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indouloureux · 2 years

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𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 (part one)

summary: she sought for validation; he sought for acceptance. two juveniles who believed they’d spend the rest of their lives playing red guitars and borrowed claviers, (along with the trepidation of isolation), meet in one boring afternoon, and find themselves reveling in caterwaul voices, laying in a field of colossal grass, and writing lyrics with botched ballpens and crumpled papers.

— or: two people bond over emotional trauma, and fall in love through great manifestos

warnings: 1hr reading time, slow burn, friends to lovers, slight teenage angst, jealousy, tooth-rotting fluff, eddie being a sap, weird manifestos, reader being adopted, eddie and reader both having a self discovery whilst falling in love, fem!reader (she/her pronouns), me not knowing how to write both piano and guitar playing properly, deep words (sorry guys open google), lengthy, idiots in love, a love story about two sad teens going through a phase (jk) eddie has a bit of a corruption thing (not kink) bc he introduces reader into new things lol!

explicit warnings (for part two): virgin!reader, virgin!eddie; piv, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), creampie, oral (f & m receiving), fingering, overstimulation, first time, soft, vanilla porn, mentions of blood, handjob, cum eating, biting, marking, missionary, maybe soft!dom eddie bc he watched porn a lot and thinks he "knows his way", sweet but short aftercare

a/n: this is a story of fiction. i do not know the locations in both indiana and illinois. this is written in the way i prefer it to be to fit its story telling, and i am well aware of the things i write in here, and how i write this story. based on the song '1979' by the smashing pumpkins. the whole lyrics layout inspired by @/upsidedownwithsteve! 1979 is like one of my fav songs ever and i wanted to write a story about it. sorry it took a while to post :( hope you guys all enjoy.

PART TWO; SERIES MASTERLIST

Shakedown 1979

Cool kids never have the time

On a live wire right up off the street

You and I should meet

In a field miles away from a town that’s cursed him, Eddie lays in the colossal grass with his hands on his chest and his eyes closed, the sun blinding him through the thin skin of his eyelids. Growing weeds tickle his inked skin, dirt stains his leather jacket, and ants cross over his hair; he does not mind one bit.

He daydreams of the sky. How accepting they’d be — how they wouldn't mind his disheveled, long hair, or his punk style and see him as one of them; One of the clouds who form themselves into whatever they want and float freely across the cerulean aether atmosphere. A place where he can be himself, where he can bring his darkness into that white airy cotton, even when it turns grey or when the night begins. Eddie would be himself, and no one would judge.

Ringed fingers touch the grass when he removes one from his chest, soft beneath his fingertips that he massages. Eddie hums, taking in the calming sound of air swishing the trees, the faint sound of passing cars, the optimistic birds, and the sound of Dustin talking to his girlfriend with a sickenly high-pitched and lovey-dovey voice. Which reminds him:

“Hey, Henderson,” he turns around, laying on his stomach. Eddie takes a quick glance at his watch — 7:05 am. “Wrap it up lovebirds. We gotta go to school.”

Dustin nods his head, his cap blocking his eyes. “Yeah hold on. I gotta go, Suzie-poo. I’ll talk to you later, I promise. I miss you already. I love you.”

A giggle. “I love you more, Dusty-bun.”

“I love you more multiplied by all the stars in the galaxy.”

“No, I love you—”

“Alright,” Eddie suddenly takes the microphone from Dustin, shooting him a judging look with a raised brow before he speaks. “Sorry, Suzie-poo. Gotta take Dusty here to school or else you won't be seeing each other and he’s gonna spend the rest of his life running up this hill crying. Bye-bye now.”

He almost laughs at the thought of Suzie’s shocked face when he turns the radio off. And maybe that same laugh comes out when he sees Dustin’s horrified expression when he realized he’d — or Eddie — had just cut her off. He looks back at Eddie, mouth agape, before he playfully punches his shoulder.

“Asshole,” Dustin kicks his shin. “That was my girlfriend, you idiot. She’s gonna be pissed that you cut her off!”

“Nah, she loves you too much,” he stands up, patting the dirt off his knees and his jacket, fixing his hair. “Now come on, Dusty bunny, we gotta go to school.”

“Don’t call me that,” Dustin swats his hand away when Eddie tries to ruffle his hair by slipping it beneath his hand, but the kid smiles anyway. Anything for the affection he gives. “You know, you’ll be like this one day,”

Eddie plays with his keys, walking down the hill in heavy footsteps that threaten to twist their ankles. “What’d you mean?”

Dustin hops over the fence, followed by Eddie who grunts loudly. “Being sweet. Disgusting. In love.”

He scoffs, walking over to the side of his van and opening the door, but not before he looks at Dustin over the hood of his van with a look. “So you admit that you and Suzie are disgusting?”

“From the words of you, Steve, Lucas and Mike — who actually both have girlfriends — yes, I admit that we are disgusting. Disgustingly sweet.”

They close the doors simultaneously, the keys jingling when Eddie shoves the keys in the ignition. “You know, when I was fifteen, I spent my time playing the guitar and studying songs. My fingertips were bleeding, Henderson,” he shows him his palm, letting Dustin see the faint scar lines on his fingertips. “I never dated a girl. So I highly doubt I’d fall in love.”

“The only reason you never dated was because of your reputation,” Dustin throws his bag behind him. “And you’ll fall in love. I bet you will. You may be cynical and mad, but you’ll find the right person, Eddie,” he smiles at him. “Trust me.”

“Yeah yeah,” he shakes his head, the car shaking into a start and Mötley Crüe starts blasting that startles the poor boy beside him. “We’re gonna take this bet to my grave, then.”

Eddie Munson has only fallen in love once. When his Uncle, Wayne, had come home with a red guitar after his night, tiring shifts at the plant. He remembers clearly the way his eyes lost focus of the world and remained on that guitar, like the center of attention; the only attraction in this terrifying world. Eddie remembers the way his heart pounded like he’d fallen down a roller coaster, and remembered the way his tears had mimicked said coaster when he hugged his Uncle and sobbed out his gratitude.

That had been five years ago. When he was fifteen. And he swears he’ll never fall in love again.

Because love—in his own concept—was a dangerous game. More dangerous than when you decide to go and attack Vecna powerless in Dungeons and Dragons, or taunting a swarm of demobats. It’s a game with unknown intentions and arduous side quests that render you defeated before you even get to love itself. Dangerous and tiring, if you’d shorten it. And no one wants to delve into a love so treacherous if you’ll end up getting hurt anyway.

It’s what Eddie thinks; understood. How he perceives love and what he thinks love is with his semi-nihilistic mind despite never having to fight for love. It’s a game he refuses to partake in and narrate, and would rather watch people struggle with it from the sidelines (with a beer in hand and a freshly rolled blunt in his mouth, as he’d imagined).

So he prays Dustin would win that game. Despite being miles away from his girlfriend; give him all the makeshift spears and shields made of garbage lids and dull nails. He cares so much for him that he actually hopes their love will succeed, that he’d go out not scathed but covered in grime and a triumphant smile. Even now when Eddie looks beside him to see the lovesick smile on Dustin Henderson’s face who replays every memory he had with Suzie during that one summer.

He reaches over to give his friend a pat on the shoulder, which gifts him a bright smile before he races off to Hawkins High with eternal dread.

—

His day wasn’t at all dreadful. It felt like a normal day.

Probably because Jason Carver wasn't at school today due to a foot injury, and his little balls-in-laundry-baskets friends had no leader to bark at them around all day. They did nothing but practice and sit quietly at their tables, and so did Eddie.

Albeit the day being normal, he’d still get his usual judging stares and glares. Eddie Munson wearing a Dio shirt today? Freak. Eddie Munson wearing shoes other than his Reeboks? Freak. Eddie Munson trimmed his bangs today? Freak. Eddie Munson’s not wearing his vest? Still a freak.

He kept his head low, eyes on the ballpen that draws on his palm as he walks through the emptying hallway. Dustin had gone with Steve Harrington, and the rest had decided to leave early. Eddie? He’d just gotten out of detention for spacing out during class. Why detention? He'd never know why. Even Ms. O’ Donnel thinks he’s a freak.

Eddie whistles. Mandy. Something new and unusual, a song he’d heard from Wayne early in the morning that he too whistles as he makes his coffee and smokes outside the porch. He’d woken up to the sound of it for two weeks and he finds himself subconsciously copying his Uncle.

His footsteps echo in the walls of Hawkins High. He jumps and spins and occasionally taps his fingers across the lockers covered in stickers, if not dents from rowdy students. The sight of the exit doors surprises him when he turns right, and a bright smile comes up to his face when he sees them. Eddie pulls his keys out of his back pockets, shoves his pen inside, and continues to whistle like he’s taking a walk on a quiet, sunny day at a park.

Until by the time he’s about two rooms away, he hears the sound of a piano. Soft and ear-pleasing, yet startling since it’s been an hour after school ended and no one, not even the teachers other than Ms. O’ Donnel should be here. Eddie stops his whistling, eyebrows furrowing as he hears the piano play the same tune he’d been whistling.

And then a voice. Far and hushed, like a ghost. Unseen through the walls, floating and yearning to be noticed; so they sing to be noticed instead. Eddie’s heart palpitates a little in panic, wondering if the ghost is singing the same song he’s whistling to get his attention. His hands curl into fists and prepare to run away.

But he thinks of disturbing whoever's in that room. He also thinks he should just go home because it probably could just be a ghost, seeing as half the victims from the Starcourt fire had been students and they’d probably come here for refuge in the afterlife. But Eddie’s curious. Maybe taking a glimpse over the small window on the door and seeing a ghost would cause no harm other than a possible possession, right?

So he tiptoes his way to the door he recognized as the music room. He’d seen this room once when he snuck in here during middle school and he needed a guitar for Gareth or else they would have lost that talent show (they did. No adult would let a child playing quote unquote, Satan’s Music, win).

Carefully, he peeks sideways through the small window, where he sees through the blurry glass; a girl sitting in front of a keyboard. Her back to him, head bobbing slightly at every key she presses, showing merely the tip of her nose and the plump apples of her cheeks when she sways lightly to her gentle playing. Eddie quietly shoves his keys back inside his pockets, pressing his ear against the glass, and watches the grace take upon her fingers.

“I see a memory. I never realized how happy you made me,”

A voice so celestial, like an angel he’s never seen but envisaged. Maybe like an angel he’d imagined in the clouds up above; a voice so warm like the summer breeze, soft like silk and the denim of his vest. It’s inviting and it’s hypnotizing, with every perfect lilt.

Something new from his usual heavy ululating music. Something he might like and never get used to.

And it’s tempting. So tempting that he finds himself opening the door harshly that the doorknob slams against the thin wall of the room that even startles Eddie.

“Oh Mandy, well you came—”

You scream, hands slamming on the keyboard that makes a distorted sound of unmatched keys. Eddie’s eyes widen and his hands raise in defense, hiding behind them when your own hand comes up to gasp into your palm, horrified by his sudden arrival. His heart pounds against his chest, hands coming down to clasp at his pec. And he’s staring at your petrified look.

“Mother of God,” you whimper.

“I’m sorry!” he closes the door behind him hastily. “It’s, uh, I heard you. And I thought you sounded… great,” Eddie’s shoulders deflate, sighing when a small smile comes up to your face.

“Really?” you finish for him. “Sorry. I- I thought I was alone.”

“No, it’s okay.” Eddie finds himself smiling with you. More at the way there’s dimples at the bottom of your mouth and your teeth show slightly through your lips.

He stares at you, longer than he intends to, a sense of familiarity waves down him when he traces the slope of your nose and the thick eyelashes that meet with your cheeks when you blink. Eddie thinks you’re pretty — especially with your small smile that makes his heart feel weird when he realizes he’s the receiving end of it. A faint picture flashes in the back of his head, and he limply points at you. “Hey, uh, I kinda remember you,”

Your eyebrows raise a bit, hands falling to your lap. “You do?”

“Yes! I think…” his eyes narrow. “Middle school.”

“Yeah,” you tell him, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “It was back in middle school.”

Yes, he remembers you. Only that blurry picture in the back of his mind only focusing on the small pigtails of a girl shorter than him, the ends of a borrowed purple dress that tickled his knees, and that similar smile of yours except you’d been missing a tooth on the bottom row of your teeth that matched his. And that voice, still sweet but deeper than it used to be, still entices him like it used to do.

Eddie gawps. “Holy shit,” he says your name with pure shock, the smile on his lips starting to strain his cheeks. But he doesn't care, not when you’re prettily smiling with him. “You— you played that same song! Mandy, right? You played that too?”

“I did, yeah,” he walks over to you, hands on his lap and slightly bent. Eddie walks until he’s standing beside the bench you’re sitting on, hand grazing the plastic of the borrowed keyboard. “Mandy by Barry Manilow. Yep.”

“I’m Eddie Munson. Although I'm sure you already knew that,” he offers his hand, hoping you won’t notice the trembling and the silent clinking of his rings. You smile at him, taking his hand into yours and he wonders why even the handshaking felt familiar.

And your hand is warm. Soft like the grass he’s touched earlier this morning, feeling the same small scars in the pads of your fingertips when his thumb slyly runs through them. They were light and they were pretty, your own dainty little ring made by a wire that loops around a gemstone was a hard contrast to the abominable ones on his hand. Almost like an angel shaking the devil’s hand.

Eddie wishes to feel this way again. How a simple touch ignites something new, yet the fire starts within him that he can't find.

“I know,” you place your hand back on your lap, his own falling disappointedly on his side. “Sat behind you during History.”

He nods his head down on the bench you’re sitting on, asking for permission. You scoot aside, motioning for him to sit beside you; and Eddie, for the first time in his life, shyly does. He sits beside you, thighs almost an inch apart as he nervously watches you toy with the black keys. “How come I remember you a bit in middle school but not…?”

“Your early years of high school?” you press on a key he doesn't know. “I left after middle school. Moved to Queens, for my dad’s work. Came back here because my nana got sick.”

“Oh,” he plays with his rings, pulls them up before he puts them back on, a slight indentation on his fingers. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,”

Eddie exhales, feeling his heart unwind when you begin to play a steady beat, watching as you press down on the plastic keys. “I came inside because I thought you sounded good,” he nods his head to you. “Your voice. It’s nice. And, because I also thought that ghosts might have heard me whistling and decided to play with me. Scare me shitless.”

“Ghosts?” you repeat, pressing on a key that emits a deep tune.

He hums. “Hawkins is filled with dead people. Right beneath this school and those roads you walk on,” he points behind him. “‘ve you heard of the mall fire last summer?”

“I think so,” you furrow your eyebrows. “My dad’s friend called him about that.”

“It was horrifying,” his eyebrows meet for a split second when your eyes widen and you look away from him. Eddie smiles a little. “So, piano huh?”

You look at him again. “Well, technically it’s a keyboard but…it makes the sound of a piano,” you slam a finger onto a black key.

Eddie has gotten to the point where he realizes there’s no future in this conversation if he doesn't make up another question. And he doesn't want this to end. He just met you again, and he’d like to stay here a bit more even though he’s been craving to leave the school an hour ago. Anything to get to know you a bit more before he sees what’s going to happen next.

“Can you play me a song?” he asks quietly, feeling embarrassed by his diffidence. “Only if you want to.”

“Of course,” you smile at him, fists clenching that your index scratches on the cuticles of your thumb. He wants to stop you, but he worries about crossing borders and you’re probably just as nervous as he is as you say, “what song?”

“Mandy,” he deadpans. You blink at his tone, which makes him clear his throat and speak again in a rather forced cheerfulness that means no harm but to correct himself. “Please?”

You let out a short chuckle, unclenching your fists to spread them out and stretch. “Yeah sure.”

You began with grace, you performed with aplomb, and his ever-curious mind was captivated by how simple it was for you to play and croon at the same time, as if he didn't know how to do it himself. Eddie watches silently, sings in his head with your gentle humming; remembers how he’d caught Wayne swaying to this song once and thinking he looked funny and at peace, wearing his usual red flannel with a cigarette in his mouth and eyes closed. He looked high back then, unperceived that his nephew had been standing there to the side with crossed arms and an amused smile.

Is this what his uncle felt? Finding peace in music other than electric guitars and heavy drums? Lacking all that yowling rasps and instead replaced with a voice that runs through velvet flawlessly like yours. Where he sways and taps his feet, watching your slender hands switch between keys without having the pads of your fingertips stuck in between them despite him noticing the slight shakiness in your hands, dwelling in on the missing memory that scratches on the back of his mind as he watches you play.

“Caught up in a world of uphill climbing, the tears are in my mind and nothin' is rhyming,” you take a shy glance at him, eyes flitting to the redness of his ears. Eddie smiles to take your attention, making his ears turn redder when you smile back at him. “I…I forgot the next lyrics,”

Eddie chuckles. “So have I,” he lies. He just doesn’t want to sing. Not in front of you, at least. He worries he might crack his voice and he could just jump out that window.

There’s a faint sound of a door slamming shut from outside that makes you jump a bit, which makes Eddie turn around to where the sound was before he completely ignores it.

Trying to hide the disappointment that flows from him when you stop playing, he focuses on the fact that you’re looking at him as you do so. Which twists his heart in a way that’s far from bad, and tries to distract himself by clapping like one of the people he wishes he had after his shows. “That was it, all I could remember,” you motion to the piano, flushing bashfully. “I- stop,”

You laugh, your hand barely touching his wrist but motions for him to settle it down. “Bravo,” he smirks at you, wiggling his eyebrows. “That was amazing. Talented. You could be the next, I don’t know, Billy Joel.”

“I barely finished the song,” you nudge your knee with his. “I actually think I made a few mistakes but, uh, thanks,” Eddie fights the urge to remove the lone lint from your hair. He smiles at you instead, settling his hands on his lap. “What about you? Still playing the guitar?”

Eddie’s shoulder bumps with yours when you sway gently as your right hand presses all five fingers onto the keys. He can't stop looking at you, anywhere but your eyes really, so they mostly stay at your cheeks. Sometimes shyly at the plumpness of your lips chastely, or at the dimples threatening to deepen. “Still do. We play at The Hideout every weekend for some cash. We’ve got a crowd of about five…drunks.”

He feels that unfamiliar sensation of heat blooming in his cheeks when you laugh. It’s as soft and inviting as the piano that your hands rest on. “You should come see us,” Eddie continues, nudging his shoulder with yours. “That way I can tell my uncle we’ve got six people watching us now.”

“Hm,” you remove your hands from the keyboard, copying his slumped posture albeit a bit more poise. “I might think about it. If you play me a song too,” you raise your brow at his grimace. “What? It’s only fair.”

“Fine,” Eddie crosses his legs over the small bench, walking around with his hair twirling over his shoulder as he does so. His eyes never leave you even as he crosses the room to pick up an acoustic guitar. “Damn room doesn’t even have an electric guitar. Amplifier’s at the gym and I hate that place.”

You laugh, watching him take the neck of the brown guitar and grab a monobloc from a stack beside the door. He sets it beside the keyboard, awkwardly sitting down before he sets the guitar on his lap eagerly. Eddie smiles at you, grabbing a part of his hair and hiding his mouth behind it bashfully.

“What song, m’lady?” he peers at you through his eyelashes. Eddie feels triumphant when he makes you laugh again, thinking he could watch you push your hair behind your ear with a demure look any time of the day.

Your shoulders raise into a shrug, the smile on your face falling a bit. “Dunno. Ever heard of The Outfield?”

“On the radio. When my uncle listens to music early in the morning,” his fingers slide across the strings, pressing randomly on frets. “Don’t tell anyone, but sometimes I listen to music other than metal.”

“Shocker,” you gasp dramatically. “You’ve ruined your image for me. I don’t see you as a metalhead anymore. You’re merely a commoner. A pretender.”

“You wound me,” he pouts at you. “Come on, (y/n). Give me a song,”

“Alright,” you rest your elbow on the keyboard, cheek on your fist. “Your Love. The Outfield. Think you know it or you’re just pretending?”

“Think I might have studied this for… other embarrassing purposes. But yes, I know it.” He clears his throat. “Prepare to cover your ears,”

Your Love wasn’t a song that was merely played by a guitar. However, an acoustic wouldn’t hurt. Not when he’s doing it for you. Eddie fears pressing his fingers on the wrong string, or a strain from his voice because that would just be plain humiliating.

Your observance adds fuel to the fire of his confidence, while it also simultaneously makes him nervous ‘cause you’re watching; not just listening, not judging. You’re watching him like you actually want to see him play. And as far as he could remember, you’re the first girl to actually pay attention to what he’s playing without any cruel thoughts. He wonders if you think he’s great at this, just as much as he thought you were remarkable in the whole piano thing.

Come on. E, C minor, B, E- no A. A, goddamnit.

When he almost misplaced his finger on the wrong string, he almost cried. But you’re not looking at his face anyway, perhaps too enthralled with the gentle sound of plucking; the deep baritone-like sound that the brass string produces makes you sway similarly like his earlier.

“I ain't got many friends left to talk to, nowhere to run when I'm in trouble,” he shoots you a nervous glance, and he’s almost thankful that you’re looking at his hands. “You know I'd do anything for you, stay the night but keep it undercover,”

“You’ve got a nice voice,” his fingers slide across the brass string so quickly that it almost burns his fingertips when his voice dies in his throat and he looks up at you. “S-sorry.”

Eddie sets the guitar down, the flat of its back on his lap and knees. “No, it’s alright. Thanks,” you smile warily when he scratches nervously at the guitar. “So um- you gonna come see us in The Hideout? No pressure. Just, so I can show you that I really am into metal.”

Your lips tug downwards into an upside-down smile that teases him. Eddie tips his head back, flashing you a toothy grin as you say. “I’ll see to it, Eddie Munson,” you take a glance at your watch. “U-unfortunately though, I’ve got to go.”

He fights the urge to voice his disdain through a quiet groan of protest when he sees you reach on the other side of the bench to take your bag and sling it over your shoulder before you stand up from your seat. Eddie places the guitar on the ground, nervously fiddling with his fingers. “Um. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Stopping in your movements, your thumb slides between the leather strap of your bag and your shoulders. “Yeah. Sure. If you’ll see me, anyway.”

“I’m sure I will,” he offers you a smile.

He watches you leave with a sad frown.

But later that night though, when he talks to Dustin on the RT, he remembers telling him that the girl in the purple dress wore ripped jeans now and a yellow blouse covered in pink flowers, her hair down in loose waves over her shoulders that enticed him. Eddie remembers telling him you’d looked mature, prettier, and that maybe you’d come to his show next week.

What he doesn’t tell him, though, is that he remembers every spot on your face that had dimples when you smile. That your voice was like petal silk that pleases his fingertips as he rubs it between them; or that your hands had similar scars like his, only you’ve gotten them for a different reason. How graceful you’d looked playing the keyboard like you’d been the only one in that room.

A veridical sense of déjà vu makes his mind tingle and his heart twist. In his bed, Eddie has his hands over his stomach, staring up his ceiling with a poster of Tiamat he once saw during a yard sale that he bought. But he thinks of you, the exiguous curiousness grows the longer he remembers that bright smile on your face. And he feels nothing but the want inside him that yearns to see you again.

Justine never knew the rules

Hung down with the freaks and ghouls

No apologies ever need be made

I know you better than you fake it

“Lost in a purple hill, shake these zipper blues? Hey, Nancy, do you think—”

A shoulder bumps you, too hard to be taken as an accident. Your notebook falls to the ground, ball pen tight in your hand as you let out a startled gasp. You look at the boy first, whose eyes widen in embarrassment as they flicker between the journal on the floor and to your agape mouth.

You should have expected it. The halls were crowded and there were very eager students to enter the cafeteria and take tables before someone else would. But still, you’re taken aback by the sudden impact, even after almost squeezing yourself against the lockers just so you would avoid this kind of incident.

“Shit, dude, I’m sorry,”

You give him a tight smile. “‘S alright,” he apologizes through a useless smile before he’s being dragged away by his friends. Nancy spins around at the upheaval, and follows the direction of your eyesight before she frowns in disdain.

Asshole didn’t even bother to pick it up for you. Or ask if you were alright.

“What a prick,” she clicks her tongue to the roof of her mouth. You ignore the slight throb on your shoulder, bending down to pick up your notebook and wipe whatever dirt it's picked up from the ground. “Is it ruined?”

Shaking your head, you close it shut and hug it close to your chest. “No. It’s alright. I’m just lucky the floor doesn’t have any piss or something. Or else I would have…punched that guy,”

Nancy chuckles, shaking her head. She turns back around, clutching your wrist to go through the sweaty sea of rushing students. “I doubt that—ow, hey!”

Your face hits Nancy’s permed coils, nose meeting the Fabergé glory of her shampoo. You grimace, moving away to see your friend rubbing her shoulder before you see Patrick McKinney furrow his eyebrows in worry at his mistake.

“Sorry. You alright, Wheeler?” he reaches out to rub her shoulder chastely, but Nancy shrugs it off, nodding. Patrick’s eyes relax, taking a glance at you before he realizes he doesn’t know who you are before he pats her shoulder carefully. “Alright. Sorry, again.”

It was difficult to hide the frown that paints itself on your face when Nancy simply grabs your wrist, guiding you around the crowd once more. And there’s this annoying itch in your head that keeps on reminding you how unlucky you’d been that you bumped into an apathetic guy who hadn’t even bothered to ask if you were alright whereas Nancy got sympathetic eyes and genuine concern.

And you thought, well that’s because they knew her. Having to date Steve Harrington when he was still here, who’d been part of the basketball team himself, of course they knew her. You? The guy looked at you like some random crayon found on the ground. So you tell yourself to get over it; they don’t care and neither do you. It was a simple bump. Your friends would have asked if you were okay.

Nancy didn’t.

Well, she was distracted.

No, she wasn’t.

Shut up.

The cafeteria doors are left open with the people that surges through. Nancy stands on her tiptoes, searching for the boy with glasses that made his eyes larger and took up half his face — Fred, you remember; you practically sink onto her shoulder in fear of accidentally bumping into someone again. And fuck, how muscly was that guy for your shoulder to hurt?

When she spots him, Nancy’s quick to drag you to her side and sit you down beside her in front of Fred, who’d immediately chatted about this thing he’s seen somewhere you don't bother understanding. But when his eyes land on you, his talking stops. Lips snapping shut and he’s staring at you with those wide eyes of his, the scar on his cheek bending when he smiles cheekily at you, his forearms resting side by side on the table as he leans closer.

“I heard a rumor that you were with Eddie Munson yesterday,” he narrows his eyes playfully. Nancy whips her head at you, astounded with the new gossip she’s heard, especially now that it included you.

Nervous with the attention diverted to you, you move back, fingers fidgeting on your lap. “What? Where’d you hear that?”

“Andy saw you.”

“Who’s Andy?”

“That guy who kinda looks like Arnold Schwarze-something.”

Nancy snorts. “He does not look like him.”

Frowning, you lean closer. “What was he doing there yesterday?”

Beside you, Nancy opens a pack of pudding pie that she quietly offers to you. You shake your head politely, offering her a short smile before Fred asks for your attention with a simple tap on your elbow. “He left something by the locker room. Then he said he caught Eddie Munson sitting beside you on a small chair inside the music room being…shit, Nance, what’d he say?”

She shrugs, mouthful. “Dunno. Cute? Or, weird?”

“Somewhere along those lines, but we’re sugarcoating it for you,” he leans closer. “You do know who Eddie Munson is, right? Like, what people say?”

Nancy reaches behind you to take the Hi-C juice box in your bag and puts the straw in for you, shoving it in front of you that you gladly take and quietly thank her for as you say, “That he’s a freak? Just because he dresses out of the trend doesn’t mean he’s a freak, y’know?”

“Steve used to think he was,” Nancy raises her eyebrows at you. “I mean, I don’t think he’s a freak. He does have an influence on my brother though. He’s growing his hair out. Like a mullet, or something.”

“Well he’s not a freak,” you bring the small plastic straw to your lips, the sweet orange-y flavor of the mechanized juice filling your taste buds. “He’s nice. He said I had a…nice voice.”

No one’s said that to me before.

“That’s sweet,” Fred pouts. “Don’t know. Maybe he’s planning on luring you in as a sacrifice.”

