed. 

His hands brush your ankles, featherlight affection smoothing up your legs, stopping at your knees. With the utmost reverence, he gently parts them, settling between your thighs. 

“You look so pretty like this. I mean…you look— Well, you look…pretty all the time,” he nervously amends, eyes flitting over your face, but never any lower. 

He wants you to know he means you. You’re pretty. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Not because you have a gorgeous body, but because you are gorgeous. 

You shift beneath him, avoiding his gaze and, instead, focusing on pulling him to you. Softly. Needily.

He follows your guidance, leaning over you until his hands land beside your head. And just like before, he’s memorizing the moment. Every twitch of your brows, every flutter of your lashes, every quiet breath from your pleasure-bitten lips. 

Below, you glance to the side, find his wrists, and wrap your hands around each one, as if grounding yourself in his touch. Only then—when his pulse beats wildly against your fingers—do you meet his eyes.

Wandering palms—soft and unfamiliar in their affection—travel the length of his arms, pausing over black ink, then continuing up until they reach his biceps. He shivers as you hum, squeezing the corded muscles that lay twitching restlessly beneath heated flesh. 

“You’re pretty, too,” you murmur, sliding your palms back down and rubbing at his wrists. 

Eddie chuckles, then swallows. “No, I’m not.”

The subtle twitch of your brows, the split-second peek at the budding frown that says you disagree has him beating you to your rebuttal—

“Not like you.”

His heart leaps in his chest as your hands suddenly drag his face to yours, like you’re about to kiss him with overwhelming need. But you don’t complete the motion.

And neither does he.

Because he’s not sure he can come back from all of this if he kisses you. 

If you allow him to have you in that way—

He’s not sure he’s strong enough. Not enough to feel you like that, to close his eyes and claim your lips like they belong to him, and then go about his life like he never felt it. The beat of your heart against his, pounding in nerves and want. The truthful desire dancing from your mouth to his. 

He couldn’t go back to living a lie. To live like he doesn’t think about you every single day. Like he doesn’t wonder what you’re doing when you’re not with him. Like he doesn’t do the most mundane shit and spends the whole time thinking about how much better it would be to do it with you. 

So he doesn’t kiss you. He can’t. Not when you’re not his to keep. 

Instead, he leaves a delicate, chaste brush of an almost-kiss to the corner of your mouth. Again.

Another cop-out from a coward. 

You struggle to contain your disappointment, resigning yourself to the fantasy in your head. The imagined taste of his tongue tangling with yours. And with wanton hands, you reach for his hips, subtly pulling him closer. 

“Need you,” you mutter, hearing the hitch of his breath as you whisper the plea against his mouth. 

“Fuck— Okay.” 

You watch as he reaches for his length. Taking a strong grip, he guides the thick tip along your slick folds, gathering your wetness. 

The raw combination of moan and a sigh leaves your lips—an accidental slip portraying just how much you’re aching for him. 

“It’s gonna feel a little weird, like…pressure. Okay? But you gotta let me know if it hurts, sweets, you hear me?” 

Your fluttering eyes, panting mouth, and rolling hips aren’t enough of a response, apparently, because his voice grows firm. 

“Hey, pretty girl, you with me?” 

“Mhm,” you whine, nodding your head. 

“What did I tell you?” he asks, smoothing a thumb down your temple before tapping three times. 

“Um, you— you said, um, if it hurts, I'll tell you.” 

“Good girl.” 

His muttered praise leaves you mewling, inching your hips closer to him, looking for more—yearning for it. 

Your mind devolves into pure static as he presses his thick tip into you slowly. Through bleary eyes, you see his teeth sinking deep into his lower lip, like he’s fighting to maintain his composure. For a moment, you wonder what it must look like from his point of view—the way your folds open up to him, welcoming the intrusion, ready to wrap around him in a vice grip.

“Oh, god. Mmm.” 

Your features crumble at the sensation of dull pressure—exactly what he warned you about. It doesn’t hurt, it just leaves you wanting more, like you’ll find reprieve once he’s fully inside you. 

“How you doin’, baby? Need a break?” he rasps, kneading your thigh gently.

“Need more.”

“Fuck, y’want more? Wanna feel more o’ me?” 

You whimper and nod, your heart racing as his slurred words drag you down into the flaming pit of desire.

