You do not have to like Billy to understand that at the bare minimum Billy did not deserve to be abused or preyed on or violated or controlled or tortured or killed.
â¶After a lifetime of questionable decisions, you moved from the big city to the sleepy town of Hawkins with your best friend, and took the first job you saw: answering phones for the most boring auto shop in the dullest place on Earth. It wasn't exactly the adventure you wanted it to be.. but attempting to win over the jaded mechanic who insisted on ignoring your existence proved entertaining.â¶
NSFW â slow burn, eventual smut, strangers to lovers, flirting, mutual pining, angst, drug/alcohol mention/use, depictions of poverty, sort of grumpy x sunshine but eddie's just tired, reader and eddie are mid-late 20's
âYes.â A simple answer which spawned as many awkward scenarios, as it did great ones. Your name was spray painted on the side of a bridge, you spent nights learning to tango on abandoned rooftops, the amount of tales you accrued of bad dates could fill a self-help book.
Whatever the question was, the answer was âyes.â Life was more exciting that way.
Well, your policy usually lended itself to exciting adventures, anyway.
Currently, you were sat behind a desk with your boss, Mr. Moore, who slouched on his black stool with his cheek propped on his fist, pointing a pencil at a customerâs pink invoice sheet in front of you, explaining who to call in the spiral-bound catalog for the parts to be shipped.
The tall counter top partially obscured the both of you from employees and customers alike, but as you soon realized, the number of employees was slightly above two, and the customers even less; and if any of them paid you any mind, you couldnât tell from the disorienting mix of exhaust fumes, dirty oil, and grease wafting in from the glass door on the left.
Thus began the first day of your new job at Davidâs Auto Repair. Boring.
ââââ
Your second and third days were hardly different. Arriving at the butt crack of dawn and beginning the routine that definitely wasnât in the ad in the newspaper: clean the bathrooms (hey, at least they had two), start the coffee pot after scrubbing off years of neglect caked onto the inside, and organize the paperwork Mr. Moore left for you in his office.
Oh, and most importantly, after locking up your bike outside the front door, you made your way through the echoey workshop and poked your head out the back door to the parking lotâwhich, by all means, was a gravel alleyway with overgrown trees blocking your view beyond the sleek black car parked next to the dumpster.
âMorning!â you greeted the one employee who arrived early and stayed late. âEddie, right?â
The man leaning against the gray brick wall didnât bother acknowledging you. Didnât lift his head from its dropped back position, nor open his eyes. Definitely didnât take the cigarette out of his mouth to bestow you the gift of his chipper attitude, nor did he uncross his arms to offer you the bare minimum wave.
And much like the other days, you sat perched behind your desk and beamed up at him as he walked past you to the break room. And as usual, he slid his gaze to you. And like normal, he didnât say anything.
But he did hold your eye contact for a fraction of a second longer, albeit, he looked a bit frightened when he did, as if he were suspicious of your smile.
You listened to the clunk of his heavy boots fade down the hallway, then return with him holding a mug of coffee.
This time, as he walked by, he remained vigilant, and your grin went ignored by his stupid big brown eyes surrounded by envious lashes.
Lucky you, the reception area was essentially a glass cage. Behind the black pleather seats for customers was the glowing blue sky, and beside you were floor to ceiling windows showcasing the artificially bright garage where the man in grease stained coveralls twisted gaudy rings off his fingers and placed them on a tray with his coffee, before picking up a dirty rag and popping open the hood of the car he worked on past closing last night.
âYouâre welcome for the coffee,â you mumbled in a mocking tone, sneering at his red name patchâEddie. âJerk.â
ââââ
Friday was different. You locked up your bike, chucked your backpack into your chair behind the desk, and made your way to the back of the garage for the routine, âGood morning.â
For some reason, you decided to reveal your whole self; more than your head stuck out the door, or rising above the countertop customers leaned on when trying to schmooze deals on partsâhell if you knew how to do that, anyway. You didnât get paid enough to bargain.
You stepped onto the uneven gravel and surveyed the scenery, looking both ways down the alley to the major roads on either side leading to the heart of downtown Hawkins. Absolutely dismally silent. Void of life. Except for the small things you never noticed, like faraway birds, the hum of a distant motor, buzzing bugs before they disappeared for the cooler months. You felt the dew settling on your forearms, and swore you could smell impending rain on the cloudless day.
âIs it always this quiet?â you asked, face pinched in confusion as you took it all in. âI swear I can hear my own thoughts.â
Eddie may not have appreciated your joke, but he did surprise you.
He kept one of his arms crossed over his stomach, and took the cigarette from between his lips to flick the ashes. âYouâre not from around here, are you?â he asked the dilapidated fence across from him.
Feeling cheeky, you schooled the thrill out of your voice from getting a response out of him, and said, âWhat gave it away?â
A drag on his cigarette was his wordless answer. Fair.
âIâm from New York.â The implied City followed without clarification. âJust moved here last week. My roommateâs from Hawkins, and she had to move back to help take care of her parents. Theyâre older and her dad has some health problems, and yeah, I couldnât afford rent on my own, so you know, why not. Why not follow her to a town so small itâs impossible to find on a map.â
All your talking earned you a magnificent thing. Eddie finally opened his eyes, if only to pin you with a mild glare, and a skeptic pinch between his brows.
He said more to himself than you, âYou must really like your roommate to come here.â The inflection at the end was both amusement and contempt, no doubt.
âWe met in our first year of college and became best friends like thatâ!â You snapped. âBoth theater kids going to school for acting, and we later made a comedy troupe with a few other people. When she asked if I wanted to move with her, I said âyes.ââ Inclining your upper body towards him, you explained, âItâs sorta my thing. If anyone asks me anything, I say âyes.â Obviously, I can veto shit thatâs dangerous or crosses any boundaries, but itâs my policy to try everything. Life makes better stories that way.â
Your unique brand of wisdom furthered his obvious distaste for you.
Eddie inhaled his vice until the orange glow burned to the filter. Smoke fell from his mouth in a rush as if he were about to speak again, but he didnât. He merely stared at you. And if he were having a staring contest, he won.
âWell, have a good day, then,â you said, spinning on the toe of your shoe.
You sat in your glass zoo for the day shuffling papers, making calls, and filling out forms. Most definitely not talking to the guy who appeared annoyed at your very existence.
Unfortunately for him, Hawkins was tiny and the pickings were slim.
Maybe it was his eyes, or the way the short layers of his choppy hair cut escaped his low bun to curl themselves in face-framing waves, or the fact he was twenty-years younger than the other two mechanics, but you took a liking to Eddie, much to his dismay. And due to your affinity for his annoyance, you noticed the subtle changes in his appearance sooner than you should.Â
ââââ
Dark purple circles announced the lack of sleep under Eddieâs eyes before the bags could. Bloodshot and struggling to open past a sliver, he sucked down half his cigarette before the routine minutes of peace he carved into his strict schedule were interrupted by the newest knot in his muscles.
âGood morning!â you said.
âMorning,â he returned without thinking about it. Rookie mistake.
You stood closer this time, inching down the brick wall, approaching him as if he would startle like a wild animal to get a better look at the years wearing heavy on the fine lines etched into his face. Perhaps no longer âfine.â
âYou good?â
He didnât have the energy to put up his usual front. With his chin dipped to his chest, he kept his eyes closed, nearly drifting to sleep as he muttered, âLong night.â
âAh.â
Your clumsy shuffling alerted him to your movement, and he reluctantly observed you standing a few feet in front of him, rocking on your heels. He filled his chest with an incredulous sigh before you even spoke.
âYou seem like you could use some cheering up,â you beamed. âI could juggle for you! Should I do three or four?â Eddieâs jaw went slack, and the cigarette stuck to the wetness inside his chapped lips. You bent down to gather large rocks into your palms, opting for four when he didnât answer.
You stood up and stepped back. Made a big show of tracing invisible arcs above your head with your gaze, readying your hands. Sucking in a breath. Building suspense while his expression slowly crept into one of tempered curiosity.
Tensing, you tossed all four rocks into the air, and made a genuine effort to catch them before they fell unceremoniously around you, bouncing off the gravel in your scramble.
Clasping your hands behind your back in feigned shyness, you announced, âI donât know how to juggle.â
For a moment you thought he was going to continue to regard you as if you were a bug in his coffee.. Then his veneer cracked.
He snorted. The cute way, when someoneâs trying to suppress it. A subtle shake in their shoulders, keeping their head down, and their smile hidden behind the heel of the palm.
Eddie hugged his arm tighter over his chest, and chastised himself, âWhyâd I let that get me.â
And truly, when he flicked his gaze to you with the lopsided remnant of his grin, you were imprinted with the heat of his wonderment, and your body remembered that feeling. Sensing it later when you sat at your desk, tapping your pencil, rattling off a series of numbers and letters for engine parts, and you snuck a coy look over the phone at the exact moment Eddie turned around to ask Carl for a wrench instead of getting it himself from the tool box near the window.
And he felt your stare during lunch when you promised an irate customer their car would be ready by the end of business hours, and hung up the phone with the type of heavy-handedness one used when implying a âfuck youâ without stating it.
You pushed yourself from the desk and went to the fridge in front of the circular table in the break room, eyeing Eddieâs odd choice as you walked by. A bologna sandwichâfairly normalâbut also a stained orange tupperware container with an array of dried out microwaved leftovers. A corner of spaghetti, pale instant mashed potatoes with three peas stuck on top, unidentifiable sludge that may have been beef stew at one point, and a handful of Kraft mac n cheese.
Pitiful amounts of food that most people wouldâve thrown out.
Not that you should judge. Your lunch was the blandest rice-based meal your roommateâs mom made the night before. The woman had never heard of salt, much less other spices, but she was letting you live in their attic for free until you and Bobbie found a place to live.
Breaking your chain of thoughts, you smiled at Eddie on your way out.
He didnât look up from his paperwork.
Wholly ignored.
ââââ
Over the rest of the month, you learned there wasnât a definitive pattern to which days of the week were hardest for Eddie, but it was clear when he was enduring the worst.
As the evenings grew cooler, you left the lobby door open, and in doing so, were wise to the bite in his words, the edge to his voice. The quick apologies to Carl when he let his frustration show. The fluidity of âfucksâ flying past his mouth, the way he wrung his nape while staring into the distance, and the lurking stress of bottled emotions causing his teeth to grind.
He approached you with concern spurned from the windows being painted black with night.
âYou donât have to stay behind, you know that, right?â Eddie got your attention in the doorway. You blinked at him, still seeing the words of the book you were reading swim past your vision. âI have a set of keys. I can lock up when Iâm done.â
It was the most heâd said to you in two weeks. Three entire sentences composed of more words than heâd uttered if you added them all up since your juggling stunt.
âI donât mind.â
A meager response which resulted in a standoff.
Eddie wasted no time bunching his shoulders at your defiance. He left streaky fingerprints on the door handle as he reached for his neck, and tucked his fingers under his collar to run his thumb along his chain necklace in a self-soothing gesture. A layer of grime coated his skin. His disheveled hair stuck to his sweaty, dirty neck. The front of his coveralls were blackened with grease, as was the white tank top he wore underneath, peeking above the unfastened top snap.
On the other hand, you overturned your palms and glanced around the barren room. âIs it really that much of a bother that Iâm sitting in here being quiet?â you drawled.
âYes.â Automatic irritation.
âItâs not like I have somewhere to be.â
âDonât have a comedy routine to rehearse with your roommate?â he intoned in complete monotony.
âHa-ha,â you replied, just as emotionless. You thought about correcting him in regards to you and Bobbie no longer doing stand up, but decided to grab your backpack and leave without putting up a fight. His concern about you staying late may not be genuine, but it was evident he wantedâor neededâyou gone. You didnât want to push his boundaries when he showed this level of discomfort, especially when the burden of fatigue wore beyond acceptable exhaustion, and he was ready to snap, no matter how hard he tried to quell it.
You surrendered, âBye, Eddie.â
No reply.
In total darkness, you unchained your bike and hopped on, pedaling past the mailbox when you heard the thunderous slams of the service doors being lowered shut.
And you made it to the edge of the trees before coming to a screeching halt in the middle of the empty street, cracking your neck at the speed of which you whipped around to gawk.
Your heartbeat skipped, then timed itself with the extreme drum beat and opening wail of a guitar accompanied by high-pitched screamed lyrics.
The music may have been muffled, and the inside fluorescent lights struggled to penetrate the dense fog from the upper warehouse windows, but it was as if Eddie was subjecting the desolate parking lot to his own personal Judas Priest concert, hearing be damned.
You didnât even know the dusty radio in the shop worked. But whatever helped him blow off steam, you supposed.
ââââ
Today was a good day.
Eddie liked Fridays. Most people working weekdays did, but when he came inside early from his morning cigarette, and you hadnât finished sweeping the shop, he made a point to idle around the orange car at the center, seeking your attention and offering an apology. Not a spoken apology, mind you. But it was rare he initiated eye contact, and when he did it with the purpose of showing deference in his softened features, you understood.
You forgave him with a gentle lift at the corner of your lips for an incident yesterday afternoon, wherein he grunted at you to leave him alone when you were telling him about one of the plays you and Bobbie acted in. Sometimes you required your own reminder of when you were being annoying, and gave him an apologetic smile for bothering him. He nodded. All was right with the world. All was forgiven and now he could get to work.
He wiped his hands down the sides of his coveralls, and leaned his upper half through the open car window to reach the latch for the hood.
The perfect opportunity to mess with him presented itself in all its glory. But first, you couldnât resist taking a long.. long look at his backside, head tilted, mouth more than a little hung open.
âHuh?â He nearly banged his head on the roof, rounding on you with the sharpest glare in the Midwest.
Under the guise of perfect innocence, you kept brushing the broom over his work boots and toward the dust pan. âSorry, sir, just doinâ my job. Gotta clean up the filth.â
âAn actress and a comedian, huh?â he posed, allowing his smirk to foster as he gripped the edge of the door. âGonna tell me you were a clown, next?â
âActually..â You were interrupted by Carl coming in, followed by the near-retired Kevin who worked two days a week.
You greeted them loud and proud, overdoing it in the joy department at the ripe morning hour. Asking about Carlâs wife, and Kevinâs dog; really laying it on thick for the purpose of sending a message to the looming ghoul behind you: Iâm annoying you on purpose now.