Eddie? Cult leader luring you in for some sacrifice? The same person who’d smiled kindly, watched you play the piano like he was actually interested in your performance and applauded you like he’d been watching a breathtaking opera at the same time, invited you to watch his band at some dingy restaurant and thought ghosts might have been haunting him?

His style might say otherwise—with all those brutish rings he’d harbored so proudly and his disheveled mullet-ish hair. But with those wide, curious eyes that watched you like the most interesting flower blooming from the iced frozen ground, a voice so benign and placid who’d praised you in a way anybody else wouldn’t? No. He’s not a cult leader. Or a freak.

And you’d only known him from the mystifying, blurry memories and the couple minutes you’d spent with him yesterday.

That same Eddie who you found with a small frown that lifts into a charming smile when his eyes find you. Briefly does he stop talking with his friends from across the room when your eyes link with his. And Eddie presents you a smile so pretty it makes you dizzy; with his style different, that same leather jacket with a red flannel beneath and a band shirt you don’t recognize, but he had the same fondness in his look that makes your heart flutter wildly like a butterfly coming out of its cocoon.

You feel a spark of electricity ignite in the tendrils of your veins; the sound of your heart beating in your ears as everything else muffles and the spotlight goes onto him — like the sun beaming through the window to show you what you’d been looking for.

Yeah sure, he’s a cult leader.

(A cult leader who made you feel noticed in a town with 15,000 ignorant, judgy people despite being with him in less than thirty minutes.)

“What’s she smiling at— oh,” with her laced fingers, Nancy places them beneath her chin and tilts her head sideways to take a glimpse of Eddie, who’s still looking at you. “That’s cute,”

“You really shouldn’t believe rumors,” You turn to her, nudging your juice box with her hand. “I mean, I’ve been here for three months. I barely know him and I think he’s just…being himself. It’s like this town hates people who are comfortable being themselves.”

The corners of Fred’s lips tug down. “Ouch,”

“What? It’s true,”

“Y’know, we had a yard sale last year,” Nancy tells Fred. “Eddie was there lurking.”

“And?”

“Seemed like he didn't caused any trouble. Just roamed around, gave this kid a stuffed animal when he couldn't reach it. He seems nice, Fred.”

And you almost tell them that five years ago, Eddie Munson followed you backstage when he saw you crying; That he’d asked you if you were okay, that he said you’d do great and you did, and in between those hazy flashes of cut memories, you almost tell them that he wore a Bauhaus shirt too large for him, that his hair was buzzed and he made you laugh until you’d—quite literally—forgotten the reason why you cried in the first place.

—

“Hey there, Mandy,”

You yell, clutching the notebook closer to your chest and the pen tight in your hand that it might pop the ink out. Eddie’s hands raise in defense, eyes widening in shock as you both stop walking, the leaves crunching beneath your worn-out shoes and his white sneakers, the birds flying away from the disruption.

“Jesus Christ,”

“We gotta stop meeting like this,” familiar, but the memory’s lost in your worry-filled mind. You laugh disbelievingly at him, closing your notebook and tucking the pen behind your ear. “What?”

“Nothing!” you scratch the dents on your notebook, shying away from Eddie’s intensive look. “Mandy? ‘S not my name.”

“I know. But it’s a cool nickname. And you know,” he tilts his head sideways. “The song.”

You smile when his head lulls back, chuckling shortly when you both begin walking again. Eddie has his hands behind his back, his hair wild from the harsh winds of August’s warm breeze. Which he fixes with quick pats to the hair covering half his forehead, his eyes never leaving you.

“Why are you walking home?” you see him bring his hands in front, toying with his rings, pushing them in and out of his fingers.

When you look up at him, your right eye squints from the brightness of the sun until he steps over it. “I wanted to walk home. And, um, I don’t have a car,” you flush beneath his piercing gaze. “What about you?”

“Because I saw you walking home,” he grins. “You were writing while you were walking so I thought maybe I should come join you in case you accidentally trip,”

The sun draws a halo above his head, painting over the devil horns drawn onto him. It gives him a sacrilegious glow, intriguing you to just push his hair behind his ears and ask him all the things that made him smile just so you could see him smile once more. Yet, you don’t; your hands stay around your notebook, your mouth parts but never says anything, and you merely try to say those words through your eyes.

Cult leader, my ass.

“What, so you…left your car in school so you could walk with me?”

He shrugs. “I guess so. It’s still there when I come back, anyway. After I walk you home,” Eddie swallows. “...after I walk you home as a friend.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

Eddie’s lips purse. “So…” he makes a noise, like a random music note. “I didn’t see you in history today,”

History was (unfortunately) the only class you shared with Eddie. Where in the first three months, you’d kept on asking yourself where you’d seen him over and over again as you stared at the back of his head. (Wishing he’d turn around and ask for your name, if he’d seen you before, and notice you like he’d notice every random fuzz he’d find on his table.)

And he noticed you today. Even when you weren’t there, the thought of him thinking about you and wondering where you were sets a comfortable flame in your cold chest.

“I was at the clinic,” you smile a little. “Some guy bumped into me earlier and I don’t know what he’s made of. It really hurt,”

His eyes darken into a gloom of concern, his eyebrows meeting like a broken bridge. “Are you alright? You okay now? Does it, uh, still hurt?”

“A bit,” you roll the injured shoulder. “Still kinda sore. ‘S like I played football, or something.”

Eddie’s teeth join behind his lips that remain separated, his bottom lip jutting out into a pout you can’t fathom the meaning behind. Then he’s biting it, his hands clenching and unclenching like he’s trying to make the hardest decision of his life before he’s pointing his thumb behind him.

“Do you wanna go back to my van?” he asks quickly. “I’ve got something cold in there and I could help you. And I can drive you home, too,” his voice is eager and almost excited with a lace of hope. “But only if you want to,”

You’re unheistant when you say, “Yes,” take me with you. Aid me. Ask me how I am and I’d tell you.

The walk back to school was quicker with his urgent feet that you had difficulty catching up with. You spot his car parked behind the school, befuddled with the amount of dents and the way his van leans sideways more than evenly. Eddie has a hand hovering behind you as he guides you, the other hurling the backdoors open that tricks you into thinking it’s gonna be thrown aside.

The back of his van was messy — with four empty beer cartons stashed aside, a Bauhaus poster that matched Eddie’s shirt with its sides ripped, white ridges seen in that black paper, a red cooler behind the cartons, and a blanket that you assumed used to be white but has been left unwashed for who knows how long.

But despite the messy appearance, you sit on top of the blanket when he asks you to. And he sits beside you,

a heavy hop that makes the van shake slightly and a creak underneath. He shoots you an embarrassed smile, a hand behind him to prop himself up as he twists his torso and pulls on the cooler until it slides near him.

When Eddie opens it, it’s nothing but almost melted ice and four bottles of Boston Lager with one of them being half-empty. You peer over the red box, watching as his hand dives through the cold mess before he hands you an unopened beer bottle.

Out of curiosity, you bring it up to your nose and take a whiff just because.

Eddie chortles. “What’s it smell like?”

You frown. “Like water.”

He stops you from putting the bottle right at your shoulder, looking for something behind him before he sighs scornly, reaching out behind him to pull out a black bandana decorated with large, intimidating skulls. “Here just—wrap it around so it won't wet your shirt too much,”

Eddie gently takes the bottle from you, half of his fingertips covering yours. Half a touch and it already makes you feel like someone had thrown a rope down the hole you’d been stuck in and pulled you out; in that slight formidable tactility does your skin tingle, a warmth that feels like you’re hovering your hands over the flawless dance of a flame. A caress that barely lasts ten seconds, but was a lifetime of gratifyingly dizzy touches.

The coldness of the bottle doesn’t scathe you anymore now with his handkerchief wrapped around it. It seems like Eddie felt the same way, with how his neck reddens, and abruptly places his hands on his lap, watching you from the corner of his eye as you place the bottle on your shoulder.

But the silence is comfortable, with the howl of the wind and the rustling of the trees. You dab the bottle on your shoulder, the bandana itself smelling of cigarettes and a boyish aroma you can’t comprehend, but you had a feeling it smelt just like him. The white skull turns gray, the cloth dampens and turns cold, and you turn to see Eddie with his nose wrinkled into a quick sniff before he looks around him and settles on your notebook.

“So what were you writing?” He gently takes the purple notebook into his hand, tracing its ridges and checking its black spine, flipping it around where he sees your name written on the upper left corner in small cursives.

“Um, just…things,” you pinch your nose with a vacant hand. “Just lyrics, I guess.”

“You? Lyricist?” Removing the hand from your nose, you reach over to flip the journal open, thumb skimming across the thick pages. “Just when I thought you were cool with the whole piano thing,” your face heats, smiling sheepishly at him.

“I wouldn’t say I’m great at this whole thing, though,” your thumb stops on a page you’d been writing on. Eddie diverts his attention on the half-filled page, head tilting down as he brings the notebook closer to his face.

You fear his judgment; not because you don’t trust him, but it leans more into what you’d gone through. That his criticism will be cruel, unkind and harsh like others had been, taking out all their negativity into the words you’d poured your mind onto, leaving without an apology or at least a clement admonition.

There’s doubt that spreads across your mind. You watch as Eddie pokes his tongue out to graze his teeth, his thumbs drumming on your notebook, his own eyes flitting between your unaligned writing. But the smile that breaks across his charming face calms the dread down. Eddie looks at you, the crinkles on the corner of his eyes so endearing.

“Lost in a purple hill, shake these zipper blues,” he reads out loud. “I like it. It’s very…savvy,”

“Savvy?”

“Savvy. Innovative. Creative,” you beam at him, your lips starting to ache from the bright smile you hold as Eddie’s head flips between your creative words and your contagious joy. “What? It’s amazing. Literally, all the words you can find in a dictionary that’s a synonym for creative. It’s—it’s that. W-what?”

His eyebrows join in a confused hill as the smile remains on his face, shaking his head at the shock that amalgamates with your glee. “Nothing,” you look away, feeling your entire body heating with the new sensation of appreciation. “I just thought it was kinda stupid. Like, maybe no one would understand it, y’know?”

Eddie’s thumb rubs his bottom lip. “Well, tell me what it means—hey, please?” he pouts playfully at you. “Tell me what it means, come on. I like it, I might as well know the meaning behind it, right?”

You shake your head in disbelief, placing the bottle on your shoulder to the space beside the two of you. “Alright. Um, well, a hill right? You get up this hill and you feel disconnected from the world in…a good way. You- lose all toxicity and burden this place gives you. And I chose purple because, well, I like the color purple,” you laugh nervously. “And, zipper blues. It’s this depressed feeling you get from moving around too much. So you get lost up this hill, you get rid of that sorrow, and just disconnect all your problems. And, I don’t know if it makes any sense but—I��m rambling too much. I’m sorry—”

“No!” Eddie reaches out to place his hand on top of yours, quick and urgent to touch you again and the way his hand softens on you feels like he’d been substantially relieved to do something Eddie’s stopping himself from doing. Like water to a slowly dying flower, your heart blooms at the touch you’ve wanted to sense since earlier as he stops you from your ranting. “It’s okay. I- I get what you mean. And it’s…”

You feel him squeeze your hand gently. “It’s…?”

“I’m thinking of other cool words,”

You laugh bashfully, a laugh he copies. A laugh that reaches his eyes, went from deep into something high like a giggle until a small snort comes from him. You feel elated to make him laugh this way despite saying nothing.

“It’s amazing, (y/n),” he doesn’t say Mandy, but it mantles your insides nonetheless. “You have other songs you’ve written?”

Toying with the neck of the beer, you nod. “I’ve got a couple of papers back in my place but, uh, I’m not exactly allowed to invite boys in my place yet.” he moues playfully. “But I could um, talk to you over it on the phone? Or give it to you tomorrow? I should just give it to you tomorrow, you don’t have to give me your number—”

Eddie squeezes your hand again. “Hey,” he chuckles at you. “Relax, Mandy. I’ll give you my number and we can talk, yeah?”

You feel like you’re waiting for an ice cream cone to be offered to you when Eddie plucks the pen behind your ear and writes his number down on the bottom of the page that he’s read. His writing is scrawny, unaligned like yours, capitalized when he leaves a note beneath the digits that you can’t read. He tells you not to read it yet after he offers to drive you home.

The drive to your home was filled with small talk and music from the stack of cassettes on the back of his car. Ranging from Metallica to Judas Priest as said from the cases you gave him. And despite his attempt at his careful driving, the van sways against the uneven asphalt of the town streets.

Eddie, with a hand on the steering wheel, has a hand hovering behind you as you twist your torso and lean towards the backseat to search for more cassette tapes.

“What are you even looking for?” he asks, carefully turning left. You pick through the mountain of unarranged music, placing them next to each other when you see something you’re not looking for. “Careful. You might fall forward and I’ll just laugh at you.”

“I found it—turn right!” The wheels of his car screech at the sudden pivot, makes you clutch the grab handle and his arm, feet lifting off the clutch and onto the brakes where he presses lightly. “Fuck,”

“Sorry,” he pushes his hair out of his face, glancing at the cassette in your hand. “Oh, I didn’t know I have that,”

The black case of Reggatta De Blanc is clutched tightly in your hold. “I didn’t know you listened to The Police,” you flip it, scanning the back. “They’re my favorite band.”

“I didn’t know you listened to rock,” he’s still pressing lightly on the brakes to slow the van down, the smoke leaving the hood grows both your concerns. “I used to listen to them. Well, when I used to drive my Uncle to work when his car broke down for a while. Refused to listen to any of my tapes. Misfits? No. Iron Maiden? Still no. I mean, I get that he’s old, or something, but he has to try new things out!”

You open his player and withdraw Sisters of Mercy, prompting him to express his displeasure with a half-joking gasp and a short 'hey!' across the cut music. But you swiftly insert the tape to stop him. Eddie's fists clench over the peeling leather steering wheel, his gaze fixed on you.

“The Police, huh,” he grins at you. You swallow the upbeat tempo of Message in a Bottle, bopping your head to the introduction riff. Eddie’s head turns between the road and you. “Thought you’d be more Kate Bush, or something. Billy Joel. Madonna, maybe. Queen. Elton John. The Cure…”

With a twisted smile, you run your nails through the polyester filament yarn of your seatbelt. “I do. I don’t have a specific genre, Munson,” you turn to him. “I can like anything. Hell, I like W.A.S.P. And Joan Jett”

He gasps, turning right. “& The Blackhearts?”

“Fuck yeah,”

Eddie’s tongue clicks with the roof of his mouth, shaking his head. “What a potty mouth, Mandy.” his nose wrinkles when he laughs. Angelic, you think. A laugh a cult leader wouldn’t have; something Eddie would have.

“Well, people usually don’t believe me,” you laugh timidly. “‘S like people need to like just one genre and make it their whole personality. Like, what if I like metal and pop at the same time?” his eyebrows raise a bit. “Sorry. N-no offense. It’s just…annoying, at times.”

You remember being twelve, recently having left Hawkins with a deep frown on your face. But you had a girl invited to your room in search of a new friend. With a borrowed boombox, you showed her Blue Öyster Cult after going through countless tapes of pop artists. And when she found out that the band had a different type of music, way different than the ones you’d just listened to, she’d told you: listening to different types of music makes you unbalanced. You need to stick to the one that makes you you. Or else people wouldn’t know who you are.

Wise words for a pretentious girl, you thought back then. Nevertheless, you believed her.

For five years.

But when you returned to Hawkins, you need reinvention. Because girls were only ever interesting when they’d reinvent themselves every once in a while to keep people hooked on. And you were tired of being unseen, invalidated; so you went back to your older self. Someone who played the piano but enjoys metal as much as Eddie Munson did, from what you’ve seen. You want to show him that side of you, in hopes for affirmation.

“None taken,” he breathes. “But, you’re right. No need to apologize.” your stomach buzzes with his accordance. “Metal’s just…me, though,” unlike earlier, Eddie turns the hazard before he turns. “So, I hope you don’t mind a man with a shag who’s a high school repeat’s driving you home, sweets,”

Sweets. Your whole body burns in the best way, biting back a smile. “No. I don’t mind. I like that.”

“I like that for you, though,” he gesticulates to you. “Being unashamedly yourself. Without aaany judgment whatsoever. And, uh, that’s amazing,” Eddie, although with his words genuine, smiles weakly and sweetly at you; harbors something that he wants to say but stops himself from doing so. “I should be like you more often.”

“I think you’re already being yourself,” your eyes trace the scratches on the windows, the slight blur on the corner of his windscreen; what once was a far distance of a motion blur of modern homes turns slower when Eddie’s foot lifts slowly from the accelerator. “I should be like you.”

“Trust me. You-...” when he looks at you, he visibly softens at your countenance. His adam's apple bobs in what seems to be rich poignance with the way his pupils slightly shrink when he flits his eyes away from you, only to dilate and almost take over his brown irises when they look back at you a mere second later. Eddie chuckles dryly, can't help but smile earnestly at you. “I like you as yourself, (y/n),”

Your hand compels you to reach for his. Like magnets forced to meet. But the console which separates you both hinders you from doing so. But maybe it was your fear; your lack of courage. A film reel in your mind that slides through its mid-tone dull colors of a possible incident — he’ll hold your hand tighter with the gentle caress of his calloused thumb that alleviates the rigorous pounding of your heart and smiles brighter than the ultraviolet sun.

Or his face would twist in disgust and shove your hand back on your lap, lips curled into revulsion and he’d ask you what was wrong with you, reject any excuse that would come out of your mouth like they always did before he’d drop you home and ignore you like you didn’t exist.

Keep it together.

“Thanks,” you mumble, the pads of your thumbs come across the linear scars on your fingers. You see Eddie balk in his seat, lips pursed to make small incomprehensible sounds while he bobs his head to Message in a Bottle. Your house emerges, curtains drawn and run down car missing. Disappointedly, you press on the red button of the seat belt buckle. “Right here, Eddie.”

The van halts to a stop, passenger door right in front of the pathway to your small home. The radio lowers, the seat belt snapping back in place tickles your arm, and dismay wooshes with his loud ac.

But Eddie leaves unexpectedly before you do, the unlocking sound of his car door disappears quicker than the door slamming shut. You watch as he crosses over with squinted eyes, until he reaches to open your door, bowing lightly with an arm stretched towards your house; a smile that reaches up his eyes and a dimple that comes with.

“M’lady,” he nods his head at you. You can’t help but laugh, picking the bag up from between your legs and slinging it over your shoulder, the heat adding an unfortunate ache on your eyes that shoots up to your head and almost burns any skin that’s exposed. Eddie notices. “‘S hot, isn’t it?”

“Unusually hot,” you shake your head. Eddie closes the door, walking on the unmowed grass on your small lawn until you both end up beneath the porch, in the shade that soothes you.

His eyes desecrate the components of your door, tracing the doorbell button, lips making small psh sh sounds before Eddie finally looks down at you. “Can I have your number?”

Your eyebrows furrow. “But I already have yours.”

“So I can call you anytime, Mandy,” he laughs heartily. “I can’t exactly save phone numbers, can I?”

You flush in embarrassment. “Right. Sorry,” you take the pen from behind your ear, reaching out. “Can I have your arm, please?”

Eddie smiles. “Lovely manners.”

He shows you his arm, a small, almost unnoticeable butterfly tattooed on his wrist where you write your number above it. “Nice tat,” you smile up at him, your own blue ink that’s botched to almost unusable decorates his pale skin.

“Yeah, I don’t really know how I got that,” his eye shuts, nose wrinkling, watches your eleven digits appear on his wrist along the veins. “Nice,” he sings. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll have to get going,” Eddie tugs on his bracelet, his feet lifting off the porch. “See you ‘round, Mandy. Shake those zipper blues beneath the burning solari for me, won’t you?”

You bid him goodbye with a sad wave, but you cover it with a smile.

Shake those zipper blues beneath the burning solari. Huh.

Morphine city slippin' dues

Down to see

That we don't even care

As restless as we are

It was a battle between who was gonna call first.

That day when Eddie drove back to the trailer, quietly as Wayne took a nap on the fold-up bed in the living room, he went inside his bedroom and locked the door. Barely was it night. Barely. Yet there he was, sitting on his bed clad in nothing but a random shirt and boxers as he waited for your call.

Nothing.

So he sat and played and thought and dreamed.

Shake those zipper blues beneath the burning solari? What the fuck does that even mean?

The first ring on his phone, it hadn’t come from you. Mike Wheeler asked if he’d used any kind of shampoo on his hair, and what brand it had been. Eddie answered that it was three-in-one, no specific brand. Just anything he could afford. The second had come from Dustin, who’d asked about something DnD related that Eddie had already forgotten.

And then the third was from Reefer Rick, who was put on probation and asked how he was and honestly, the phone call lasted for two hours. A conversation that barely included any drug talk whatsoever and simply what had happened in their lives.

So obviously, Eddie couldn’t help but mention you. Minus your name for safety reasons.

“Shit, dude. She’s… she’s nice. She’s smart and she writes songs like I do and she plays the piano. And I actually met her before! ‘S just that I don’t exactly-... remember it, y’know?”

“Don’t tell me you’re fallin’ in love, kid.”

“I’m not!”

“You know about love and how dangerous it is, don’t you?”

He did.

Like a dangerous game of Dungeons and Dragons.

Yet there he was, the sun gone and the skies Stygian, painted with scattered specks of the burning stars and the crescent moon. Eddie’s patience had slowly been wilting, his knee bounced on the floor and his ass was sore from sitting too long on his lumpy mattress. A notebook in hand with his own clusterfuck of rhyming words with deep elucidations in hopes you’d be talking about songwriting.

And when the phone rang, he stood up faster than the speed of light and he took the handset off the wall and pressed it up to his tingling ears.

“Hello?”

A huff of a laugh. “Hey, Eds.”

Eds. Eds Eds Eds Eds.

His heart palpitated; a ruthless attack of the Cupid’s red piercing arrow shot through his heart. Eddie Munson rested his hand against the wall and the other tight on the phone receiver as his knees liquified from your giggle.

“Hey there, Mandy.”

“I took your lyric, by the way,” he could only imagine what you looked like that night—pajamas, sleep shorts, a crop top, or a random band shirt he thinks you’d totally have, you’d still be pretty nonetheless. “Shake those zipper blues beneath the burning solari. It’s very impressive. Kinda making me not want to give you credit here,”

Eddie shook his head in playful disbelief and turned over to rest his back on the wall with a silly smile and a belly full of butterflies. “I’d very much appreciate the credit. At least then the world would know who I was.”

A playful sound of consideration kisses his eardrums. “Maybe. Yeah, sure. I’ll give you credit.”

Since then, phone calls had been filled with exchanged conceptualizations and words written with a botched ballpen onto crumpled pieces of papers; Eddie would see you in school, too. Passing each other shy smiles, listening to music in his van as he offers to drive you home, his hand discreetly turning back to you to pass notes during History. He no longer found the random fuzz on his table interesting and thought that the girl who answered his notes that ended each message with a smiley face was way more interesting than anything else in the world.

Maybe DnD and metal, too. But you came in first.

And every night, after a campaign or band practice, after his uncle would wish him farewell before heading off to work, the usual jejune midnights had turned into cavorting twilight nights. Before he knows it, he’s already brushing his teeth at six pm, like you’d smell his breath through the phone, and bounces his knee in anticipation in front of the phone.

One night, when Wayne stayed home to get some proper rest, he'd noticed how Eddie had barely left the room to watch the tv with him, or how he hasn't played a guitar in weeks, or suddenly rush out a farewell to meet his friends.

He took a peek in the crack of his bedroom door, saw how his nephew had a lovesick smile as he laid on the floor with the phone on his ear babbling about things that has happened on his day or something about his past.

"You've been hogging up the phone, Eddie. I've got someone to call too, you know?"

Poor Eddie yelped, almost dropping the phone to the ground. Wayne chuckles, walking over to him which made Eddie clutch the phone to his chest. Wayne claps his shoulder.

"Yeah like who? That recently divorced mom beside Kapinsky's trailer?"

He jested to his uncle, who barks out a laugh. "Probably. I'm not the only one trying to woo girls here, son,"

"I- I'm not trying to woo him, man! I'm just-... trying to be her friend."

Wayne huffs with a smile and a light shake of his head.

It went on for weeks; countless calls that he didn't realize months had passed. Every day, every night, you’d become his friend; conversations started turning into somewhat remedial talks other than songwriting, telling each other the stories in your lives that none had experienced, talking shit of the judgementals and the great pretenders, and gave each other keys to your hearts for safekeeping.

“What ever happened to Benny’s Burgers?”

“Heard some Russian kid got him killed, or something. Jason’s using it for his orgies now. Like ritualistic sacrifices are way more important than teenagers having sex all together. The children of god hath given into their temptations! Those gents might not but repent their sins for foul fornication!”

“Eddie, I don’t care if you sell drugs. Half the kids in my old school in Queens sold them. Would almost kill each other for ‘stealing’ their clients. Hell, even half of the NYPD sold drugs.”

“In all honesty, it’s weird how you’re so normal about this.”

“My mom died when I was a baby. The orphanage had different answers on how I ended up there, though. My dad died, he was in jail, he dumped me there. But it doesn’t matter — I’ve got a new family now, anyway.”

“My old man’s in prison. Haven’t talked to him in years. My mom died too, so at least we have that in common, eh?”

“Sometimes I wish people cared. Like-... sometimes I wish they’d see me; stop treating me like a ghost and ask ‘hey, what songs can you play on the piano?’ and all that shit. ‘Hey, are you okay? What’d you feel about getting left at an orphanage? Sorry, I hit you on the shoulder.’ And all that stuff.”

“‘M kinda tired of being seen as a freak. I know everybody has their own thing. But sometimes I… wish I liked the same thing everybody else did. But that’s the thing about society and their codependency on approval — you like something that people think is far from normal, or something that people say isn’t- trendy, you’re a freak. I mean, sorry I like playing a fantasy game than Monopoly. Or- that I like Eddie Van Halen than Olivia Newton-John.”

“Hey, you love Olivia Newton-John!”

Laying in his bed of lumps and stains, Eddie imagined he’s in a field. The tall grass stroking his inked skin, the clouds that hover over him, all his devotion laid upon the clouds that mutate into your silhouette, which beguiles him more. And even when his visual morphs the sky gray and lets its sickening tears drip down onto him, he stares up at this cloud indentation of you that looks back at him. Until it’s blown away and he finally sees your spellbinding beauty.

“Hey,” your voice startled him. “Still there, or you’re asleep?”

“No. This is Eddie’s soul speaking. He’s very asleep,” his jest was followed by an obnoxious snore that made you laugh brightly. He smiles. “Yeah, no. I’m still here. Sorry,”

“It’s okay,” you softly said. “Hey, um, my neck’s aching.”

He frowned. “Oh. Do you wanna continue this tomorrow?” Eddie twirls the cord around his finger, trapping the phone between his neck and ear.

“No,” you sighed. “Keep talking, please?”

“Okay,” Eddie cleared his throat. “Band practice went well. We, uh, learned a new song. Something that’s not metal. Gareth was kind of a bitch about it but hey, there’s no harm in trying something new.”

“Really?” he nodded, remembering you were not there before he said ‘yes’. “What song is it?”

Eddie turned to his side, facing his Blue Öyster Cult poster. “It’s a surprise, Mandy,” his scoff etched a smile on his frivolous face. “You’ll hear it when you come to Hideout.”

“Shame,” he thought you’d been pouting. Playfully, with your pink lip jutted out. “What should I wear when I watch, though?”

“Anything you want,” it made him panic a little; he didn’t have an outfit for the show. Eddie sat up, his foot knocking over an empty bottle that fell down on his floor that thankfully did not break but was loud enough to disrupt you.

“What was that?” you had asked. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he clutched his ankle, face crumbling in pain. “Yeah, babe, I’m alright,”

Shit.

He sensed it then. When your breathing went silent, when his heart stopped beating for a millisecond, the way your mind registered what he said the same time he did. Eddie’s body had loosened in panic.

“Okay,” you finally said, quiet and gentle. “Um, careful.”