Your mouth parts in a silent gasp when you feel him press deeper inside of you, his stiff length sliding past your walls. Your ribs contract and expand in raucous breaths the moment you see just how much of him is left. He’s just barely got the tip in—

As your gaze creeps up his body, you realize Eddie hasn’t looked down once, not to where you’re connected. You wonder if it’s self-preservation or if maybe it’s part of his care for you. The way he watches your face intently, like he’s monitoring every slight change in expression leads you to believe it’s the latter. Probably both, really.

But you’re thankful he’s looking, because he immediately notices when the pinch in your brows shifts from pleasure to a wince of discomfort. 

His hand is on your face in a second, smoothing the crease between your brows and petting your hair soothingly.

“Baby, you okay? Is it too much? You feelin’ pain?” 

You shake your head stubbornly, sucking in a deep breath, leaving your mouth open and panting as your gaze stays glued to the sight of him inside of you. You notice it’s not just the tip, he also gets impossibly thicker through the middle of his length, and you’re sure that’s what you’re feeling now—

“Hey, look at me.” His thumb catches your chin, guiding your eyes to meet his. “I can make you feel good, but I need you to help me out. Tell me what you’re feeling.”

Something flashes in the molten color of his irises and he leans down, brushing his lips against your cheek. You practically preen as he grants you a sweet kiss, and part of you—the rotted, selfish part—wonders if feigning pain would allow you to finally taste him properly, all smoky mint and dancing tongues—

“Let me make you feel good, baby,” he implores.

“‘S just a pinch, ‘s just— It’s fine,” you placate, rubbing your hands gingerly down his sides. 

“Alright, we’re gonna wait here, and you tell me when I can move, or if you wanna stop. But in the meantime, try to relax all your muscles. Sometimes we get all tense, even when we don’t mean to.”

You nod hesitantly, taking a few more deep breaths, making a conscious effort to drop your shoulders and let your muscles rest. After a full minute of breathing, resting, and leaning into his soft palm on your warm cheek, you nod again. 

“Okay, you…you can move now.” 

But he doesn’t. Not yet. As if trying to discern the truth, Eddie just studies you for a moment. Then he moves, inching further into you.

When your jaw goes slack at the feeling of fullness, you hear a rumble of sound, like a groan that’s been cut off too early, and you have half a mind to ask him if he needs a break. But before you get the chance, your words catch in your throat as he rests lower on you.

“Pretty girl,” he coos, his hot breath tickling your ear, leaving your cunt pulsing with need.

Then a hiss—the kind that sounds like it’s bordering on pain, but is only one degree away from pleasure—escapes his lips, and you realize just how tightly you were squeezing him.

Then, suddenly, he bottoms out, the firm, jolting movement forcing all air from your lungs. 

“Oh, good girl,” he huffs out, voice strained. “You’re doin’ so good for me, taking me so well. How’s it feel, sweets? Think you like it? Wan’ more?”

Struggling to turn pitiful mewls into actual words, you nod your head fervently, reaching down to press your palms against his hips. “Mmm, wan’ more. Please, Eddie.” 

For the first time, he glances down, and you hear him choke at the sight. Electricity prickles across your delicate skin, and the sting of your teeth sinking into your lip does nothing to disrupt your giddy hum as you try to push him away.

In the dark shade of his eyes, you can tell he recognizes your movement as a very desperate, unsuccessful attempt at getting him to pull out—to chamber a thrust. And he seems utterly amused—

“Oh, baby, did you want something? You wanna do the work? Help me out like a good girl?” 

Something deeply raw and needy peels from your throat in response, and you silently rejoice when he pulls back, aiding your efforts. Unfortunately, it’s only a couple inches because—to your burgeoning frustration—he’s following your guidance, and your arms don’t reach nearly as far as you need. 

But you’ll take anything right now; desperation is cooking your nerves and boiling your insides. 

So you sink your nails into his hips and pull him back to you with a sudden yank.

Your mouth drops open at his shallow thrust, unintelligible noises of debauched need tumble past your parted lips. 

Clawing at his soft skin, you struggle to set up another thrust. “Please, please— I need more.”

“More? But you’re doin’ so well all by yourself,” he condescends, eyes twinkling with hunger as he lets you push and pull him. “Look at you go, pretty girl. Makin’ yourself feel so good. What an independent little woman.”

His teasing shakes you to your core because it’s so him. It’s your best friend, just in a new scenario with unfettered access to your body and pleasure. God, you’ve allowed him too much power— 

“Eddie! Please! I’m— I need it. I need you…”

Amusement washes from his face and you pout as he pauses, as if admiring a view. Then he ducks down.