Still, as you entered the lobby, you caught sight of the sneaky grin on his face before he turned his back to you. A tight-lipped thing he was clearly trying to rid himself of while pulling his hair back into a low bun, and taking the time to tie up a bandana to keep everything out of his face, thus losing his security blanket from the world perceiving he wasnât in a permanent bad mood.
And of course, Eddie kept up his act through lunch. Stomping through the lobby in that way people did when they were so very obviously trying to appear aloof, and coming across as anything but. Eyes staring straight ahead, but too wide and too aware to not be soliciting a reaction from their periphery. Chest out, muscles flexed. Posture the very opposite of casual, causing them to walk in a stilted manner like a robot.
And his charade continued when he came back from the break room, rounding the corner with softer steps. Slower. Hanging onto the precious milliseconds where your back was to him, and he could absorb your image freely without being noticed. Then, he lifted his chin and returned to his project, pretending you werenât there.
Yep, so painfully obvious when he forgot reflections existed and you were surrounded by glass.
~~~
Fridays were the days he anticipated most. Work was grueling, and he had many things to finish before the break for the weekend, but he didnât mind staying late. He preferred it.
Fridays meant he could rely on someone else handling the stressors at home, and he was free to earn his late hours at the garage, indulging in his loud music, and unwinding the constant state of tension lurking beneath the surface. It was the only way he knew how to cope. To stay sane.
Yeah, he loved Fridays. Until a surprise came running at him in her tiny pink shoes.
Eddie screwed his eyes shut and exhaled a long, hard breath through his nose.
âSorry,â came Wayneâs earnest apology as his nephew wilted; shoulders sagging, head hung. Tapping the wrench he was holding on his thigh. Trying his best to keep it together. âDonât mean to drop âer off on you, but work called me in, so I came here after picking her up.â
Turning away from the engine he was installing, Eddie assumed his authoritative voice, but it came out as a weary sigh. âAdrienne, you know the rules,â he warned lowly, âNo running in the shop.â After a beat, he corrected himself. âI mean, no being in the shop at all!â
She giggled as she skipped away from him, sloppy pigtails bouncing with mirth, plastic glittery shoes slapping the concrete floor where a myriad of items she could trip on laid.
âAdrie!â He called out, but she was too busy opposing him to pay attention.
Lucky for her, a certain receptionist caught her by the shoulders before she crashed into a rogue tire.
âWhoa there, little Miss!â
You looked to Eddie for further instruction on what to do with the girl currently laughing up a storm at your feet, but he was frozen. A bit paler, and wringing the back of his neck. Unable to articulate any of the broken consonants on his tongue as he stared at you. You switched your gaze to the older man beside him, but he was equally confused as to why Eddie was having trouble speaking.
Addressing anyone who would like to volunteer an answer, you asked, âAnd whoâs this?â
âThis.. This i-is my daughter. She, I, GoddamnitâIâm sorry, can you take her inside? I swear sheâll be quiet. Right, Adrie?â
Seeing the pure desperation settle around his eyes, you assimilated into the role of babysitter, wanting to alleviate his anxiety despite the sudden surge of your own. You held your hand out for her to take, and she did so without a second thought, grasping onto you with her little fingers and standing up, being the one to lead you to your desk.
As the door closed behind you, you overheard the older man clear his throat under the strain of bad news. âThe water heater is broken again, and I couldnâtâ ..Before I had to leave.â
Their private conversation was sealed behind the glass. You didnât care to eavesdrop. It was too heartbreaking watching Eddie frantically catch his fingers on his bandana before removing it so he could tangle his curls into his fist, tugging them over his face as he groaned in a fruitless effort to hide himself from the world.
But on the subject of his brunette waves..
His daughter had the same curl pattern. Almost the same cut, too. Clearly Eddie was the acting barber of the family. Something youâd find adorable if it wasnât for the pang of rejection in your stomach.
Daughter. Family.
The words repeated themselves in your head as your eyes wandered to the black tray beside the tool cabinet. He wore several large rings. Lots of jewelry, in fact, but you couldnât remember if any of them were a wedding band, and the embarrassment of developing a crush on a married man for weeks without taking two seconds to cross reference his left hand burned your cheeks hot.
âHi,â his daughter said cutely, swaying from foot to foot while holding two of your fingers.
You crouched to her level. âWanna draw while we wait?â She nodded, sucking on the tip of her thumb.
Steadying your spinny office chair while she climbed into it, you made sure she was comfortable before bringing out the black stool from Mr. Mooreâs office, and sitting next to her. You opened your backpack, flipped to a clean sheet in your sketchpad, and presented it to her along with your colored pencils.
âHmm, what should we draw?â
Adrie snatched the bubblegum pink color, and began her masterpiece. âMrs. Teresa read us a book about a mouse.â
Thank God she said it was a mouse, because you didnât want to be the one to guess what the two oblong circles on the page were.
Adorably, she filled you in on the parts of the story she remembered, and added a triangle of yellow cheese under the mouse, then waited for you to prompt another thing to draw. You followed the nocturnal theme and asked for an owl. She hesitated on what colors to choose, and you helped her pick out the shades of brown and tan.
âHow old are you?â you asked while she inundated her bird with too many feathers.
âFour-and-a-half,â she said proudly. âHow old are you?â
You raised your brows. âCertainly not four-and-a-half.â
At some point, your arm had wrapped itself around her. Maybe to help shift her closer to the desk. Maybe to collect her in a pseudo-hug when she completed her art. Maybe to let Eddie know everything was okay when he craned his neck to check on you while conversing with the man outside, and you put on your best face, grinning at the story his daughter reenacted about a cartoon she watched that morning at preschool.
âWhat next? What next?â
âLetâs see.. Can you draw me a bat?â
She was more sure of herself, grabbing the black pencil and outlining an entire colony of bats mid-flight with more attention to detail. âMy daddy has bats.â
âHe has bats?â you questioned, sweeping loose hair out of her face.
She pointed to her elbow.
Thinking on it for a moment, you perked up. âOh! He has tattoos?â She recognized the word, nodding vigorously. âInteresting, interesting.â
Sheâd hardly begun to fill in their wings when Eddie opened the door, and held up the comically small backpack slung on his arm, signaling it was time to leave.
You helped her down from the chair, and she excused herself to the bathroom, which only contributed to the awkward silence when she disappeared down the hall and Eddie was forced to wait at your desk.
It didnât have to be analyzed, nor stated. The reality.
He had an entire life outside of work.
Duh. Of course he did, but still. It was one he never shared with you. Not like you earned the privilege to know, or to be included in anything he didnât want to divulge, but with how private he was, it came as a surprise.
Invoking the thousands of dollars you spent on acting classes, you moved on, and kept your tone light, âThe butterfly backpack suits you. Not sure about the color, though. Bright pink clashes with your navy blue outfit.â
Tough crowd.
His sulky demeanor permeated in his dull gaze trained on his stained sleeves. âIâm sorry.â
âWhat for?â
âDumping her on you like that. Normally my uncle has the day off work and can take care of her, but heâs gotta go in because someone called out sick, so, yeah..â
If it were at all appropriate, you would reach across the countertop to soothe him from picking at his torn cuticles. But it wasnât appropriate. So you didnât.
You locked your hands behind your head and leaned back in your chair. âFunnily enough, I worked a brief stint as a clown for childrenâs birthday parties, so Iâm actually quite comfortable entertaining them.â
âIâm shocked,â he said, void of shock. Finding the strength to lift his eyes from the animals she drew on your sketchpad to the encouraging curve of your lips, he tried to match your grin, but it fell flat. âAt least you can go home on time today.â
You sucked in a breath for a quick retort, but Adrie interrupted you in her tiny voice, âDaddy! I canât reach the sink!â And maybe that was for the best before you humiliated yourself more.
Because, the truth of the matter was, you always had the ability to go home on time. It was only because Eddie stayed behind that you made excuses to sit at your desk past your scheduled hours, prattling off some nonsense about memorizing the catalog.
âCâmon,â he said to his daughter, supporting her on his hip. âLetâs get going.â His tone wasnât unkind, but it wasnât exactly patient, either. The creeping exhaustion he kept under wraps was breaking through. Stress fractures in the mask he wore around others. The sanity he gripped for dear life for the sake of Adrie.
He caught the empathetic pinch between your brows, and used the last of his energy to turn so his daughter could see you. âSay âbye,â and âthank youâ for playing, Adrie.â
She waved with the same enthusiasm as a golden retriever wagging their tail. âBye! Thank you!â
âBye, Adrie,â you laughed. âBye, Eddie.â
Like usual, he didnât respond. Today that was okay.
ââââ
Eddie was on the verge. He was trembling, failing to loosen a bolt on the water heater to investigate why it brokeâagainâwhen his hair was yankedâagainâand his knuckles scraped a bent piece of metalâagain.
He was kneeling on his kitchen floor, craving nothing more than a shower to wash away the work week until his skin burned, but he was not afforded the simple luxury.
No relaxation. Not for him. No one to call on when Wayne was gone. This was his life to fix. On his own.
After repairing cars all day, he was exhausted. Touched out. But Adrie needed something from him, something he couldnât understand with his tired mind. All he wanted was a break. All he needed was a break from her using his coveralls to scale his body. All he sought was the energy to deal with her pulling his hair.
But he was not spared the fortune.
âAdrie, please,â he resorted to begging. And when she didnât stop, he withdrew his arms from the closet, and pried her hands off his hair, peeling her away and setting her on the floor.
She made to grab him again, but he used his waning strength to squeeze her arms to her sides, giving her his full attention she fought for.
âCan I get you a snack? Or put something on the TV? Do you want a nap?â He listed off anything, shaking and desperate.
âI wanna play with Daddy.â
Guilt amplified the shame.
He was a shit dad. He knew. He did his best and it was never good enough.
âI know you do,â the words fluctuated in the wake of water stinging his eyes. âI know you do, but Daddy needs to fix this. I can make you a snack and you can eat it in the living room. How âbout that?â Under normal circumstances, that wasnât allowed. She had a penchant for dropping sticky food on the carpetâwhich was just another thing heâd have to get around to cleaningâbut he was willing to bend the rules for the promise of a shower.
Adrienne thought about his offer for a long while, and settled on his deal.
And yet, it was hours.. hours until he was able to sit down.
The water heater required more service than he initially thought, and his daughter wasnât entertained by herself for very long. She came to him in intervals of minutes, climbing up his back and hanging from his neck. He stopped caring. He didnât have it within him. He made sure she was safe, and that was it.
He fed her a dreadful dinner, and she was so happy for her overcooked noodles in pasta sauce. He saved the leftovers. Put them in the nearly-empty fridge and took out two beers for himself, cracking the tops before sinking into the couch.
Adrienne stood between his legs while he wrapped her in her favorite blanket, and placed her in his lap. The top half of his coveralls were tied by the sleeves around his waist. No matter how dirty he was, this was how they ended the night. Him staring blankly at the TV, and her cheek on his chest, ear pressed to his white tank top, listening to his heartbeat. Curling her fists into her tattered quilt in response to him nuzzling the top of her head, and resting there in a content hum. Closing his eyes. Turning off his brain. Tipping back swigs of beer until he felt better, and giving her kisses until she giggled and squirmed.
The kisses were as much for her as they were for him, giving and receiving the only affection in his life. Apologizing for earlier when he couldnât stand to be touched.
Her hug was small, yet powerful. Clumsy, but what he needed. Another person to gather in his arms and have their weight fall asleep on his chest.
He collected Adrie, and gave her a few more doting kisses while carrying her to bed.
âStay, Daddy.â
Sometimes he did, just to have a real bed to sleep in, but with how long it took to fix the water heater, there was only enough hot water to bathe her. Heâd have to wait until the morning.
âNot tonight, Daddyâs still dirty from work.â
It hurt to walk away. It hurt more to sleep on the lumpy couch. Hurt worse when Wayne came home to crash on the roll out bed, and the sun funneled through the windows, and the day started all over again.
Hurt the most when Eddie thought about the surprised look on your face when you learned he had a daughter.
Hurt the least when he imagined a world in which you wouldnât care, and still flirted with him come Monday morning, because fuck, it was the only thing he looked forward to after Adrieâs meltdowns on the way to school.
Synopsis: Dustin has a cool, new friend (you). Steveâs feeling threatened, perhaps even a little jealous. The fact that all he really wants to do is kiss you doesnât help.
Warnings: enemies-to-lovers, cursing, a little angst, more than a little fluff, some hurt/comfort, kissing!
Word count: 10.3k
a/n: very excited to share this one đ„č
Youâre hidden in a sea of plastic.
Cellophane, the technicolour kind, iridescent, blushing teddy bears, precariously balanced stacks of gift boxes and novelty items. Artificial bouquets saturate the counter in front of you, their thick, resin coat scintillating rays of sunshine.
You wrap a large, reduced-to-clear sticker around a bunch as you pick them up, offensively red letters bright enough to induce a headache.
You sigh, then, bringing your fingers to your temple on instinct. Gentle pressure, though the dull ache permeates. Like the static that buzzes through the air before a storm; a forewarning, a bad omen, a harbinger of disaster.
And then, a pocket-sized distraction enters the gift store.
âWhat do you have for me?â The boy asks in lieu of a greeting, his mess of bronze curls secured underneath a baseball cap.
âHello to you too, kid,â you say mildly. Heâs a ball of energy, as per usual; everything from his backpack to his knobbly knees bouncing as he walks. The former rocks against a sparkly card stand, a table decorated with breakable vases, expensive candles. You sigh, again. You add, âWould it kill you to be careful?â
The space between the boyâs thick eyebrows creases. He places one of his hands on the front counter firmly, cutting you one of those shrewd, almost-glares that say, ânot the timeâ, and perhaps also, âreally?â
âWhat do you have for me?â He repeats impatiently, his free hand fishing for spare change in his overalls. When he removes it from the front pocket, itâs to scatter a suspicious number of quarters onto the counter. A fair bit of dusty lint, too, some lonely pennies that burn ochre in the sunshine.
You hazard a guess at the amount of money heâs offering, landing somewhere between needing your staff discount and just plain stealing. âFake flowers?â You offer hesitantly, waving the fluorescent bouquet in the air.
He frowns thoughtfully. He picks at the reduced-to-clear sticker tacked to the green stem. âHow much?â
âFree,â you answer easily, though thereâs a lilt to your tone, bright eyes twinkling mischief as you lean in a little close. âOn one condition.â
Over the past few weeks, the young boy has frequented the store more often than every other patron combined. Whether to purchase a tacky postcard or novelty teddy bear, heâs perused the stacked shelves enough to stir your interest.