“Thanks,” he almost said it again, getting himself distracted. “Thanks, (y/n),”

A pregnant pause. Eddie was massaging his ankle with a look that berated him for his idiotic freudian slip. He scolded himself by bumping the sore spot against the foot of his bed, hard enough that another loud thump was heard and tears brimmed the edge of his eyes.

“Okay, seriously, what is going on in there?” you chuckled incredulously.

“Nothing!”

“You know what? You should come here before you accidentally trip on a knife.”

Eddie’s head dipped. “I thought you weren’t allowed to invite boys in your home?”

“I can rebel, you know,” he felt an eye roll. “Besides, my parents aren’t home and- I’m bored. And my neck hurts and everything’s better when you’re here.”

He deceived himself into thinking you meant nothing in the last part. Eddie felt the warmth rise to his cheeks then, something he’d grown familiar to seeing as it only happens when he’s with you.

“Sure,” he picked up a random pair of shoes beneath his bed and opened his drawer to pull out the finest pair of jeans he owned. “Be there in a couple of minutes.”

That night, he parked his van a few houses from yours, and he immediately spotted the purple curtain of your windows. The light dimmed with the yellow warmth of your lamp, your silhouette moving across with something rectangular in your hand that he can only assume was your notebook. He felt slightly eccentric.

Eddie, ever the man who loves to put on a good show, decided to climb up the side of your home using the uneven ridges of the brick wall and your pipes. His palms had lightly scratched against the rough surface of the bricks, where he used all his strength to lift himself up until his head peeks through your window.

When his forearms rested on the stool of your window, he propped himself on one arm and used his left hand to knock rhythmically on the glass. Eddie saw your silhouette stop pacing, your shadow growing as you near your window and pulled the curtains back.

He’d smiled, bigger when he saw your shocked, wide-eyed gaze. Eddie knows you’re berating him when he hears your muffled rambling. You unlatched the window and pulled it up, your hands clutching his bare elbows.

“You idiot!” you hissed. “I told you my parents are gone. And you come up through the window? Are you insane? You could break your back or stab yourself with the bushes!”

Eddie fell face down, his cheek meeting your carpeted floor. He pressed his palms on the ground, pulling his entire body in until he flopped on your floor. And when he finally fixed himself and rids of the leaves and dirt that stuck to him, he stood up. And you slap his arm.

He gawped at you. “Ow!” he pouts, massaging his arm. “You wound me.”

“Relax,” Eddie took his shoes off. “It was just a slap, you drama queen.”

Eddie’s eyes wandered across your body. You were wearing a band shirt: Dead or Alive. He didn’t know who they were. But he didn’t care because then he’s got his eyes on your exposed legs, black sleep shorts that barely come across half your thighs and it made him swallow thickly, his blood flowing everywhere and god forbid had he popped a boner right in the middle of your room, he would have jumped out your window and broke his neck instead.

“Y-you know me,” his voice cracked the slightest. “Always a queen. Which is why I love the Queen. Not the Queen of England. The band, I mean. Well, I listen to them occasionally.”

You sat on your bed, kicking his shin. “I know, dummy.”

That had been a couple of nights ago.

Now he’s sitting bored, fourth row in the second lane, his chin on his palm, right hand drawing a small bat on the corner of his notebook. Along with some other words until he quietly rips the page off, folds it, and takes it in his hand before he moves it behind him.

Eddie feels the paper slip off his fingers. He thinks of your smile, whether it be a toothy grin, a closed lip or the one that made your teeth shine prettily. His body shivers from head to toe, cheeks tingling while his knee bounces in anticipation.

A light graze on his bare elbow startles him, the heel of his foot knocking against the metal leg of his seat. He takes the paper from the corner of his table, silently unfolding it.

I think that’s a bad idea.

Offended, he writes. I just said hi >:(

He gets a quick reply after he gives it to you. I can smell you thinking. I’m like a vampire. And I’m already telling you that filling someone’s locker with shaving cream is boring and a bad idea.

You snicker when he takes a quick glance at you with a silent gasp. Then what do you suggest we do?

Fill it with shaving cream and stick someone’s hair in it. It’s grosser.

It’s followed by a brief drawing of two stick people, one with a small triangular skirt and one with a guitar in it’s hand, in front of a crooked rectangle which he assumes is the locker, the door opened and curved drawings oozing out. And some small, clustered lines that represent the hair you’d told him about.

Eddie smiles brightly, folding it and shoving it in his pocket before he shoots you a silly smile.

The bell rings, obnoxious and almost deafening. Eddie stands from his seat, watching you meticulously gather your stuff together, hands gently pushing your items inside your bag. He sits on his table, waiting.

“I’m tellin’ ya, Mandy,” He tucks his book on his torso, watching you sling your bag over your shoulder and narrow your eyes at him. “It’s a great idea,”

“I’m not one for bullying, but I think, even though I contributed to your prank knavery, it’s pretty tame and shit,”

Ever the gentleman, he opens the door for you, slapping the top of the door as he passes through. “Oh yeah? Give me something better, do tell.”

“I say fill the locker with water, but then it’ll just slip out,” he towers over you. Sometimes he likes to take advantage of the fact that people would move out of his way merely because they didn’t want to be touched or grazed by him like some disease; he can move faster. “Or we can get your little shrimps to make some machine type of thing that could explode in their locker.”

“Who? Dustin?” Eddie bumps his shoulder with yours. “I mean, yeah could be. And we can just blame it on him,”

“Great idea,” your face wrinkles in confusion. “Wait, who’s locker are you destroying, anyways?”

“Gareth’s,”

Your nose wrinkles. “What did Gareth ever do to you?”

“Breathing,” he sighs. “Anyway, are you doing something later?”

Even in a clustered hallway, Eddie finds it in himself to get the wind knocked out of him when you look up with pensive eyes. Your mouth parts, the ends of your front teeth peeking just a bit from beneath your top lip. You blink and your eyebrows widen.

“Nothing. Homework, maybe. Or just writing again,” his heart pangs at the sad sigh you let out. “Wanna come over?”

He brightens.

Eddie lays on your thick mattress, hands clasped together on top of the notebook that lays open on his chest. Eddie scans every saxe glory of your blue walls, smelling the citrus fragrance of your new white sheets. It’s soft, maybe softer than the field up weathertop, and comforting. You sit on the edge of the bed, W.A.S.P. playing out loud but not loud enough for a complaint.

He turns his head to you, sees how your back is hunched with your notebook on your lap and your fingers drumming on the sides with your pen wedged in between your lips. Eddie leans up, peering over your shoulder.

I put my heart on a piece of paper and you throw it away(?) my heart’s on a string around my neck and

Half the page is scribbled words and annotations with doodles of flowers on the corners. The annoyance radiates off the inelegance of your structure, the bite marks that deepen on the plastic cap of your black pen, and your eyebrows that meet in the middle. Eddie wants to kiss your worry lines away, taking your face in his hands and wonder how, despite the agitated expression, could someone still look so pretty?

Taking his pen from beneath the notebook, he takes the cap off with his teeth. Eddie props himself up on one hand, crosses his arm over yours and presses the black tip on your lined page.

Hi. Notice me pls :(

You laugh cordially, snapping your head to him with your chin on your shoulder and his chin on your bicep, his bottom lip jutting out from the lack of attention.

“What’s up, Mands, huh?” his chin nudges your arm. You soften. “Writer’s block?”

“Writer’s block are for authors,” you say in a small voice.

“Writers. Songwriters. Semantics,” Eddie purses his lips. “Do you wanna turn the radio off? It’s what usually ruins the whole thinking thing, sometimes.”

“No,” you pout. “Maybe I just need a break. I don’t even know why I’m so upset about this. ‘S so stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Eddie readjusts himself, his upper body being propped up by his arm with his legs spread on your mattress, knocking your arm with his temple. “Tell me why you’re upset. Come on.”

You ruminate, staring deep into his eyes. “God, I don’t know, Eddie. It’s like my mind’s all hazy these days. It won’t work. Everytime I try to finish this stupid song, I- my mind just stops. It’s like I’ve forgotten the English dictionary, or something. I feel so illiterate. A freakin- a fucking ten year old could make a christmas jingle faster than I can finish this stupid stanza.” you slam your pen in the middle, closing your eyes in a deep sigh. “It’s tiring— I’m sorry. I talk too much.”

Eddie wants to draw this out. Close the space that’s almost not even there and take you into his arms as he heeds the words you avow with the silk petal of your voice that burrs when you tiptoe the edge of a breakdown. But you’re already looking away from him with a visible wobble of your bottom lip.

“Hey, hey,” he finally sits, ignoring the ache on his arm when he limits himself by touching your shoulder rather than grasping your chin; there’s still the lingering hesitation of crossing boundaries when it comes to physical contact, and he doesn’t want to drive you away. “You don’t talk too much. I love listening to you talk,”

A shimmer in your eyes from the tears that coat your irises. You blink rapidly and smile weakly. “Thanks. That’s- that’s nice.”

“You know what,” he plops to his stomach, reaching over to the ground where his open bag laid and took out two cans of Budweiser, warm with dents on the silver tin. “Let’s drink— just one! Have you ever tried?”

“I told you I used to live in New York. The only things I haven’t tried are coke and marijuana,” you take the can from him. “My dad gave me beer when I was fifteen. Not exactly great parenting but, we were alone and he didn’t know what to feed me.”

He opens the can and drinks the bitter alcohol with ease, letting it leave a burning sensation on his tongue as he watches you do the same. Eddie chortles when your face rumples in distaste, a frown replacing your woeful pout.

“You alright there, Mands?” He raises a brow. “Sure your daddy didn’t give you apple juice?”

“Jesus christ,” you clear your throat. “I’m starting to think he did.” Eddie gently takes the can from you when you give it to him, gently placing it on your bedside table. “You know, Fred Benson has a party a couple blocks from here.”

Eddie takes another athirst sip. “Who?”

“Fred. The guy with glasses who’s with Nancy? I sat with him during lunch?”

“Oh right!” He sets his beer beside yours. “He’s nice. He put Hellfire Club in the student yearbook.”

“We should loosen up a bit,” you stand up, stretching your limbs and wince at the ache on your back. Your Beatles shirt, cut up to a midriff, exposes your stomach, a small scar just on the side of your hip and it makes Eddie flustered. He looks down at his hands. “We should go to the party.”

Eddie hops off your bed with the twist of his legs. “You can’t just leave. What about your parents?”

“I can rebel,” you repeat playfully. “And since when do you care about all that stuff, guy-who-got-arrested-once-when-he-sold-weed-to-an-undercover-cop?"

“I care when it comes to you,” he says softly, and he thinks you must have been pretending not to hear what he said. “Gonna call them or leave a note?”

“Gonna tell them I’ll sleep at Nancy’s,” you pull your drawer open and take a yellow sticky note out, scribbling down. Eddie takes his shoes from beside your bedroom door, frowning at the smudged dirt on the heel of his right shoe before he slips them on. “Can you wait outside? I’m gonna change.”

You looked breathtaking.

Embellished in a simple dress that stopped just above your knees, a pair of high-cut canvas sneakers that needed a bit of washing; a jubilant vogue that beguiles him, lifting him off his jittery fee. Your adroit hands accoutred in rings with lilliputian gems, warped around your dexterous fingers in delicate silver wires. And your hair, free from all its restraint, flowing down your shoulders.

Driving to Fred’s house, you looked like a bright star found in the darkness of Eddie’s van. Sat on his seat, listening to all his metal mixtapes and headbanging to the songs you found endearing. His heart quivers whenever you awe at mixtapes you find in the back of his car.

You were beautiful.

Covet reigns his cynical heart; he yearns to touch you. Wrapping his arm around your waist, holding your hand, or taking your face into his palms and telling you all the things that’ll make you smile. He wants to fortify you from all the savage things that ought to hurt you; Eddie yearns to proclaim his devotion into a dulcet whisper until he feels the rapidness of your heartbeat that thumps against his.

But confusion regnants. He doesn’t know why he feels this way for a friend who simply knocked the wind out of him by wearing a simple dress. Then again, he thinks if it were any other person, they’d feel the same way. It’s you. You and your kind, shy, delicate heart that he wants to keep.

You, that he’s also lost.

It has been an hour since you guys have arrived. Maybe more than an hour. Eddie doesn’t know, but when he glances at his watch, it’d already been eleven in the evening. He wasn’t fond of parties but when it came to you and anything related to your happiness, he’d tolerate it. And for the first time in his life, in a house full of alcohol, he’s still sober. For your sake.

You told him you’d go to the bathroom, and he waited at some couch, stuck between two very drunk people who made out and completely forgot that they’re sitting right next to Eddie ‘the Freak’ Munson. But, in all honesty, it felt nice not having someone run away as soon as they saw him.

But when twenty minutes pass, where he debates on fetching you in case something happened, or thought maybe you were taking a shit, he ultimately decides to search for you.

Foreigner guides him between the sweaty limbs of drunk teens and students who’ve already graduated high school but remained in Hawkins (aka Steve Harrington. He saw a glimpse of his voluptuous hair towering over the crowd).

“I wanna know where (y/n) is,” he sings subconsciously. “I want you to show me,”

And then, he sees you. In a situation that proves his nagging thoughts right.

Standing against the wall is a drunk you. And lo and behold, Steve Harrington peers over you with a flushed face that spreads up to his neck, shirt unbuttoned like he’s seducing you with the jungle on his chest. Eddie feels the bottom of his stomach twist uncomfortably, a twinge of jealousy floating within the acids inside.

He pushes the people away, as gently as he could, making his way toward you.

“I know— Eddie!” you gasp, pushing away from the wall. You open your arms and fall against him, wrapping your limbs around his torso tightly so that it makes him just as shocked as Steve was. “Where have you been?”

“I was waiting,” a hand massages your forearm, the other resting cautiously on your back. “You said that I stay there.”

“Have you met Steve?” Eddie smiles tightly at him. He tries to hide his disappointment when you uncurl an arm from him.

“Yeah, I met him,” he says softly. “Dustin kept on talking about him.”

Steve’s eyebrows raise in bewilderment. “Uh- yeah. Nice seeing you again, man.” he nods his head at him. “Haven’t seen you since I left highschool,”

“Kinda surprised you’re still here,”

He narrows his eyes at Eddie. “I could say the same,” Steve runs his hand through his hair, shifting all his weight on his left leg. “Didn’t you repeat high school?”

You gasp beneath Eddie, turning your head at him. “You repeated high school?”

“Didn’t I tell you that?”

“Yeah but I forgot,” you rub your nose with the side of your finger. “I’m sorry. That must have sucked.”

It used to. Until you came back.

Eddie’s mouth parts, but all that could come out was. “Wanna go back home?”

“I haven’t peed yet,”

“You’ve been talking to Steve for twenty minutes?” he exclaims his disdain over this fact, tightening his arm around you without even realizing it. “Alright, I’m taking you up to the bathroom,”

“Hey hey hey,” Steve reaches out to grasp Eddie’s elbow, clumsily but tight as he can see the drunken gloss in his eyes. “Where’d you think you’re going?”

“Didn’t you just hear what I said?”

“Oh I heard it loud and clear,” he scoffs. “You’re not taking a drunk girl to the toilet, Munson.”

Eddie turns, hiding you behind him and lets you pick on the loose thread of his vest. “And what do you expect me to do? Let her piss herself in here?” he wonders wherever Steve found the nerve to act all protective over you. “Sending her up there alone is more dangerous, Harrington.”

“And you think I’ll let you take her up there?”

“Hey, excuse me,” with your hands around Eddie’s torso, you spin, your cheek right on the DIO print of his vest. “If you’re thinking that Eddie would take advantage of me, h’wont. You don’t know him. He- he won’t do what you’re thinking,” you narrow your eyes at him. “You know, if you people would just take the time to get to know him, you’d know that he’s not a freak. Or that he’d sacrifice me to the devil, or some shit. He’s a really nice person and you’re just—judgemental morons. And I really need to fucking pee.”

Your sweet mien is stripped off. An austere look makes Steve stumble back, face flushed in embarrassment than inebriation. He sputters out an apology, his eyes sobering in genuity. But surprisingly, he apologizes to Eddie. “I’m just drunk. I know it’s not an excuse but… she’s my friend.”

Still, with your words that left his heart unveiling and pounding like a fast drum bass, Eddie nods his head at him in slight forgiveness. “I get it, man. No hard feelings.”

(But he still is jealous that Henderson liked him more.)

Eddie takes you into his arms, smiles reassuringly at you as he pushes your hair out of your face, and leads you up to the nearest bathroom.

Lamented and assured

To the lights and towns below

Faster than the speed of sound

Faster than we thought we'd go

Beneath the sound of hope

Eddie Munson had only been in love once.

But maybe he’s wrong.

You sit patiently in the passenger seat, swaying to a Barry Manilow mixtape you found in Fred’s house that Eddie didn’t stop you from taking. He watches you from inside the convenience store, the beep of the scanner faint as well as the jingle of coins.

He bids a quiet goodbye to the cashier and pockets his change, holding two water bottles in his hand, sauntering to his vibrating van, and hopping in with ease.

Your eyes snap open, wide in its demiurgic inebriation. Eddie shuts the car door, placing his bottle on the cup holder in front of the gear shift so he could open yours to save you the struggle before he hands it to you. “Sober up, princess,”

Although half-drunk, you manage to swallow his sobriquet and flush. Princess. Babe. Mandy. What’s next? Love of my life?

God, I kinda hope so.

Eddie’s got his eyes on you, searching for any signs of struggle as you open the bottle with a small grunt before you bring the plastic up to your lips, swallowing heavily. Your eyes flutter shut, eyelashes caressing the gentle skin of your cheeks as you moan.

“Shit,” you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “What’s in the water?”

“Special K,” he jokes, opening his own. “You sober yet?”

“I can physically feel it-” you gesture your hands to yourself, waving it in a downward motion as you swallow the thick saliva on the edge of your tongue. “-disappear. I can feel it go down to my bladder.”

Eddie chuckles, shaking his head as he faces the steering wheel and twists the key in the ignition. “Just make sure you don’t have to pee yet. I’m gonna take you somewhere,”

You screw the cap back on, tugging on the ends of your dress as solemn curiosity makes you look up at him through your eyelashes. “Ooh. Where ya takin’ me, Eds?”

“It’s a surprise,” he pulls out of the parking lot, watching carefully from the rearview mirror with his eyes squinted. “I take Dustin up there every morning to talk to his girlfriend. But there’s a special spot I’m taking you.”

“Dustin has a girlfriend?” you gasp. “I always thought he made that up,”

“Oh, but she’s very real,”

Tucking the bottle beneath your chin, you wriggle your brows at him with a skittish look. It enamors him, and it can’t stop him from turning his head at you and smiling softly. He wishes this would last — a fortuitous moment of abundant reposefulness, in his shitty van with your presence gracing the darkness of his world.

Your face reappears in the darkness whenever a streetlight passes by. And every spark, you grow even more beautiful despite the intoxication that drops a barbell onto your eyelids. Eddie watches the buildings disappear, replaced by old trees, huddled together beside the road that swishes and collides with the passing breeze.

With the doo-wop music pleasing to your ears, you hum beneath your breath, hand reaching out to roll the windows down and peak your head out. The wind strokes your skin headily, but the attempt to sober you is in vain. At least, with the alcohol that’s left in your system; you're clearheaded enough to register the lyrics from the radio and Eddie’s words of carefulness.

Unable to detach his eyes from the lengthy road, Eddie filches every moment he’d glance at you out of worry you’d get your head decapitated off a pole or anything that passes by.

But the sight of you with your back arched against the open window, hands in the air and your hair across your tipsy face was enough to relieve his worry. Were his eyes cameras, he’d taken every picture at every blink he took and kept in his mind. Just in case he’d never see such an unfathomable sight again.

“Hey, Mandy,” he yells slightly. “Having fun there, girl?”

“Totally,” you sigh, teeth gleaming. “Are we there yet, Munson? The inside of my mouth’s getting all dry here.”

“Get back inside, then,” he glouts playfully. “We’re almost there, babe.”

He’s getting really fucking comfortable with those petnames, now.

You slither yourself back inside, slumping on his chair, your dress ridden up to your thighs. Eddie blushes from his face to his chest, snapping his eyes back on the road as you squirm on your seat, tugging on the ends until you’ve settled properly and rose the window up halfway.

He tugs on the collar of his Paranoid shirt, a stark contrast to his exposed, opalescent skin. “You had fun poking your head out the window?” he cocks a brow. “Or do you still wanna go chase the cars that pass by thinkin’ they’re treats?”

“Dick,” you kick his shin, dirt smudging on his blue jeans.

Eddie stops beside a broken fence, the vibration of his van coming to a halt when he twists the keys from the ignition and pulls it off. You blindly open the car door much to his dismay, and hop off with bleary feet. He does the same, shuts the door the same time you did and watches you cross over the van until you stand in front of him.

But you look at the hills, high and dark; its luscious green grass unseen by the darkness. He watches your jaw relax and your blinks decelerate.

“We’re gonna walk up there?” you say smally, fiddling with your rings.

“You don’t wanna?” his left eye narrows, a small pout coming up to draw itself on his face. “It’s okay if you don’t wanna. I can try to drive my car up the hill. Unless you also don’t wanna climb up the hill then I can just take you wherever you wanna go.”

You shake your head, tugging on his leather bracelet, hooking your finger around the ornament and crossing the shattered fence. “I can do it. I’m—I’m sober enough. I think I just have to remove my shoes. Hold on,”

He crosses the fence first, planting his feet on the ground as you use him as leverage. You balance yourself on one foot, pulling on the laces of your shoes and pulling it until he sees your socks—blue covered in black bats. Eddie takes your shoe as you do the same to the other, until he’s got your high-cuts in one hand, and the other being pulled by you.

Everything was untroubled. Laughs shared when he trips and scrapes his bare knee on the uncut grass; your socks darkened by the damp soil, his white Reeboks the same. And Eddie matches your heavy huffs, the remaining energy on his body on his legs that continue to lift him up the hill.

When you reach the top, you half-yell in relief, bending with your hands on your knees. Eddie sets your shoes down, letting himself fall on his ass. Once you’ve obtained your spent breath, you plop down beside him.

“Holy shit,” you press your hands on the earth below, shifting to rest on your knees. “Eds, we can see Hawkins from here,”

You see the lights that brighten up the town. The miniscule homes of the village from across, the burnt Starcourt mall, the sirens that lead its way to the Hospital and the variegated radiance from the arcade. You gawp silently.

“Exactly why I took you up here,” he tugs down on your dress when the wind blows it up, keeping his eyes at your face. “And if you look very closely, or if you have the eyes of an owl, you can see the trailer park.”

He laughs amusingly when you squint your eyes. Eddie knows if he can’t see it, so can’t you. But you try, nonetheless.

“I don’t see it,” you lament, sitting back down beside him. Eddie tries to ignore the weight you rest on his arm; the pinky that grazes his behind your backs for anchor, and how your bare legs graze his jeans but despite the covering, he can feel the heat radiating off your body.

“You’ll see it better when the sun’s up,” he leans on his right arm, shoulder bumping yours when he reaches for his Lucky Strike pack. Eddie flips it open, his small lighter lodged to the side of his cigarettes. You peer over, chin on his shoulder. He pulls out one, sticking it between his middle and index before he uses his thumb to pull his lighter out.

Then he looks at you, nose beside yours with the minimal proximity. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

“No,” you say. “My dad smokes. The dad who adopted me, I mean.”

“I know,” he smiles before he sticks the cigarette between his lips. He shoves his pack back on his pocket, sitting back down. “Do you smoke?”

The question was muffled through a lisp, but was still understandable. “Haven’t tried,” you answer. “But I almost did. It was weed, actually, that shit you sell? When I came back during summer, Steve picked me up and he asked me if I wanted to get high,”

“Really?” The cigar bobs when he speaks, the hand that cups over lowers slightly, his thumb stopping on the sparkwheel. “How long have you and Harrington been friends?”

He finally lights it up, the white paper burning into a crisp orange until smoke begins to vent. “Since middle school. Met him after my parents adopted me from my foster care. They took me to Hawkins, our house was near his, and we were invited to dinner by Steve’s parents when they were still present in his life.”

A burning jealousy on the pit of his stomach, ignited not by the lighter. “Were you good friends?”

“I’d like to think we were,” you tilt your head back and look at him. Eddie feels your pinky tap his, which he taps back. “When his parents started going on business trips, and mine were…well, working in Hawkins, Steve and I hung out in either his bedroom or mine,” you smile at him. “But, we rarely talked when I left for New York. It was a phone call every three months. And then he picked us up at the airport,”

He lets the smoke leave the corner of his lips, on the other side where you weren’t. “Did he, uh, tell you all that shit about Henderson and Wheeler?”

“Through the phone. It’s kind of crazy,” his heart flutters at your light smile. “You know, I’m not sure if I should tell you this shit or not, but he told me about this whole thing about- monsters, and all that crap. Demogorgons, demodogs, the Upside Down. The Mind Flayer-”

“What, like DnD?” Eddie snorts. “Maybe the little shrimp talked to him about it, who knows,”

“I mean, he was half-drunk when he told me,” your lips purse. “Either he played DnD, or he dreamt about it. I mean, I asked Nancy about the Starcourt fire but she wouldn’t tell me anything!”

Eddie takes another puff, a long one that reaches his lungs. “‘M pretty sure he was just stoned,”

“What about you?” he sees you observe the cigarette, but he’s sure you’d been looking at his hands first and his dimly lit rings. “How’d you know him?”

He taps his finger on the rod, chunks falling down on the grass on the minimal space between your legs. “High school,” his lips twist into a frown. “I had my first senior year with him. And- uh, he was a douchebag. King Steve,” Eddie nods his head, a sardonic smile offered to you. “And when Henderson came and said that he was awesome, kept on insisting, actually, it was hard to believe.”

“Did he ever, uh,”

“Call me a freak?” he finishes. “Once. Twice. Dunno. We crossed paths but never really met, I guess. We knew we existed in each other’s lives but we never really acknowledged. He was too gung ho on Nancy Wheeler,”

You chortle, a plain snort leaving you that renders him amused. “Oh, God. Nancy. D’you know Steve wouldn’t stop talking about her whenever he called me.”

“You ever get jealous?”

He hopes you say no. Never did. He’s my friend. Only ever liked him as a friend. I don’t like his hair, I don’t like his smug smile. Eddie doesn’t care if it deems him jealous. But there’s nothing bad in hoping, right?

“No,” you ponder for a bit. “Maybe,”

His heart sinks.

“Only because I wished someone talked about me the way he did to Nancy,” a pensive gloss covers your irises, lit by the vibrant colors of the town upon your grazing knees and swaying feet. “He sounded so in love. And I always thought about how she would feel if she knew someone talked about her like that.”

He sighs. “You never know,”

You think he’s in thought, with the way his shoulder presses against yours absentmindedly and the silence that’s drawn out from his peart mien.

“I had this dream when I was a kid,” you whisper. “That I was the greatest pianist in the world. I was singing with Billy Joel and—everybody knew who I was,” Eddie smiles. “And, ever since that dream, I’ve taught myself how to be one of the greatest pianists in the World,”

You exert amenity towards him when he laughs bemusingly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” your eyebrows furrow for a split second.

A sudden memory climbs its way to his head. “Do you remember back in middle school? We, uh, hung out a lot after the talent show. And- and all we did was play music,” He says it with slight uncertainty; he himself can barely remember all those times yet he based on a single memory. “We played this one song all the time.”

“Does Everyone Stare,” you answer. “The Police.”

“That one,” he nods his head. “Because it was the only song we knew how to play that had guitars and pianos.”

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you nod. “I can’t believe we forgot each other,”

“But I do remember some parts,” he takes a short hit. “You said that you wanted to marry Billy Joel, and then you kept on bragging to me how you could play Die Young like, fifty times,”

“Only the Good Die Young!” you correct him. “God, yes! I played that even when I was in Queens. My grandma loved that song.”

“I always wondered why you had a huge crush on him. He was old,”

“He was not!” you gasp.

Eddie shrugs, lips curling in amusement when a huff leaves his nose. “Yes he was! And it was a good reason for me to get jealous, too,”

Shit.