“Whatever the princess wishes,” he murmurs lowly, lips brushing against the heated skin of your cheek, syrupy sweet affection dripping from every word. Gently, he pulls out, nearly all the way. 

The mewl that was halfway out of your mouth catches like a lock clicking into place. A loud, desperate cry comes out in its stead—a reckless, candid response to the deep gut-punching thrusts barreling into you. They’re not hard, not rough, but firm. Controlled. Resolute. 

Like he wants you to feel it. Feel him.

You chase your breath in his rutting hips, surrendering to the affection he’s searing into you with every pass of his stiff length against your pulsing walls.

Red streaks paint his milky-white skin, blooming beneath your hurried hands like a casualty of your desire. Curses, groans, and harsh gasps fall from his slackened jaw. Heat bubbles deep in your core, rivaling the warmth of the salacious words he whispers into your flesh. 

“Shit, you feel so good, sweets— Oh, god, wan’ you to be— Fuck!”

Tears flood your waterline as you stare at the ceiling, features permanently fixed in shattered pleasure. Your mind struggles to hold onto the hitch in his breath, the unfinished sentence you’re dying to hear. But the sensations are overwhelming. Every nerve in your body is sparking—all livewires itching to explode.

All you can say is his name, all you can feel is him, and yet, it’s still not enough—

“Eddie, n-need m-more, ple—aseee!”

“Ah, fuck, baby, I know. I got you—”

Eddie glides his tongue over the pad of his thumb before reaching between your legs and circling your swollen clit. 

And suddenly, it’s like lightning has struck the furnace deep in your core, shooting high voltage shocks up your body until you grow so hot you’re almost cold. A sensation of fullness takes over, like you’re mere seconds from bursting. 

Delirious with passion, your hand flies down to stop his movements—to stop what you know is coming.

“H-Hold on, I— Eddie, I need to— I wanna feel you! Please, please, let me—”

Your needy sobs have him slowing down until he stills inside of you, chest heaving and damp with sweat.

“What— You can feel me. Aren’t you feelin’ me, sweets?” He reaches his hand up to the space just below your navel, pressing in only slightly.

You whine from the pressure, and your cunt flutters around him in rhythmic pulses like it’s trying to entice him back into movement. 

And, God, you can feel him— 

He’s burrowed his way deep inside you, but it’s still not enough—

“No— Yes, I— Oh, god, I c-can feel you. I just—” Your words melt into a whimper as you squeeze your eyes shut. The feeling of warm wetness slides down your cheek.

You’re vaguely aware of a dip in the bed on either side of your head, and as you blink away the blur, you realize Eddie has dropped to his elbows over you, caging you in. 

His lips trace the track of the tear in reverse, starting first beneath your jaw, then up the expanse of your face. But his mouth doesn’t open—it’s not a trail of kisses. Just a soothing glide of soft pink, collecting salt water. 

“What do you wanna feel?” he asks patiently, like he’s ready to bring your deepest desires to fruition. 

When you don’t respond, he brushes his lips against the thin skin of your eyelids in short, delicate kisses. 

“I’ll do anything for you, baby. Just tell me what you want—”

The raw truth of his statement rings in your ears along with a prayer in the shape of your name—reverent, impassioned, desperate. The tone has you questioning when the god became the devotee. 

Your eyes flutter open as you peer up at him. 

“Wanna feel you. All of you. I don’t want— I don’t want anything in between,” you whisper, your gaze flitting between his earnest attention and his glistening lips, wet with your tears.

Eddie’s mouth parts slightly, a look of quiet shock mixing with curious disbelief as he tilts his head, like he’s observing you for any lapse in conviction. But there’s none to be found. You’re certain you want this. So he gives a single nod, yielding to you.

Before he can even shift his weight, you’re already pushing at his hips again. He lets you move him until he slips out, then your eager hands reach for his hard cock, sheathed in thin latex. 

The calm Eddie found since ceasing his thrusts starts to dissipate as he watches your movements with rapt attention. 

Acutely aware of the expansion of his ribs on every breath in, the scent of sex and your perfume permeating his olfactory receptors has any semblance of control quickly leaving his body. 