He owes you an explanation, introduction notwithstanding.
The curly-haired kid groans, he mutters a fair few, carefully chosen expletives, and then, he flashes you a smile that doesnât quite meet his eyes. When he speaks, itâs through gritted teeth, features pained as though he hates you.
He doesnât. Heâs a second away from disregarding every single thing he thought he knew about teenagers. About almost adults; people Steveâs age (he loves Steve), people Eddie should have graduated with (he worships Eddie), you.
âName it,â he says finally, albeit begrudgingly.
You raise your eyebrows at his tone, taking a pause to search his features. The silence stretches, and his irritation piques, as though each second that passes is ageing him faster than it is you. Dustin Henderson is incapable of maintaining a poker-face. You find yourself strangely endeared by this revelation.
âFirst,â you start primly, relaxing your expression. âYour name.â
âDustin,â he answers impatiently, tapping his fingers on the wooden counter. Heâs fidgety. Itâs mildly amusing. âThat it?â
âNo,â you say then, âtell me about the girl youâre buying these for.â
And perhaps itâs the genuine warmth you radiate, the soft, almost reverent way you say the words. Perhaps itâs the way your smile lifts your cheeks. Youâve dipped your head to eye-level, now, and perhaps itâs the way all your attention is on him.
Whatever it is, Dustin feels impossibly at ease. He deflates his lungs of expired oxygen, and when he takes a breath in, itâs in preparation of release. âSo,â he starts, making a split second decision to tell you absolutely everything, âI met Suze at summer camp.â
You realise fairly quickly that Dustin Henderson is a force of nature. Once you get him going, thereâs really no way of stopping him, and the weeks that follow your formal introduction are clear evidence of this fact. Biweekly visits become twice daily, minimum, filled with long-winded stories, questionable detours with no end in sight. And you learn several things about him, along the way; the kids he hangs out with, that one game he plays. The group of freaks (his words, not yours) that created his favourite school club, his girlfriend, his mom, everyone in between.
The latter of which includes Steve Harrington, apparently. As in â the same âKing Steveâ youâd shared classes with at Hawkins High; been ignored by, dismissed, promptly forgotten about after graduation.
Youâd be lying if you said Dustinâs relationship with him didnât perplex you. Steve Harrington didnât seem the type to entertain dorky freshman â especially not to the extent that the young boy often described. Rides to the arcade, free candy and girl advice; he seemed as invested in Dustinâs life as you were, and perhaps a secret part of you felt a little threatened by his presence.
Like a few minutes ago, for example, when Dustinâd entered the store with a â âJust came from Family Video, and you wonât believe what Steve found tacked to the front window.â
Youâd tuned him out on realising you werenât getting a word in, though perhaps it was time to tune him back in.
ââŠso, anyway,â he continues, on the tail end of an hour long rant. Something about the constituents of the cinematic experience; instead of listening, youâve been counting the number of times he uses the word âambienceâ. âWeâre planning on checking it out tonight. See if the open air gets us some more ambience,â you add another line to your mental tally. âYou in?â
âHm?â You mumble on instinct, tearing your eyes away from the greeting cards youâve been organising. Thereâs a thick sheen of glitter coating your forefinger and thumb, raising iridescent dust as you bring your hand to your neck. Kinking slightly, you give your shoulder an absent squeeze. âIn for what?â
Dustin scowls. âWerenât you listening?â
âI was,â you lie, nodding your reiteration for good measure. âMovies. Ambience.â
âFucking hell,â Dustin mutters, sending you a pointed glare. âDrive-in. Tonight. Steve, the gang, me.â
You pause, replacing a tattered anniversary card with another thatâs newer, emblazoned with brilliant gold and silver. âRight.â
âSo?â Dustin presses, edging forward impatiently. His forearm brushes against the stack of cards, nudging them into a pocket of lemon sunshine. âYou in or what?â
âIn?â You echo, eyes widening with surprise. âTo come with you guys?â
Dustinâs never sought your company outside of shop hours. Especially not with all of his friends, with â
âBut what about Steve?â You add then, worrying your bottom lip.
âWhat about him?â Dustin asks, raising his eyebrows bemusedly. Thereâs a pause as he studies you, the kind of sticky silence that stretches. And the concentration creasing his brows, the thoughtful way he tilts his chin, itâs as though he knows the answer to his own question before you say it.
Except that he doesnât. Heâs caught you in a dreadful, embarrassing, misunderstanding.
âOh,â he enunciates, his mouth creating a loud oval. âNo, no, donât worry about Steve, he wonât try anything with you â heâs nothing like he was in high-school. Trust me.â
You resist the urge to grimace. Dustin doesnât appear to notice.
âThink itâs all the minimum wage jobs,â he adds thoughtfully, stroking his prepubescent chin. âTotally humbled him. Heâs like, super lame-o now, hangs out with us more than he does guys his own age.â
âDustin,â you say carefully, shaking your head, âI donât mean â he ââ
You falter, letting out a tired sigh. ââ I know he isnât going to hit on me,â you finish awkwardly. âI just wanted to â uh, he wonât mind? Me coming?â
Dustin frowns, features taking on a confused expression. âOf course heâll hit on you,â he says matter-of-factly, âyouâre like, textbook out of his league.â
âDude,â you scoff, rolling your eyes. âYou know we graduated in the same year, right? We even had math together. Didnât even look at me, let alone flirt.â
âNo, listen,â Dustin urges, practically climbing onto the counter in an effort to edge forward. His elbow knocks over the delicate stack of cards youâve created, showering the wood with polychromatic glitter. You wince. Dustin doesnât notice. âThatâs cause he wasted high-school pining over the wrong girl,â he adds, nodding his head loyally, âhe like, definitely wouldâve noticed you if he hadnât, and ââ
âDustin,â you interrupt, looking toward the fallen stack reproachfully. âI donât care. Have you asked your friends â asked Steve â if theyâre alright with me coming tonight?â
âWhy wouldnât they be alright?â Dustin returns smoothly; he thinks you wonât notice that he hasnât answered your question. Cheeky motherfucker. âTheyâre going to love you. Drive-inâs at seven, but for the love of God, get there early, alright?â
â
Steve watches Dustin amble down his porch steps, backpack swinging, mildly amused by the way heâs scrubbing the lipstick off his sunburnt cheek.
âYouâre making it worse,â he greets genially, watching the red stain bloom brighter with the heat of his palm. âRelax.â
âMy momâs the one who needs to relax,â Dustin mutters, hard set scowl on his features. âSeriously, whatâs with the makeup when sheâs staying in?â
âOh cheer up, Dusty,â he teases with a grin, watching him fish his walkie-talkie out of his backpack, sending a whoosh of static through the air. âPretend itâs Suzeâs, or something. Surprise visit.â
Dustin pauses, nodding thoughtfully. âYou know, Harrington,â he says then, reaching forward to fiddle with the car radio. âYouâre not as dumb as you look.â
Steve narrows his eyes, fixing Dustin with a pointed glare. âEver heard of humility, Henderson?â
Dustin smiles with teeth. âThatâs a big word,â he says, and though Steveâs about to open his mouth in protest, he knows any argument he makesâll be fruitless.
Because Dustinâs managed to sort through the static of his walkie-talkie, by then, tuned into the frequency him and the gang always use.
âVenkman?â He starts, bringing the contraption to his mouth conspiratorially. âVenkman, do you copy? Over.â
âCopy,â says a deeper voice then, thick and authoritative, âOver.â
âHey,â comes another, and Steve can here an edge to it, albeit crackly. âCâmon, dude, weâve been through this. Iâm Venkman.â
âShit, okay â fine. Weâll both be Venkman, alright?â
âBut ââ a sigh, a rustle, the second voice tries to deliberate, ââ alright, Iâm Venkman #1, and you can be Venkman #2 ââ
âWhat? Why do you get to be Venkman #1 ââ
âHoly shit,â interrupts Dustin, pinching the bridge of his nose frustratedly. âWe do not have time for this. Stop. Mike, do you copy?â
âCopy,â grumbles the second voice again.
âWeâre picking you up first, alright?â Dustin says, âLucas, youâre next. Be ready. We canât be late.â
He pushes down the springy antennae before they can respond, tapping the walkie-talkie against the edge of the window impatiently.
âOi,â Steve scolds, reaching over to halt his movements. âYouâre going to fucking break the glass. Stop.â
Dustin ignores him. âWill you step on it, Harrington?â He urges, eyes darting toward the sinking horizon. âWe canât turn up late after I told her to make sure sheâs early.â
Steve furrows his brow, confusion flickering over his brown irises. âWho? Robin?â
âWhat?â Dustin asks distractedly, waving a dismissive hand in the air. âNo, you idiot. Robinâs not even coming anymore. I invited gift shop girl, remember? I told you about it, her nameâs ââ
âGiftshop girl,â Steve repeats, setting his jaw firmly. âOf course.â
He isnât sure why you bring forth such unease. The first time Dustinâd mentioned your name in passing, Steveâd thought it sounded vaguely familiar â someone heâd went to Hawkinsâ High with. A beautiful someone, no doubt, who knew him as king Steve; as the cocky, insensitive guy heâd once been.
Not present day him; gentler, kinder, more patient. Perhaps a part of him resented that your presence tethered him to his former self.
Never mind the fact that Dustin Henderson acted as though the sun shone out of your ass; he adored you, point-blank worshipped you, and so what if this irritated Steve to no end? Sue him. He couldnât help but succumb to jealousy rearing itâs ugly head.
Dustin raises his eyebrows at Steveâs hardened expression, gaze falling to his iron-clad grip on the wheel. âWhatâs that face?â
âWhat face?â Steve scoffs intently, feigning nonchalance. âThereâs no face.â
âThereâs definitely a face,â Dustin decides, scrutinising Steveâs features with narrowed eyes. âIf this is about ââ
âItâs not,â Steve interrupts, sending him a warning glance. âDrop it. I definitely donât care that you invited her.â
âI never said you did,â Dustin answers carefully, eyebrows soaring.
âWhatever,â Steve mutters, drumming his hands on the wheel impatiently. âI donât care that sheâs really fucking cool and likes to listen to you talk about all of that nerdy crap,â he lowers his voice several decibels, words coming out a quick hiss, âor how she gives way better girl advice than me, apparently, because Iâve suddenly stopped hearing about Suze, and how the two of you are doing â but whatever. Itâs fine. Totally cool with it. Drop it.â
Dustin doesnât quite catch all of Steveâs rant; itâs barely perceptible, something about not caring (said in a voice that definitely cares), Suzeâs name and girl advice and ânerdy crapâ thrown in there.
âRight,â he says after a pause, clearing his throat awkwardly. âUh, Steve?â
âWhat?â Steve bristles, sending him an irritated glare.
Dustin raises his arms in surrender, nodding toward the stretch of suburbia to his left. âYou missed the turn to Mikeâs.â
Steve forces out a breath through gritted teeth. âShouldâve got giftshop girl to pick you up.â
â
The air is thick with the scent of forget-me-nots, sweet honeysuckle bathed in gelatinous humidity. The sweltering, Hawkinsâ heat has burnt the grass into neat, brown patches; they make the field far easier to navigate, create pockets of drive-in goers with spaces in between.
Although, you probably donât need them to find Dustin. Heâs loud as ever, wildly unabashed; you can hear his animated voice all the way from the carpark.
Steveâs back is turned. Itâs the first thing you notice as you near the group; thick, chestnut hair and broad-looking shoulders. Heâs wearing a swim-team jersey thatâs blue and red, it hugs his biceps, his firm torso, slightly frayed at the edges like itâs well worn in. It probably smells like him. Faint musk, spicy cologne, overwhelming chlorine; itâs one of the few things you remember about him, having sat behind him in a few classes, back at Hawkinsâ High. He used to be on the swim team â thatâs another thing you remember. The tips of his hair, fresh and damp, dripping beads of water onto the back of his chair, the edge of your desk.
You falter, blinking several times. Perhaps youâd seen more of Steve back in high-school than youâd let on.
âThere she is!â Dustin exclaims then, forcing you out of your reverie. He bounds over to you with a wide smile on his face, dragging you right into the heart of the huddle. He diligently introduces you to each of his friends â gangly Mike, shy Will, confident Lucas and his coolly disinterested girlfriend, Max. He ends with Steve, almost strategically. You arenât sure whether this makes you want to thank him, or throttle him for it.
ââŠand this is Steve,â he finishes smoothly, jerking a thumb toward the older boy beside him. âHe, uh⊠you know Steve, right? Graduated the same year as you?â
âRight,â you say with a nod, smiling awkwardly.
Steve doesnât return the gesture right away. The frayed edge of his jersey is far more interesting, the scuffed tips of his sneakers, the steely keyring in his hand. Itâs a bottle opener. He shoves it into his front pocket and straightens, feeling overly self conscious all of a sudden.
âOh, yeah,â he begins coolly, only then allowing himself to really look at you. Youâre startlingly beautiful up close, he realises fairly quickly, a beat passing, another, as he takes you in. Thereâs a shyness to the way your lips curve upward. Steveâs eyes fall to the column of your throat, lower still to the osculate where your collarbones kiss. He blinks. He begins to seriously doubt his perception of time and space.
âHey, again,â you greet.
Steveâs Adamâs apple bobs up and down as he swallows. âHey,â he returns.
âItâs â you probably donât remember me,â you add quickly, mostly because his response sounds more like a question than a salute. He doesnât remember you; why would he? Heâs Steve fucking Harrington, king of Hawkinsâ High, and youâre â âI was pretty low key when we were at school. No biggie.â
Steve knows he shouldnât take your explanation so personally. All youâre trying to do is diffuse the tension; heâs the one whoâs at a loss for words, staring down at you like heâs forgotten how to speak. Youâre really pretty. Why did you have to be so, very, pretty?
âWhat?â He defends, voice uncharacteristically gruff, âOf course I remember you. We, uh â we had that one class together in senior year, first period with⊠or, wait, was it third? The one Mrs Garcia taught, you sat right behind me with the ââ
ââ math?â you supply helpfully.