If he could, he’d ululate his stupidity into the sky and embarrass himself further because it’s already out now, isn’t it? But confirming your jealousy didn’t mean he’d harbored feelings for you, right? He could be jealous for other reasons like…

He doesn’t remember.

“Jealous?” you repeat. “You were jealous of Billy Joel because I liked him?”

“We were kids. Hell, I got jealous when Tommy H. brought his Nintendo to school. Or when Barb Holland—may she rest in peace—won class president. I get jealous all the time,” he snickers. “Don't let it get into your big head, Mandy.”

Double crossed between his lies and what you truly perceive, you shake your head mirthly. “Yeah. Okay, Munson.” you roll your eyes at him. “God I… whenever I played that song, I always imagined I was in a concert. With this… huge grand piano. I’d play for those snobby rich people, then I’d get roses thrown at me. I’d play so hard my fingers would bleed and they’d give me a standing ovation,”

Eddie smiles. “What a dream,” he looks away, chin on his neck when he looks down on his lap. “I’d be your first ever watcher. Then I’ll throw tomatoes at you and boo you off the stage,”

He looks back at you and you laugh jovially.

The muddle of alcohol in your head almost makes you miss how his jaw clenches and his eyes soften. A solemn twinkle in his button eyes, nostrils flaring as he stares at you with the smoke on his cigarette flowing between the tangled strands of his hair.

Suddenly nervous with his intense stare, you nod at his cigarette. “Can I-uh, try?”

Eddie blinks. “Yeah, sure.”

He offers it to you with a balk stutter on his hand. You lean over, your hand almost on his thigh as you wrap your lips around, lipstick staining the orange filter that leaves a pink coruscating shine. Brazen do you inhale, cheeks sucked in, gray smoke filling your lungs until you cough abruptly and push it away.

Smoke puffs when you cough and he laughs jubilantly. “Mandy!”

“Fuck,” your hand grasps his shoulder, the other covering your mouth. “Christ. No wonder why my dad says I shouldn’t smoke. Oh- shit. Ah.”

He pats around beside him. “We left our water in the car,”

“Screw it. I’ll try again,” you wrap your hand around his wrist and take the cigarette in your mouth, sucking like your life had depended on it until Eddie himself has to pull it away. It’s a bit calmer this time, no coughs and only smoke.

His palm meets the side of his hand to a mock applause. “Bravo.”

“Who taught you this?”

Eddie takes a short puff. “My old man,”

Your smile falls. “Oh, shit, sorry,”

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “My…mom got mad when she found out. I was eight,” he licks his lips. “And, you know, I told myself I wouldn’t do it again. But highschool happened and before I knew it, I have a metal lunchbox full of packs and weed,”

You feel his pink shyly tap yours. “My mom used to take me up here,” Eddie continues. “Way before Dustin did and- we used to go up before the sunrise so we could watch it. When he was dead asleep,” he swallows thickly. “She’d make these sandwiches, chocolate and peanut butter, and we’d eat them while we watched the sun rise; and she’d point out all these butterflies,” he shows you his wrist where the insect lays. “And she said ‘Eddie, you must always cherish the beginning of a new day,’”

He mimics the voice of his mother in a high-pitched voice and a tone that lilts to a posh border. Eddie knows it’s not exactly her voice, but he loves a good impression.

“She sounds like an amazing person,” you whisper.

“She was,” Eddie muses, a melancholy wave that crashes on him as he lays on the undertow, helpless. “She always had this bubble of hope, even if my dad always popped it. She just kept on blowing, and smiling, and loving even though she was struggling and honestly,” he looks at you with a sad smile, “she’s one of the strongest women I’ve ever met,”

Your heart breaks the slightest. But he looks at you like the brightest star he's ever found.

“She always had a bubbly personality even when everything was tough,” he sighs. “And I haven’t done this. Watching the sunrise since she, y’know, because I always slept in,”

His chuckle makes you smile breathlessly. But it had been more wistful. There’s a mosaic of maudlin rings over your eyes, on the verge of shattering. “Is that why you took me up here?”

“Kind of,” he drops his head sideways. “There’s no sunrise, though. So I hope this will suffice,”

“I’ll take anything you give me, Munson,” you smile softly. “It makes me happy, either way,”

Finally, your pinkies hook behind you. His finger is warm, bigger than yours but bears a whit of gracious familiarity. They hook, as thick as thieves; Eddie gifts you a smile so warm and loving that makes you lean close.

“Even if my van’s all run down and loud and on the verge of burning?” his eyebrow raises. “Or I stain your reputation?”

“I don’t even have a reputation,” you laugh. “But yes. Even if you van smells like marijuana and you, like, listen to Orgasmatron for god knows how many times. I’ll accept anything,”

I’ll accept anything.

Eddie leans close, tobacco breaths exchanged, nose bumping with yours; his eyes are low and hooded, his eyelashes that tickle his cheeks when he blinks rapidly, fearing that once he opens his eyes you’re a mist within the gray smoke. And fuck, you’re pretty.

Prettier than the barely there stars above you, prettier than the morphing clouds that entice him at seven in the morning, prettier than Sweetheart (his beloved guitar, yes); prettier than everything else, you being the center of attention, the only attraction in his terrifying world. His heart pounds like he’s fallen down the rollercoaster, and it feels gratifyingly amazing.

Your pinky clutches his tightly in a silent promise. And he vows to keep it, whatever it may be.

“Just where our bones will rest,”

Befuddled, he pulls back slightly. “What?”

“I thought of a lyric,” although disappointed, Eddie finds it in himself to smile lightly. “My heart's on a string around my neck and I stare just where our bones will rest.” you say. “Shit, Eddie, do you have a ballpen?”

“Lucky for you, I do,” he reaches for his pocket again and pulls out a blue pen with the cap covered in small indentation of bites. You frown. “Sorry. I get nervous a lot.”

“It’s okay,” you unscrew the cap. “Um, fuck,”

You unlace your pinky from his, pulling your left forearm out so you’d write the lyric just above your inner elbow, small across the skin of your forearm.

“I could get this tattooed,” you mutter. And then you look up at him with a proud, bright smile.

“I could do it,” his shoulders raise to a shrug. “I mean, I mostly do my own tattoos,” Eddie shows you his arms—the butterfly on his wrist, the bats on his forearm, before he pulls on the collar of his shirt and shows you The Devil. “Either I use my machine or the stick and needle,”

“Didn’t know you knew how to do tattoos,” you narrow your eyes at him. “What’s next? You can fix cars,”

He almost says yes.

You reach to touch the tattoo on his forearm in awe, delicate finger grazing his inked skin, petting the hairs on his arm. “Seriously. I’ll do it, (y/n),” he chuckles. “Just gotta tell me when,”

With your eyes gilded in delirium, you nod. And he smiles.

Eddie Munson had only been in love once.

But he had no idea he could fall in love twice.

You could remember how delicate he’d been.

Eddie had taken you back to his home. The place dark and desolate with the missing presence of his beloved uncle. He’d sat you down on his couch, apologized for how messy the place had been and that you’re getting your first tattoo at some dingy trailer. And you remember how your words succored the insecurity out of him; how he visibly deflated in relief and knelt in front of you.

Although covered in latex, his hands were warm against your arm, but it was incomparable to the spark you felt when you looped your pinky around his.

His words had saged the pain from the stabbing needles. Constant praises that made your stomach flip; ballyhoos that made your cheeks burn as your mind swallowed them in a way that you shouldn’t— “You’re doing a great job, babe” “Taking it so well, aren’t you, Mandy?” “I know it hurts, but it’ll feel good soon,” “Good girl.”

Good girl had been the last straw.

Eddie was doing it on purpose, right? Or your mind was just too deep into the gutter?

He’d traced the words you wrote on your inner elbow in vigilant precision. Eddie was fruitless of failure, nothing amiss in the Stygian tattoo. Which left you in awe given that he’d used a stick and needle rather than the machine hidden somewhere beneath the depths of his dusted bed.

When he was done, he lathered your arm with ointment before covering it with plastic—cling wrap. And he drove you home with smiles painting both the canvases of your faces; the inside of his van filled with nothing but twitching hands that yearn for reconciliation, and knowing looks exchanged between the music of The Police.

You had laid on your bed with the lingering feeling of his latex touch and his bona fide scrutiny that night. A silly smile on your face when you think of Eddie Munson; the boy who’d disappeared in your life who you miraculously found again.

special thanks to: @vendettaparker, @munsonquinns, @familyvideostevie, @applcrumbl for proofreading :3

PART TWO

REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE APPRECIATED 💕

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morningberriesao3 · 9 months

Text

MWMD - Be My Love

Steve Harrington X Virgin!Eddie Munson

Summary: It's NYE, and the cat comes hurtling out of the bag. Eddie and Steve finally do something about their feelings.

Word Count: 6.8K

Chapter: 6 of 6 CHAPTER LIST

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Content Warnings: Explicit m/m sexual content including… Virgin Eddie Munson, Dry Humping, Coming Untouched, Coming in Pants, Minor Crossdressing (ahem, EDDIE WEARS A G-STRING), Oh no they’re both tops?! what will they do!!?!, Top Steve Harrington, Power Bottom Eddie Munson, Blow Jobs, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Nipple Clamps, Under-Negotiated Kink, Unsafe Sex, Creampie. Underage Drinking and Recreational Drug Use

Tags: Eddie Munson lives, 5 + 1 Things, slow burn, POV Eddie Munson, Gay Eddie Munson, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Slow Burn, Sexual Tension, Caretaking, Massages, Sharing a Bed, House Party, Play Flighting, Bros Being Bros (JK it’s very homoerotic), Halloween, Boys in Makeup, Independence Day, New Years Eve, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending

A/N: thank you to everyone who liked and reblogged over the last few days! this story is so much fun and it was a blast to write. if you were to choose between an angsty rock star eddie fic next, or a fantasy vampire eddie fic next, which would it be? feel free to send in an anonymous ask if you have an opinion or input <3

Many Ways, Many Days, to Say ‘I Love You’

December 31st, 1986

“Holy shit,” Steve shouts beyond the blasting music in the middle of the makeshift dancefloor. Another holiday, another party. Eddie has attended more parties since meeting Steve than he’s ever even seen in his entire life. This one is at some graduated basketball player’s home, and Eddie has been clinging to Steve’s side for the majority of night so he doesn’t end up alone. It seems like a very unsafe place to find himself without his escort. Steve shakes his glass that’s filled with pink liquid in front of Eddie’s face. “This is so good. You should try one of these. It’s so good.”

Eddie sways to the beat of the (terrible) music. He’s tipsy enough that he’d stopped complaining about it half an hour ago, but not drunk enough that it wasn’t on the forefront of his mind. He pretends not to know exactly what song it is (You Make My Dreams Come True by Hall & Oates), even though he knows it word for word. It’s not his fault that the radio station sometimes plays shitty music. Over and over. Until he has to convince himself it is, indeed, shitty.

Eddie eyes the liquid in Steve’s glass. “What even is that?”

Steve squints an eye. “I think it’s strawberry – no, raspberry. And… peach?” He smiles that crooked smile at Eddie. “And a whole lot of liquor.”

The image that Eddie has cloaked himself in over the years tells him that he can’t sip on a fruity cocktail in a public place filled with his peers. But a little voice in his head tells him, You don’t care what other people think about you anyway. And if it’s good enough for the King of Hawkins High… So he looks at Steve and says, “Lead me to the refreshments, your majesty.”

Butterflies erupt in his stomach when Steve bends in half at the waist and holds an outstretched hand towards Eddie. “Right this way, milady.”

Now, here’s the thing.

Maybe being called a lady shouldn’t do something for Eddie. But what does everyone call him? The Freak. And when it comes down to it, there are parts of himself that are rather… freakish. Like the G-string that he pulled from the back of his drawer to wear tonight – a dirty little secret – for his own cheap thrill. Or the nipple clamps he hasn’t had the chance to try out yet.

Or being called a lady by Steve.

So he takes Steve’s hand, because it’s beckoning him to do so, and his stomach churns sideways, and he has to remind himself of his promise – the one he made to himself – that that thing that he and Steve did was a one-time thing. That, despite all reasoning in the entire world, Steve didn’t mean to get himself off with Eddie and didn’t mean to get Eddie off, too.

Does that make any sense at all? Probably not. But what makes even less sense would be the opposite theory. The one where Steve isn’t completely straight.

It’s a theory that Eddie won’t even let himself consider, because it would spark that pesky little flame of hope within him. Better it never gets lit in the first place, instead of lit and extinguished.

“Hey, Stace,” Steve says to the blonde girl in the kitchen, who has a shaker in her hand and a group of other cute ladies crowding her. Steve gives her a devastatingly beautiful smile and she rewards him with a bashful blush and a bat of her ridiculously long eyelashes. The jealousy that Eddie feels at the exchange is concerningly violent. “Can you make a couple more of these for me? They’re amazing.” Steve shakes the glass at her the same way that he did to Eddie a moment ago.

“Of course,” she chirps, biting on her lip in a way that Eddie can only assume is seductively. She lets her tongue poke out from her perfectly plump, pink lips to wet them. Eddie nearly scoffs aloud. “So, Steve. Are you here with anyone?”

Eddie looks down at his decorated hands to see if he’s gone invisible. He certainly feels like he has. But nope, he’s very much there, standing next to Steve.

Steve’s not as much of a prick as everyone else at the party, so he throws his arm around Eddie’s shoulder, unashamed. “Yeah – this is Eddie. I’m here with him.”

Stacy’s eyes trail sideways and look at Eddie for no longer than a couple of seconds. It’s long enough, however, for Eddie to read her distaste. “Oh. No, I know. I mean, are you here with anyone.”

Steve’s brows crumple above his Roman nose. “What? I’m here with Eddie.”

The group of girls twitter soft laughter. Stacy pours the contents of the shaker into two solo cups filled with ice. “You’re such a fool, Steve.”

She says it in a tone that’s probably supposed to be endearing, but Eddie can see how Steve bristles. “Alright. Well, thanks.” He picks up the two glasses, handing one to Eddie and turning his back to Stacy.

He pats Eddie on the back and points his chin towards a clearing in the centre of the room. They start to make their way away from the kitchen, but Stacy calls after him, “Only a few minutes until midnight! Come find me!”

Steve turns to face her once more – so does Eddie – and he doesn’t miss how she throws him a wink.

“Oh, um. Thank you. Maybe,” Steve says, grabbing Eddie’s wrist and hauling them away from her advances before she can say anything else. They find a quiet space in the living room, against the wall. Eddie leans his back against it while Steve takes a sip of his drink. “I hate it when they don’t take a hint.”

For a second, Eddie wonders if he doesn’t take the hint sometimes. Social cues and all that. That would, in fact, explain why lately he’s been living in a constant state of confusion.

But all he does is nod, and say, “Same.”

They stand there for a minute, sipping on their drinks, eyeballing the crowd as they laugh and dance. Then Steve cocks his head and takes a step towards Eddie. Suddenly, he’s very aware that there’s a solid wall behind him. That Steve is closer than he should be. That he’s pushing into his space when usually that’s just an Eddie thing.

Maybe he’s rubbing off on Steve.

He’d like to rub off on Steve. Again. If you catch his drift.

“So,” Steve says, looking down on Eddie, making him feel strangely small, “what’s the story with you and Gareth?”

Eddie furrows his brows, nearly choking on his cocktail. “Excuse me?”

“I never really asked before.” Steve shrugs. “And – I don’t know – you guys seem to hang out a lot.”

“Yeah. Uh. I’ve known him since like, grade three. He’s my best friend.”

Steve’s eyes drop from his for a moment. He chews on his lips. “Oh. Of course – I mean, That’s… great.” Eddie stares as Steve’s expression falls. And he has half a mind to say that he looks… jealous. But the confidence quickly returns to Steve’s gaze. “So, what am I then?”

Eddie’s stomach ties up in knots. “What are you?”

“If Gareth is your best friend. What am I to you?”

He’s aware that all plausible deniability has disintegrated. It probably did a long time ago, but now is when it really hits him. That look sparks in Steve’s eyes – the cheeky one where he’s being flirty and sexy and he knows it. The one that has been unleashed on him a few times by now, but Eddie’s always made excuses as to why.

And he is trying, trying, to find an excuse right now.

He only slightly pays attention when the chatter in the room gets louder. When everybody turns to the television in the living room that’s playing the New York City ball drop.

Steve doesn’t turn to the TV. He still crowds into Eddie. “Because sometimes I think one thing, and then sometimes it seems like the opposite.”

Eddie’s only slightly aware when the whole room raises their glasses in the air, and they yell in unison: Ten!

Instead of answering Steve’s question, he sucks in a breath and holds it.

Nine!

And then he turns it around; he says, “I don’t know, Stevie. What am I to you?”

Eight!

Steve’s lips twitch into that cocky little grin of his, the crooked one that Eddie loves so much. God, he’s so attractive. “Well, I think –”

Seven!

“– it hasn’t been the most traditional way of getting here. But we’re –”

Six!

“– together. Boyfriends.”

Those two words volley around Eddie’s head for what feels like an eternity. Together. Boyfriends. The world is on a standstill. Everything is in slow motion. His heartbeat stops, and so does his intake of air. Everything kind of zeros in on Steve, and him, so close. Heat radiating from the body that’s pressed up into his own.

A million thoughts race through his mind at once: This isn’t real. You didn’t hear right. This is a joke.

And then there’s the other thoughts. The ones that tell him that everything that has happened since March – everything that’s happened in the last nine months – suddenly makes sense. Everything since waking up in that hospital hand-in-hand with Steve. That maybe the flirty moments – the small touches, the kiss that he only thought was a game, the playfight that turned into something more – maybe those things meant what Eddie was always trying to avoid thinking they might mean.

To keep himself from getting hurt.

But maybe all this time, Steve has cared – the same way Eddie has cared – and he’s been trying to tell him. Not in words, but in actions.

And each time, Eddie had shut himself down afterwards. He closed himself off from allowing a discussion, just in case it wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

Here it was. That discussion. But it was everything Eddie never expected. Everything he’s always wanted.

All of this berates Eddie’s thoughts, but he’s only aware that no time has passed at all when the crowd yells: Five!

Even though he feels like he’s cracked the code, there’s still that pesky devil on his shoulder that’s whispering in his ear: there’s no way any of that is the case. So he stares up at Steve – he can feel the whites of his eyes shining as they balloon – and he whispers, “Really?”

Four!

Steve’s little smile turns into a full-on grin. His puppy-dog eyes crinkle in the corners. He takes another step into Eddie’s space, even though there’s not much left. When did he get so goddamn close? “Are you gonna give me a kiss?”

Three!

Eddie scans the room. He forgot that they aren’t alone, even though – tucked away in the darkened corner of this massive house – it feels like they are. Nobody is looking. Nobody is looking and Steve is so fucking close…

Two!

Eddie’s eyes flick down to Steve’s mouth. His lips are shimmering pink. Maybe from the drink…

One!

He nods and breathes, “Fuck yeah.” And then Steve’s lips are on his.

It’s as unbelievable as you might think, having Steve Harrington kiss you. Really kiss you. Not under the façade of a game or a dare, but because he wants to.

Just like the rest of him, his lips are sure. Confident. They slot with Eddie’s first with a gentle brush, and then start moving with conviction. He coaxes Eddie’s mouth to part and suddenly he can feel the scrape of Steve’s teeth against his lower lip. He can feel the heat of Steve’s breath as they breathe the same air. He can feel that Roman nose brushing against his own. Feels Steve’s hand – the one not carrying the drink – press flat against his stomach.

And then Steve’s tongue flicks out to catch the jut of Eddie’s lips – kind of like that time on the Fourth of July – but it’s a question. One that Eddie answers by opening his mouth further. That tongue slips inside, and he can see fireworks behind his eyelids, he can taste Steve’s drink, he can feel the slide of wet against his hard palate.

His self-control snaps.

Eddie pushes back into Steve. His tongue meets his in the middle, rougher, impatient. Their teeth clack together, he can feel drool seeping from the corner of his mouth and he’s not sure if it’s his or Steve’s but it doesn’t matter – he wants it all. His tongue licks over Steve’s mouth and he tastes artificial vanilla. And he realises in that moment that Steve’s lips aren’t shining and pink because of the drink, but because of the lip gloss.

When he has that lightbulb moment, Eddie groans into Steve’s open mouth. It’s mostly drowned out by the cheering of the crowd – oh yeah, the crowd – but still, Steve chuckles and pulls back.

“Do you what to stay longer, or do you –?”

“Fuck, no. Let’s get out of here.”

Maybe he’s a bit overeager, but Eddie grabs Steve’s hand that’s still pressed against his stomach and he yanks him towards the front door. Everybody is still blissfully unaware of their kiss. Everybody but Little Miss Drink Mixer Stacy, who’s staring so hard it looks like her pretty green eyes will pop from her skull. Her mouth is hanging open. She’s frozen in place.

Eddie really should be frightened that somebody in Hawkins witnessed such a disgusting act of intimacy between two men, but instead he feels proud. He blows her a kiss and wiggles his fingers in a wave before he and Steve slip from the door and into his rusty van.

He starts the ignition, and before he can even shift into reverse, Steve is grabbing his hand. He stares at it for a minute. Such a simple thing, holding somebody’s hand. But it still has his heart in his throat. It’s just so real.

“What are you thinking right now?” Steve asks.

Eddie feels the ways his fingers fit so perfectly between his own, and counters with a question of his own. “Why didn’t you say anything to me?”

Steve blinks at him from the passenger seat. “What do you mean?”

“Why didn’t you – I don’t know – slap some sense into me? Tell me that you… felt this way. Or wanted this.” He gestures vaguely to his chest, wrapped in a WASP t-shirt.

“I thought you knew,” Steve says simply. He gives a loose shrug of his shoulders. “It’s pretty obvious that the things we do together aren’t really – you know. What just friends do.” His brows furrow. “Well, maybe you do those things with your friends, but I don’t –”

“I don’t either.”

Steve pauses for a minute as he smiles over at Eddie. “You really didn’t know?”

“It was weird.” Eddie looks down at his lap. “But I didn’t want to assume things. I didn’t want to wreck our friendship, because I – well, I really like you.”

Steve finally lets go of Eddie’s hand long enough for him to back from the front of the house they emerged from. He grabs it right back once they’re on the main road back to Forest Hills Trailer Park.

“I thought it was one of two things,” he says. “I thought you either wanted to take things slow. I didn’t want to pressure you into doing anything, because losing your virginity can be a really big deal.” Eddie’s entire face ignites. He tries not to think about how sad that is – twenty and a virgin. When Steve has been rolling in the sheets since he was probably fifteen. How casually Steve just said that, like it isn’t mortifying. He continues, “Or, I thought you weren’t really interested in taking our friendship any further.”

Eddie gawks at Steve. “Dude, I didn’t even know you being into dudes was a possibility. And if you were…” He pulls into the gravel in front of his trailer. It crunches under the tires. He doesn’t finishes his thought.

Not until Steve squeezes his fingers, and asks, “And if I was, what?”

“And if you were into guys, there’d be no way you were into me.”

Steve looks like he can’t even comprehend why Eddie would say such a thing. That he’s not aware of how different they are. That he’s not aware that Eddie is a mere mortal while he’s a god. “I’m into you, man. I’m so into you.”

Eddie stomach erupts once more into a thousand butterflies. Or maybe they’re bats. He can feel his cheeks turn even redder.

“And for the record,” Steve adds, “I really like you, too. I – I really like you. And I wasn’t lying, at the party. I want us to be boyfriends.”

Eddie chews on a little patch of dry skin on the corner of his lip, and desperately tries to kill the bats flapping away in his chest. “Okay. Boyfriends. I, uh. I want that, too.” He’s not great with words, but it gets his point across.

Because Steve is beaming as he leans across the centre console to press his lips to Eddie’s once more. Eddie tastes peach, and vanilla, and cigarette smoke, and chewing gum. And he tastes just Steve as their tongues mingle together.

Steve’s hands start exploring him – squishing the little meat he has on his thigh, teasing under the hem of his shirt, brushing against the few hairs he has trailing from his navel below the waist of his jeans. This time, when his cock starts swelling, he doesn’t try to hide it.

The beautiful cherry on top, is that this time, he’s freshly bathed and somewhat groomed. This time when Steve sees him naked, he won’t be embarrassed.

When Steve sees him naked. What a treacherously delicious thought.

When he moans into Steve’s mouth the same way he did at the party, there are no other noises to swallow it up. So it fills the space of the van, this raunchy sound that tumbles from Eddie without his consent. It sounds so unlike him – desperate and begging. But then Steve makes his own noise, and suddenly Eddie can’t wait any longer. He can’t wait to get himself on Steve, inside Steve, whether it’s his hands or mouth or his perfectly tight ass.

“Fuck,” he groans, “let’s go inside. Now.”

They barely make it through the front door and into his room. Steve is all over him, groping at his nipple ring through the fabric of his shirt, flicking it, twisting it – fuck, fuck. Eddie’s own fingernails are digging painfully hard into Steve’s shoulders, scraping against his neck, pushing under that stupid rugby shirt to rake against his impressive chest.

He crowds into Steve – shoves him against the ledge of his mattress. But before he can get Steve onto his back, he swivels so somehow he’s the one in front of Eddie. He’s the one pushing Eddie onto his back.

He falls to the mattress, Steve towering over him like some powerful warlord.

Eddie’s dick is throbbing, hard as steel in his jeans. He’s probably not contained at all in the – oh, fuck. Oh, FUCK. The G-string. The G-string that he put on before the party. The G-string that he has no intentions – zero – of Steve even knowing he owns, let alone seeing him wear. Why the fuck did he choose tonight to try it out, why did tonight have to be –

Steve bends to pop the button of Eddie’s fly, fingers deftly undoing the zipper.

“Fuck – uh – Steve. I just have to – can I just have a minute? I forgot to do something.” His dick is so tender. He can feel his heart beating between his legs, can feel himself leaking into the tiny cotton gusset of the panties. So small. So tight.

Thankfully, Steve nods. “Don’t take too long.” Before relief can find Eddie, before Steve pulls away from him to let him stand, he dips his fingers under the waistband of his jeans – just a small tease against what is supposed to be his boxers. But they find the string of fabric squeezing against the flesh of his hip instead.

Eddie sees the moment when Steve realises that he’s not feeling the elastic band of Eddie’s normal underwear, but something entirely different. “Uh, Steve…”

“What’s this?” Steve cocks his head to the side as his eyes trail down Eddie’s body, to his gaping jeans. When Eddie looks between his own legs, he nearly chokes at what he sees. The dainty fabric, edged in lace and a tiny, feminine bow, stretching obnoxiously over his cock. It’s holding on for dear life, that little triangle of fabric. It’s barely containing him – it’s not containing him. The waistband isn’t against his skin, it’s being pushed from his body by the swollen head of his cock and through the gap there, the flushed red tip can be seen. Glistening, strained, wet.

“Steve, I didn’t – it’s not…” Eddie doesn’t quite know what to say; he’s wearing women’s underwear. And not just any women’s underwear. The smallest pair that he could possibly get his grubby little hands on. Mortified doesn’t even begin to cover what he’s feeling.

Steve’s eyes are glued between Eddie’s legs. “Is that a thong?”

Just hearing those words leave Steve’s mouth makes Eddie want to die. “Oh my God.” He covers his face with his hands. “I didn’t know we’d be doing this – I didn’t know! I’m sorry. I don’t do this all the time. It’s the first time I’ve – I swear. Jesus Christ.”

Steve’s quiet, but Eddie doesn’t dare look at him. Until he hears, “Show me.”

It’s a command, all but growled at Eddie from the man atop him. When Eddie opens his eyes, he’s met with a rather ravenous looking Steve – a predator appraising its prey. His eyes are black, his jaw is tense. The muscles there feathering as he clenches and unclenches his teeth.

“What –?”

“Show. Me.” Steve hauls Eddie to his feet but doesn’t step far enough away. Their chests are still touching – Steve’s heaving like he’s parched for breath. Eddie is frozen for only a moment, but soon enough his trembling fingers are peeling the shirt from his own back.

The look on Steve’s face doesn’t make him feel ashamed anymore. It makes him feel appreciated. Sexy. It makes him feel like maybe this part of himself that he wants to explore – this part of himself that really does make him a freak – can be done next to the man that he can now call his boyfriend. His partner.