The sensation is like a loss of inhibitions. Like he’s gorged himself on you and now he’s utterly wasted. And he knows from personal experience, he doesn’t make the best decisions when inebriated—

The reminder that he’s here for you—that he’s supposed to be the one guiding you—is hard to hold onto when you’re expertly drawing him back into you, teasing yourself with the thick, ruddy tip of his cock, painting your folds with dribbling precum. 

He shudders at your wrecked moan, your eyes smoked out with hunger and desire and nothing else as you leer at his flexing length.

“F-Fuck, sweetheart, are you sure about this?”

You only hum in response, deep in focus.

“Unh, unh, look at me.”

Eddie’s thumb catches just beneath your chin, drawing your attention to his hardened features. The moment your far-out gaze focuses on him, he struggles to ignore the way your pupils have almost eclipsed any trace of color in the iris. 

But then your attention falters, your eyes slowly glide down to his mouth, your lips parting like a call to him—

He adjusts his grip, his thumb and fingers digging into your cheeks.

“No, up here, pretty girl.”

Tipping your chin up, he manually fixes your gaze to his.

“Are you sure you want this?”

As if words are too difficult to drum up, you whimper imploringly. 

And all it takes is one warning tilt to his head and you’re righting yourself. Forcing the words to come— 

“Yes! God, please. I need you…”

Satisfied, Eddie nods, taking a moment to revel in just how gone you are for him. 

“Okay.”

Another pitiful whimper escapes your closed mouth as you push harder into his grip—wanting, asking.

Knowing exactly what you’re missing—a quick learner in the language of your desperation—a smirk curls at his lips. “Good girl—”

Then he sinks into you in one quick, deep thrust that carves a half-scream, half-gasp from your chest. 

His shoulders drop at the feeling of your wet heat, your greedy walls, hugging every square inch of his cock, gripping onto him like a lifeline.

“Oh, fuck, baby. Shit, y’gotta stop squeezin’ me like that. You’re not gonna give me enough time to pull out,” he mutters, dragging his hips back and slamming into you, starting a brutal pace. 

Tears flood your waterline once more as you cry out for him, your hands touching, groping, and grabbing every bit of muscle you can get ahold of. 

“P-Please, please, E-Eddie! Oh, god, oh—oh god! Feels s-so g-good!” 

Your knees drop open as your hands blindly reach for his hips, pulling him in for impossibly deeper strokes. 

“I’m— E-Eddie, I—”

“I know, baby. I know,” he chants, holding on desperately to the last shred of his sanity.

Ducking lower onto you, he shifts his weight to reach between your thighs and circle your clit. With an open-mouthed pant, he watches as your eyes roll back, your loud moans drowning out the vulgar sound of skin slapping. 

His gaze flits across your face, memorizing your pleasure-shocked features like it’s the last time he’ll ever get to see this particular crease in your brows, this heavy-lidded trance. Panic fills his bloodstream as he realizes it might very well be the last time—

And if it’s the last time, maybe he’s allowed to be selfish. One time. Just this once—

“Fuck it,” he breathes out, dipping down until his mouth capture yours, swallowing every last moan.

Your palms fly to the sides of his head, dragging him further onto you until the range of motion in his hand severely shrinks under his own rutting hips. You lick into his mouth like you’re trying to taste yourself. Overwhelmed with desire, he begins to lav his tongue into you the same way he devoured your cunt earlier. 

Your responding mewls leave him trembling, and he worries over the tightening in his abdomen, the coiling heat deep in his gut. He starts to pull away, but he feels pressure at his hips. You’ve wrapped your legs around his waist, locking your ankles, leaving him no way of escaping your hold. Fuck, you’re going to be the death of him—

“Baby, we can’t— I gotta— I need’ta pull out,” he slurs against your mouth. 

“Please don’t,” you whine, spit-slick lips haphazardly forming around the pitiful plea.

Eddie feels his chest crack open with raw, tortuous longing. Hips faltering to a grinding rhythm, he lets his shoulders sag under the pressure of wanting—the weight of possession. All it would take to claim you, all it would take… is just to let go. To make you his.

He’s not strong enough—

“Please don’t,” you repeat, gliding your hands down his damp skin until you still at his lower back. With a foggy mind driven by the most basic desire to claim—or rather, be claimed—you muster all your strength and press your palms hard into his spine, dragging him to you. 

Following a groan that sounds suspiciously like a surrendering cry, Eddie pulls his hips back just enough to shallowly thrust into you. They’re firm, breathtaking strokes that feel like he’s trying to permanently burrow beneath your flesh, and his mouth glides over yours in a messy, blind display of drunken need. It’s a thorough loss of all space and you revel in it.