Steve frowns. âI was getting there.â
âRight.â
âIâm not ââ he falters, letting out a frustrated sigh, ââ why wouldnât I remember you? We graduated the same year. We took similar classes.â
You raise your eyebrows pointedly, cocking your head to one side. âYouâre King Steve. We didnât run in the same circles.â
âSo?â Steve scowls, folding his arms across his chest. You donât remember his biceps being so broad. Heâs worn this jersey on several occasions, in the past, and you definitely donât remember the sleeves being this tight. âThat means Iâm not capable of being a decent human being? Remembering all the people in my graduating class?â
You frown. âOkay,â you say then, looking to Dustin for support. âNow Iâm definitely confused.â
âWell, Iâm not that guy anymore,â Steve responds, a finality in his tone that hadnât been there before. âYou donât â you donât know anything about me, alright? So donât act like you do.â
âDude, câmon,â Dustin intervenes, sending him a reproachful glance. âBe cool.â
âIâm just saying,â Steve mutters, unfolding his arms to comb his fingers through his hair, âshe doesnât actually know me ââ
âYou know I have a name, right?â You interrupt, raising your eyebrows.
âRight, gift shop girl doesnât actually know me,â Steve corrects, speaking over your irritated sigh. âSo she should stop acting like she does, like â like she understands the dynamics of the group, or who I am, or who I might know, or might not know, or ââ
âHarrington,â Dustin cuts in warningly, âwe get it, alright? Drop it.â
He turns back toward you just as the crowd hushes, flashy, movie lights painting his grimace meek, apologetic.
âSorry,â he whispers, tugging you down onto the picnic blanket. The rest of the group busy themselves settling in, Steveâs large figure perched near the edge, beside Max and Lucas. âHeâs not usually like that, I swear.â
âDonât apologise,â you murmur, smiling softly.
Dustinâs sweet to think your exchange may have gone any other way. Sure, you hadnât expected as much hostility as youâd received, but youâd known not to anticipate anything more than mild pleasantries. Steve Harrington didnât waste his time on girls like you, even when he kind of, almost, shared a joint custody agreement with them.
âNo, seriously,â Dustin urges, unwilling to take no for answer. He shuffles closer noisily, toppling over a bag of sour patch kids as the opening credits roll. âHeâs being a total dingus. Maybe â shit, maybe heâs playing hardball because heâs into you, or something; the other day â you remember, right? When Suze was going on about that asshole computer whiz in her neighbourhood â he told me that I needed to âplay it coolâ, or ââ
âHoly shit, Dustin,â Max hisses, fixing the back of his head with a pointed glare. âShut the fuck up, will you?â
You bite back an entertained smile, reaching down to give his shoulder a pat. âDustin,â you whisper then, shaking your head bemusedly. âThink itâs a pretty safe bet that Steve Harrington isnât into me.â
âWhy?â Dustin questions with a frown, turning around to send Steve a momentary glance. âYou guys are both, like, old. And boring. And hang out with kids half of your age â so like, definitely sad and lonely ââ
âHey,â you interrupt, trying to mask your amusement. âItâs not so much that we hang out as Iâm the glorified babysitter you come to for help ââ
âDetails,â Dustin dismisses easily, and youâre really laughing now. Steveâs been eavesdropping on your conversation ever since all of you sat down, but youâre laughing, now, and the sound hits him square in the chest. Itâs the sort of gooey, heart-squeezing sensation that travels to the tips of his fingers, his toes; Steve watches your lips part, hears the laugh bubble through, and he realises that heâs in serious trouble.
Youâre like, really really pretty, have a pretty laugh, too, and now heâs thinking about how itâd feel to kiss you.
Itâs confusing. He should probably stop staring.
âDude, stop. Youâre embarrassing yourself,â Max mutters on queue, as though she can read his mind. (If that were true, and Steve was in trouble before, he canât even begin to imagine the carnage thatâd ensue.)
âWhatever, Mayfield,â Steve grumbles in response, tearing his eyes away from you laughing, glowing, looking suspiciously iridescent. âI donât get embarrassed.â
âYou should,â she responds mildly.
Steve narrows his eyes; he knows exactly where this is going. âDonât,â he warns, as if thatâll make any difference.
âI â I like â of course I remember you,â Max mocks, adopting an almost caveman-like register. âI, king of Hawkinsâ High ââ
âMayfield,â Steve forces through gritted teeth.
âUh, itâs not like Iâm being a total dingus on purpose,â Max continues gruffly, ignoring him. âItâs just â Iâm Dustyâs best friend and Iâm the one he always sits with, and ââ
âAlright, enough,â Steve interrupts, fixing her with a stern glare. His eyes dart to Lucasâ figure for support, receiving nothing more than a grimace and an apologetic shrug.
âSorry, dude,â he says, scratching the back of his neck. âThat was pretty painful to watch.â
âIt wasnât that bad,â Steve insists.
âWhat was with all the,â Lucas pauses, brow furrowing as he gathers his thoughts, ââyou donât know meâ bullshit?â
Steve frowns. He realises that he isnât sure himself. âShe doesnât,â he says lamely.
âAnd all the crap about the dynamics of the groupâŠâ Lucas continues, trailing off to cut Steve a look of clear exasperation, ââŠseriously?â
He allows for a meaningful pause, raising his eyebrows. âDude, weâre all, like, textbook losers. I donât think we get to be picky about who joins the group.â
âWhatever,â Steve mutters, stealing another glance at you and Dustin. Heâs close enough to you that his shoulder knocks yours, eyes glued to the screen as he whispers something in your ear. Something that Steveâs on the receiving end of, usually; a minuscule detail within the movie scene, a prop he swears been put in place deliberately. And when you nod along, murmur your approval, Dustin glows, and Steve feels another twinge of jealousy.
Heâs meant to be the super suave, role model slash friend. So he adds, âIâm the fucking babysitter,â because times like this one, it feels as though theyâre all he has left.
â
âWeâre closed,â Steve calls, having heard the rusty bell above the entrance door chime. He holds a neat stack of returned tapes to his torso, deciding whether Risky Business, near the top of the pile, deserved a spot on the chic flick shelf. (It does, he concludes after several moments of deliberation. Not only is it a total classic amongst the ladies, he has a pick-up line ready for the ones who frequented Family Video.)
âCut the shit,â comes Dustinâs response, the young boy trudging over, walkie-talkie in hand. âThis is serious.â
Steve raises his eyebrows, surveying Dustinâs figure with mild amusement. âTone, Henderson.â
âI need a ride,â Dustin says then, choosing to ignore his sentiment. As usual.
âDude,â Steve frowns, glancing down at the generous looking pile at his hands. âYouâre gonna have to wait, alright?â
Dustin shakes his head vigorously, jerking a thumb toward the exit. âSuze drama. Like, now. Need you to take me to the gift shop before it closes.â
âThe gift shop?â Steve repeats, narrowing his eyes. âIâm giving you a ride right into gift shop girlâs arms?â
âHarrington,â Dustin groans, dragging a hand down his face. He mutters a few expletives under his breath, digressing when heâs sure heâs lamented his dramatics. âCâmon. Not the time for you to get all jealous on me. Letâs go.â
Steve narrows his eyes, taking pause to survey Dustinâs body language. Heâs antsier than usual â shifting from foot to foot every five seconds, fidgeting with the walkie-talkie antenna, different knobs, and, on closer inspection, his bottom lip is chewed raw. Steve sighs. He says, âSeriously, you fucking owe me,â and he replaces the tapes in his hand with his car keys.
No bottle opener keyring.
He threw it away a week ago, at the drive-in movie, somewhere between trying to ignore you and memorising the faint bergamot, hint of lavender in your perfume.
âAlright,â he says once theyâre both buckled in. âWhatâs the Suze sitch?â
Dustin winces at the question, glancing down at his walkie-talkie sheepishly. He mumbles a response so soft itâs barely audible, something about an anniversary with suspicious ties to âthe L-wordâ.
Steve doubts that itâs a big deal. His mind wanders to reciprocity, to love confessions, and perplexingly, to you, and then he begins doubting whether he knows what does and doesnât constitute a big deal.
If there were ever a Universe where he said the L-word to you (not that he could L-word someone whoâs stealing his favourite kid from him â itâs just your stupid laugh and your stupid smile, the stupid way you make his heart flip-flop), he probably wouldnât want you to forget the anniversary of it.
âYou â alright, hold on,â Steve says slowly, looking over at Dustin. âYou forgot the I-love-you anniversary?â
Dustin winces, again. âYes,â he groans, burying his head in his hands. âAnd itâs all your fault, you know that?â
Steve turns into the complex the gift shop belongs to, parking his car right opposite the front of the store. âWhat?â He asks, frowning bemusedly. âHow the hell is this my fault?â
Dustin unbuckles tersely, practically running into the shop. The clock on Steveâs dashboard clicks forward, a minute before five just as he catches up.
âWell?â He presses, allowing the door to shut behind him. The store is artificially fresh, as though someoneâs blasted an old, air conditioner for hours, and smells disarmingly familiar, soft bergamot and faint hints of lavender. He hinges near the doorway. He tries not to think about whether the job comes with a cute uniform.
âYouâre the one who told me to play hardball,â comes Dustinâs voice from a sea of trinkets, effectively breaking him out of his reverie. âYou know â after that whole thing with Dave from computer camp?â
Steve furrows his brow, unsure how this relates. âSo?â
âSo,â Dustin repeats, sighing frustratedly. âItâs led to me forgetting our I-love-you-versary. I mean, shit, what do you even get someone to say sorry for that?â
âThatâs a little unfair,â Steve frowns, taking a tentative step forward. âI never told you to forget about ââ
âGive her some space, you said,â Dustin continues, voice thick with accusation. âSheâll come running back to you, you said ââ
âOof, pulling back like that when youâre already in a relationship?â Says another voice then, far sweeter than the last, though Steve doesnât want to think about that. âRookie mistake.â
âHow?â He argues stubbornly, heading toward the source. âPlaying hard-to-get always works. That shit is like, foolproof.â
Youâre leaning against the side of the front counter when he appears, hip pressed into the smooth, wooden edge. âMaybe for you,â you counter, raising your eyebrows pointedly. Somewhere behind you, thereâs a concerning sounding ruckus, no doubt Dustin toppling items as he makes for the discount bin. âDustin, dude, relax.â
âRight?â Steve says then, agreeing with you despite himself. âThatâs what Iâm saying. The little shit needs to calm down about this Suzie thing.â
âIn the store, yes,â you say, raising your eyebrows meaningfully. âIn general, no.â
And whilst half of you really does mean that â the L-word is a big deal, after all â the other half of you just really wants to disagree with everything Steveâs saying.
Maybe his dismissal at the drive-in had cut deeper than youâd initially anticipated. Maybe you wanted to make certain he knew you werenât interested in being friends, being more, with him, either.
Steve cocks his head to one side, folding his arms across his chest. âI donât get it.â
His gaze travels to the apron tied to your neck, the plain, white t-shirt youâre wearing underneath it. Itâs sitting a little funny on your torso at present, favouring your left side so your rightâs a little exposed. Thereâs a sliver of bare skin between your waist and hip, soft and unblemished, shaded from the heat. Steve unfolds his arms.
âI mean, Iâm of the opinion that the L-bomb dropâs a big deal,â you answer, shrugging easily.
Steve doesnât want to agree. The hem of your t-shirt has ridden up from the movement, tiny sliver becoming a far more devastating rectangle. Steve blinks. You angle back a moment to free your skin from the shade, sunlight bathing you aureate, and Steve almost agrees, anyway.
âMe too,â he says carefully, clearing his throat. âBut â câmon, no way him forgetting is my fault.â
âYou told him to play hardball,â you accuse.
âNot with this, though.â
âStill,â you insist, frowning stubbornly. âYouâre the reason the sweet kidâs gone off his game ââ
âHe didnât have any game to begin with,â Steve interrupts, scoffing his exasperation.
âHey!â Dustin calls indignantly, voice muffled a little by the novelty items that surround him. âUncool, dude.â
Steve grimaces. âSorry,â he calls, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. Heâs wearing a Family Video vest thatâs a size too small, with strong arms thatâd cover yours barely covered themselves. He looks overwhelmingly solid, rugged, handsome in that Hollywood way thatâd get you a âMost likely to be a movie starâ in the senior yearbook. The room shrinks. You can feel the heat radiating off his figure (as if thatâs fucking possible); has he always been this close?
You frown, feeling a perplexing set of butterflies erupt within your stomach. âHeâs a sensitive kid, you know,â you murmur pointedly, attempting to change the subject.
âOf course I know,â Steve responds irritatedly. âIâve known him longer than you have.â
âSo you should know,â you say then, raising your eyebrows at his tone. âThat he really does care about your opinion.â
You pause, stepping forward so youâre closer, so you can cast over every crease, every wrinkle on his forehead. âDonât know why, exactly, but he does. So maybe donât give crap advice thatâll lead him to me with like, five pennies and a dime?â
Steve scowls, inching forward subconsciously. âWhat do you mean âdonât know whyâ?â He asks, fingers raised in air-quotes as he narrows his eyes. Large fingers. âWhy wouldnât he come to me for girl advice?â
âShit, I donât know,â you respond sarcastically, âmaybe because you tend to treat girls like objects?â
Steve winces, shaking his head. âUsed to.â
âStill,â you bristle, still harbouring some petulance over the way he treated you at the drive-in, at the way he ignored you back at Hawkinsâ High, at the way heâs acting like he never did. âYou were all Skull Rock and parties and locker room make-out sessions back then.â
âThis is what I was fucking talking about before,â Steve sighs frustratedly, running his fingers through his hair. âYou â you donât know me, alright? Just because youâre familiar with some version of me, from back in high-school, doesnât mean you can waltz into my life and act like youâve got me all figured out.â
You let out an indignant scoff, and Steveâs gaze falls to your mouth momentarily. Youâre so close, now, that he can see silver specks on your lips, cosmetic grade glitter hidden within a thick gloss. It looks freshly reapplied, untouched. Steve tries not to think about how many kisses youâd need for it to wear off.
âAnd,â he adds; you purse your lips then, pressed tight and almost puckered, and he really really tries not to think about it. âYou also donât know anything about me and Dustin, how we roll, and all the shit we did before you came along. Like â the gift shop is cute and all, but ââ
âGuys,â Dustin interrupts, his panic rendering him oblivious of the fight thatâs ensuing. âHow about this?â
You turn to him just as he holds up an assortment of waxy candles â citronella, cedar and fir, fresh pine, old spice, pineapple. Steveâs right behind you, the groan he lets out under his breath rumbling through his chest, into your shoulder blades. Itâs fleeting, itâs a tendril of warm touch, but itâs electric.
âSummer camp smells,â he explains, looking between the two of you expectantly. âWell?â
Your gaze softens. Steveâs becomes a touch more pained.