He hooks his thumbs under the waist of his jeans, and he pushes them down.

It’s hard to get them off when Steve is still standing so close to him – so close that their bodies rub together as Eddie moves to take the rest of his clothes off, bar the little black G-string that only lived in the back of his drawer. Until now.

The air from Steve’s lungs puffs against Eddie’s face when he straightens himself out again. And then Steve’s hand lifts against his shoulder, pushes him backwards so he stumbles back onto the mattress. And because he’s feeling brave (how could he not when Steve is looking at him like his last meal?), he lays himself out on the bed. He spreads himself open.

Steve’s eyes rake over every inch of Eddie’s body, from the top of his curly head, over his flushed cheeks, down his pale chest that’s painted with not only silvery scars, but splotches of nervous red. They land between Eddie’s legs, where his knees are lewdly spread to display just how much the little triangle is struggling to hold everything down there. Eddie knows how it gapes around his balls, how heavy they look compared to the scrap of fabric. He knows because he stared at himself in his mirror before they left for that stupid party. And he knows that now, with his cock engorged between his legs, that it’s only gaping more.

Eddie swears he sees Steve’s knees nearly give out. He definitely sees his hands form fists by his sides, knuckles going white with the force of them. Steve doesn’t lift his eyes from Eddie’s crotch as he says, “I am going to fuck you until you cry.”

The room spins as Steve undresses – Eddie barely registers his words. He drinks in Steve’s near naked body, his abs that flutter as he works off his belt and then his Levi’s. The thick outline of his dick tenting his black boxers. But then he thinks, ‘when Steve fucks me?’ as he crawls slowly between Eddie’s legs. So he hooks them around Steve’s middle and uses all his might to flip that muscled body onto it’s back.

Eddie straddles Steve as he says, “I think you meant to say you’ll cry as I fuck you, Harrington.”

He can feel the line of Steve’s cock under his boxers, pressed against his near bare ass. It’s only made more obvious as Steve grabs Eddie’s hips and pulls them harder against himself, lifting his hips to rub against his body. “But your ass looks so good in that tiny little thong.”

“I don’t think you got a great look at my ass yet. How would you know?”

And just as fast as he got Steve onto his back, he’s on his again. Steve looms over him, grabs around his torso, and flips his body like a ragdoll. Eddie’s face presses into the blankets as he lays face-down, his dick throbbing as it rubs under him and against the mattress. Steve’s hands splay against the valley of Eddie’s spine, fingers slipping under the string waist of the G-string, pulling the fabric where it was almost buried between the cheeks of his ass. “I’m getting a pretty good look now. Turns out, I’m right.”

Eddie tries to lift himself up, tries to get himself in a position of power once more. But Steve bores down on him, pressing his chest flush against the panes of Eddie’s back. His hips pitch forward and his cock drags against the cleft of Eddie’s ass. And he hates himself for this, he really does, but he whines at the sensation. He whines, long and loud into the ruffled blankets, a little river of drool seeping from the corner of his lips as he does.

“If you think you’re going to stick your cock in my ass, Harrington, you can think again,” Eddie says. But there’s a part of him, a small part that’s growing, that knows that’s a blatant lie.

He always thought, without a doubt, he’d top the first time he had sex, and he’d top the second, and the third, and the fourth, and so on. He thought he’d always be the one to get someone underneath him, someone crying and begging, someone gagging to get dicked down.

But he feels himself falling into some form of submission. Not that he wants to admit it.

Steve presses into Eddie again and again. He can feel the panties soaking up as much of his precum as it possibly can, but it must be reaching its threshold. There’s so much. His cock is weeping and so is he as he hears Steve grunting with each thrust. “But think about how good it’ll feel. Think about being stuffed full of my cock, Munson.”

Eddie isn’t crying yet, but it sure sounds like he is with the noise that just erupted from him. It’s enough of an answer for Steve.

“Fuck yeah, listen to yourself. You want to take it as much as I want to give it to you.”

Eddie tries to swallow down his sobs, his pants, but really he just sounds pathetic as he says, “In your dreams.”

Steve bends over Eddie’s back, gets his face nice and close to his ear. “You’re damn right in my dreams.”

A finger slips under the band of Eddie’s thong and pressed against his asshole. Eddie moans and arches into it, but he spits, “Fuck you, man,” with the little conviction he has left.

It’s not very much.

He wants Steve, he wants to be coated with him, covered from head to toe, all over his skin, outside, inside. He wants to take Steve’s cock every way that he can.

“Keep these on,” is all Steve says as he moves away from Eddie’s back, snapping the thin side of his panties against his skin.

Eddie does.

But Steve – he strips down to nothing, completely bare naked as he stands near the edge of the mattress. His cock juts proudly from him, and Eddie turns to stare, taking in every goddamn inch of his impressive length. Somehow, that’s going to be inside him, but he can barely compute it.

“Lube?” asks Steve. Eddie points to his end table where he keeps stuff like that. The rare nudie mag, the bottle of lube, the nipple clamps.

The nipple clamps.

Eddie grins something sharp and feral as he tumbles from the bed, reaching the drawer before Steve has the chance. He throws the lube onto the mattress, but he keeps the nipple clamps in his hands, joined together by a thin, silver chain.

Steve eyes the metal in his hands. “What’s that?”

“These, dear, sweet Stevie, are what you’re going to have to agree to if you think you’re fucking me tonight.” Eddie would bend to Steve’s will either way, but he wants to see what he can get away with. Steve sucks his lip between his teeth and clamps down on it. He’s nodding before Eddie even has the chance to tell him what they are. “Good. Get on the bed.”

Eddie regains some of his gumption as Steve clambers to obey his orders, throwing himself on the double mattress that they’ve shared now for months. He leans his back against the headboard, reaching between his legs to stroke at his cock that looks nearly as painful as Eddie’s own.

If Eddie did the same thing, he’d come in a matter of seconds. It’s probably better he gets fucked than do the fucking, because it would last no longer than he could even get himself sheathed in Steve.

He walks on his knees to where Steve is splayed out – as if on a platter. He runs his hands against the fuzz on his thighs, up the rippling abs that are adorned with matching scars to his own (albeit, not as many), through the thatch of chest hair between his pecs. Then he pinches on Steve’s pretty, pink nipples to get them peaked and prepped for his little surprise.

Steve gasps, but presses into Eddie’s fingers. His hand stills from stroking his cock as Eddie swings the simple, circular clamps, attached by a chain, between their chests. “You ready?”

“Fuck yeah,” Steve says, even though Eddie is sure he has no idea what he’s agreeing to.

He opens the clamps wide enough that they won’t hurt too much, but narrow enough to pinch into the peaks on Steve’s chest. Steve moans when the first one clamps onto his nipple, and lets his head fall back onto the headboard for the second one. Eddie trembles with delight as Steve’s cock offers a pearl of precum when he tugs on the chain.

So he swoops to lick it up.

“Oh, fuck,” Steve gasps, eyes fluttering open as Eddie’s tongue swipes against the bulb of his dick. He seals his lips around the head of his cock, and sucks on it like a cherry popsicle in June. Steve’s hips buck forward into the heat of Eddie’s mouth, against the soft skin of his cheek. He twirls his tongue and laps at the slit, and he’s not sure if he’s doing a great job, but Steve’s thighs twitch under his hands and he’s making these sexy little noises, so he figures it can’t be bad.

He savours the musky taste of Steve, salty and bitter. And he learns pretty quickly that sucking Steve’s dick might be his new favourite pastime. The way he shakes and whines and whimpers is almost as delicious as the heavy, hot feeling of the cock in his mouth.

It only takes five minutes before Steve is tugging on Eddie’s hair, easing his lips from his length as he says, “Okay, okay. Don’t make me come yet. Jesus.”

Eddie wipes at the saliva seeping from his mouth with the back of one of his hands. He tugs on the chain connecting Steve’s nipples once more, making him keen into the air. Music.

The next thing Eddie knows, he’s being charged by Steve’s broad shoulders, backwards. He falls flat on his back, his head and hair hanging from the foot of the mattress as Steve grapples at the lube.

He doesn’t say anything as he slicks up his fingers, he only stares down at Eddie with so much want that it looks like he might burst. If it’s anywhere close to what Eddie’s feeling, that might very well happen.

“Ready?” Steve leans forward and tugs Eddie’s panties to the side. He can hear the threads in them pop as they’re forced past their limit of stretch. And as they pull to the side, his cock springs free from what little fabric sheathed it. They both look between his legs, at how red Eddie is. How swollen, how wet. His dick twitches at the attention, and he spreads his knees further apart as his answer to Steve’s question.

It stings when Steve pushes two of his fingers into Eddie. It stings, but more than that, it stretches, it spreads, it squeezes. God, he feels so full, Steve’s fingers are so big. He moans unabashedly at the ceiling, twisting his fingers into his own hair to distract himself.

“Is this okay?” Steve asks, pulling his fingers out only to plunge them back into Eddie deeper than before.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, yeah.” Eddie tries not to let the tear gathering in his eye slip bast the brim. It doesn’t work. It feels… it feels so good. Like its scratching an itch he didn’t know he had. And then Steve’s fingers brush against something inside him – a spot he’s only read about – one he didn’t really know was fact or fiction.

It’s fact. It’s so fucking fact.

His voice breaks as he all but yells into he empty air, Steve’s fingers brushing against that spot over and over and over… and, Jesus, he’s not even touching Eddie’s dick but he’s gonna come. He’s gonna come before Steve has a chance to touch him.

But then Steve stops.

“You sound so fucking hot,” he says, slathering his hand and his dick with more lube. He pushes a third finger into Eddie like he’s making a point, forcing him to cry out once more. This time he doesn’t brush against that spot, Eddie has enough time to recollect himself as he gets stretched over Steve’s fingers.

“Steve?” he says, lifting himself to rest on his forearms. Steve cocks his head sideways, his fingers stilling inside Eddie’s body. “Fuck me. Right now. Fuck me.” And just to assert his dominance, he grabs the back of Steve’s neck and hauls him closer.

Steve growls and blankets himself over Eddie.

His lips crush against Eddie’s. Their kiss is anything but timid or practiced or skilled as they attack each other with their tongues, devouring each other in deeps licks and bruising bites. Everything between them wet and warm.

The blunt end of Steve’s cock lines up against Eddie as they consume each other. And then he’s pushing forward.

Someone – Eddie isn’t sure which of them – moans into the other’s mouth. It’s a shared breath anyway, when one noise is made, the other swallows it down. Give and take.

There’s an unrelenting pressure between them, and Eddie feels it when the head of Steve’s cock pushes past his rim. He’s never felt like he feels in this moment. Claimed, but still equal as he presses his fingers into Steve’s neck with one hand and tugs yet again on the chain attached to his nipples with the other. Steve whimpers as much as Eddie, sliding forward inch by glorious inch. And then he’s seated so deeply inside him that Eddie swears he can see a bulge by his belly button.

“You better start moving,” Eddie says, panting against Steve’s lips, “or I’ll pin you down and do it myself.”

With that, Steve pulls an inch from Eddie’s body and pitches forward again. His cock rubs against that bundle of nerves inside Eddie, and he starts leaking profusely between their stomachs, a jolt buzzing into his core each time Steve’s abdomen brushes against his flushed tip.

Steve hums into Eddie’s mouth as his pace quickens. Eddie could come from the sound alone – their skin slapping together aggressively, only heightened by the ridiculous amounts of lube slicking their bodies. Steve grunting and hissing. His eyes squeezing shut and fluttering back open to bore into Eddie’s. They’re both covered in a sheen of sweat; Steve’s olive skin glistening and sparkling against the warm light of the tabletop lamp.

The coil in Eddie’s stomach tightens and burns bright. He’s whining with each thrust of Steve, building a tension that’s about to snap. And as if Steve knows, he wraps his fingers around Eddie’s cock and starts stroking, quick, dirty.

“Oh, fuck, Steve. Steve.” He can feel his body tensing around Steve’s length, can feel his muscles beginning to contract.

“You gonna come all over my cock?” Steve says, low and sultry. It almost finishes Eddie off.

But somehow he holds off, just for a few more seconds. Enough to say, “Not before you come inside me, baby.” He doesn’t even know if it’s true. But still, he pulls on Steve’s nipple clamps because he has an inkling that it might finish him.

“Fuuucckk, fuck.” Steve’s hips lose their rhythm. He fucks into Eddie sloppily, and then something hot and wet is dripping from inside him as he rockets against his ass.

When Eddie feels Steve’s cum dripping out of himself, getting shoved back in with Steve’s still pistoning hips, the tension snaps. Cum surges from his cock in hot, white ribbons, slicking Steve’s fist, catching in the fabric of the G-string bunched to one side, shooting against Steve’s and his own scars.

He’s sure he says something – maybe a string of curse words, maybe Steve’s name – but his mind whites out before he can commit that detail to memory. But he does know his muscles are tremoring in Steve’s grasp, he does know Steve’s abs twitch against his fingers as he rubs his spend into his skin.

And then they collapse, Steve softening in Eddie’s body with each of their heady breaths.

Time ticks by until Eddie can comprehend. And then – like the time before – he laughs.

“What the fuck?” Steve says, but it has no malice. He lifts his head from Eddie’s neck, where he was pressing delicate kisses, to grin down on him. “Is that something I’ll have to get used to? You laughing after sex?”

Eddie isn’t really sure. So he says, “I guess we’ll have to have more sex to see.”

Finally, Steve pulls out. Eddie can feel liquid drooling from within him, cum and lube. He needs a shower. But he needs this moment with Steve more, so he wraps his arms around those strong shoulders and pulls him into his chest. Steve hums his approval, nestles into Eddie’s side like he belongs there.

He does belong there.

When Eddie goes to the bathroom to shower, Steve joins him like he did all those months ago. This time, however, he steps into the water. He wraps his arms around Eddie and presses the pads of his fingers into his head when he washes his hair so sensually, that Eddie might weep. Steve doesn’t say something smart when Eddie gets hard again; Eddie doesn’t feel embarrassed about it.

They get each other off a second time, with Steve’s hand wrapped flawlessly around them both.

Then when they go to bed, they tangle together in a pile of limbs, without even their boxers. This time, when he wakes up to Steve clung to him, Eddie doesn’t go still or try to keep Steve from waking. He presses into him until his eyes flicker open in the dark of the dead of night.

They get each other off a third time, with Eddie nestled tightly between Steve’s thighs and his fingers circling his cock possessively.

Then, they finally fall asleep.

January 1st, 1987

Eddie wakes up in Steve’s arms.

This time, he doesn’t question what it means, doesn’t question what might happen tomorrow.

A new year.

A new start – with Steve.

’86 really was his year.

THE END :)

MASTERLIST

SOCIALS

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jungk0oksthighs · 2 years

Text

Pi Gasu | Damned If We Do, Dead If We Don't

Pairing - jungkook x reader

Genre - smut, angst, E2L, vampire!jungkook

Word Count - 6.5k

Donating blood for Jungkook is physically draining you, in more ways than one. Warnings: swearing, mentions of blood, needles and masturbation, jk & oc argue, light violence

SERIES MASTERLIST

It’s Tuesday, you’re mindlessly tapping a blunt pencil against the desk between your fingers, feeling uninspired and drained. In more ways than one. Donating blood for Jungkook has changed from a fortnightly occurrence to a minimum of twice a week. Truthfully you don’t know how much longer you can keep this lifestyle up, while your bank account has never looked healthier your body feels the complete opposite.

You’re sick. Feeling constantly light-headed and drowsy, similar to last year when you had a nasty chest infection, even getting out of bed is a daily struggle. But with every donation comes a tonne of money, money you’ve been sending straight to your mother to cover the cost of Eddie’s medical bills. Jungkook doesn’t know truly how desperate you are for the money, he’s never asked and it would be fair to assume he doesn’t care – as long as you’re donating.

Your relationship with the vampire in question is equally as unstable as your blood pressure. He invites you over, you get yourself off in front of him while he's chained to the bed he has to replace every time you go there – giving that he breaks at least two of the bed posts each time you go, thrashing around like a handsome shark attempting to be freed. Once you’re finished you head up to his kitchen, donate and leave. The two of you don’t speak between your sinful, morally grey rendezvous, only amplifying your confusion toward the situation. Amplifying your confusion toward him.

College work can wait, you decide you need a nap before you’re capable of conjuring any coherent thoughts. It’s been a while since you felt this ill, your entire body is heavy and weak, simultaneously burning hot and shivering. Maybe it’s the flu? You’re Googling your symptoms when the weight of sleep drags you into unconsciousness, succumbing to slumber quicker than you thought humanly possible.

It's the knocking sound on your front door that wakes you a few hours later, actually, when your eyes flutter open with a lot of effort you register it’s dark outside. You’ve been out cold for at least six hours. Tired footsteps drag on the floorboards as you make your way to the door, using the peephole to ensure you’re not going to be drained of blood as soon as you unlock it. Thank god, it’s just Yoongi.

He's standing on the other side of the door with arms folded over his chest, brows raised and an unimpressed-looking expression. You sigh, unhooking the chain before you greet your next door neighbour. You’re not exactly dressed for company right now, having fallen asleep in nothing beyond an old, oversized Twilight t-shirt you wear to mostly dye your hair. Oh the irony.

“Hey…” You croak, throat feeling full of glass shards and head banging louder than thunder itself when you open the door.

Yoongi’s features shift to concern instantly, he uncrosses his arms and softens his profile into something almost caring when he speaks. “Are you okay…? You look… Are you sick?”

“Mhm, think it’s the flu.” You admit with a cough to backup your claim, covering your mouth, “Don’t get too close to me, what’s up?”

“I-, I uh-, I came for the lasagne dish back…” Yoongi runs a slender finger through his long brunette hair, pushing it away from his gentle features. “Do you have any medicine? You look really sick…”

At this you offer him a reassuring smile, “I’ll be fine. Hang on I’ll go get the dish for you, probably best you don’t come inside…” You trail off to nothing while searching your cupboard for the dish in question, but much to your surprise Yoongi follows you inside, closing the door behind him all while he ignores your pleas. “No seriously!” You turn to face him with wide eyes, well, as wide as your eyes can physically get with the weight of the flu resting on your lids, “I don’t want you to get sick, go wait outside!”

“Y/N it’s just the flu, I’ll be okay.” Yoongi chuckles, veiny hands finding your kettle on the countertop before flicking it to boil, “Go sit down, I’ll make you some tea.”

“Yoongi—”

“Sit. Down.” He emphasises his words with a low, assertive tone, pointing to the sofa with raised brows. “Are you always this stubborn?” A small smile briefly tugs the corners of his pink lips, until the kettle flicks back off signalling the water’s boiled and he heads over to your small, makeshift hot drinks station.

You smile back, “Are you?”

Yoongi doesn’t look at you, too focussed on searching for tea, “I’m not gonna ask you again, sit down. You look terrible.” He murmurs, picking out your favourite mug straight away.

“You didn’t ask me to begin with.” You mumble in defeat, finally doing as he says and sitting on the sofa in front of the television. A large, cotton-candy pink blanket is haphazardly thrown onto your frame and the weight of it almost knocks you clean out. When you glare at your unexpected guest he’s grinning ear-to-ear, peeling his gaze away from you.

“Shit, is this rose thorn?” Yoongi gestures to your mom’s homemade tea bags, immediately rinsing his hands below the cold tap after touching it. Though he doesn’t look to be in any discomfort.

“I don’t know what she puts in there… My mom makes her own tea, she sent me some not long ago.” You hum, mindlessly flicking through the Netflix selection, internal organs knotting with shame when you scroll through the ‘Recommended For You’ section:

The Vampire Diaries, The Twilight Collection, The Lost Boys, and one that catches you off-guard so much so that laughter bubbles in your throat, Vampires Suck.

Correct Netflix, vampires do suck. It's refreshing to be at home in your modest apartment with blush pink and mustard furnishings for a change. It's bright, light and homely. The complete opposite to Euphoria's dark seductive overall aesthetic. But even Euphoria is tame in comparison to the hidden sex dungeon in Jungkook's otherwise seemingly normal home. You frown, wondering if the vampire has even noticed you haven't reached out in a couple days. Probably not.

“Sounds like mom’s very paranoid.” Yoongi mutters, choosing to give you a green tea instead. As well as a bottle of water. He places both onto the white coffee table in front of you and before you have time to question him he speaks again, “When did you last eat?”

You sigh, “Seriously Yoongi I’m fine, thank you but—”

“Y/N.” He cuts you off, “Do you have any idea what I do for a living?”

“No…” You admit sheepishly, unable to hold his strong, judgemental eye-contact that's unwavering despite choppy brunette locks tickling his almond-shaped eyes. “I don’t know anything about you, actually.”

Yoongi nods in response, slowly, “Exactly. Trust me, you’re sick. I bet you’re burning up right now-“ You don’t have a second to think before the back of his large hand is on your clammy forehead, he’s frowning when he pulls away, “Shit, you’re really sick. I’ll pick up some medicine for you tomorrow.”

“What do you do for a living?” Curiosity takes over, heart racing in your chest when Yoongi’s adjusting the blanket over your body, tucking every part of you beneath it apart from your bare ankles and feet.

“Keep your feet out, it’ll help regulate your temperature.” He’s completely focussed on making sure you’re comfortable, it’s when his hands graze the swell of your ass over the blanket that you clear your throat uncomfortably and he keeps talking, you assume it's his way of overcoming the sudden awkwardness, “I’m a medical journalist, used to be a paramedic before that.”

“Oh really? I’m a nursing student.” You smile, a genuine smile despite the ache in your body and pounding in your brain… It’s nice to have something in common. “How come you switched from being a paramedic to a medical journalist if you don’t mind me asking?”

At this Yoongi shrugs, eyes his expression almost bored-looking, “I helped a lot of people but it was never satisfying enough for me… Now I expose the people who don’t help others. Medical malpractice is something I’m passionate about, was an easy decision to make.”

“Hmmm…” You nod along with his words, seemingly impressed that he followed his passions and is still helping people by exposing the wrong-doings of others, “That’s really interesting.”

“So,” Yoongi stands in front of the television holding his hips, winning him your complete focus. He’s wearing acid-wash blue jeans, a white t shirt and a grey oversized cardigan today and once again, you can’t help but notice how he doesn’t seem out of place standing in your apartment. “Do you have any soup?”

The next four days are filled with Yoongi coming over and taking care of you, bringing you comfort food and medicine or even just his company. You learn that he’s a very sweet guy, though his external walls are tough and hard to penetrate – on the inside he’s much gentler than you’d expect, much more. It’s day five of riding out the confirmed flu when once again Yoongi is standing in your kitchen area, having just tucked you up on the sofa.

The pounding in your head has dulled, the aching of your joints and muscles has lessened. You still don’t feel 100% but you’re a hell of a lot better than you were, and it’s all because of Yoongi. It’s strange, one minute you didn’t know much about him and the next it was as though you’d known him forever. He’s scanning the contents of your cupboard with pinched brows, but you’re way more focussed on how his slender fingers trace patterns on the cupboard door while he searches for what he wants.

“Shit, no green tea left.” He sighs exasperatedly, “I think I’ve got some at my place…”

You’re smiling, attempting to show indifference when Yoongi closes the cabinet door and zones in on your face. You cough, looking away, “What’s wrong with my mom’s homemade stuff? It tastes nice, you should try it.”

“No can do,” Yoongi chuckles, slipping his shoes back on to head out into the hall and back to his apartment, “My roommate is allergic to rose thorn.”

You frown, prodding the inside of your cheek with your tongue to showcase your confusion, “But your roommate won’t be the one drinking it…?”

“Not directly, no.” Yoongi sighs, brushing fingers through his long brunette hair. Today he’s wearing an all-black outfit consisting of a very tight fitted t shirt and loose baggy jeans, all tied together with a leather jacket that’s currently hung up on your coat stand. “But you can never be too careful where allergies are concerned. I’ll be right back.”

After ninety minutes of waiting for Yoongi to come back to your place the drowsiness of the medication is in full swing and you drift off to sleep on the sofa. It’s an unknown amount of time later when you feel your limp body being shifted around, until your head is resting on something warm with a beating heart and there’s an arm loosely draped over your waist. The familiar woody scent of Yoongi’s cologne is the last thing you pick up on before you fall back to sleep, completely oblivious to your surroundings save for the comforting hold of your next door neighbour.

It's been a week since Jungkook last heard from you, if he had a heart it would be yearning for you to reach out to him right now. This is the longest the two of you have gone with zero contact since the night you met, even his employees Jimin and Namjoon haven’t seen you around your college campus or your neighbourhood. Which is unusual to say the least considering they’ve memorised your scent and know where you live. It’s like you’ve disappeared.

The only thing that has stopped Jungkook from directly reaching out to you himself is his pride, that and the fact Jimin and Taehyung have grown suspicious of his recent behaviour. It’s not that he’s in love with you or anything, vampires aren’t capable of such humane complexities. But he’s addicted to you, to the taste of you, to the sight of you, the scent of you. Everything about you lingers in his soulless being like an ache, he misses you. He misses your blood.

He’s due to run out of your donations any day now, giving that he’s being rationing himself to one test-tube per day of the euphoric rush your blood provides. He has three tubes left, and the fact he hasn’t heard a single peep from you in a week makes him feel… Well that’s just it, you make him feel.

Sitting alone in a private dance room at Euphoria he dials your number, wanting to schedule another… meeting with you as soon as possible. It’s when a voice he didn’t expect to hear answers, whispered and smug, that Jungkook stops breathing.

“Hello?” It’s a guy speaking, sounding every bit arrogant which ignites a fire of fury inside the vampire.

“Where’s Y/N.” Jungkook bites, immediately sitting up right on the leather sofa, almost crushing his cell phone in his strong grip. “Who the fuck is this?”

“She’s sleeping.”

Jungkook’s fangs double in length when his question is ignored, angering him further, “Who the fuck are you and why do you have Y/N’s phone?” He spits venomously, nostrils flared and eyes wide, rounded yet still fierce. His voice is bleeding with unsaid threats, anyone in their right mind would be terrified of him in this moment.

“I didn’t steal her phone if that’s what you’re implying…” The voice laughs sadistically, still remaining quiet and albeit unphased by Jungkook’s tone, “She’s here, she’s asleep on me right now—”

“Who the fuck are you?!” Jungkook growls, rushing to his feet, the leather sofa he was sitting on moments before flying back and crashing against the ground, smashing to pieces. His chest is heaving up and down, breathing ragged and mind clouded by the idea of you cosying up next to someone. “Are you in her apartment?! I’ll see you there in five—”

“Good luck with that,” The man sighs, bored-sounding as though this is the most mundane conversation he’s ever had, “Place is drowning in rose thorns.”

Jungkook’s features drop until no emotion remains, “A hunter.”

“Not exactly,” The man audibly shifts, a low delicate hum can be heard in the background and Jungkook’s chest tightens, he knows that’s your voice, “But you don’t belong in Y/N’s world. Stay away from her.”

“Stay away from her?! You think I—”

The call ends, pissing Jungkook off to the point where he’s launching his cell at a wall-length mirror that stands opposite him, smashing it to pieces. He catches sight of his reflection, his profile is tense and seething, equal parts disgusted and angry. His favourite leopard print shirt barely covers his chest, the top four buttons undone at least exposing his taught dewy skin. Tied with black slacks and bare feet, the club hasn’t opened yet and he knows he has to calm down and screw on his business head before customers arrive. But that’s going to be somewhat impossible now.

Who the fuck is in your apartment?! That guy is probably poisoning you with rose thorn. Jungkook’s entire body stiffens, fuck this, why does he care so much?! If you want to fuck around with men—, no. He can’t even bring himself to think about you being intimate with anyone else. Not that he’s fucked you, he’s never even kissed you because every time he entertains the mere thought of it the smell of your blood floods his senses and all he can think about is killing you.

Kissing a human, a few months ago he would’ve felt physically ill at the thought. But now? Kissing you is something Jungkook wishes he had the strength execute properly.

As soon as the flu passes you find yourself standing outside the familiar door adorned with a golden ’97’ on the front. You haven’t been to Jungkook’s place in almost two weeks now, you haven’t communicated with him at all but this conversation is something that has to be done face to face. You want out. Out of the donations, away from the vampires.