“Fuck, sweets. I— I—”

“E-Eddie! Ed—die, I’m— I’m c-cl— Please, don’t— Don’t—”

Eddie’s thumb starts circling your clit with renewed vigor, sending spasms shooting down your legs so strong that your ankles unhook. Like two magnets repelling each other, they go flying to the bed, twitching and convulsing. 

Deep in your core, you feel a magmatic pressure that just builds, and builds, and builds, until something snaps—

Arching into him, you cry out as your body goes weightless, and your mind floats into the ether once more. 

His groans, his grunts, the smacking of skin on skin—every sound echoes as you move further away from your mind. Vaguely, you’re aware of his faltering thrusts, his hungry lips devouring. Your mouth might be moving in tandem with his, or maybe you’re babbling incoherently, it’s unclear—all your senses are fried.

All you’re certain of is the sinking of your body. Deeper than the mattress, deeper than the floor. Down, down, down—you’re dragged into the pit of sated desire while your soul soars high above you. 

“Ah, s-shit, baby— I—”

By the time you find your way out of the depths—crawling back to him—you register the tail end of shivers wracking his entire being. His arms haven’t loosened around you and his softening cock is still twitching and flexing inside of you, goaded by every pulsing constriction of your warm walls. 

Nosing into your cheek, Eddie pulls back for a second, just to get a look at you—to memorize. 

What he sees is exactly what he expected—

Something he could never forget.

Something he could never be normal about.

In your eyes, in soft pants, in the flutter of lashes over mascara smudged skin—he sees you.

Just you.

A glutton for punishment, he licks his lips, savoring the taste of you before dipping down for more. One more.

Like he’ll never live long enough to see you walk out of his room—his sweat staining your skin, his spend safe inside you—he kisses you, slow and rottingly sweet. Swallowing every sigh, stealing every breath—he prays to you with selfishness in his heart. 

“I felt something,” you mumble against his mouth, pressing your hands to his shoulders.

Ignoring the ache in his chest—the kind that blooms when space starts to grow between his body and yours, like a weed whose roots never truly die—he forces a laugh that crumbles to dust in his throat. 

“Well, yeah…. God, I hope so,” he huffs, all strained amusement and bitter jokes.

A small smile pulls at your lips. “No, I mean.… I mean— You said, um, earlier, you said…”

While you struggle to find the words, his touch seems to act as a hindrance to your search. Your breath hitches and your eyes flutter as he smooths his thumb over your sweat-soaked hairline. 

“You said if I was gonna sleep with— If I was gonna f-feel nothing with a stranger, then I should…feel nothing with you.”

Realization dawns on him, almost at the same time he decides this conversation shouldn’t take place with him inside of you—

“Maybe we should—”

“No!” You stop his movements, pressing your fingers into his hips before he can slip away. “Please, don’t! Don’t— Don’t go.”

Eddie watches your features soften from panic into an amalgamation of nerves and reserved urgency. The mess of emotions darkening your once-twinkling eyes are enough to stop his movements, but he still wishes every square inch of him could liquify and seep through the floor of the trailer until he reaches the earth. Maybe then he could be free of your dominance over his heart—

“Okay. Okay.” He nods, placating. 

Shifting above you, his attention oscillates between your wide-eyed stare and the space on your neck he kissed like he owned it. Then, as if he suddenly forgot how to behave like a human, he sucks his teeth and fumbles to respond—

 “What, uh, what did you feel?”

Your nails sink into him with a pinch, but by the way you seem lost in your own head, he doesn’t think you’re aware. Then—

“W-What— Um, did you…feel…anything?”

He stares for a moment, considering your evasion of the question, but then he looks to your neck once more.

A million thoughts zoom through his mind like advertisements on big city buses. He can’t discern all of them, but one has YOU written in what he’s certain is your handwriting. Another says everything in posh, looping cursive. A third one is void of any advertisements, and unfortunately, that’s the one that stops for him—

“I don’t think it matters,” he mutters, avoiding your frown. “It’s— I’m not the one who lost their virginity.”

You cock your head to the side, the kind of movement he knows means you’re not letting him slip by. “Yes, it does.” 

Your tone bites at him, scrambling the illusion until he’s a clear picture of vulnerability, bare under your hardened gaze. 