âItâs perfect,â you gush, just as Steve says, âpathetic.â
You frown, deciding against turning around and demanding he explain. (Mostly because heâs so close itâs like standing near a furnace. You can feel the breadth of his torso behind you, hot static thatâs raising goosebumps along your skin. Itâs a nice feeling, perplexingly. If you fainted, right now, heâd had no trouble taking your weight. Maybe even carrying you to safety, strong arms squeezing you tight and promising stupid things about never letting go. Steveâs big. Heâs really, really close.)
âDustin,â you reiterate, shaking your head slightly. âItâs perfect. Seriously.â
Youâre exactly the right height. He realises, as he glances down at you, that thereâs a perfect amount of space between your head and his chin. Thereâs fire in your gaze, bottom lip jutting out obstinately, and Steve focusses on that instead of how perfectly you slot together. Except, that you look unfairly beautiful when youâre annoyed, and now Steve doesnât know what heâs meant to focus on, if not that.
âDonât listen to her,â he mouthes, shaking his head several times. âLame-o move.â
âBut why?â Dustin asks out loud, oblivious to Steveâs pointed glare.
âWhy what?â You echo bemusedly.
Steve closes his eyes, letting out a defeated sigh. âBecause,â he answers, and you shift ever so slightly in front of him, surface of your knuckles brushing his jeans pocket. The tips of his toes warm. âItâs way overboard. Sheâs gonna run the other way.â
You furrow your brow in disagreement, turning a little more so you can look up at him properly. âI donât think so,â you say. His eyes are disarmingly brown, rich molasses that lightens in the sun. âI think itâs sweet.â
âKid like Dustin, though?â He mutters, voice so low only you can hear. âCanât afford to be sweet. Gotta build up the heart-breaker rep before you can go all soft. Thatâs like, page one of how to get the girl.â
âBut heâs already got the girl.â
âAnd she has him wrapped around her little finger,â Steve explains, protective streak shining through. âCâmon â you have to admit that the kid does way more for her than she does him.â
You falter then, chewing your bottom lip thoughtfully. âHm. Guess I never thought about it that way.â
Steve furrows his brow, surveying your features carefully. He doesnât know whether heâs imagining the subtle shift in your demeanour; your voice is softer, gaze a little crestfallen. âRight.â
âLike, I donât know. I guess I just give him the advice I wish my exes had been given,â you continue, muscle memory prompting you to provide an explanation. âI forget that Suze isnât me, and Dustin isnât them.â
âI get it,â Steve says slowly, fighting the overwhelming urge to hug you. Heâs scared that if he does, he wonât know when to let go. âIâm guilty of that too, for sure. He ââ
âYeah, yeah, yeah,â Dustin interrupts impatiently, âIâm not you, either. Candles, people. Yes or no?â
Thereâs a beat before either of you say anything, a beat where you just look at each other, wonder whether the other personâs feeling the same way. Thereâs static in the air that surrounds you, it kisses goosebumps on your skin, something more in your heart. Your chest feels funny. You wonder whether Steveâs feels the same.
âMaybe just one,â you say finally, maintaining eye-contact with Steve as you do so.
âYeah,â he affirms after another moment, one more. âJust one.â
Dustin nods his approval, deliberating over the hefty pile in his hands. âGood idea,â he agrees, deciding on sweet citronella. âCompromise.â
â
The dinerâs busy, busier than usual for a Thursday afternoon, but youâre still able to hear the sound of your own slurping.
You leave a ring of pink gloss on the straw as you pull away. Condensation drips down itâs thick, plastic surface.
âIâm going to go grab us some napkins,â you say awkwardly, flashing him a smile you hope doesnât appear as pained as you feel.
It doesnât matter. Your date â some kid named Richie who slid you his number, half-smudged on a piece crumpled paper â isnât really listening.
âUh, yeah, sure,â he says distractedly, eyes glued to the small TV propped up above the Jukebox.
You sidle out of the booth with a small sigh, taking your time walking toward the front counter.
âWait a minute⊠no way, scoops, is that you?â
You stumble to a halt, lips parting in surprise. Her voice is a little hoarse, just as you remember it, and the nickname â
âBuckley?â You ask; itâs rhetorical, you can already see the grin on her face.
âNo fucking way,â she reiterates, pulling you into a tight hug as soon as youâve turned to face her. âWhenâd you get back to Hawkins?â
âA few weeks ago, actually,â you answer, smiling wide as you draw back. âHow are you?â
âFine, whatever,â Robin replies airily, separating to wave a dismissive hand in the air. âSame old. How are you? Howâs college? Howâs being back? Howâs everything?â
You let out an endeared laugh, shaking your head bemusedly. âGood, great, the lamest, okay.â
The clouds outside free the sun as she nods, and light streams through the window, painting her brown hair softer ochre. âNoted,â she says, linking her arm in yours. âListen, whoâre you here with? Maybe you guys can join me and Steve at the booth by the Jukebox? Heâs being totally absent because thereâs some stupid game on, or something, so weâll have a good chance to catch up without him interrupting us.â
âSteve?â You echo, faltering. âLike⊠Harrington?â
âOh, shit, yeah,â Robin responds, eyes widening sheepishly. âI forget that youâve gone so long. Yeah. Yes. Iâm friends with King Steve Harrington now. I know, right? Me? Steve?â
She takes a pause, clocking the skepticism transforming your features. âNo, listen, trust me,â she adds then, shaking her head reassuringly. âHeâs like, a completely different guy ââ
âIâve heard the Steve spiel already,â you interrupt, frowning. âFrom Dustin, from him â itâs whatever.â
âFrom⊠huh?â
âItâs a long story,â you sigh, raising your eyebrows meaningfully. âListen, donât worry about it, weâll have to catch up another time and ââ
âDude,â comes another voice then, far deeper. Your chest begins to feel funny. You donât want to recognise it as quickly as you do. âCome on â whatâs the hold up? Are they âoutâ of strawberry syrup again? Because, swear to God, if that stoner manning the cash register told you that ââ
âSteve,â Robin interrupts, mostly because heâs about to crash into her. âStop.â
Only then does he finally tear his eyes away, having made the walk to the front counter with them glued to the TV screen.
âWhat?â He asks, sending her a bewildered glance. Beside her, a blur of gold, amber hues, a stranger bathed in soft sunlight, wearing a pretty dress. Sheâs out of focus at first, but the familiarity of her perfume draws him in. Faint bergamot, patchouli, remnants of drive-in petrichor; heâd recognise that smell anywhere.
âYou?â He adds candidly, turning to you then. âWhat are you doing here?â
What are you doing here in a dress with spaghetti straps, low cut neck that heâs trying his best not to stare at? What are you doing here with lipgloss on, curly lashes, sparkly eyeshadow on that brightens your irises? What are you doing here, in this stupid, mundane diner, and why are you doing it whilst looking so, so pretty?
Your brow furrows at the question, and Steveâs fingers itch to smooth out the crease it forms on your forehead. Itâs annoying, almost unfair, the effect that youâre having on him. Steve knows what youâre doing here. Why arenât you doing it with him?
âUh,â you start awkwardly, rocking back on your heels. âGrabbing a milkshake?â
Robin raises her eyebrows knowingly, scanning the row of hidden booths behind you. âWith who?â
âNo one,â you answer, entirely too quickly.
âStop it,â Robin gasps, eyes widening excitedly. âYouâre on a fucking date?â
Steve tenses. His vision blurs around your figure, tunes in on subtle movements, tiny changes in your expression. Your bottom lip tucks between your teeth, pert nose flaring as you sigh your defeat. Thereâs a shyness to the way your grimace. Robinâs right. Steve feels an ugly pang of jealousy.
âItâs going terribly,â you concede finally, features twisting into a grimace. âHeâs more interested in the game than he is me.â
âPretty good game,â Steve reasons, feigning nonchalance.
You roll your eyes, scoffing your exasperation. âRight. Of course it is.â
âDitch him?â Robin offers, gesturing toward her table. Steveâs wallet and keys rest on its weathered surface.
âI shouldnât,â you sigh, sending your own booth a reproachful glance. âHeâs nearly done with his shake, anyway.â
âWhy shouldnât you?â Steve asks with a frown, clearly bewildered. âHeâs being a total ass to you.â
âItâs called being polite,â you say pointedly.
âScrew polite,â he scoffs. âAny loser thatâs ignoring you on a date doesnât deserve polite. Ditch him.â
Your lips part in surprise, momentarily disarmed by his honesty. âOh,â you nod, chewing your bottom lip absently. âRight.â
Steve resists the urge to grimace, blush blooming across his cheeks. âI just â you know what I mean.â
âI do.â
âGood,â he says, shoving his hands into his front pockets. He can feel Robinâs eyes burning holes into his side; he rocks back on his heels, he halts, he tries not to fidget.
He fails.
âGood,â you echo, watching him fiddle with the frayed hem of his crew neck.
âAnd, listen,â he adds then, deciding to bite the bullet at the last possible moment. âThe other day, the gift-shop with DustinâŠâ
He trails to a pause, letting out a breath of air. ââŠfor what itâs worth, I donât think you give him bad advice. Iâm just protective of the kid, you know? Donât want to see his feelings hurt.â
You nod, swallowing slightly. Steveâs eye contact holds an intensity thatâs almost devastating; it hasnât wavered, not once, and itâs turning your knees to jelly. The way heâs looking at you, now, it feels as though youâre the only girl in the world. If you asked Steve why, heâd tell you itâs because he means it.
Because you are, to him.
â
The arcade is a sea of fluorescence, bold yellow, indigo, green mixed with brighter cherry. The different games whir loudly, obnoxiously from overuse, the sounds they make juxtaposed by people yelling. Lots and lots of yelling â when they win, when they lose, when theyâre almost there, not quite, when theyâve made it to the next level; even when they havenât.
Dustin Henderson is very easily the loudest. You could find him in a crowd, with your eyes closed, if you wanted to. (To your credit, they very nearly are, at present, what with the overhead lights strobing at such an offensive speed.)
âHenderson!â You call, cupping your mouth with your hands. âCome on!â
Dustinâs eyes widen as he recognises your voice, and he searches the crowd blindly before finding you within it. âCome here,â he mouthes, beckoning you over urgently.
âNo,â you mouth back, frowning stubbornly. âHeadache. Come on.â
Dustin groans. âBut Iâm not done!â He yells, jerking a thumb toward the game.
Youâre halfway to responding, mouth open in protest, when a familiar, broad figure sidles in beside you.
âHey,â he greets, sending you a swift smile. âWhatâre you doing here?â
You crinkle your nose slightly, nodding toward Dustin. âWhat do you think?â
Steve frowns then, confusion transforming his features. His figure shifts a little as he angles toward you, the solid expanse of muscle on his arm knocking yours in the process. The tendril of touch sends your nerve-endings aflame, shoots up into your shoulder, your chest till youâre shivering.
âWhat?â He asks, furrowing his brow for good measure. âBut he asked me to pick him up.â
âHe â what?â You echo, eyes darting toward Dustin. âNo, he definitely asked me. Just the other day.â
You pause then, forehead creasing as you gather your thoughts. âFriday, 6pm sharp, donât be late ââ
ââ because my mom expects me home at 6.30pm so she can call grandma and get me to talk to her,â Steve finishes reciting, pinching the bridge of his nose frustratedly. âThat little shit. Iâm going to fucking kill him.â
As if on queue, Dustin (who mustâve been lip-reading from a distance) chooses that moment to amble over, features a little meek.
âHey, guys,â he starts awkwardly, rocking back on his heels. âSo⊠funny story ââ
âNope. Youâre walking home,â Steve interrupts, shaking his head with a perplexing amount of finality. Thereâs something strangely maternal about his disappointed expression; you arenât sure whether youâre supposed to find it this attractive. Your shoulders brush, again, the edge of his knuckles to your elbow as he folds his arms across his chest. Heat radiates off his figure, and you can feel his muscles vibrate as they tense. Okay â yeah, heâs definitely attractive.
He looks down at you expectantly, catching the tail-end of a pain induced wince.
âHey,â he murmurs, faltering. âYou good?â
âHeadache,â you answer dismissively, pressing your fingers to your temple. âNo biggie.â
âSee what youâve done, Henderson?â Steve reprimands, fixing him with a pointed glare. âYouâve given her a headache.â
âThat wasnât me!â
âEven worse, then,â Steve corrects, tutting his disappointment. âYou made her come all the way here with a headache when she definitely didnât have to.â
Dustin grimaces apologetically, scratching the back of his neck. âYeah, about that ââ
âDonât want to hear excuses, bud,â Steve interrupts, again. âApology would be great, though.â
âRight,â Dustin agrees, nodding his head vigorously. âOr â or even better, a punishment. I have to, like, walk home, or something.â
Steve raises his eyebrows. âI said that already.â
âExactly,â Dustin says quickly, turning back toward his huddle of friends. âSo â yeah. Iâll do that. Iâll walk home.â
âDustin, no way, Steve was kidding,â you insist, shaking your head. âWeâre not letting you walk.â
âYou have to. You â you have to like, teach me a lesson ââ
âOkay, stop,â you frown, searching his terse features carefully. âWhatâs going on?â
Dustin shifts from one foot to the other. He toys with the clasp of his overalls, scuffs the tip of his sneaker on the sticky linoleum.
âI ââ he pauses, squeezing his eyes shut as though heâs gathering the right words to say. ââ alright, so like, I came with the gang, right? And I asked you guys for a ride, like I always do, but then Eddie and the Hellfire Club got here, and like half of them can drive too, so I just thought⊠you know â I donât know â maybe one of them could ââ
âDustin Henderson,â you scold, cutting him a reproachful glare. âYou dragged both of us out of our respective houses, and now youâre saying it was for nothing?â
âI donât want to leave yet,â Dustin half-explains, half-pleads.
And Steveâs about to argue when you wince again, fingers flying to the knot of wrinkles between your eyebrows.
âAlright, you know what? Whatever,â he decides, unfolding his arms and letting them rest at his sides. The one beside yours twitches closer. âWeâre leaving.â
His fingers intertwine yours before you can so much as process the exchange, tugging you into his side before turning on his heel.
Above you, the fluorescent lights change again, an abrasive flash of colour that shoots right into your forehead. The ache within it intensifies ten-fold, and you find yourself leaning against him on instinct.