It’s nothing personal, there’s no bad blood between you and Jungkook but frankly you can’t keep doing this. For whatever reason your blood is special, you understand that, well at the very least you’ve accepted it. And Jungkook wants to know why, rightfully so – it’s just the constant donating is taking a toll on your body, you still don’t feel completely recovered from the flu and there are new aches and pains in your limbs every day. You’ve been to the doctor, mostly because Yoongi forced you to go to the doctor, and they confirmed your bloodwork is all over the place.

You have low iron, borderline no B12, your haemoglobin levels are dangerously under what medical professionals deem to be normal. Truthfully you’re exhausted, the mere thought of gifting any more blood to Jungkook makes your knees buckle under your weight. You feel weak, you feel tired. Which is precisely why you’re standing at Jungkook’s front door, wearing a rich burgundy off-the-shoulder sweater and black skinny jeans, tied together with a pair of black military style boots.

The dark front door swings open before you’ve even had the chance to knock, revealing Jungkook’s wide doe-like eyes shocked and confused to see you here. You swallow, having forgotten how… ethereal he is.

Today he’s wearing a fancy white shirt with plentiful ruffles gathering at the front of his chest, the first to buttons undone and revealing his tattooed dewy skin. The trousers he wears are similar to yours, black and tight fitting, except his are made completely of leather and shine beneath the November moonlight. It’s not a moment later when Jungkook’s features drop into a tight scowl, thick dark brows furrowed and nostrils flared.

“What are you doing here?” His voice is threatening, a little dangerous and lacking any trace of concern.

Awkwardly shifting your weight between your legs you sigh, looking him dead in his faintly stained crimson red eyes, “Can I come in?”

Rather than verbally responding he steps to one side, granting you access to his home. It’s still surprising to you how not gothic and creepy this place is, instead it’s homely and warm. At least this level of the house is, what lies in his basement is far from homely…

You slip onto a barstool in the kitchen, noting how Jungkook is keeping a large distance between your bodies. Right. He’s not tied up this time, he’s probably resisting the urge to kill you right now.

“It’s not because of that,” Jungkook reads your mind with a whispered scoff, “You stink of him, that’s all.” He folds his strong arms over his chest and you have to try not to stare at the bulging muscles flexing and moving beneath the very thin fabric of his shirt. The material is so sheer in fact, that you can see the tattoos that lie beneath.

“Him?” You frown, heart pounding in your chest as the realisation dawns on you – he means Yoongi. “Oh… Yeah, my neighbour has been looking after me… I’ve been sick. That’s actually why I came over…” You swallow again, mouth suddenly feeling very dry when Jungkook makes his way over to you in a few long strides, until he’s at the opposite side of the kitchen island.

His tattooed hands rest on the marble surface either side of his body, arms straight and stare stuck on you. “You should’ve told me you were sick, I could’ve helped you.” There’s zero emotion in his tone, no clues as to what he’s feeling etched onto his face, nothing.

“Helped me…?” Your brows are pinched together again, flaunting your confusion, eyes wandering to the swell of the vampire’s shoulder muscles, round and inviting. In an ironic way they almost look biteable, like large succulent pieces of fruit joining his arms to his equally as enticing body. His taught, big, beefy—

One of Jungkook’s eyebrows raise, the pierced one, his stare is intense and doesn’t falter from your for even a second. “Can you stop that?”

“Stop what?” You blink at him, a little anxious.

“Stop staring at me like that while you’re thinking such obscenities.” He says bluntly, the usual glimmer of flirtation nowhere to be seen.

Heat rushes to your cheeks and you look away quickly, clearing your throat, “Sorry.”

“If you were sick you should’ve called, you’re a smart girl. I’m sure you know all about what a drop of my blood can do.” Jungkook cracks his neck, eyes fluttered shut as though he’s actively trying not to look at you. “I’ve never let a human feed from me, but if you really were sick I would’ve made an exception.”

“What do you mean if I ‘really were sick’?” You scoff, pursing your lips, “Do you think I’m lying about being ill? Why on earth would I do that Jungkook?” You shake your head in disbelief, fucking vampires and their stupid sexy brooding faces and thoughts.

Of course he doesn’t believe you, probably thinks you spent the week avoiding him to hook up with Yoongi since you ‘stink of him’. Sighing, you mirror his movements, planting your hands down onto the countertop, cocking your head to eye him curiously.

“That’s exactly what I think, actually.” Jungkook looks scary, the tinge of red to his eyes has taken over his whole irises, the once faint stain of colour is now opaque and unmistakably deep ruby. Burning with something indescribable, boring into your soul from across the countertop. “Look me in the eye and tell me he didn’t touch you, tell me his scent isn’t all over you for the reason I think it is.”

You’re laughing, the sound empty and absent, “Stay out of my head! Are you asking if he touched me, or if he fucked me?” You fold your arms over your chest, subconsciously pushing the swell of your breasts up without trying, “Because they’re two very different questions.”

The vampire’s stare darkens, flickering to your chest for a moment so brief it could pass as an accident, “And yet the answer is the same for both, isn't it?”

“You’re right.” You hum, “He didn’t touch me, or fuck me. Are you happy now? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Silence.

“Lets say for arguments sake he did fuck me… What could you do about it?” You scoff, frowning at him when you stand, “You don’t own me Jungkook, stop acting like you do. If I want to fuck my next door neighbour who the hell are you to stop me?! You’ve never even touched me yourself—”

“How fucking dare you,” Jungkook’s standing next to you in the blink of an eye, sharp fangs and familiar face bruising dominating his chiselled features. He’s looking down at you as though you’re everything wrong with the world, as though he despises you to your very core and his voice is equally as disgusted. “Show up at my home, drowning in another man’s cologne and try to pick a fight with me. Are you frustrated because I haven’t touched you myself, is that it?” He spits, lowering his head until you’re both nose-to-nose, “You want me to touch you, don’t you? You’re either very brave, or very foolish.”

Jungkook’s breath is hot on your face but you don’t fold, looking up at the familiar monster he’s become with unwavering, strong eye contact, despite the hammering of your heart inside your chest, “Are you jealous that I was with another man?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. Of course I’m not jealous. I don’t own you, remember.” He scoffs, wetting his lips. The way his chest is heaving with each and every angry breath he takes is all the confirmation you need to know he’s lying, “The supplies are in the basement, make your donation and get the fuck out of my house.”

At this you try to push him away, the apple of his shoulder is rock hard beneath your palm when you attempt to move his body away for yours. But of course, as to be expected, he stays exactly where he is. A frustrated sound escapes you, similar to a whine or maybe even a defeated whimper. Whatever description it falls under, it has Jungkook smirking when you step away from him.

“Not so brave now, are we?” He chuckles, eyes raking the spans of your bare shoulders when he swallows.

You stand your ground, “The reason I came here is to call off our… arrangement, whatever you want to call this. It’s making me sick, my blood work is messed up and frankly I can think of better ways to spend my evenings—”

“Stop seeing him then, problem solved.” Jungkook barks, edging closer, voice louder, “He’s the one who convinced you to stop this arrangement, isn’t he?”

Your mouth falls open in equal parts shock and rightfully placed, albeit a little delayed fear, “N-no… Yoongi doesn’t even know about what we’re doing… I haven’t told anyone.” You silently plead with him, nervous of what he’ll do to you if he thinks you’re lying, “I need to stop doing this for my health…”

“I can fix that. I can make you healthy again.” He’s calm now, the fury behind his eyes softening with each passing moment.

“I don’t want to feed from you, Jungkook.”

“Think of it as medicine.”

“Except it’s not medicine.” You sigh, growing agitated.

“A drop of my blood will rid you of any human illness—”

“It’ll also turn me into a monster!” You blurt, immediately regretting that decision when every hair on your body stands to attention as you’re being hurried downstairs into his basement, faster than you can humanly process.

The familiar scent of warm amber and ginger hits you like a train and in the next breath your back is firmly pressed against a brick wall adorned with leather sex accessories. Paddles, floggers, whips, ball-gags, collars, everything a person can think of is pressing against your back. Tears stab at your vision, clouding it entirely when you catch sight of Jungkook’s strong arms caging your body in either side of your face, keeping you in place.

“You’d only turn if you died with my blood in your system…” The calmness, the consideration and purity of Jungkook’s voice surprises you. He doesn’t sound mad, he doesn’t appear to be anything related to angry. Instead his tone is sincere and offers solace. “And you’re an even bigger fool than I thought if you haven’t figured this out by now…” He whispers, lips tracing up your jaw until his fangs are pressed against the shell of your ear, “But I would never let that happen.”

“I’m s-sorry…” You whisper back, dizzy from his words, “I didn’t mean to call you a monster…” Your breath is shaky, eyes fluttering shut in an attempt to calm yourself down. He's going to fucking kill you down here.

“That’s exactly what I am Y/N.” Jungkook’s head is still dipped, lips grazing your ear as the words roll off his tongue, sending a hot shiver down your spine that you can’t even describe. “But don’t do this, don’t stop making donations.”

He pulls his face back on instinct when your eyes open, leaving you staring at each other with open mouths. Your heartrate picks up, until the sound of your pulse is deafening your ears. Your voice is quiet, cautious and calculated when it tumbles from your lips, “…Jungkook, my health comes first. I can make one final donation but after that you’re gonna have to find someone else to test—”

“Except there is nobody else. If you’re sick because of me, let me fix it.” Inked fingertips find their way to your bare shoulder, you tense beneath his touch and you register him wetting his pierced lips, his face is less than arms-length away and it’s enough to make you nervous. He’s not chained up this time, there’s nothing stopping him from killing you in an instant. “Please.”

“Why…?” You exhale.

“If I wanted you dead you would be already, don’t you trust me?” His voice is hoarse.

Your breath catches in your throat but you find yourself nodding, “Fine… But-, I’m… We’re not going to be like bound forever if I do this, right? If I-, if I drink your...”

At this Jungkook’s gaze deepens with hope, flashing with something a little sinister, “That’s not how it works. You’ll be restored to full health and your body temperature will burn it off in a couple days. You only need a drop.”

“That’s it?” You snort, undeniably confused, the media has always made the exchange of vampire blood out to be something akin to injecting heroin. “That’s all that happens? I don’t get addicted or anything?”

“That’s all that happens…” Jungkook smirks, his fangs extending two inches longer than his other teeth, one hand rolling the sleeve up on his other arm in preparation. “You have my word.”

You should be frightened, uncomfortable and scared shitless when his fangs pierce the tattooed skin of his wrist, until a tiny amount of blood gathers round his lips and drips from the open-wound. You should be running for the hills, you should be screaming, crying, throwing up or having an anxiety attack from what you’ve just witnessed.

But the only emotions coursing through your veins are… Curiosity. Bewilderment. Excitement. Is this a good idea? Definitely not. Do you trust Jungkook? You shouldn’t. Are you really going to do this?

You are.

Jungkook’s pierced plump lips are stained red, the skin surrounding his mouth tinted pink, you’ve never seen his lips look so inviting before. Almost swollen and begging to be kissed. Your gaze flickers back to his eyes, they’re crimson in colour and glowing beneath the dim lighting in the basement. He’s… beautiful.

“Stay still.” His voice is barely audible when he takes two small steps closer to you, his bleeding wrist is forgotten about when he edges even closer, hands finding purchase on the wall you’re pressed against. His scent is intoxicating, he’s staring at you with a gaze full of equal parts desire and uncertainty. “Don’t move Y/N…”

“Jungkook…” You whisper, subconsciously wetting your own lips in preparation for what you think is about to happen.

“Please…” He exhales, swallowing thickly, “Stay… Exactly how you are.” His eyes close, dark eyelashes dusting the tops of his cheekbones. When his mouth opens again you register that while his fangs are still sharp and unmistakably inhuman, they’re shorter and less-threatening. His chin starts to tilt towards yours, lips still parted, shallow breaths warming your face.

Slowly his eyes are open again, barely, but his hooded stare is intense enough to make you weak at the knees and win your heart to explode in your chest, “The unfathomable desire to have you… makes me feel human again.”

“Jungkook, please-,” It’s a slender tattooed finger pressing gently to your lips that cuts you off, you know Jungkook is trying his best to keep calm, his features are tight and crumpled with something indescribable. His digit leaves your lips and travels to your chin, angling your face up to meet his.

“Don’t move.” He whispers.

“Okay…”

He hushes you, lightly shaking his head, “Don’t speak.”

It’s the sound of your own gasp that fills the silence when Jungkook’s blood-stained lips are a hair away from yours, the coolness of his metal lip ring pressed against your mouth further confirmation this is the closest he’s ever been. You peer up at him through long eyelashes, breath hitching, zoning in on the two tiny face tattoos that sit beneath his eyes.

Divine. Sinner.

“Please… Stay exactly as you are.” He reiterates seriously, with more determination.

And then he kisses you, showing you exactly how kisses are meant to be.

It’s the way his lips are softly pressed to yours, the metallic yet sweet hint of his blood lingering on them. It’s how his inked fingers quickly and roughly grip your hips, the hold strong enough to shatter your bones. It’s the way he’s pressing you harder and harder against the wall, the way you’re already desperate for more but more of what you’re unsure. It’s the way his fangs graze your lips when his tongue slides into your mouth, accompanied by a drawn-out hushed moan.

Your head is spinning, arms snaking over Jungkook’s broad shoulders just to keep yourself standing. Your legs are wobbly, your heart thumping, body burning with an indescribable heat that you’ve never experienced before. You’re lost to his kiss, simultaneously damned and saved. It’s as though two worlds are colliding, maybe it’s heaven and hell. Maybe it’s vampires and humans. Or maybe, it’s nothing more and nothing less than you and Jungkook.

You do more than simply let him kiss you, you kiss him back. Fervently, intently, as though your entire existence depends on it. It’s Jungkook knocking your legs apart with his thick thigh that wins you to gasp, smiling against his lips triumphantly.

“I can’t-,” He exhales with furrowed brows, the words slipping from his lips and straight onto yours with another kiss, a hungrier kiss. “I can’t stop, how is this possible?” He murmurs.

“I don’t want you to stop.” You emphasise your words with a gentle tug of his hair and something inside Jungkook snaps — He pulls himself to the other side of the basement with a heaving chest, kiss-swollen blood stained lips and wide eyes. Leaving you standing alone, disoriented and yearning.

“You need to leave.” Jungkook says curtly, looking everywhere in the room except you, completely in disbelief of what just happened. “Y/N you need to leave now, I don’t want to hurt you.” The way you know he means that sends a pang of something unfamiliar straight to your chest.

“You won’t.”

“I want to.” He admits, wetting his lips. “I… I want to hurt you.”

"What about the donation...?" You ask sheepishly, feeling confused and embarrassed all at once.

Jungkook swallows, he's breathing through his mouth heavily as though he's attempting to calm himself. "You're the one who said you were done donating. Lets part ways here, while we still can." The venom dripping from his tone makes you scoff, makes you angry.

You shake your head, determined legs taking you over to where he’s stood before any rational thoughts can stop you, “No. You don’t get to kiss me like that and pretend it never—”

Within the blink of an eye he crushes his lips to yours again, the familiar taste of his blood gifting your body a surge of energy. This kiss is different, if the last one were akin to two worlds colliding this one can only be described as two lost, broken hearts exploding and becoming whole. It’s messy, it’s desperate and loud. Both of you moaning and gasping for air while your tongues explore the other’s.

It's not until your back slams into the nearest wall, every accessory hung up hurling to the floor as dust clouds rush from the exposed bricks that you register he’s holding you. Your legs wrap round his waist, hands already deep in his raven hair, his hands are squeezing the fat of your ass cheeks with so much force you feel bruised.

“Jungkook… I want you.” You pant, reattaching your lips to his with more urgency.

He's resting his forehead to yours, peeling away from your lips for just a moment when his dark hooded eyes flutter open, his stare intense and unwavering, completely zoned in on you.

“If I had a soul it would already be yours.”

Suddenly he’s kissing you with everything he has, with everything he is. All his defences shattering only to be replaced by the lust-fuelled hunger surging both your bodies. With your back firm against the wall that’s barely standing, bricks tumbling to the ground from how hard you’re pushed against it, your legs snaking his middle keep you in place. It’s when Jungkook laces his fingers with yours, pinning them above your head that your eyes meet his again.

The satisfaction darkening his chiselled features is unmistakable. As is the relief, the need, the want, lust, desire, desperation and even the hint fear. It’s as though you’re looking straight into an emotional mirror, everything you’re feeling he’s feeling too. After one final kiss, a kiss so passionate not even Shakespeare himself could describe it, Jungkook’s sharp fangs are pressed to your neck and you gasp.

“You… You need to leave, now.” He rasps, finding the strength to pull away from you and aid your feet to the ground. “Leave.”

This time you don’t need telling twice, bruising and wine-coloured veins darken Jungkook’s eyes and you’re painfully reminded of what he is. And what could’ve just happened.

“S-sorry. I’m sorry.” You scramble up the stairs, hurling yourself out of his home as fast as you can, delirious and uncertain of what the future holds. The only thing on your mind being the sincerity behind Jungkook’s hooded gaze when those heart shattering words left his pierced, welcoming lips.

“If I had a soul it would already be yours.”

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carolmunson · 11 months

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baby, as if (the flashbacks)

the flashbacks: part one. baby as if: masterlist (read with caution.) i looked at that poll and i said 'absolutley not, you'll take what i give you.' jk, but i realized it'll just be easier for me if i take this a few chunks at a time, so i give you the beginning of 'the flashbacks'. here, you'll see eight, six, and five and a half years ago. a little entry way into how reader and (not so) f!boy eddie met and started getting involved. tw: 18+, oral (f recieving), not much in terms of tws for this entry, discussions of drugs and drug dealing -- otherwise pretty fluffy. our timeframe setting starts out in 2007-ish. (take all actual year timelines with a grain of salt, i just like incorporating the early aughts into shit.) but here we go, i give you the beginning of baby as if: the flashbacks.

8 Years Ago You didn't really know each other when he started working at the shop. Your dad had mentioned 'my daughter' in passing, but you didn't go to Hawkins High or middle, you went to the highschool in the next town over using your aunts address because it was a better school. Your parents didn't want you to end up stuck like them, but you'd already beaten them by not getting pregnant at nineteen. He knew you went to college in Fort Wayne to study English -- he thought that was stupid since you spoke English already. Why would you have to spend all that money to study it? That didn't make sense to him.

He did know your little brother, Beau, often found small and sugar high at the end of a long day at kindergarten being dropped at the shop by your mom so she could take more clients at night in the salon. Eddie would take the morning shift on cars and then the afternoon shift as a baby sitter until the shop closed at 5:30. He'd take that time to teach him how to read -- but only the best books. He started with the Hobbit and went from there.

On one particular hot summer night, your mom didn't come by to drop off your brother which made sense since it was the summertime -- but he still heard the pitter patter of his light up sneakers against the concrete floor.

"Beau, don't run please!"

He hadn't heard that voice before, it wasn't nearly as nicotine soaked as your mom's or your aunt's. Eddie feels the slam of a tiny skull against his mid thigh and looks down to see Beau looking up at him with his big baby eyes.

"Hi," Beau says -- breathless in the way little kids are when they run or take a big gulp of water. He reaches up at him with his arms over his head, "I didn't wanna go home yet so I asked sissy if she could take me here after camp."

"Sissy?" Eddie asks with a quirk of his brow, hoisting him up onto his hip, "You're gettin' big dude, I don't know if I can keep pickin' you up."

"My sissy," he says, pointing over to the office your dad normally spent the afternoons in, but there you were right outside of it. Summer sun soaked, shorts tight over your thighs, run down sneakers and an old weathered sweatshirt completed your look. Eddie gulped at the sight of you but you were too preoccupied with your phone to pay attention.

"Mumma, can you tell Eddie about the dragon I saw at the zoo?" Beau asked, shimmying down Eddie's body to get back down on the floor to run to you.

"Okay kid, is she your sister or is she your mom?" Eddie asked, trying to hide confusion and surprised. You look up at him with a gaze that immediately makes him feel stupid, but intruiged.

"Ew, no, I'm definitely his sister," you answer while snapping your phone closed, hand falling onto Beau's head, "Can you guess which one of us was the mistake?"

Your playful grin makes him laugh, "Sorry, he called you mom so -- I just didn't know."

"Don't worry -- it's sorta like when you accidentally call your teacher 'mom' when you're a kid. He just gets confused," you shrug and introduce yourself before asking, "What's your name?"

"I'm Eddie. I uh --"

"Oh! You watch Beau when he's out of school!" you interrupt, "He talks about you all the time."

"You're not telling him about the dragon, sissy," Beau whines and squirms, "I seen a dragon today."

"You saw a dragon today, B," Eddie corrects, "I saw, not I seen."

"Still seen one," Beau crosses and uncrosses his arms with a dramatic eye roll, already bored with the conversation enough to scurry over to another co-worker.

"He saw a bearded dragon lizard at the zoo today," you smile.

"I swear he's five going on fifteen with all that attitude," Eddie says with an exasperated sigh through puffed out cheeks, "Gives me a run for my money..."

You laugh a little out of your nose and flip your phone open, he's stunned at how fast you text. Your thumbs flying over the keyboard of your Sidekick iD. All he had was some Nokia burner from Rick and an iPod he stole at the gym.

"Uh, your dad's in there, by the way. Like, you can just go in," he says. His coverall feels too hot and scratchy, noticibly concious of how much is pools around his sinewy frame. He doesn't look like a man the way the other guys who work here do, he doesn't really feel like one either. Too soft. Too gentle. Even when he was lugging around tires and getting into fights at The Hideout.

"He's on the phone," you scrunch your nose while you point at the door, keys in your hand jingling. He thinks about what you'd do if he reached forward and tapped his finger on it. If he traced down the bridge gently. You look so touchable.

"How come I've never seen you around before? I've been here like, almost a year," he says, running the rag that was over his shoulder through his hands to occupy himself.

"I'm not around a lot, normally in Fort Wayne 'cause I go to school there. I stay with a friend and work at the school over the summer to make some money," you explain, "Trying to save up for my own place."

"Oh, cool," he nods, swallowing the disappointment in his tone. Of course you don't want to stick around this shit hole town. You have better things to do. You're literally in college.

"What's your SN? I'll add you to my buddy list and tell you all the weird shit Beau says this weekend," you giggle.

"What's an SN?" Eddie asks, throat running dry. Is this some kind of joke? Are you trying to make fun of him or something? "SN? Your screen name?" you reply, cocking your head when he still doesn't know what you mean, "Like your AIM screen name?"

"Oh!" he says, embarrassment continuing to creep up on him, "Like, on the computer? We um -- I don't have one at home so I never really signed up for it."

"Oh," you say softly, nodding, "Um, well like, what's your number then? Gotta keep up with Beau's replacement older sibling."

He internally gags when you refer to him as your replacement. Did you already put him in that catergory? The friendzone? That's what they called it at the comic book store when they had their D&D nights and just talked about girls.

"Here," you say, handing the phone out to him with the 'New Contact' page up. He takes it, albiet shakily, unsure if Rick would want him to be giving out his number to just anyone -- but you're so cute and girls never ask for his number. Not even after they hook up with him in his van outside of the bar. Rick would understand.

"Thanks, it's saved under Eddie M," he replies sheepishly, "In case you know any other Eddies."

"I don't," you smile, "But I'll keep the M."

The door to the office opens and your dad appears, tired and disheveled but glad to see you.

"Hey kid, where's the gremlin?" he asks you gruffly.

"I don't know, probably doing something illegal," you shrug, but the pitter patter of light up sneakers on concrete starts up again across the garage.

"Let's go, buddy," he says while Beau leaps up into his arms.

"That was a big jump dude. What, are you half spider monkey or something?" Eddie teases.

"We saw them at the zoo, today!" he calls out, before turning to his dad, "And I also saw a dragon."

"That's very cool, you'll have to draw me a picture when we get home," he says with a nod before putting his attention on Eddie.

"I'm gonna head out, but are you good to lock up here with Mark?"

"Yeah, for sure," Eddie nods. A smile spreads across his lips, maybe you'll think he's important or something, "It was um...it was nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too," you say softly while you head toward the door with your dad. He tries not to look, but there's something about the way your cut off shorts hug your ass that has heat rushing to his cheeks.

You turn back as the door is about to close behind you and grin, "I was the mistake, by the way. I'll shoot you a text after nine!"

You do text him after nine.

'heyyy. how r u? :)'

No one ever really asks.

Six Years Ago

He didn't mean to fall for you, but how could he not? Your weekly to bi-weekly phone calls during your senior year of college were all he looked forward to. Outside of pay day and parties at Rick's. And D&D campaigns. And shows at The Hideout. You were up there, you were top ten. He swore it.

He knew when you came home for winter break last year, helping your parents bring Beau to swimming lessons and indoor soccer. It started with small, yearning, glances when your daddy would invite him home for dinner, or you'd drop off lunch for the guys. Soft little flicks of brown eyes from under envious full lashes to watch you watching him, leaning over his work bench to ask him a question for your dad. Watching you live your life in your family’s small house while he ate brisket and showed Beau how to do shading in his coloring books. He nearly died when you grabbed his hand in the kitchen, manicured nails dancing over the new burnished silver jewelry on his fingers and asked, ‘Are these new rings? Where’d you get them?’

He'd survey you while you helped your brother with his math homework when your mom was busy with her fourth haircut that night -- your aunt who wouldn't pay her and your dad too burnt out to do anything but drink in front of the TV in his recliner.

"Oh, no, that's not right," Eddie pipes up gently. You looked up at the sound of his words, sitting across the kitchen table while you stood over your brother's shoulder.

Eddie blushes, scrunching into his shoulders, "Sorry, sorry, it's just, you're a little off -- when you're converting ounces to pounds you--"

"I don't need you to teach him about grams, ounces, and pounds, Munson," you say softly, a little giggle escaping your chest. He flushes deeper than before, "I think he's a little young for that." Everyone knew what Eddie did on the side, it didn’t take much to find out what he always had hidden away in his beat up backpack. Your daddy said that it taught him good entrepreneurial skills and as long as he wasn’t getting into trouble or selling to kids, he was fine to work at the shop until the cops came knocking – and they never did.

"Sorry, I just -- Just because it says 5 doesn't mean it's a half pound. 5 ounces isn't a half pound, it's like a 'gotcha' question," he explains. Your brother's eyes are glued to Eddie, his cool rings and long hair, his leather jacket, the soft stubble on his chin. Eddie was the coolest guy your brother had ever met, so if it meant he had to learn weight conversion from a drug dealer, then so be it. He'd listen to him before he’d listen to you.

"How many ounces are in a pound, bud?" he asks.

"Sixteen," your brother replies.

"What's half of sixteen?"

"Eight."

"You're so sharp, dude," Ed encourages, "You should skip second grade, for real."

"So even though it says point five, it's actually eight ounces? Not five ounces?" your brother asks, pencil tracing over the question on his work sheet.

"Exactly," Eddie grins, "See, you get it."

He meets your eyes for your approval and when you nod, running a hand over your little brother's head comfortingly, he has to hide the giddiness on his face in his hands.

"How come Eddie's good at math and you're not?" your brother asks. You laugh, Eddie's snort comes out from behind his hands, dancing through his silver rings.

"I haven't taken a math class in a while, Eddie does math every day," you say, like a kindergarten teacher trying to explain bomb drills.

"How come?"

"Oh, um," you look at Eddie, his flushed cheeks and boyish smile, "He's just -- Eddie's really smart."

You stayed out in Fort Wayne for six months after graduation until your mom got let go at the salon. 'Making room for new talent', they'd said. She'd developed joint pain, recurring carpal tunnel -- she couldn't do as much as she used to. So, like every good first born, you moved back home to help out -- taking whatever job you could find. At first it felt bad to be back in your childhood bedroom, forced back into the mundanity of the world around you. The embarrassment of running into people you knew at the mall or getting gas. But at least one thing was fine, you got to see Eddie -- and he was kind of exciting. Way more exciting than your job at the diner you picked up back in May. It worked out fine, you guess. You'd have mornings off some days to take Beau to school and to soccer, or baseball, or whatever sport he was into that season. Your mom would do hair in the kitchen for the older ladies -- roller sets, perms, colors. She could take her time with them, they had no rush. Then you'd leave for the diner when Beau came home and your mama would take more clients in the evening. Your daddy would be home at five thirty to take on the heat.