“I just mean, it matters more how you felt. If you— If I made you comfortable. Doesn’t matter how I felt,” he tries, wondering how likely it is that he could be struck by lightning indoors, on a sunny day—

Because you’re looking at him like he’s eighteen again. Like he’s stupid and boyish and easily breakable. But there’s something else in your eyes—

Something that makes him feel almost mendable. 

“No, but it does matter how you felt. How you feel. It matters. I care how you feel. I wanna hear what you think,” you implore, holding onto his wrists beside your head. You press the pads of your fingers into his pulse and he worries you’ll feel it before he says it—

“But did you—”

“Yes, I felt good. Yes, you did a good job taking care of me. Yes, I felt safe. Now how did you feel?”

“I feel like— I don’t want you…to…” He closes his eyes, hanging his head. “I feel like I wish you were mine,” he says, letting a humorless chuckle float out of his mouth and electrocute the air with tension. “And I feel like calling up Jimmy and Chris just to curse them out for being the ones you thought of first.”

In the loll of his admission, something shifts in your features, and every molecule of air leaves his chest like you just rolled a grenade at his feet, unpinned and already three seconds deep into the fuse delay. 

As if you have nothing better to say, you pluck the lowest hanging fruit—

“Well, technically you suggested Chris,” you half shrug.

Charged silence fills the room like rushing water until he blinks at you.

“Okay.” He begins to back away, ignoring your grasping hands.

Your face falls. “No, I’m sorry! I— That was a joke! ‘M sorry, it was stupid—”

“Okay,” he repeats flatly, peeling your fingers from his bicep. He pulls out of you smoothly, pretending not to hear the low whine deep in your throat—

“Eddie, no! Don’t— I love you!” you utter quickly, as if the words will act as a balm upon his burning skin—the skin that broils under your touch. And for a moment, he almost accepts it. He’s so selfish with you—

But when your eyes grow wide, like you hadn’t meant to let something so damning slip past your lips, he realizes the truth—

He was right.

He doesn’t leave you to explain yourself—doesn’t wait for you to quantify the secret.

“It’s okay,” he answers your worried gaze. “I told you, sex has weird feelings attached to it. Things get said in the heat of the moment, it’s all good.” 

Hopefully, if he repeats the sentiment enough, he’ll start to believe it too.

But instead of appreciation, he sees indignation warp your face. 

“I’m sorry, where have you been? The heat of the moment was five minutes ago,” you huff, eyeing him like you can’t even begin to comprehend his level of delusion. “True, I didn’t mean to say it just then. But I felt it. I have felt it. For…” you laugh, a humorless sound that grates Eddie’s heart, “years.” 

And suddenly, he feels like he got his wish—

Every muscle in his body has turned to mush, every nerve is frayed, every wire is uncrossed—

“I’ve—” you pause, then scoff. “Like, Jesus Christ, Eddie! Do you know how long—” 

He melts into you, his lips on yours, his hands on your face, holding you right where he needs you most—

Swallowing your surprised moan, he takes your needy grip in stride—every bite of painted nails against pale burning flesh, every tug and drag, seeking a closeness he craves to sate.

“I don’t care,” he slurs against your mouth, too intoxicated to hear how much time he’s missed out on. Then he pulls back a fraction of an inch, instead deciding he wants to know every single detail—even the painful bits—

Even if just to hear you talk—

“Well, I do care,” he amends. “I just—”

You peer up at him through heavy lids and a teasing grin, and he feels too far from you.

“Not right now,” he drawls, unable to think past ‘I love you, too.’

A/N: Please say nice things about this, it took so fucking long lmao. 

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Eddie Munson was an odd guy. Unlike everyone else in Hawkins, you knew he was harmless, but that didn’t stop you from thinking he was a bit strange. His theatrical antics, his metalhead aesthetic and lifestyle, and his affinity for fantasy tabletop games did make him stand out from the crowd, but that wasn’t what you found odd about him. No, what you found odd about him was how he turned into a complete oaf around you.