âIs it the lights?â He asks, unclasping your hand to wrap a strong arm around your waist. Heâs a solid expanse of muscle, firm torso juxtaposing the gentle way he holds you. You tuck into his side with entirely too much ease; feel almost feather-light, though perhaps thatâs because heâs carrying all of your weight. He uses his free hand to shield your eyes from the strobe lights, feels your forehead creases soften as you find temporary relief.
âMm-hm,â you manage, nodding your head ever so slightly.
âAlmost out,â he murmurs, a few beats from the exit. âThere we go. How does that feel?â
Significantly better, though you almost donât want to admit it. Youâre thoroughly enjoying being pressed up against Steve, his calloused fingers on your waist, his warm breath on your hair. His crew-neck is cotton soft, smells like familiar musk, math classes and drive-in movies and all those Steve things youâve committed to memory. You wouldnât mind being held like this forever. A little less clothing, a little more touching, and you definitely wouldnât mind being held like this forever.
âBetter,â you answer after a beat, peeling away from his figure reluctantly. âUh, thanks.â
âOh, yeah. No big.â
His sincerity makes you smile, and you do so, softly. âAnyway,â you say then, reaching into your front pocket. âI better head back home, try sleep this headache off.â
âWhat?â Steveâs eyes widen, and he shakes his head in quick, terse movements. âNo way. Youâre in no state to drive. Let me take you home.â
As though on queue, another pang of pain shoots down your forehead and settles within your eye sockets.
âBut,â you protest lamely, âmy car.â
âWe can get it tomorrow,â Steve insists, already wrapping his arm back around your figure. âCome on. Iâm taking you home.â
Above you, the velvet sky is moonless. The sun has long since sent, dark ink bleeding through gentler orange; itâs a welcome relief from the lights inside, soothes the miserable ache in your head.
âJust âround here,â Steve says gently, guiding you through the carpark and toward his pickup. âYou live on that cul-de-sac by Maine Street, right?â
Youâve been squinting at your feet (not quite on the ground; Steveâs like, really strong) for the better half of the walk, though the questionâs enough for your head to snap back up.
âWhat? How do you know that?â You ask, eyes widening bemusedly.
Steve halts as he nears the passengerâs side, grip loosening some so he can fish his keys out of his back pocket. The loss of support prompts you to lean against the door, cool metal sending a shiver down your spine.
âOh, I ââ Steve falters, having shifted his gaze from his keys back up to your face. Thereâs an inch, maybe two, of space between you; your eye contact is startlingly ardent, something sticky, almost electric in the air. You lean further back into his car, and your expression grows softer as the silence stretches. Youâre glowing. Thereâs no moon in the sky, barely any stars, but fuck if Steve needs them; youâre almost iridescent.
ââ from high-school,â he finishes finally, rubbing the back of his neck. âI used to see you go for walks along there.â
You raise your eyebrows, lips curving into a sweet smile. âYou remember that?â
âYeah,â Steve says, grinning sheepishly. His insides feel warm and gooey, all of the sudden; youâre smiling, at him, and he doesnât want it to end, ever.
âThatâsâŠâ you trail off slowly, looking up at him through thick lashes, ââŠI didnât expect that. Thatâs sweet.â
Steve feels himself blush, feels his heart bloom several sizes. âAlright, alright,â he says then, clearing his throat till heâs all business. âEnough about all that.â
He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you back into his torso, reaching around your figure to unlock the door for you.
The movementâs so quick you brace your hands against his chest on instinct. You try to control your breathing; try not to focus on his heady cologne, the warmth of his skin, how it appears to vibrate.
âThere, alright, get in,â Steve says hastily, acutely aware of the hand you rest over his heart. He tries to control how quickly it beats; tries not to focus on the feeling of your body, this close, your lavender shampoo, the sliver of bare skin above your waist.
You both fail.
âThanks,â you answer, pulling away reluctantly. He buckles you in once youâre settled, jogging over to the driverâs side to do the same.
âMaine Street?â He asks, turning on the ignition. The radio mustâve been blaring on his way here, because the action blasts loud bubblegum pop through the speaker. Steve winces his disdain, clicking it off before turning toward you worriedly. âShit, sorry, did that just make it worse?â
Your heart squeezes. He cares. âNo, no, youâre good,â you smile, pressing your head back into the headrest. âYeah, right by Maine Street. Geraldine Pass.â
â
Steveâs holding a half-eaten sandwich when you stir, having spent the better half of the last hour not quite sleeping, but not quite awake.
âShit, hey, howâre you feeling?â He asks softly, settling on the edge of your bed as you sit up.
âBetter,â you answer with a smile, nodding. You rub two fingers against your temple, eyeing the empty plate in his hand hopefully. âHungry.â
âOh â yeah,â Steve agrees, standing back up as you amble out of bed. Sleep creases the unblemished expanse of your neck, the contour of your cheek, the soft edge of your forearm. The pain meds have done you well; you arenât wincing, anymore, and this brings him great relief.
After dropping you home, Steve insisted he stay with you. He isnât quite sure why, but an irrational part of him told him he had to; had to help you up to your room, dim the lights, get you some pills and water, too. What if you couldnât manage yourself? What if something happened to you in his absence?
Steve would die. He knows that sounds unreasonable, kind of crazy, but he would.
âSorry, I ââ he pauses, glancing down at his sandwich sheepishly. ââ I hope you donât mind, kinda helped myself ââ
âTotally fine,â you dismiss, smiling. âWhatâs in it?â
Steveâs eyes light up, a roguish grin transforming his features. âWhy donât I make you one?â He asks, nodding toward the exit. âYou can guess.â
You raise your eyebrows, narrowing your eyes suspiciously. âYouâre gonna poison me, huh?â
âOh shut up,â Steve laughs, turning around to head back down. âCâmon.â
When you re-enter the living room, Steve insists you wait for him on the couch.
âNo peeking,â he warns, waggling his forefinger at you. âJust, like, chill. Iâll be out in a sec.â
You frown stubbornly, though you oblige, all the same, collapsing back into the cushions with your hands folded neatly in your lap.
It doesnât take him long to make another sandwich. He comes back into the living room with a proud-looking plate in hand, placing it into your palms before settling down beside you. He sits really, really close; thigh pressed into yours, shoulder almost tucked into your back. His eyes are an alarmingly deep brown, but a hairsbreadth away, you can see burnt orange within them, lighter yellow.
âAlright,â his breath smells like sandwiches and mint. You wonder whether thatâs how his lips taste. âTry it.â
You stare down at the sandwich for several moments before picking it up. When you do finally bring it to your mouth, the first bite is small, tentative as you try to gauge how itâll taste. Salty pickles, prosciutto, a burst of sweet pineapple. Burger sauce, maybe tomato sauce, too.
âShit,â you curse through a mouthful, closing your eyes as each flavour hits your tastebuds. âThis is good.â
Steve grins. âSee?â He teases, knocking your shoulder playfully. âGotta trust me sometimes.â
You know the phrase doesnât have a double meaning, but the more you mull it over, the more you realise you canât ignore it. You donât want to.
âI know,â you nod, angling your body toward him. Thereâs a disarming amount of sincerity in your eyes. You add, âI get it. The whole⊠you changing, thing, I get it.â
Steve swallows, and your gaze falls to his Adamâs apple momentarily. Thereâs a shadow of stubble on his jaw, his chin; rough and rugged in a way that juxtaposes his gentle smile.
âLook,â he says then, shaking his head slowly. âWe got off on the wrong foot. I didnât â I mean, sure, I was a little jealous of how much Dustin worships you, but I think a big part of me justâŠâ
He trails off, wincing. â⊠just didnât want to face someone who knew me as King Steve. Who hasnât seen all the shit Iâve been through the past few; who hasnât seen me grow out of that douchebag I was.â
âSteve,â you whisper, softening considerably. âI didnât mean ââ
âNo, it wasnât you,â he interrupts. âAt the drive-in movie, you were being nice. I was the one who screwed it up. I donât blame you for giving me the same energy right back.â
You nod, chewing on your bottom lip absently. âFor what itâs worth, I was only being rude âcause I didnât want you to think I was like, pathetic or something.â
Thereâs more you want to say, and the silence stretches as you gain the courage to do so. âI mean⊠youâre not the only one whoâs changed since high-school. We â weâre both way different now, and thatâs probably for the best, huh?â
âYeah,â Steve agrees, watching you take another bite of the sandwich. Remnants of orange, burger sauce stick to the side of your mouth.
âSo weâre good?â You ask then, gazing up at him through thick lashes.
âMm-hm,â Steve answers, eyes trained on the corners of your lips. âUh, here,â he adds awkwardly, reaching forward to wipe the sauce away. Itâs fleeting contact, but your breath catches, anyway; you can feel every rough, callous on his pad of his finger, feel the warmth of his touch long after he pulls away. His lips are probably softer than his hands. Theyâre probably hotter, harder, more impatient.
âBurger sauce,â he whispers lamely, fingers frozen mere inches from your face. Heâd leant in to wipe away the orange substance, but this close, he isnât sure heâs capable of pulling away. Your noses are a beat away from touching, his breath intermingling with yours, a little heavy.
âRight,â you mumble, feeling a little lightheaded. Itâs probably the fact that youâre not breathing, anymore. Steve moves a little closer. His warm forehead presses into yours.
âCan I kiss you?â He asks softly, tucking his fingers underneath your jaw. Itâs a gentle pressure, wonderfully firm, and he inches closer, gives you an almost, butterfly kiss.
âYes please,â you manage to answer; your noses touch then, and you can feel his thumb caress the soft expanse of skin beside your lips.
Steve doesnât kiss his Skull Rock girls like this.
It begins as a barely there brush of his lips; careful, soft, as though heâs testing tentative waters. But when he feels you melt against him, feels your lips part obligingly, he presses harder, firmer, less gentle, teeth-scraping kisses that have you gasping for air. He tastes faint mint on your tongue, strawberry milkshakes and drive-in movies, and he slips his hand under your shirt, then, covers the smooth expanse of your waist, your hip. He kisses you like heâs trying to memorise you. Like he isnât sure whether youâre real, and heâs trying to convince himself through your lips. Theyâre softer than he imagined, as if thatâs fucking possible, and heâs broad and wide and could swallow you whole and a secret part of you almost wants him to.
When he pulls away, itâs to catch his breath. Your fingers have tangled themselves in his floppy, brown hair; your eyes are still half-closed, lips bruised by the phantom of his.
Steve wonders fleetingly whether you understand the effect you have on him.
âWow,â you mumble after a beat, and he grins, caressing the soft contour of your cheek. âI take it back.â
âTake it back?â Steve echoes, searching your features in earnest. âTake what back?â
You open your eyes then, bright irises scintillating mischief. âThe whole âyouâve changedâ thing. You totally havenât.â
Steve cocks his head to one side, raising his eyebrows questioningly.
âCâmon,â you tease, crinkling your nose playfully. âTaking advantage of pretty girls when theyâre super high on pain meds? Total King Steve move ââ
Steve shuts you up with another, firm kiss, lips descending on your jaw, the spot beneath your earlobe, your neck. âShut up, shut up, shut up,â he mumbles into your skin, over and over. âCount yourself lucky that this is happening in your living room, and not at Skull Rock.â
âHa ha,â you half-laugh, half-sigh, bruising kisses leaving you a little breathless. âYou could never.â
âYeah,â he agrees, lips on your collarbone now, dangerously close to the neckline of your t-shirt. âYouâre right. Not with you.â
Summary:Â Telling a guy at a party that you have a boyfriend doesn't seem to deter him. Probably because that guy is your boyfriend and you're too drunk to realize.
Word Count:Â 4k
Warnings:Â Drinking, Major Fluff, Established Relationship, Cute pet names
A/N:Â Don't ever settle for a relationship if they wouldn't do your night routine for you.
The music was starting to give Steve a headache. Gone were the days of being the keg king and beer pong master, first to have a drink and last to stumble his way home. Now suddenly he was more worried about drunk Robin asking people far too personal questions and even drunker you deciding to play another drinking game because you liked that it had cards in it.
"Please, I'm sincerely begging you, Y/N, just sit downâ" you interjected with a whine, staring up at him with heartbroken eyes.
"Steve, the game just started. I didn't even break the circleâ" a loud hiccup cut off your slurred protests making Robin let out a squeaking laugh from the seat next to you.
Steve let out a tired sigh, squeezing his eyes shut for a minute before zeroing in on the two of you.
"Well, we're gonna play a new game. It's called sit here while Steve makes a phone call," he said, eyes flickering from yours, wide and disgruntled, to Robin's, half lidded from the joint he had found in her hand, not a clue where she got it from.
"It sounds awful," you grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest and sinking back into the couch.
"Yeah the name sucks," Robin said, picking up an unfinished drink from the side table next to the couch. Steve snatched it from her before she could press it to her lips because it wasn't her drink and she had thrown in her half smoked joint not even thirty seconds before, the rolled blunt floating around in the dark liquid.
"Rob, stop trying to drink everything you see. You're not aquatic," he hissed, harshly dropping the drink on a table out of her reach.
"Well maybe I'm dehydrated, Steve. You gonna let me die of thirst?" she quipped back, eyes blinking slowly revealing red rimmed irises.
"Then I'll get you a water, Robin," he hissed back, eyes narrowing at her. "But first let me make one single phone call, okay? You're not gonna die of thirst in three minutes."
"I might! I feel my cells disintegrating as we speak!" she exclaimed, eyes wide. You turned to look at her, mouth dropping open slight in horror.
"Disintegrating?" you repeated.
"Every moment that passesâPOOF. Another mitochondria bites the dust," she confirmed, giving you a sad smile and a shrug.
"Noâ" Steve pinched the bridge of his nose.
"That's terrible," you expressed, lips pouting and looking to Steve with an expression of alarm. "That's so sad."
"The saddest," she nodded again as Steve muttered an incredulous "Oh my god."
"We need to do something, Steve! Her mitochondria!"
"My mitochondria, Steve!" Robin echoed you, tone mocking as she smirked at him. Steve felt his headache growing steadily.
"Fine! Fine! I'll go get you a drink! Just stay on this fucking couch. Got it?" When neither of you protested, eyes flickering back and forth between your faces he added a strict Stay like you would a disobedient dog.
He hurried to find the house phone, knowing his timeframe was limited before the two of you wandered off in opposite directions, giving him another wild good chase to corral you together. It was late and he was tired and he desperately needed to call in some back up.
Punching in the numbers, Steve cast distasteful looks at the not so innocent sounds emanating from the bathroom adjacent from the landline. The phone rang for a while, making him fear no one was going to answer until finally the receiver picked up.