Things were easier on your parents when Eddie started coming around to keep Beau occupied. The second grader had a lot of energy, even after sports practice or game days. Eddie's personality matched his in intensity -- always finding new ways to keep him engaged in his homework, in his reading, in the way he navigated the world. Beau was at a fourth grade reading level by the end of the school year and whipping through math like he was born to know it. Your daddy started taking Eddie to boxing matches and monster truck shows with Beau. Your daddy started to forget you were there, too.

Except when Eddie’s big brown eyes started to linger a little too long at you one night when you were at work.

“Munson, I’m old. I’m not stupid,” your dad’s voice grumbles like a bad engine when he talks, “You wanna ask my daughter on a date, don’t you?”

Eddie sputters into his orange soda, smattering it onto Beau who throws into a fit of giggles.

“Uh – what?” he gasps, “Sir, I – excuse me?”

“I see how you’ve been lookin’ at her since you saw her two summers ago,” he shakes his head, coughing a cigarette cough into his fist, “You’ve got the most love sick eyes I’ve ever seen.”

Eddie can’t help the blush that grows in his cheeks, “Sir, I dunno about that.” “Everyone knows you have a huge crush on sissy, Ed,” Beau says matter of factly, taking a big gulp of his chocolate milk. Ed reaches for the cup as he goes for a second gulp and eases it out of his hands. “Slow down, kid,” he huffs, “And gross, dude. Girls have cooties.”

“Sissy has her cooties shot,” Beau shrugged, “She told me when I said there’s no way you liked her, ‘cause girls have cooties.” “Did sissy ask if I told you I liked her?” Eddie asks with a smile. Beau smirks and giggles, tiny teeth shining back at his dad – he’s a troublemaker but he’s no good at keeping secrets. Your dad smirks into his coffee mug, too.

“Did she ask you if I liked her?” Eddie’s heart pounds in his chest when your dad nods at his question.

“Did um – did she say if she liked me?” he stammers out. He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth to squeeze out any remaining moisture as he saw you walk out of the kitchen to one of your tables. Two regulars, construction guys -- Bryan and Charlie, always come in at the same time and always tip big cause they think you're pretty. Eddie hates that he hates when you talk about them -- you aren't his, it shouldn't make him so upset. He smiles to himself for a minute when you press a hand to your lower back, scrunching your face in pain. He can tell it’s because you always pop your hip to one side when you take an order.

“She might’ve mentioned something,” your dad shrugs, “But I asked you a question, kid.”

The sticky heat from outside flows in through the door and into his chest, “Am I allowed to ask her on a date?”

“She’s twenny-two, she can do what she wants,” he laughs, “Just don’t have her coming home in a cop car and you got my blessing.”

“I promise I won’t have her come home in a cop car,” he breathes out. His excitement outweighs his embarrassment when you come over to the table. To him, your diner dress fits you just right. To you and your dad, you wished it was a little looser. He swallows hard when you plop your hands on the linoleum and lean forward on your palms. Your manicured nails click on the plastic when you drum them a few times, the pen in your hand shines.

“Anything else I can get you boys?” you ask with a smile.

“I think we’re heading out, pum’kin,” your dad’s jagged grin shines through his eyes while Beau crawls over Eddie to get out of the booth, “Gotta take this rugrat to the movies for his friend’s birthday party.”

“But um,” your dad chuckles while he stands up, stretching a bit before adjusting his biker vest, “I think Ed’s gonna stick around. Said he had somethin’ to ask you.”

Five and ½ Years Ago Money flows when he makes it. Your first date was to the movies, nervous hand holds on your knee – uncertain arm around your shoulder. He smelled like Suave body wash and cigarettes. Your second to some restaurant out of town, he stumbled over his drink order and yours but it made you giggle in a way that made him giggle too. He wore a ‘nice’ shirt that Wayne let him borrow but he shifted in it all night – rolling up the sleeves and opening up the collar. Some chicken scratch tattoos on his forearms. He kissed you in the van with warm full lips and smiled all the way home. But as the months went on and Rick started giving him bigger plays, bigger bricks to move – two years in the trenches had his seeing stacks he had only dreamed of before. You got to reap the benefits. A pair of earrings, nicer dinners, paying for your manicures every now and again. New tattoos on his arms, on his chest, littered in them – good ones too, he’d go out to Ohio for them. He’d work his shifts at the garage with your dad and then on some nights and weekends do his business. Your daddy still looked the other way, if the cops weren’t knocking then it didn’t matter. Eddie was making you happy, he was making everyone happy, so there wasn’t any reason for him to worry. You spent your shifts at the diner thinking about when he’d come pick you up. Thinking about when he’d come in during your opening shifts and flirt with you while he had a cup of coffee – sometimes in his coveralls, sometimes in his clothes from the night before. He smelled good, new colognes – he got a couple. You liked the one he wore on date nights and loved the one he wore during the day. Got some silver chains to match his rings – subtle upgrades. He’d started to fill out some – making more money, eating more, more muscle, more cash, more confidence – still yours. Still lovesick. ‘The most lovesick eyes I’ve ever seen.’

His hair tickled your thighs while he had you splayed out on the mattress in Rick’s guest room, the ‘welcome to the weekend’ party still raging down stairs as the night begins to approach the early hours of the morning. Perks of living on the outskirts of town – no neighbors to call the cops to tell you to shut the fuck up. The thud of the music makes the walls vibrate, putting you in a steady trance in the dark. The joints you were passed earlier had made their claim, body languid and floaty — he could have you just how he wants you.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he whispers into the crease of your thigh while his hands push your knees apart further. His tongue is his best feature, and he knows it now. Easily his strongest muscle with the way it’s started to get him in and out of anything. Sweet charm turned as silver as his rings as he got more and more successful, more and more of Rick’s approval. His tongue lies flat in slow intentional drags between your legs, spit pooling out in its wake. He likes to take his time here to build you up, your soft ‘hm’s encouraging him to keep his pace.

“It’s nice like that, huh?” he asks gently, pressing a kiss to your clit, “Using my tongue on you?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out, eyes closed and sleepy. His head pokes up from between your legs when he notices your body reacting less and less to his mouth. Your sounds get progressively quieter, losing enthusiasm.

“Hey, you okay?” he asks, crawling up over you.

“Mhm,” you respond, eyes still shut.

“You fallin’ asleep on me?” he laughs, thumb coming up to run over the side of your head, “You little lightweight.”

Your lips stretch into a smile, the weight of your high pressing you further into the mattress. Each time you take a breath you feel yourself falling further and further away, it’s almost scary until it's not – because he’s there. You feel the pad of his index finger run down the bridge of your nose and slide over your bottom lip. He quietly eases off the bed, grabbing your panties and jeans from the floor to put them back on with the finesse of a person who’s had to redress their passed out friends many times before. You’re almost out like a light when he drapes the throw blanket over your legs, adjusting it to slouch messily over your shoulders. You barely feel the kiss he leaves on your forehead.

“I love you,” he whispers, before heading back down stairs for a drink. You wake up to the music still blaring downstairs, mouth dry and disoriented – realizing that what woke you up is the sound of the door opening.

“Hey sleepy, didn’t mean to wake you,” Eddie whispers, wincing a bit as the music gets louder. He closes the door with his hip, clicking on the overhead light making you both squint, “Well, technically I did, but I didn’t mean to wake you up like this. I brought you some food, baby.” Heat rushes to your face at the name. Baby. No one had ever called you that before. Not other hookups or boyfriends - always ‘babe’, never ‘baby’. Always ‘babe’, never ‘angel’, never ‘sweetheart’, never ‘my girl’. Eddie called you every sweet name he could think of. “Thank you,” you smile, eyes falling on the ringed hand cradling a paper plate with two slices of pizza, dripping in grease. The other held a can of Pepsi that he watched your eyes fall on for a brief moment.

“They didn’t have Coke, m’sorry,” he scrunches his nose, leaning in to give you a kiss while he places the plate and can on the side table, clicking on the lamp.

“That’s okay, this is fine,” you smile, he smiles back while clicking the big light back off. He crawls onto the bed next to you, the warmth of him enveloping you in his scent, his body heat, his essence. Things moved fast since your first date. You’d never felt loved like this, you’d never been kissed how he kissed you. It’s like he wrote the schematics for your body and kept them a secret until the day you let him touch you in the back of his van. The day you let him take you in your bedroom when your parents went to watch Beau’s baseball game. Even his stare made you flustered. Eddie would say the same about you. Gareth and Jeff would label it as lovedrunk, Rick said he was more addicted to being with you than he was to making him money. Sandra at the diner said he’s obsessed. Obsessed with you. It had a nice ring to it.

“Thank you again,” you nod, cracking open the can of Pepsi that soothes your dry mouth instantly.

“Anything for you,” he smiles while his hand reaches to yours, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“I heard what you said, by the way,” you smirk, “When you left the room.”

His face somehow blanches and fumes red like sweet cherries at the same time, “You weren’t supposed to.”

“Didn’t want me to know that you love me?” you tease, shoulder bumping him with a laugh. He doesn’t laugh back, he just looks at you with soft eyes – big and brown, begging.

“Is that stupid?” he asks softly, disappointment weighing heavy on his tongue.

“No! No! It’s not stupid,” you quickly assure, “No, I um –” You smile down into the can of Pepsi, manicured nails on your opposite hand drumming on the aluminum. “I love you, too,” you whisper, “I was nervous that maybe it was too soon. I didn’t like…I didn’t wanna scare you.” “Scared by my girl saying she loves me? Nah,” he shakes his head, teeth gleaming in a smile that hurts his cheeks, “That’s the best shit I’ve heard all year.” “Why don’t you eat first,” he starts huskily, taking your Pepsi can and placing it on the side table. The cologne on his skin had mixed pleasantly with tobacco, enveloping you in sandalwood, fruit, and smoke. His lips were plush as he pressed first against the corner of your mouth and then the other, holding his index finger in the center of yours. He nuzzled your nose gently before easing himself into a deep kiss, index finger tracing down your cheek. “As I was saying,” he starts again, a light giggle floating out of his chest and escaping pink cheeks, “Why don’t you eat first and then maybe we can go to mine and I’ll show you how much I love you.” “What about Wayne?” you ask, looking at his distorted face with your foreheads so close together. He steals a quick kiss from you again, another on your cheek. “Wayne’s staying close to the plant to do a morning shift, so he won’t be home until tomorrow night,” he grins, “We can play house all day tomorrow.”

“You’re stupid,” you laugh, leaning back to take the pizza off the side table to take a bite. “What? You don’t wanna be my baby all day?” he gets on his knees on the mattress to lean into you, lips finding their way to your cheek and jaw. You squirm under his touch, a feather light gasp coming out of your mouth when he nips at the spot at the top of your neck. “What’s got you so flustered, hm?” he teases into your ear, his ringed hand trailing up your thigh. Your hand covers his and he stops his journey, pulling back a little. “Nothing bad, s’just – I really like it when you call me baby,” you hide your face with one hand, “I don’t think I’ve said that before. It’s just really nice.” “Baby,” he pours out like warm syrup, it sounds so natural in his nicotine soaked voice. He pulls your hand away, smattering slow soft kisses across your cheeks. Mumbling between each one, “Baby, baby, baby.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #dark!eddie munson #dark!eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fan fiction #dark!eddie munson x you #modern!eddie #modern!eddie munsn #baby as if

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part one: new romantics (can be read as a stand alone) | masterlist

eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: [9.7K] I did my best to proof read <3

warnings: warnings: no use of y/n, cursing, a little argument, friends to lovers, SMUT (MDNI OR I WILL JUMP YOU!!!) kissing, bj, f!ngering, piv (unprotected...wear protection irl, this is just fiction y'all), multiple o's (reader lol), creampie (my fave pie, wbu yall??? JK), aftercare.

summary: after you and eddie became a little more than friends after what was supposed to be a disastrous prom night, you two begin to get closer as the weeks go by. when he invites you to his show at the hideout, you don't expect to see his friend robin cozying up to him your jealousy bubbles over because you like eddie a lot, but in true dramatic fashion, eddie confesses that you are the only one he wants to be with and he will show you just how much he means it.

You peeked out your blinds, hearing the familiar roar of his engine just blocks away from your house followed by the music that would probably shatter all his windows if they weren’t rolled down. But then again, he was your favorite boy, the one you just so happened to fall for on what was supposed to be a disastrous prom night turned into the most romantic one of your life.

“Son of a bitch.” You muttered under your breath with a mischievous smirk.

His van was flying through the streets and you could hear the guitar riff from his favorite song resounding through the neighborhood.

Wasting no time, you grabbed your purse, running down the stairs and stopping at the front door to press your feet into the soles of your boots, “I’ll be home in the morning!”

Your words were cut short, slamming the door shut before either of your parents could hear, but they trusted you enough to know you’d be safe and that you’d call if anything was to happen.

Eddie grinned like a madman, reaching over to turn down the volume of his music the minute he saw you waiting for him in your driveway. You wore a simple black slip dress with some roses on the cups, along with a hot red leather jacket that complimented the classic lipstick he loved on your lips. Your legs accentuated with the black boots you decided on for the night.

You looked to die for.

“Hey, hot stuff!” You hailed out cheekily, skipping your way to his van where he reached over to open the door for you, letting you into the space that became more familiar as the days went by.

Prom was only a few weeks ago, and since then you and Eddie had gotten a lot closer with the more time you spent with one another. He’d give you rides back home after school. Talk you up in the halls during passing periods. And even invited you over to his trailer to hang out and “study” together. It was nice, what was going on between you two, though neither of you knew what to label what it was.

You’d share hugs at school but kisses in his trailer. Innocent glances in the cafeteria and winks when no one was looking. Your hands would brush against each other when you “accidentally” dropped your binder in front of his locker, yet held hands when the school parking lot was empty and the two of you walking to his van.

The connection was obviously there, hidden behind closed doors in an oasis that was your very own.

“You look beautiful,” He grinned, his eyes trained on your every effortless movement beside him.

The way you slammed his van door with ease (if it was the kids he’d surely yell at them). The way your hair tossed over your shoulder when you glimpsed at him. And the way you leaned forward to lay a glossy kiss to his lips.

You giggled as you pulled away, noticing a smudge of red lipstick on Eddie’s lips. He smirked, puckering his lips towards you to make kissy faces while you continued to laugh.

Reaching over, you gently wiped it off with your thumb, eyes locking with his. “There, all better,” you said, beaming, as you patted his cheek affectionately.

Eddie snickered, his eyes sparkling with affection, wrapping his ringed fingers around your wrist to hold you, “Thanks,” he said, before leaning in to kiss you again.

He pulled away this time, just sitting there admiring your whole getup on that Friday night. Meanwhile, you tried to play it cool, eyes drifting over his chest where the white t-shirt he was wearing hugged his biceps and accentuated his broad shoulders.

Maybe the damn thing was new, but it was different from what he usually wore. Of course, he looked good in anything, whether it was the rented tux he wore on prom night, his usual club t-shirt, or his Corroded Coffin tee—but this was a different type of nice.

Eddie caught you, observant of the way he hadn’t caught your eyes for a few seconds, as they were too busy focusing on his chest. When you did eventually meet his eyes, you blinked fiercely, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth.

“What are you looking at?” he teased, a playful grin spreading across his face.

You felt your face flush, trying to come up with a clever response to conceal your gawking, but jeez, you didn’t have any intention of not letting him know how good he was looking.

“You look really handsome tonight,” you managed to say, earning a chuckle from Eddie.

He grinned, looking down at his outfit. “Thanks, I wanted to look my best for you,” he said, before graciously adding, “But I think you’re the one stealing the show with those red lips.”

Blushing at the compliment, you felt a warm sensation spread through your body. “Well, I wanted to look good for you too,” you said, before leaning in for another kiss.

In the few weeks that you and Eddie had been seeing each other, this was a recurring theme. Getting lost in kisses and innocent gazes that flowed with the passing time. Sure, maybe others would call it, “complicated” or weird, with what you two had going on, but you both seemed to be content with what it was.

Calling it what you two wanted.

Eddie pinched his eyes tightly, when a small whine escaped your mouth when he nibbled on the bottom of your lip. Being here with you was already doing things to him, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d say fuck tonight’s set and spend the rest of the night with you here in your driveway making out like stereotypical teenagers.

But, shit, Eddie did promise to perform a few songs for you and even worked in a metal version of Madonna into the setlist that he was going to surprise you with. You two would be able to share way more kisses later on in the night.

He pulled away, breathless and smiling, a mirroring image of you doing the same, “I think we better get going before I lose all self-control,” Eddie said smirked, kissing your hand before allowing you to wipe off the ruby red stain on his lips.

The drive to the Hideout was peaceful, accompanied by the conversation that you and Eddie shared over his bandmates and your nervousness meeting them. You’d only ever seen them in the halls and cafeteria when you were too busy staring at Eddie and they’d nudge him, making you blush and tear your eyes away.

His best kept oath: you.

Despite his friend’s urges to know who you were and why you were staring at Eddie so goddamn much, he never revealed a peep about the two of you out of respect. Instead settling for the short and sweet answer: “She’s a pretty girl and I’m a pretty boy—nothing wrong with admiring each other.”

You knew Eddie had really great friends, ones that were protective of him for good reason. They were an extension of his very limited family and you loved that you had the privilege of getting to be in his life. You just hoped that his friends knew you had good intentions with him.

But Eddie assured you, squeezing the flesh of your exposed thigh, doing his best to keep his wild eyes between you and the road. He knew his friends would warm up to you and it would only take a simply meeting to have them knowing that you were the girl that Eddie couldn’t shut up about.

And so when you two finally arrived at The Hideout, there was no hesitancy from either of you when you intertwined your hands walking into the bar. It wasn’t fully packed, but there were a decent amount of people there, most likely to enjoy a few drinks on the Friday evening, but little did they know they’d be graced with Hawkins’ own Corroded Coffin.

“You guys get your own dressing room?” Your voice was full of surprise when Eddie passed the stage and headed down the dim hallway.

He laughed, kissing the side of your head innocently, as he clutched your hand, “It’s more like a storage room, but dressing room sounds a lot cooler.”

Instinctively, your head leaned into his shoulder, nudging him adoringly while you looked up past your lashes and your smile glimmered past the dark, “Soon you’ll have a real dressing room and plenty of groupies wanting to come inside.”

He rolled his eyes, dropping your hand as you two finally came full stop in front of a door with clattering going on in the inside.

“I don’t want the groupies,” His voice was low and sultry, taking the time to lace his arms across your back, pulling your front towards him where your arms wrapped around his neck, “not unless it’s you.”

You tiptoed, almost face to face with Eddie now, close enough to feel his smokey breath fanning over your face, “I don’t think I qualify as a groupie, smooth talker.” You teased.

The two of you shared a laugh before you initiated the kiss, closing the space between your lips. So wrapped up in each other arms, you didn’t notice the door creaking open until there was a clearing of someone’s throat.

You yelped, pulling away from him, and letting your cheek rest in his chest as his friends crowded the door, shellshocked and intrigued by the scene, “Sorry to interrupt.”

You were borderline sheepish, cursing at yourself for getting caught up in the moment with lipstick now all over Eddie’s face and most likely smudged all over yours, too. Thank god you brought a touch up.

But Eddie was far from ashamed, proudly drawing you closer and lifting your feet off the ground of a couple of centimeters as you screeched, holding him tighter.

“This is my girl,” He introduced you with a smile from ear to ear, only letting go of your hand when his bandmates stepped forward to shake yours as he watched with pride.

You instantly felt welcomed despite the intrusive moment that passed quickly. They invited you in—Jeff pushing a box of tissues into Eddie’s chest so he could clean up his face and Gareth pointing to the small mirror hung up on the wall so you could touch up your lipstick.

Kevin was the one who smiled at you through the mirror’s reflection, slinging his arms roughly around your boy. “You’ve got him whipped. We’ve never seen this side of him before.”

You’ve never been like this before, either.

Being able to let this guy so freely into your life and allowing yourself to be immersed into his. It was a new yet comfortable feeling, one that you hoped would never burn out.

Eddie shrugged him off, making his way towards you, rest his chin on your shoulder and admiring you in the mirror before flicking his eyes back up to his friends, “Shut up and tune your instruments.”

Their banter was lighthearted and harmless as they messed around in the cramped space and learned more about you. That is before Eddie had led you back out to the main part of the bar, securing you a front-row seat in front of the stage.

You were in awe the entire set, hips moving the music and hair tossing around as you jumped up and down. Eddie was a complete natural on stage—his voice, the way his fingers jumped over the frets of his guitar, and his presence blowing you away.

He glanced at you in between songs, trying to get a grip on his self-control because all he really wanted to do was pull you up on stage and kiss you in front of everyone. You’re the first girl he had ever invited to one of his shows like this, and you were doing more than just enjoying yourself but showing him that he was good at what did.

“Thank you, goodnight everyone!” Eddie strummed his guitar one finally time before shooting you a wink as he and the band exited the stage.

He instantly came to find you, now moved along at the small stairs leading up to the platform. You were glowing with pride, arms opened wide until he closed the expanse, engulfing you in his cages and lifting you off the ground.

“You fucking killed it, babe!” You shrieked in his ear, making him and his friends laugh as he carried you through the small space and up to the bar where he sat you down on one of the chairs.

When you retracted from his neck, your fingers brushed his hair back from his sweaty forehead and pecked his lips, “Did’y like the Madonna song?”

He wiggled his brows as you giggled and nodded your head enthusiastically, “I fucking loved it, I never thought you would play—”

“Madonna!? Holy shit, Munson, you didn’t tell us you’d do Madonna!”

Behind him was a woman and another guy. Eddie let his hands fall from you, his body turning around to meet the two, immediately hugged by the girl. Her arms linked around his neck like you just had a moment ago. He hugged her back tightly as he did to you moments ago.

A twinge of jealously now replaced your pride watching how easily he got comfortable with her. When they finally pulled away, Eddie turned back to you, grabbing your hand and holding it up for them to see.

“Babe, this is Robin and Steve. Guys, this is my girl.”

She reached forward, a big smile on her face as she introduced herself while you shook her hand, trying not to crush it hard and show you were territorial over Eddie. Steve opted for a wave and smile, nudging Eddie and saying, “You never said you had a girlfriend?”

You and Eddie laughed off that comment. Or at least you tried to.

And Steve was right, Eddie himself never said you were his girlfriend or that he was your boyfriend. You didn’t want to seem clingy or possessive because that wasn’t your right, but it was eating you up inside.

Watching at how Robin would occasionally poke at Eddie’s arms and sides, rolling her eyes at his jokes and sometimes laughing a bit too loud. Eddie didn’t seem to have any intentions on stopping her more than friendly actions, instead entertaining them and sometimes doing the same to her.

You wondered if there’s more between her, and Eddie than he was letting on.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity Eddie waved goodbye to the two as he took your hand and led you outside to the parking lot to head back to his van. You had barely engaged in the conversation back inside there and he assumed you wanted to leave—you sure as hell did.

You both sat in silence on the way home, but not the comfortable kind. The kind that could be cut with a knife and served on a cold, lonely plate.

Eddie cleared his throat, glancing at your blank stare out of the windshield with your arms crossed over your chest and a scowl poorly concealed beneath your features.

“Everything okay, doll? You’ve been quiet for a while.” He took another concerned glance, watching the way you crossed your legs over one another but faced it opposite of him.

You only murmured, shaking your head and saying in a monotone voice, “I’m fine, just tired…was a long night.”

He wasn’t buying it…you were never this quiet on car rides home, but he didn’t want to push it, so he decided to change the subject to something a little more lively.

“What did you think of the Madonna song? Was it up to par?”

You took a deep breath and nodded, finally tearing your eyes away from the window and looking at him, “It was great. I really liked it…Robin seemed to love it even more.”

The venom in your voice didn’t go unnoticed by Eddie who instantly picked up on the tone when you mentioned his friend’s name.

He looked at you with a hint of confusion, “What do you mean?”

“I mean that she seemed really excited about it. Very excited, actually.” You explained, avoiding eye contact with him.

Eddie furrowed his brows slightly, fingers clenching and unclenching around the steering wheel as he tried to read you, “And that bothers you?”

“Of course not,” You scoffed, finally meeting his glance with a glare before you turned away.

The rest of the car ride was uncomfortably quiet and stiff. Eddie turned up the radio, hoping that some music would ease the tension, but it didn’t. And you were cold, whole body turned away from his, and your eyes staring out of the window as the streetlights passed by in a blur.

As you two finally turned into his trailer park, your mood seemed to darken even more, clicking your seatbelt off before he even got to his trailer and almost ready to hop out the car before he put it in park.

“Tell me what’s wrong, please?” Eddie finally said, turning off the ignition.

You exhaled heavily, “I’m fine, Eddie.”

He watched you open the passenger door, hopping out without a word before you slammed it shut. You were already waiting by the trailer door when he finally got out and locked up the van.

Your foot tapped against the creaky wood, waiting as he grumbled and unlocked the front door to let you in first. You brushed past him, toeing off your boots and harshly shrugging off your leather jacket and tossing it on the couch along with your purse.

The tension was palpable—tenser than it was in the van.

You made a beeline for his room, just wanting to sleep off your simmering jealousy and ignore the questioning looks he was shooting you. But ignoring him only fueled his desire to know what was going on in your head.

“Baby, talk to me…did I say something?” His voice pleading as he trailed behind you through the narrow hallway.

You ignored him, rolling your eyes, as you pushed his door open, “Did I not say anything?”

“It’s more like what you didn’t do.” You let out, dropping yourself on his bed where you closed your eyes.

He let out a sound, a stuttered-like one that was trying to go back in time to think about what could have possibly gotten you this upset. He tried—he went over every single thing he did after his set that could’ve ticked you off but he couldn’t find anything. All he remembered was getting drowned in praises as he carried you to the bar before Steve and—oh.

“R-Robin? Are you jealous of Robin?” His voice was questionable, yet you couldn’t miss the strained laugh that died at the back of his throat when he asked you about it.

That just seemed to set you off even more, as you forced yourself off his bed onto your elbows and faced him. “Are you seriously asking me that? She was all fucking over you!”

Your voice was fierce, eyes glaring up at him through your lashes. You didn’t want to be this way, bubbling over with resentment over something so petty. But you really liked Eddie—more than friends and more than friends with whatever the hell was going between you and him.

He was taken aback, snapping his neck and squinting over you at your sudden brutality. He’d never seen you so angry before and to be quite honest, it caused a simmering of worry to start producing in his stomach. No girl had ever felt like this towards him, and this was new.

All of it was new to him—but the sort of newness that was reinvigorating, the kind that reassured him that you really did like him the way that he liked you. But right now it wasn’t about being shocked at your feelings, but trying to get your feelings to settle. To reassure you.

“She’s just a friend, I swear.” He sought to soothe the situation and the anger smoldering inside you, but it only seemed to make it worse.

Just a friend? You kept replaying the moments in your head and how that made you feel when you saw him and Robin acting just the like you two.

“Well, she seemed pretty interested in you.” You snapped back, wrenching your arms over one another as your icy demeanor stayed intact.

His own emotions flared at your accusation, stepping back from you with his hands on his hips, “What are you trying to say? That I’m a liar? That I don’t like you?”

You sat up fully on his bed, scooting up to the foot as you scowled, “I never said that. But you didn’t even seem to notice that she was practically drooling over you.”

“I didn’t notice because it’s not true,” Eddie responded firmly stepping a bit closer, letting his arms fall to his sides, “I only have eyes on you, but I won’t tolerate you accusing me over something like that if you won’t try to have a civilized conversation with me.”

Your scowl deliberately faded as you blinked. You didn’t mean to get so heated, and you hated that you were taking it out on him with your emotions rather than just telling him how you felt. And this was partly because you were terrified about what was to come.

Ever since you and Eddie had begun hanging out more casually than not, you couldn’t stop your feelings for him from growing. But what if you were just a fun little thing in his eyes? What if this entire situation was just to fill Eddie’s time and he never really actually liked you the way that you liked him?