You sat next to each other in Ms. O’Donnell’s class. Every day when he walked into the classroom, he would jauntily stroll up to you with a big, goofy smile and say “hi,” and would follow up his greeting with a random fun fact (the one that you recalled most often was when he told you that there was a word for throwing someone out a window, defenestration, because he said it so giddily), then head to his seat. Usually on his way to his seat, he would trip over his own foot or somehow miss his chair when sitting down and landing on the floor. He would try and pass notes to you during class, though that stopped after Ms. O’Donnell yelled at both of you, even though Eddie dramatically tried to absolve you of any blame. If he saw you in the hallway, he would wave at you frantically, hitting whatever unfortunate soul was standing next to him, which somehow always seemed to be his friend Gareth. When you got paired together for a project, he actually did the assigned reading to impress you, but when you asked him a question regarding the material, he would start stammering and say that he forgot.

It didn’t take long for you to realize that Eddie’s foolishness was due to the fact that he liked you. You figured it out after you mentioned you had gone on a date, and you physically saw him deflate, his smile became half-hearted and no longer reached his eyes. You weren’t entirely sure why, but it pained you to see him so sad. But he perked back up when you told him it was a bad date. It was instantaneous, like a golden retriever hearing the front door unlock after their owner’s been away all day.

That was when the bad flirting started.

Eddie went through a phase where he said the corniest pick-up lines. You had no idea where he was getting them from. Did he poll the school? Did he ask his uncle? Did he find some cheesy book full of them? The answer was unclear, but every day for about two weeks he would give you a new line.

“Hey, I forgot my phone number, so I was wondering if I could have yours.”

“Are you a magician? Because every time I look at you, everyone else disappears.”

“Is your father a theif? Because someone stole the stars from the sky and put them in your eyes.”

You would always roll your eyes or just stare at him with a blank expression until he went to his seat, not wanting to encourage him, though there seemed to be no end in sight. You did bust out laughing the day he forgot the pick-up line halfway through, and he glanced at his hand where he had written it down to recite the rest of it. When he asked if that line actually worked, you told him, “No, Casanova, I’m laughing at the fact you wrote it down on your hand.”

Then he just started asking you out.

It was never in a way that made you feel pressured to say yes, nor did he ever react poorly to your rejections each time. But every couple of weeks, he would try again.

He strolled up to you with a smile, leaning against the lockers and pulled out two tickets from his pocket, “So, they are showing a classic horror double-feature at the drive-in this weekend, and I just happen to have two tickets.”

You close your locker and fix him with a look of indifference, “Well, I hope you and Steve have a great time.”

Eddie watched you walk away with a slight frown.

But he never gave up.

And you didn’t want to admit it, but you admired his persistence. His little quirks you used to find strange, you soon found endearing, though you would never tell him that, you were positive it would only make him up the ante.

~

You exited your final class of the day and walked to your locker. The week had been long and tiring, and you had just been feeling a little down. You were very much looking forward to catching up on some sleep over the weekend. As you put away your textbooks, you sensed someone walking up behind you. Immediately knowing who it was, you released a sigh.

“Eddie, not today. I’m tired and want to go home.” You closed your locker and turned around to Eddie’s hand holding out a flower towards you, “What’s this?”

“A flower.”

You rolled your eyes, “You know what I mean.”

He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck nervously, “I don’t know, I ditched last period for a smoke break and saw this outside, and I remembered you said you liked these flowers, so…”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. You remembered when you told him. It was back when the two of you were paired up for that project in Ms. O’Donnell’s. It was an offhanded comment you made, you didn’t even think he had been listening to you when you said it.

“You remembered that?”

Eddie shrugged, “Yeah.”

You took the flower from him, gently twirling it between your fingers, “So you picked me a flower just because you knew I liked them?”

He shrugged again, shoving his hands in his pockets, “I mean, a little bit because of that, but also because I noticed that you seemed down, and I thought that maybe this would be a little something to make you smile,” he waited for a response from you, but you were too shocked to say anything, “It was stupid, I’m sorry…”

As Eddie continued to nervously ramble and overexplain his thought process behind the incredibly sweet gesture, you just smiled. He finally did it, he had won you over. Eddie Munson had wormed his way into your heart. Admitting defeat had never felt more right.

“Do you have any plans this weekend?”

Eddie freezes, slowly turning his head towards you, “What did you just say?”

“I was thinking about going to the movies, and I thought maybe you would like to come with me. Maybe we could grab a bite after or something?”

It was Eddie’s turn to stare at you dumbfounded. You couldn’t help but chuckle, you had never seen him at a loss for words before, and so utterly shocked.

“Wait, I need a moment to process this,” he paused, “did you just ask me out?”

“Uh huh.” You nodded.

“Wow…I never thought this would actually happen.”

“So, is that a yes?” You asked.