"Munson residence," the chirpy voice of Eddie Munson had Steve releasing a short-lived sigh of relief.
"Eddie, it's Steve," he said, pressing close to the wall to avoid two girls swaying dangerously and stumbling past him with mirroring green faces.
"Stevie! To what do I owe this pleasure?" Eddie seemed to be eating something as his words were slightly muffled.
"I need you to come get your girlfriend." He tried not to sound like he was begging even though that's exactly what he was doing.
There was shuffling on the line before Eddie's voice rang out clear, "She okay?"
Steve fought the urge to roll his eyes. "She's fine just plastered," he thought for a moment before adding with exasperation, "and like obsessed with card games. And really bad at them so she keeps losing and drinking more."
Eddie's charmed laugh sounded over the static of the receiver. Steve wanted to pull his hair out. Of course Eddie found anything you did endearing. You could insult Black Sabbath and he would still look at you like you put the stars in the sky. You had him completely under your enchantment.
"Just make sure she's not taking any," Eddie replied, his smile drenching his tone.
"Taking any what?"
"Card decks. She likes to collect them."
Steve was quiet. Eddie was quiet. Then Eddie laughed again and Steve had to resist banging his head against the wall.
"Eddie. I'm begging you. Please, just, come pick her up," he said through clenched teeth.
It didn't take Eddie long to reach the house party. You had mentioned where you were going earlier that night, commenting that it wasn't too far from where Corroded Coffin was playing and that maybe he could stop by after. He had agreed under the impression that you would probably be home by the time he was finished because it was far later than you were usually out. So he had headed home thinking you were in bed until Steve had called.
And now he was weaving through a legion of drunk high schoolers, on his way to relieve a very stressed sounding Steve from his never-ending babysitter duties. You were sat on a couch, arms crossed as you glared at Steve and Robin endlessly bickering about something. When Steve saw him he called him over.
"I'm taking Robin home. Good luck with that one because she snuck another drink in when I wasn't looking," Steve grumbled, hooking his arm through Robin's as she whined at him.
"What if I don't want to go home," Robin shot at him, eye brows raising.
"I don't care. It's late and I'm tired so we're leaving," he stated, tugging her towards the door.
"You're not the governor of the universe, Steve."
Eddie watched their retreating forms before turning his attention back on you. Your gaze seemed far away as you looked forward, not seeming to have even noticed his presence. He took few steps towards you before sinking into the seat next to you.
"Hey, trouble," he said, reaching out a hand to brush softly against your cheek.
You pulled away like you had been burned and turned to give him a glare. He lost his breath for a moment, confused by the sudden hostility.
"Can you leave me alone?" Your voice was slurred but it didn't conceal the overt bite to your tone. He felt a bubble of hurt grow in his chest, hand dropping to his lap.
"You want me to leave you alone?" he echoed, slightly bewildered. Hours before coming here you were pouting at him for not being able to join, acting as though it would physically hurt you to be away from him for a night. And now, suddenly, you didn't want him here? Were you mad at him for abandoning you?"
"Yeah. I have a boyfriend, so, you can leave," you bit back. He blinked at you, digesting your words, before relaxing. Your glassy eyes gave no indication that you realized it was him. You weren't mad at him, you were mad at the thought of a random guy bothering you at this party. He couldn't conceal his grin.
"Oh, yeah? What's his name?" he asked, playing along as the tension eased from his body. He wanted to reach out and push your hair behind your ear but restrained himself.
"Eddie. Eddie Munson. And he'll beat you up if he finds out you're bothering me," you proclaimed, arms crossed tightly over your chest as you glared at him, or however many versions of him you were seeing with your blurred vision.
"He will, will he?" he felt giddy at your admission.
He had had moments in your year long relationship where he let his insecurity eat away at him. You were beautiful and kind and alluring. You unconsciously had people gravitating towards you and sometimes he worried that one day someone would turn your head and steal you away from him. But seeing you be so cold to someone even attempting to have a conversation with you, bringing him up immediately, had his heart selfishly warming.
"Yeah and he's on his way to come get me. So try your luck with someone else," you concluded, words slightly garbled as you gave him your best glare.
"How many drinks have you had, trouble?" he asked, laughing incredulously. Your steely glare hardened. You unfolded your arms to poke him harshly in the shoulder.
"You don't get to call me that. Only my boyfriend can call me that," you stated, poking him again for good measure. It didn't hurt him but he feigned pain anyway, hand flying to his shoulder as he sunk back like he was shot.
He opened his mouth to respond but suddenly you were clambering your way off the couch, form swaying as the alcohol in your system made your vision spin. Eddie was up next to you in an instant, gripping your elbows to steady you.
"Easy, sugar. Don't want you face planting," he murmured, trying to bit back his laugh. You halfheartedly swatted him away, making him remove his hands from you only to hover them behind you in case you started swaying again.
"I just told you not to touch me. I'll beat you up myself if I have to," you said, giving his shoulder a light shove that had you stumbling instead of it's intended affect. Eddie ghosted his hands behind your back as you righted yourself, eyes dancing over your flushed face and glazed eyes.
You marched away from him, dead set on avoiding him and finding something to do until your actual boyfriend showed up. Eddie followed behind you like a shadow, eyes alight in amusement as he waited for you to finally realize it was him. You were nearly oblivious to your surroundings, bumping into people, stumbling over loose cans littering the floor. He followed behind, one hand floating to press your back lightly when you wobbled and the other pressing bodies away so you could move easier through the crowd.
When you found the front door and burst out into the cool air of the autumn night, you whirled around to give your stalker a piece of your mind only to freeze when you noticed his wiry curls and amused smirk.
"Eddie!" you breathed, voice airy and light as you tumbled towards him, arms flying to wrap around his neck. He let out a boisterous laugh, arms snaking around your midsection as he squeezed you tight, lifting you slightly from the ground.
"Hi, pretty," he breathed, face nuzzling into your neck to leave a few searing kisses. You molded into him, body relaxing and contented sigh seeping through your smiling lips.
"Eddie, what took you so long! There was this annoying creep who wouldn't leave me alone," you whined, breathing in his cologne and the faint smell of cigarettes. His chuckle vibrated into your neck making chills run up your spine. You pressed in tighter, addicted to his touch.
"Did you tell him to fuck off?" he asked, playing along, smirk widening as he pulled back, finally allowing himself to brush wild pieces of hair behind your ears.
"Told him I'd fight him," you replied and he gave you a bright grin.
"Good girl," he said, pinching your cheek lightly, before leaning in to press his lips to yours. You preened at the praise, stepping on tip toes to deepen the kiss that was making your head fuzzy. He smoothed both his hands on the sides of your face, thumbs resting on the apples of your cheeks, pecking your lips a few more times for good measure before he was reluctantly pulling back.
"Let's get you home, yeah, trouble?" You nodded, eager to go anywhere with him. He took your hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it before tugging you in the direction of his truck.
The drive to your house was filled with you animatedly recounting the party to Eddie, who listened with a soft smile on his face. There were moments where your slightly slurred speech and foggy memory made your stories hard to follow but anytime you laughed he did too, your glee contagious and endearing. He had to scold himself to pay attention to the road a few times when he felt his gaze being reeled in like sailor to a siren.
When you arrived at your home, you handed him your bag claiming your keys were somewhere in its depth. He turned the ignition off, the both of you sitting in the car as the heat slowly seeped into the chill of the night. He opened your bag and let out an incredulous laugh. At least three decks of cards were shoved into your small purse, stolen from a fair few disgruntled partygoers who probably wouldn't have suspected you as the thief in the slightest.
"You're a menace, you know that?" he commented, pushing the decks to the side so he could reach for the set of keys glinting at the bottom of the bag. You pouted at him, no clue what he was referring to. He chuckled, leaning over the inner consul to press a sweet kiss to your lips. "A cute one, but a menace."
"C'mon. Let get you inside," he said, unlocking the doors. You were nearly putting all of your weight on him as you headed to the front door of your house, body slung around him like a backpack. He had one arm wrapped around your back, pressing kisses to the top of your head every few steps, your bag looped over his shoulder.
As he fumbled with the lock, keys rattling against the metal of the doorknob, you mumbled something about your family being away when he winced at the noise he was making. And once you were inside, door shut behind you, he flicked on a few switches, lighting up the empty house. He dropped your bag and keys on the small table by the door before turning towards you.
With both arms wrapping around you, he bent slightly, his hands moving to cradle the backs of your thighs.
"Up," he commanded. You jumped, letting him hoist you into his arms as you wrapped yours around his neck, legs hooking his waist.
"'M, tired," you mumbled into his shoulder. His chest vibrated as he chuckled, taking cautious steps up towards the second floor.
"I bet. It's nearly two," he replied and you humphed in response. When he made it to your room, he slowly released his hold on you, letting you slide down until your feet touched the ground. You whined against him, not liking the idea of not being completely wrapped up in him.
"Need to get you ready for bed, sugar," he said, reaching around behind his neck to pry your arms away. You whined again but had little strength to resist him. He nudged you forward until the backs of your legs met your bed, causing you to reluctantly sit down, the mattress dipping slightly.
He crouched down so he could rest his weight on his knees, the carpet of your floor cushioning them. You were blinking slowly down at him like you were fighting against sleep. Hand wrapping around your ankle, he undid the laces and slipped off your sneaker, dropping it to the side. He repeated the action with your other shoe.
"I'm gonna get you something to change into, okay?" he said, pushing up from the floor. He kicked off his own shoes next to yours, pulling off his vest and then his jacket, draping them over your desk chair.
Your room was yards cleaner than his own and starkly different. Remnants of your childhood were woven together with band and movie posters, shelves of books, and colorful post-its and polaroids taped to your mirror. He spotted his face in many of them, heart warming each time he noticed yet another one of him you managed to find room for.
He headed for your dresser, pulling drawers open at random trying to find something for you to sleep in. His cheeks warmed at the drawer of underwear he yanked open, the pretty pastels and swirling lace making him swallow harshly. He wasn't here to be creepy he was here to be a doting boyfriend. He opened a few more until he found one of his shirts he thought he had misplaced. Menace, he thought.
When he turned around you had already begun slipping off your pants, kicking around until they flew off your ankles. He walked over to you as you were pulling your shirt over your head. His Adam's apple bobbed as his eyes trailed down the straps of your bra to the curves of your chest, heat rising on the back of his neck. He cleared his throat, averting his eyes as he chided himself. Now was not the time for that. He heard you undo your bra and kept his gaze on your sleepy eyes as he handed you the black T-shirt. You slipped it on without protest.
"Alright, now to the bathroom," he said, patting the side of your bare thigh.
"But I'm tired," you groaned, wrinkling your nose at the idea of exerting more energy.
"I know, trouble, but you still have your makeup on," he said, leaning over to take your hand in his. He held his other one out and you reluctantly grabbed it, letting him pull you up. He maneuvered the both of you into the bathroom. You wobbled against him, eyes squinting shut at the harshness of the overhead light. He let go of your hands to slide them to the sides of your ribcage. Then he lifted you so you were sat on the counter besides the sink.
âOkay, sleepyhead, I need you to direct me through your night routine,â he said, rubbing his hand on the side of your neck. You looked at him through bleary eyes before looking down at the counter. An assortment of bottles and serums and tubs of cream littered the expanse of the white laminate. You blinked heavily before pointing at one.
âThatâs makeup remover,â you said as a yawn over took you. He picked it up, unscrewing the top and then staring blankly at you.
âDo I . . . use my hand?â he asked innocently. You giggled softly, leaning back to rest against the wall.
âNo, silly. A cotton pad,â you replied, waving your hand in the direction of the cabinet. He found them, dropping a few as he struggled with the zip lock, before pulling one out. He tipped the clear liquid from the bottle, soaking the cotton pad before turning back to you.
âEyes shut,â he ordered, stepping closer so your legs parted for his thighs. You followed his instructions, eyes fluttering shut as he brought the pad to your face.
Eddie was nothing if not gently when it came to you. The damp cotton brushed softly over your eyelids, over your eyebrows, down your temples, trailing your jaw, over your lips, and in circles on your cheeks. He could tell you were dozing, needing to move his other hand to frame your jaw so your head wouldnât lull to the side.
Dropping the dirtied cotton pad in the trash, he grabbed a hand towel and soaked it under the tap. It was warm when he brought it to your face, the stitched loops of the towel swirling around as he wet the skin. Dropping it down, he scanned the array of bottles until he found one clearly labelled face wash. He squeezed probably too much onto his palms before moving to massage it around your face. The gel foaming as he circulated his fingers, tender movements nearly putting you to sleep. Your eyes blinked open, finding his focused on his movements, tongue poking out from between his lips in concentration. A balloon of affection blossomed in your chest.
âYouâre my favorite person in the whole world,â you mumbled, blinking slowly at him like cat. His movements slowed as heat rushed to his cheeks at your words.
âWell youâre my favorite person in the whole universe,â he said back, moving to rinse the face wash from his hands. He re-wet the small towel and moved to wipe your face down. You pouted at him.
âThatâs not fair. I canât go any bigger than the universe,â you grumbled, unhappy that he outdid you so quickly. He let out an endeared laugh, hand moving to cup the back of your neck as he wiped the foam from your face.
âI donât play fair, baby. Not when it comes to professing my undying love to you,â he said making you wrinkle your nose. He leaned in to press a quick kiss to your lips.
âI missed you tonight,â you confessed as he finished cleaning your face. He rinsed the towel in the sink before turning to look at you. Your head was resting against the wall, eyes half lidded in fatigue but glinting prettily under your lashes. He felt his chest tighten at the sight, his breath stalling for a moment at your effortless beauty.
âI always miss you when youâre not around,â you added. He moved to face you, chest coiling in unbridled affection, hands moving to cage your face in. He swiped his thumbs under your eyes, the soft skin glittering from the water.
âWish I could be with you 24/7 but I donât want you to get sick of me,â you continued, eyes fluttering up at him. He thought you might really kill him.
âNot even in an alternate dimension could I get sick of you. Not even in a hypothetical scenario. Not even if my life depended on it,â he replied, moving closer until your noses were almost touching. Your hands snaked around his torso, tugging him closer, bunching up the back of his shirt.
âIf youâll have me Iâll probably be up your ass until the end of time,â he added, making a peel of giggles erupt from you. His eyes squinted as he smiled, leaning in to press his lips to yours, your giggles dissolving into his affection.