“I—I’m sorry,” Your voice was cool now, views traveling down to your hands where you fiddled with them guiltily.

You continued, “I didn’t mean to blow up like that…it’s just that—Robin…seeing you with her made me feel jealous, but I know I shouldn’t feel that way because we aren’t even dating.”

He gulped, a half relieved sigh leaving his body as he finally made the move to settle beside you, taking your hands in his. His thumbs rubbing your knuckles back and forth before nudging your chin with his forehead, prompting you to finally meet his eyes with yours.

“Hey, you have every right to feel jealous, but I promise you on everything in my life…I’m not interested in anyone else.” He paused, watching the way your eyes glazed over with forgiveness and understanding, “M’sorry for making you feel like that…I never wanted to do that to you.”

The beating of your heart going so fast as you listened, “I want to be with you. Only you.”

Your heart swelled with happiness and comfort, clutching his hands in yours as you asked just to be sure it was real, “R-Really?”

He laughed, nodding his head as he let go of your hands and cupped your cheeks, pressing a kiss to both of them before pulling away and asking the most important question you’d heard all night.

“Would you make me the luckiest guy in Hawkins and be my girl? Officially?”

You giggled, closing your eyes as you nodded, pressing your face forward to kiss his lips, letting yourself melt against him as your mouths moved in tandem so naturally. When you pulled away, you opened your eyes, his following suite, “That means yes, by the way.”

Eddie chuckled, kissing your lips once more, letting them move on their own accord as your fingers laced through his hair, pulling him closer. For once in your life, Eddie was the only man that ever made you feel like this, so infatuated and safe in a way that was warming.

Normally, you didn’t prioritize romantic ties with anyone, but that was before Eddie. Before you realized that, it could feel like home with the right person, even if it was just a guy you met a few weeks ago. Someone who could make you feel better and ease every little worrying thought with a simple apology and sweet nothings.

He asked about what you liked and didn’t like. He got you to tell him about your deepest and darkest fears along with some of the silliest things you're scared of. He always respected your boundaries and never pushed you further than you liked. He made you feel comfortable, yet the butterflies never stop swirling in the pit of your stomach every time you saw him.

He was yours and you wanted to show him just how much you were his.

“E-Eds,” you moaned fluttering lashes as you felt him move his lips down to your neck—sucking and biting on your skin, knowing the exact spot that got you to produce pretty sounds for him.

You both had never gone all the way just yet. The most that you two did was partaking in heated make out sessions with curious hands sneaking over each other’s clothes. You weren’t a virgin, and you knew Eddie had sex a few times before, but it was even more nerve-racking, finally being ready to go all the way with a guy you really liked.

“Eddie,” you said a bit more firmly, prompting him to immediately pull away from your neck, a reddish purple kiss already beginning to form under your skin.

His eyes did a one over your face, trying to see if you were okay—if he pushed too far this time, in the heat of the moment.

“You okay? You want me to stop?”

You shook your head, eyes innocently doeing up at him while you bit your lip, trying to get the right words to come to your head so that you could just spit them out.

“I—I’m ready…I want us to have sex, only if you want to though.”

He smiled softly, turning his head to kiss your wrist where your hands were still tangled in his roots. Eddie was more than content spending the night with you cuddled up in his chest, pressing innocent kisses between each other, but if you were ready, then so was he.

“You sure? We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, baby.” He assured you, removing your hand from his hair and intertwining them together.

You smiled, nodding your head assuringly as you scooted closer to him, “I’m sure…I want you, please?”

The moon lit up his dim room like it was the goddamn grand-stage with a beauty like you sitting on his bed. He couldn’t help but want to brag that a girl like you—someone so kind, funny, and understanding like you would ever want to be with a guy like him.

“Eds…” you whispered, untangling your hands from his as you cupped his face, noticing he was staring blankly at you, “w-we don’t have to do anything? No pressure at—”

He silenced you with a kiss. A bruising, passionate one that had your fingers tangling in his messy hair, tugging him closer as you opened your mouth wider granting his permission to explore. Your hands did some exploring of their own, letting go of his roots and trailing your hands down his chest, beneath the hem of his shirt and feeling his warm skin underneath it.

You had memorized the indentations of his toned body, fingertips sailing over the skin until they settled on his chest, feeling his thumping heartbeat over your tips.

A breath of fresh air came into your body as he pulled away, both of your mouths glistening with saliva as you caught your breath while he worked slowly now, moving his lips to your neck, peppering delicate kisses then and along your jaw.

“You mean so much to me,” He mumbled under your ear where he pressed a sweet kiss, causing you to moan his name, “let me show you how much you mean to me, doll.”

“Please, Eds…need you so bad.” You murmured, closing your eyes as he sucked on the skin—your bottom lip caught between your teeth with whimpers escaping as you knew a hickey would be there tomorrow.

Eventually he let go of your skin with a pop licking over the bruised area for good measure and smacking a kiss before he retracted from you entirely. Standing up, he admired you as he shrugged off his leather jacket, tossing it behind him as he watched you inhale deeply with every move he made.

His eyes never let up on, watching how shy you had gotten all of a sudden. Your face tucked into your shoulder a small smile quirked up on your lips and your legs crossing over each other, “It’s just me baby, no need to be shy.” He murmured, walking closer to you as his fingers worked his belt off and his fly open.

“I know…I just want it to be good for you.” You said meekly, tucking your face into his shoulder as he lingered over you.

He was so fucking lucky.

“Sweets,” His tone instantly consoling, as he pulled you away, hands coming to clutch your cheeks as he stared deeply into yours, getting your attention, “Anything with you is going to be good, alright? Just relax and let me take care of you, sweetheart.”

You were so fucking lucky.

“Is it ok if I take this off?” His fingers chased down the flimsy strap of your dress where it practically already hung off your shoulder.

You nodded your head, smiling as you leaned forward and pecked his lips, feeling a grin spread on his face. “You can take it off.”

The silky material of your dress cascaded off your body as he dragged it down by the straps. A small shiver came over you as your bare chest met the cold air of his trailer, but he warmed you up instantly as one of his hands cradled your ribcage.

“So pretty, baby.”

Your dress now laid on the floor, letting yourself be nearly bare in front of him for the first time. Eddie looked hesitant at first, gawking at your chest, then back to your face, then back to your chest before—

“You can touch them, Eds.” You assured him, grabbing onto his wrist and pulling his hand up higher until they settled over your breasts, a sigh of relief leaving your mouth feeling his touch on your sacred skin.

His breath hitched for a second, your nipples hardening up under his palms as your eyes fluttered shut and your mouth opened as you breathed deeply—he was obsessed with how you looked right now.

“Perfect, doll.” His praises were like music to your ears, leading you to sink deeper and deeper into the ocean of pleasure that you knew Eddie would take you to in a matter of moments.

His lips kissed the exposed skin of your chest—sucking, nipping, and licking every piece of you with need and desire as his hands worked your tits, pinching, twisting, and flicking.

“C-can I do something?” You were breathless, already on the brink of stimulation just by his touch. It was insane how easily you turned into putty in his hands. But you couldn’t say you were surprised.

Eddie always knew what you liked and how you liked it.

You could feel the delicate skin he sucked on, swelling in his mouth before he pulled away with a pop, darting his eyes up at you, twinkling innocently as if he wasn’t coating your skin in hickies.

“Anything you want, sweets.” He said, and a smile appeared on your face, ducking your head down to meet his lips as your hands twisted in his t-shirt.

Deepening the kiss by the second, you were able to use his shirt as leverage to usher him up to the bed with you, while your feet met the fuzzy carpeted floors before sinking to your knees, feeling your silky dress beneath your skin.

“Can I?” Your fingers hovered over his already open fly as he nodded his head with a soft smile.

He helped you work his jeans off his legs as the heavy material laid next to your knees and then he worked off his t-shirt, rumpling it up and tossing to towards the side.

He was ridiculously hard already, and the tent in his boxers was proving your theory correct as your hands shakily pampered at his member over the material. You’d only went down on one of your ex’s, so it was safe to say that your experience in this region wasn’t necessarily the best, but you wanted to try for Eddie.

“Will you tell me if I do something wrong?” You gulped, proceeding to rub your hand up and down his length, aware of his knee bumping up and down and his chest down the same.

His hazy demeanor swiftly waned as his gaze met your eyes. A warm flush over your cheeks and your endearing eyes coated with nervousness and reluctance. “You’re gonna do so good, baby. My good girl, I promise.”

The praise was like another wave coursing through your body, heading straight for your center. Your fingers went to the elastic band of his boxers, working it off of his body and tossing it somewhere behind you, as you swallowed thicky and wrapped your fingers around his hardened length.

He was big, but you already knew that. After countless hours spent on his lap grinding while you two made out, you knew it was going to take a little more time to get him to fit.

A pearl of pre-cum sat at the tip of his cock and it made your mouth water. Without thinking, you went for it, licking the salty bead, swallowing with a satisfied hum as your lips kissed his tip.

“H-holy shit,” Eddie sighed gingerly, keeping his eyes glued to you, watching how you smiled up at him before finally encasing his cock inside of your mouth.

The first contact of your tongue with Eddie’s rock hard length had him gripping the sheets. His knuckles were already turning white while his stomach stiffened in and out, reveling in the feeling of your hot mouth around him.

Warming yourself up, you pulled off of his length and veered to alternating between licking long stripes on the underside of his cock to short kitten licks towards his tip, aware of the scratching noises of Eddie nails scouring against his mattress.

You pulled off for a second, “Am I doing good, Eds?” You blinked up at him innocently, hand moving from its own accord from his glistening length to his balls, rolling them in your saliva coated palm.

“Yeah, baby – shit – really good,” Eddie confessed lovingly through harsh breaths.

He got ahold of himself, releasing the bunched up sheets in his hand and letting it fall to your face softly where his thumb stroked the high point of your cheek where your eyes were fixated on his while your hands continued to work, “So fucking good, sweetheart.”

“Thank you, Eddie.” Your voice dripping with sweetness so much so that it made his heart swell being so enraptured by you.

Your lips encased his cock again, bobbing your head up and down his length getting a rhythm going as your fingers worked what you couldn’t fit in your mouth. His finger tips fell from your cheek and instead, enmeshed themselves in your hair, not gripping too hard or too soft, but just enough the guide and encourage you.

“Such a good girl,” you heard him coo underneath his breath, and you looked up to see his eyes closed, and he continued, “Such a good girl, baby.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, humming at the praise causing shockwaves to bounce off his cock, while one of your hands trailed down your own body and in between your thighs. Fingers dipping beneath the lace of your thong and meeting the wetness and warmth that had been pooling since you and Eddie had begun making out.

“Fuck,” Eddie whispered more praises, “Your lips feel fuckin’ heavenly.”

You continued your movement—mouth bringing Eddie pleasure while your fingers rubbed your clit, searching for your own relief. You were surrounded by everything, Eddie. Your senses overload with his touch, his scent, his taste—everything so fucking intoxicating.

“That’s so fucking hot,” Eddie hissed, voice deliciously deep. Your eyes opened, peering up at him to his sights not trained on your mouth or fist wrapped around his cock, but below you where your other hand was deep inside your panties and fingers stalled against your clit.

“I need you, baby, c’mon” He grimaced nonchalantly as he pulled you off his cock.

His member twitching as he watched the trail of spit connect between his length and your lips. Your mouth was coated in your spit and his essence, a combination so sweet that you wished you got to taste all of him. Your red lipstick now a faded mess over your swollen lips.

You caught your breath, using your the back of your hand to wipe away the wetness before plopping a final kiss to the tip of Eddie’s cock, just before he groaned and lifted you up off the floor and to the bed to join him.

“You were going to make me cum y’know that?” He told you, letting his lips briefly meet yours before pulling away.

You smirked, fingers tracing his jawline as you whispered, “Will you cum in my mouth next time?”

He pressed his eyes shut. You were a dream come fucking true, “Whatever you want, doll.”

“Want you to fuck me right now…please?”

His eyes opened, glancing down as he watched how desperately your core grounded against his thigh. He could feel your wetness leaving a sweet trail behind on his skin as the flimsy lace shifted with every thrust and twist of your hips.

Eddie’s hands came to still your movement, squeezing your waist as he moved you to lay flat on his bed and he stayed at your side, “Gotta get you ready first, sweets.”

You whined, forehead pressed together as your eyes glazed over, “But—but I’m really turned on, Eddie and I need to feel you inside me so bad, please, I swear I can—”

Startled by your rapid speech and the way your body continued to writhe, he eased you instantly, “Shhh, shhh, calm down baby,” One of his hands smoothed out the hair on your head, and his lips caught your lips gently, “Y’gotta relax, baby, I don’t want to hurt you. Trust me ok? I’m not going anywhere.”

“O-Okay…I trust you, I’m sorry.” You replied, biting your lip embarrassingly until Eddie shook his head, kissing the top of your forehead and shooting you a reassuring look.

“No need to apologize, sweetheart,” His hands caressed down your body, until they got to your thong, toying with the lace, teasingly, “You’re just a little work up, right sugar? Just want me to satiate your needs?”

Eddie slowly pulled the material down your legs and off your ankles, humming as he let it drop. “Don’t worry baby, I’ll make you feel so good.”

Your legs instantly parted for him, letting your head relax against his pillows. You could feel his fingertips kneading your inner thighs as he got closer and closer to your heat. You could have just canted your hips up to finally get the craving you’d been needing, but you wanted to be good for him—Eddie’s good girl.

And your patience seemed to pay off because the second his fingers ran over your soaking folds, you moaned loudly, indulging in every single bit of pleasure that he was bringing you.

“So fucking wet, baby. Who made you like this? Can you tell me, baby? Pretty please?”

His voice was condescendingly hot, and you were pretty sure it was a flood down there with each word that left his mouth, “You! You…Eddie, you made me — ohmygod — made me this wet.”

A short chuckle left his mouth as he finally let one of his fingers slip inside of you while he thumbed your clit. His single finger was able to reach a depth of you that your tiny ones never got to. And he was insanely quick to learn how you liked it, hooking in and pulling your pleasure like it was nothing as he worked another digit in deeply.

“Oh god, Eds,” you moaned, starting to wriggle around the bed, letting your fingers twist in the bedsheets.

“So tight, sweets—gonna fucking. ruin. me.” he whispered.

Hovering over your shaking body and nipping at the curve of your shoulder, he continued, “Thought about this sweet pussy for so long. Have you been thinking of my cock deep inside you, baby?”

“Y-yes.” You gasped when his fingers began to fuck you harder, hitting your g-spot with every single push.

“How long, baby? Tell me how long you’ve been wanting me inside of you.” he continued.

Your pussy clenched at his fingers, and he started to move them faster. Pushing deeper into you, fingers pushing down, seeking, “Since prom! Wanted you to f-fuck me, so bad.”

“You should have told me, doll.” He voice low in your ear as he nipped the side of your neck, holding you as you began to tremble.“You know I would have taken such good care of you.”

You were positive that if you would have told Eddie you wanted him to fuck you on the prom night when you two had met that he would have rocked your world. You wished you did. But the wait was worth it, because after so much longing and dreaming about this moment, it was so much sweeter, dirtier, and hotter than you could have ever imagined.

“B-baby,” you cried out, hands clutching at the covers as your legs shook, “I’m gonna cum!”

“Good girl,” he encouraged, sitting upright as his fingers continued their onslaught, “Cum for me, doll”

“Eddie!” you wailed, pussy pulsing around his fingers, the wetness of your orgasm coating his digits as he let you ride out your high.

A soft chuckle left his lips as his free hand smoothed over your stomach, feeling the twitching of your body as you came down from your orgasm. Slowly, he pulled his fingers out of you, while whispering soft words to ease the emptiness you desperately wanted him to fill back up, “Gotta taste this sweet pussy.”

You cracked your eyes open from the stellar haze, a blurred image of him sucking your juices off his fingers before it cleared up, making you moan once again, making grabby hands at his thigh which signalled him in for a longing kiss.

You could taste yourself on his lips, something so vulgar, but you wanted more.

“Will you fuck me now, Eds? Pretty please?” You whimpered against his lips.

He nodded, kissing your lips again, “What are you comfortable with baby? I can be on top if you want.”

You swallowed thickly, partly to get rid of the dryness in your throat from the moaning, but also because you wanted to try something with him that you’d never tried before, “C-can I be on top? I’ve never done it…but—but you can be on top if you—”

His lips shut you up, as he moved back to press his back against the pillows and headboard, dragging you with him. You were now poising over his lap before he pulled away, letting you catch your breath from the suddenness, “I’ll guide you, doll, and if you want to switch just let me know alright? Don’t hesitate.”

His voice was reassuring, letting you know that there was nothing to be nervous or scared about when it came to you, him, and sex. That he would do anything to make sure you were comfortable first and that pleasing you was his number one priority. You were pretty sure you could cum again just at the thought of how sweet he was.

“Okay,” You smiled slightly, letting your hands grip at his shoulders as you lowered yourself, first letting your wetness gliding over his cock which had the both of you squeezing each other’s skin and moaning his and your name.

“Nice and slow, sweetheart.” He whispered, watching as you decided to reach back to guide his tip over your entrance. His fingertips never left your waist as he hummed and nodded approvingly, as you gradually lowered yourself inch by inch slowly and steadily.

It was taking everything in him not to squeeze your hips too hard, not wanting to hurt you or bruise up your skin, but your tightness just encased him in a way that was earth shatteringly divine. He hissed, keeping his eyes open to watch yours flutter close as soft whimpers and moans escaped your mouth.

“Good girl, baby, taking me so — fucking, hell — taking me so good. Such a pretty girl, taking my cock.” He groaned, clenching your hips as his breath hastened with every pulse your pussy made around him.

“So deep…you’re so big inside me, E-Eds.” You opened your eyes looking down, surprised to see that there was still a few inches of him that you had left to take.

He was so big…a little too big, but you wanted all of him. Every single inch you could get.

“Will you hold my hands, babe?” You sighed desperately let your hands fall from his shoulders, relying on your knees to keep you up as you needed to feel him holding you closer.

He murmured lovingly, withdrawing his hands from your waist and intertwine his fingers with yours, “Better, sweets?”

“Uh huh, much better,” you whispered, finding the confidence to take the rest of him, shutting your eyes as you felt so full with every inch “Oh fuck, it feels amazing.”

“For me, too,” Eddie managed through deep breaths and resisting the urge to thrust up into you, knowing this was about you, “You feel so fuckin’ good, baby…”

Your head was spinning from the fullness and you were sure if you pressed down on your belly you could feel just how deep he was inside of you. The sense of euphoria already was seething in your bloodstream and you were sure Eddie was about to take you to another level of high. You needed a moment to stay there, get used to the way he stretched you open because before you knew it, the pleasure was going to be too much for you to handle on your own.

“L-Like this?” You found it in you to open your eyes to meet his, filled with just the same amount of lust and desire, if not more.

Your hips moved against his, differentiating among grinding to shallow movements of up and down, the tip of his cock kissing the spot inside of you that had you mewling and moaning.

“Just like that, doll.” His lips jerked forward, enclosing them around your nipple, biting and flicking the sensitive buds that got you moving a bit faster—more of his length leaving your entrance before you slammed back down with a high-pitched moan, “Doing so good baby, like a goddamn angel.”

“Oh, my god!” You threw your head back and arching your back as the pleasure became more and more intense with each bounce.

You were a sight for sore eyes—his eyes only.

Your tits moved up and down with your bouncing. Your chest and neck were covered in his purplish-blue love bites. Your hair was a tousled, gorgeous mess from where his fingers were tangled only minutes ago. Your legs were shaking on either side of him, but your pace never let up. Your stomached bulged with the intrusion of his length every time you sat flush with his cock deep inside of you. Your fingers tightened against his. And your mouth, letting out the unholy heavenly sounds of an angel sent from above just for him.

“Perfect fucking pussy, baby,” He muttered fervently, feeling every flutter you let out around his painfully hard cock. Everything about you was fucking perfect, “This pussy was made for me sweets, just for me. S’fucking tight and sweet.”

The dirty words only spurred your hips to move faster, wanting and needing to feel him deeper, to bring the both of you pleasure. But you were starting to get overwhelmed. His happy trail, rubbing against your clit, heightening your pleasure. His heavy balls slapping your ass every time your ass met his thighs. It was so good, but almost too good that you couldn’t get a hold of it.

Eddie couldn’t take his eyes off of you, sweat glistening over your body as the moon shone in and illuminated every inch of your skin. You were already so fucked out, and he could tell just by the way your body began to fall limp and your bouncing faltered every so often. The hold you had on his fingers loosened up, and he knew from he tell-tale signs that he was going to need to take over.

“Fuck! P-please, Eds…give it t-to me, please,” The low whine erupted from your mouth as you fell forward, forehead resting against his while your arms wrapped around his neck, needing his body closer than ever.

He didn’t hesitate, nodding against you, as his arms wrapped around his body and finally he thrusted up into you, “I got you, baby. Just relax and take it.”

You didn’t have to be told twice.

From this position and with Eddie in charge, he was able to get deeper, hitting the spot inside of you over and over again, as you shut your eyes tightly and bit your lip with a strained squeal, leaving you. Eddie’s breath fanned over your face, praises directly spoken to you, so sweet and obscene, coming from the only man who could do and give it to you right.

“Just like that! Please don’t stop, Eds… right there!” You stuffed your face into his neck, crying out in pleasure with your fingers pulling at the hair on the nape of his neck ever so slightly, trying not to hurt him.

“Not gonna stop, baby.” He guaranteed you, groaning as he gripped your ass in his hands, pounding you harder and deeper as your moans in his ears fueled him further, “Not gonna stop until you're cumming around me.”

It was so much better with Eddie in control, not that you didn’t like being in control of your movements, but Eddie just knew. Knew exactly how to get you shaking and panting without even trying too hard. And you could tell he was putting you first, rutting into with slow and deep thrusts a contrast between your fast and rhythmic bounces.

“That’s the spot baby?” he buzzed, nipping at your earlobe, easily finding the little spot that reduced you to shambles. He pushed his cock further, holding his breath, the pulsing and writhing of your body nearly pushing him over the edge. But you came first—always.

One of his hands left your skin to trail up your spine, tangling in your hair to pull you away from the crook of his neck to get you to meet his eyes. Yours were a mix of cloudy and emblazoned at the same time, under the spell of everything that Eddie was.

“Awww sweetheart,” He cooed lowly, licking his lips at the sight of your fucked out self, “You close, doll? I can feel you squeezing me so fucking tight.”

“Mhmm…” You cried out, knitting your brows in concentration as you focused on the feeling of your high teetering closer with every single breath you took, trying to ground yourself, “So close, Eddie…m’close p-please let me cum. P-please, baby.”

You were more than willing to beg, wanting nothing more than to let Eddie control every ounce of your pleasure. And, Eddie, thought your begging was out of this world, something that could make him burst right now, but he didn’t want you to beg. At least not tonight.

“Don’t have to beg for it baby, do it for me, please?” He pushed his forehead forward to meet his, staring deeply into your ocean of colors, he could practically see the fireworks erupting and short circuiting as you moaned noisily, “Let me see you cum, sweetheart…be a good girl and let go.”

And that was all it took for you to cum, wailing and moaning as you unraveled, and your orgasm hitting you so hard and fast, you could almost feel your whole body heating up and energy draining with each wave of pleasure that burst through you. Eddie’s thrusts were never stopping, reducing you to a slumped, eyes rolled back soul as you let the feeling eat you up whole.

“Motherfucker, m’close doll,” Eddie growled as you continued to squeeze down on his cock, pussy clenching over and over again as you took a shaky breath, wanting him to cum for you—to feel the same high he made you feel.

Your eyes fluttered close for a moment, voices in your head telling you to focus, to get Eddie there, “P-please, Eddie, want you to cum so bad.”

Finally, you snapped them open, meeting his lips with a tantalizing, searing kiss, biting his delicate skin, just enough to make the hair on his arms and neck stand up. You were intoxicated on pleasure—the feeling coursing through your veins and you were pretty sure you were more than able to release again.

Anything for Eddie.

You breathed slowly, taking in the view of Eddie’s forehead and brows scrunched in concentration, causing a gasp to rip out of you every so often as his length hit the deepest part of you, “I-I was so good for you, Eds, don’t you think I deserve your cum?”

“S-shit, you can’t say that kind of stuff, doll,” He panted, shaking his head, trying to get ahold on himself, as perspiration beaded on his forehead, his limbs quaking as he was getting closer and closer guided by your voice.

“Cum inside me, Eddie” you panted nodding your head to give him the permission, “Want every. drop. inside of me…please baby.”

Your fingers rattling as they combed through his hair tugging him in to close the space for a kiss. He grunted in surprise at the fervency shown by your lips and tongue. Your legs used whatever energy they had left, meeting his thrusts from below you and ignoring the burn in your bones.

Eddie moans intertwined with your own sounds as he felt your walls convulsing around him once more. His length burrowed deep inside you with shallow thrusts and he knew the both of you were near again. “Cum with me, doll…one more sweetheart.”

And that was all it took—your moans being swallowed up in his mouth as reached your third earth shattering high of the night with your man nestled deep inside you.

Eddie’s cock twitching and then spurting once, twice, three times inside of you as his warm cum spread deep within you as you sighed, with him muttering profanity against your lips, “Sweetheart, you’re so perfect….so fucking perfect princess…”

His bedroom now filled with the sounds of both of your heavy breathing and the light wind brushing in through his windows. Sticky skin clung to each other as you basked in the moment in each other arms where you had collapsed into his chest, his rapid heartbeat echoing in your ears.

His warm hands dancing around your bare back, massaging and kissing your skin with sweet touches to bring you back down. But you knew that when you were with Eddie, he took you to another universe, one that you never wanted to leave.

Your own fingers felt his erratic pulse calming down where you traced the veins on his neck. His hair was a poofy mess from the humidity, but you were sure you looked just about the same, even more so, as your eyes adjusted and saw your lipstick mark peppering all over his skin.

“You’ve got lipstick all over you,” you giggled softly, brushing your thumb over the mark that you left on his collarbone.

He chuckled, bringing his palms to your face, tilting yours to face his, “Leave ‘em, I want them to know who I belong to.”

Your heart skipped a beat, remembering that Eddie was finally yours, not that he never was, but it just felt sweeter this way. “I’m yours too, Eddie.”

The two of you smiled, leaning in to share a more intimate and slowed kiss, knowing that there wasn’t anything or anyone that would come between you and this moment. When he pulled away, his fingertips nudged you back a bit, eyes trailing along your naked chest where he traced around the marks he left.

“I’m sure they’ll all know,” He commented with a smirk, making your eyes playfully roll as you settled your head back on his chest.

You two laid like that for a few more minutes. His member relaxing inside of you, making you feel like a furnace surrounded by him, the best feeling in the world, in your opinion.

“Should we shower in a little?” You suggested, voice soft as your eyes began to droop down slowly.

Eddie hummed, peering down at your sleepy state, brushing your messy hair down your back with his fingers, “In a little, doll…close your eyes and rest a bit.”

“Hmmm, okay….thank you, baby.” You whispered, letting yourself drift off to peace in his arms, a hazy dream already settling in as you felt a warm kiss placed on the top of your forehead.

“My pleasure, sweetheart.” He grinned, propping his chin on the top of your head as he closed his own eyes, reeling in everything that was you and perfection all in one.

With your bodies entwined you both knew that this was something special. You and Eddie were right where you both belonged. In each other’s lives and one another’s arms—a sense of completeness that would only get better and stronger with time, something that would never go out of style.

A/N: ummm soooo did y'all survive that???? LOL. credits to taylor swift for writing this fucking masterpiece of "style" that I want to inject into my bloodstream. at first this was not supposed to have smut but i said fuck it and went with it!!!! anyways, reblogs, likes, tags, and comments are greatly appreciated and i hope you all like this 💘✨💌 if you want to be added to my tag list, leave a comment and let me know!!!

taglist: @translatemunson @kennedy-brooke @manda-panda-monium @tvserie-s-world @givemeth @steveharringtonswife @fckthtgetmoney @loving-and-dreaming

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