âNow, no more being cute until weâre done with this,â he said after pressing yet another kiss to your lips. Your swollen lips chased his to steel another, then another before he was squeezing your sides, making you squirm and laugh as he pulled away.
You leaned back against the wall, eyes drooping as he continued, grabbing your moisturizer and spinning open the cap. He repeated his gentle motions over your face, swiping softly around your eyes and smoothing any tension from your face.
âBrush,â you blinked your eyes open noticing him holding out your toothbrush, toothpaste already sitting on the bristles. Your movements were sluggish but you managed, leaning over to spit in the sink before he was handing you a cup of water to rinse.
You were both quiet for a moment. He watched as you leaned your head back, eyes shut. His hands trailed the sides of your thighs, brushing the skin, squeezing slightly, warming them and making goosebumps appear. His eyes danced around your face, taking in your peaceful features. You were breathtaking even when on the edge of sleep. He was completely enamored with you. He never thought someone could have him so enchanted that he would be taking their makeup off before bed and making sure they brushed their teeth but you had sent him one dazzling smile and he was lost in a sea of desire to take care of you for as long as he lived.
âAlright, ready for bed?â he asked, affectionately brushing his thumbs on the tops of your thighs. You nodded, slumping forward to wrap your arms around his neck. He tugged you forward, hands slinking under your thighs to pull you up into his arms.
He laid you gently on your bed, pulling the covers down so you could slip your legs in until he was moving the duvet up over you. He wandered back over to your dresser, digging back into the bottom drawer where he knew a treasure trove of his clothes was hidden, never to be seen in his closet again. He slipped off his pants and then shirt, pulling on an old Van Halen T-shirt, the ratty edges brushing against the waistline of his boxers.Â
"You're staying, right?" your sleepy voice rang out from the bed. He kicked his pile of clothes to the side, knowing you were going to chide him for it tomorrow.
"Wouldn't dream of leaving," he answered, pulling off his rings, the silver clanking as he dropped them on your desk.Â
He hurried to shut the lights off before he was crawling in beside you, finding your sleepy body in the dark and pulling you into him. You let out a contented sigh, warm breath tickling his neck, making him pull you in even tighter.
He wasnât sure how he had gotten so lucky. Nothing seemed to compare to finally being in your arms, breathing in the smell of your perfume and feeling the smoothness of your skin. His lips traced your hairline, leaving soft honeyed kisses around your forehead and down over your eyelids. You smiled into the darkness, tilting your face up in a silent beg for more. He kissed your nose, his eyelashes dusting the tops of your cheeks.
"Love you," you whispered, melting against him and his warm lips. You felt him smile against your cheek.
"Love you more," he whispered back, a kiss following his admiration.
âLove you times a million,â you added, hoping finally to win a battle of affection.
âLove you times infinity,â he replied. You let out a whine at him one-upping you yet again but he just chuckled in fondness, teeth nipping at the plumpness of your cheek until he was seeking out your lips again, to press a dozen more kisses until you inevitably fell under the spell of sleep, dreaming about him and his big brown eyes and warm kisses and how very very lucky you were.
donât wanna talk about this shit really, but. saw someone (who hates billy) on twitter, when faced with the video of joe keery saying billy is his favourite character, say that joe only likes billy for his depth and the way he was written. that he doesnât excuse billyâs behaviour.
bro. thatâs why we all like billy. we donât excuse his behaviour. we appreciate his depth. his character. the fact that there is depth. youâre just up joeâs ass so you can suddenly, miraculously, understand why heâd like billy (and admit that billy has depth?!!!) - but not the rest of us. hmmâŠ
really not into the drama but like. make sense, guys.
billyâs mom bumping into a man while grocery shopping - mid-twenties she figures - he helps her pick something up that she dropped and they chat for a few minutes
then he says he better get going, something about having a schedule to stick to, and gives her a smile before making his way down the isle
something about him seems so familiar to her but she canât figure out why
they catch each other a few more times while going up and down the isles, exchanging a few words here and there and she finds it surprisingly easy to talk to him, almost as if theyâd spoken before
about twenty minutes later she leaves the shop and sees him outside - he lifts his arm, giving her a small wave, before another manâs voice has him turning around
sheâs about to make her way to her car when she hears the other man speak-
âyou ready, billy?â
and she freezes
thinks back to blonde curls, thinks about the slope of his nose and the freckles scattered across it, the shape of his eyes and the curve of his mouth
his smile-
and then, just like that, theyâre both walking past her
the man - billy - turns to give her one last quick smile, just a small quirk of his mouth, before leaning into the other man now at his side
Summary: you visit Eddie at work because youâre just too impatient for him to get homeâŠ
Warnings: smut, semi-public sexual acts, dom!Eddie, bit of degradation kink, dirty talk, oral (m receiving), masturbation (f), penetrative sex (m+f), minors DNI
A/N: more of my speciality which apparently is just âšpure pornâš lmao! mechanic Eddie lives in my head rent free so I just had to write a lil something on it, I hope you guys like this! <3
This is for people 18+ only. Minors do not read on. By clicking âkeep readingâ you are hereby agreeing that you are 18 or older.
You try to keep your face composed as you speed-walk through the garage. You could feel the heat in your cheeks, you just hoped it wasnât too noticeable.
Youâd been flustered and needy all day. You didnât know what it was about today but you were just unbelievably horny. Youâd tried getting yourself off at home but it just wasnât working; it just left you more frustrated than youâd been to begin with. You couldnât believe you were about to go pester your boyfriend, whilst he was at work no less, just because you were so desperate to get off.
You keep your eyes trained ahead, trying to avoid eye contact with any of the other mechanics in the shop. You just knew your composure would falter if any of them looked directly at you. You make your way to the back left-hand side of the garage, the area where Eddie was always stationed. It doesnât take you long to spy your boyfriend and you have to bite your lip to stop yourself from moaning at the sight of him.
He was busy working under a car that had been raised into the air so he could get to itâs underside. His arms were up in the air, his bare muscles on display as he worked to twist something into place on the belly of the car. You smiled lightly when you saw his tongue poking out as he worked, it was something he always did when he was concentrating. His overalls were undone, tied loosely around his waist. He was wearing only a tight white tank shirt on his torso. In the back pocket of his overalls you could see his signature bandana hanging loosely. The front of his hair was lightly matted with sweat. And on top of it all, he was spattered and smudged with bits of grease and grime all over. You couldnât explain why but it just made him all more enticing. You feel yourself clenching your thighs together as you take all of him in.
Fuck, he was so hot.
You clear your throat lightly to get his attention. As soon as he spies you his face lights up with a kind of quizzical delight.
âHey baby,â he greets you as he manoeuvres out from under the car.
âHey,â you sigh breathily.
Eddie comes over and presses a quick, gentle peck to your cheek.
âWhat are you doing here?â He asks gently. âIs everything okay?â
âNo- I mean yeah, I-â you stammer awkwardly, feeling your cheeks heat once again. âItâs nothing really,â you try to shrug casually, your eyes keeping trained on the floor.
âItâs obviously not nothing if you came all the way down hereâ Eddie speaks softly. âCome on baby,â he coaxes, âwhat is it?â
He dips his head to catch your gaze and you swear you feel your stomach flutter when his outrageously gorgeous eyes land on yours.
âItâs nothing, itâs not that important, itâs kinda ridiculous actually,â you mumble hastily, yours words stumbling over each other.
He tilts his head, not saying anything, coaxing you to speak further.
âWell, I was just... uh... bored,â you shrug again, your eyes averting from Eddieâs intense stare. âJust thought Iâd come see you,â you chew your lip awkwardly.
Eddie smirks before taking another step forward, closing the gap between you. He catches your chin in his fingers and tilts your head, forcing you to look up at him. You can see by the look in his eye that heâs already guessed exactly why were you here.
âIs âboredâ perhaps code for âhorny', hmm?â He asks smugly, his eyes darkening as he looks down at you.
You chew your lip as embarrassment courses through you.
âCome now princess, donât be so shyâ he coos. âSpeak upâ he taunts.
He leans his face in closer to yours, his warm breath fanning over your face, his eyes holding yours unwaveringly.
âDid you really come all the way to my work just because you were horny?â His voice is dripping with smugness.
âYes,â you finally whisper after a moment.
Eddieâs smirk grows even wider.
âAnd you just couldnât wait until I got home, hmm? You must be fucking desperate,â he whispers the last word so huskily, his voice going straight to your aching core.
He chuckles darkly before he lets go of your chin, his hand moving to grab yours as he starts to drag you towards the back of the garage. You look around quickly, praying no one else noticed the two of you sneaking off to the back office. As soon as youâre through the door Eddie locks it behind you before moving to close the blinds by the window that looked out to the workshop floor. Eddie leans against the the desk, his blackened fingers gripping onto the edge of the table. He cocks his head as his gaze rakes up and down your body.
âWell then sweetheart, on your kneesâ he chuckles darkly.
âW-what?â You stammer, flustered
âYou heard me,â he looks at you unwaveringly. âItâs the least you can do seeing as youâve interrupted my working day just because youâre a needy little slut. So, on your knees, sweetheart,â he hisses.
You gulp and nod lightly, slowly sinking to your knees in front of him. You run your hands up his thighs, feeling the hard muscles underneath. You quickly undo the sleeves of his overalls that he had tied round his waist. You unzip the reminder of the overalls and push them down just far enough that you could access his cock. You feel your pussy clench pathetically and you canât help the soft moan that escapes you when you see the growing tent in his boxers.
You quickly push his boxers down too, pulling free his semi-hard cock. You look up at Eddie as you spit in your hand before you start to stroke him gently, using your saliva as lube as you set a steady pace.
âFuck,â Eddie sighs at the sight of you innocently looking up at him while you stroked his cock, coaxing him to grow fully hard.
Once he was fully hard you move to add your mouth to the mix, taking in just the head and sucking softly. Eddie grunts, his hand coming to cup the back of your head, guiding you further down his cock. He pushes you down until he hits the back of your throat, tears stinging your eyes.
âFuck,â he sighs languidly. âThatâs it baby, just like that,â he smiles lazily, his head falling back as he revels in the feeling of your mouth on him.
You put all your effort into pleasuring him, selfishly hoping that it would result in him returning the favour. That is why youâd come all the way here, after all.
But you just canât help how needy you were. You could practically feel yourself dripping from how wet you were. Looking up at Eddie, the way he was panting lightly, soft groans falling from his lips, his face twisted in pleasure, his chest rising and falling, his stomach tensing and un-tensing, the pressure of his hand behind your head - it was all driving you absolutely insane. You moan around his cock as you finally decide fuck it.
You take your own hand and shove it between your legs. You silently thank yourself for deciding to wear a skirt today. You push your own panties to side and slip two fingers between your slit. You moan again when you feel just how wet your were, your fingers sliding through your folds with ease. Your body lurches, your hips rutting into your touch as you start to circle your clit fervently. The movement doesnât go unnoticed by Eddie.
âShit baby, are you touching yourself?â He groans.
You bat your eyelashes at him, rising your eyebrows in a pathetic attempt to look almost sad and sorry. You give a tiny pathetic nod as you continue to suck Eddie like your life depended on it, your fingers moving on your clit in sync with your bobbing motion.
âFuck,â Eddie groans, his fist tightening where it gripped your nape. âI knew you were desperate but fucking hell, you canât even wait a few minutes whilst you blow me?â He laughs darkly, amused by how pathetic the idea was.
Your cheeks warm with embarrassment again but you cant help it, you were just unbelievably horny at this point. You just couldnât stop your fingers as they rubbed fervently at your clit, your hips bucking against your own hand. You moan again as you finally start to feel some of the pressure be relieved, pleasure starting to radiate through your body. This was different than when youâd tried to get yourself off at home. Just having Eddie in the vicinity made all the difference. But having him in front of you, grunting and groaning, face contorted with pleasure, all because you were blowing him? It just made it all the better.
Until Eddie suddenly stops you.
âOkay, thatâs enough sweetheartâ he sighs, tapping your head and signalling for you to stop.
You pull your mouth off him with a pop, looking up at him with wide eyes, your eyelashes batting at him innocently. He strokes your face with his thumb gently, tugging on your bottom lip. You can taste the light tang of the grease that tainted his fingers.
âSuch a good girlâ he hums. âBut I wanna finish inside you. Iâm gonna send you back home with that pretty pussy stuffed full of my cumâ he promises darkly with a smirk. âAfter all, thatâs why you came here, wasnât it? To get a good and proper fucking.â
You moan at the prospect, pathetically clamping your thighs together again.
âUp you get princessâ he commands.
You obey quickly, removing your hand from your panties and standing up on shaky legs. Eddie grabs the hand that was just previously between your legs and brings it to his mouth. He takes your two fingers into his mouth, sucking off the taste of you. He hums in satisfaction around your fingers. You feel your pussy clench desperately again, a whimper flying from your lips.
âMmm you taste so fuckin' good baby,â he hums as he removes your fingers from his mouth.
He smirks darkly as he moves his hands to your waist, pulling you against him. He latches his lips onto yours, delving in for a deep and hungry kiss. He opens your mouth with his, sliding his tongue against yours. You can taste the salt of sweat on his skin, the tang of grease again, and beneath it all, the familiar taste of him. You moan into the kiss, your body going practically limp as he devours you.
Itâs then, when he feels your body go slack, that he takes advantage of the opportunity. He grabs your body, holding you tight as he stands up off the desk and turns around. He spins around quickly, keeping you in place. Once heâs manoeuvred behind you he pushes against your back, placing you face down on the desk, your ass up in the air as he positions himself behind you.
You whimper as he pushes you roughly into the desk. But your whimper is quick to turn into a moan when you feel his cock poke between your thighs, brushing against where youâd been aching for him for hours now.
âMmm, I love when you wear skirts sweetheart, just makes it all the easier to fuck you,â he hums as he slides his hands up the back of your bare thighs. âOf course, thatâs exactly what you intended though, wasnât it?â he chuckles wickedly.
He lifts your skirt up and flips it over, leaving your ass perfectly on display for him. You hear the hum of satisfaction as he takes in the view. He kneads your ass for a moment, pulling your cheeks apart and massaging them, just toying with you as you grew even more unreasonably wet. You whine and push your ass back against him, silently begging him to just get on with it.
âEddie, please,â you choke out a whisper cry.
âDonât worry baby, Iâm gonna give you exactly what you came for,â he promises darkly.
And with that heâs quickly pulling your panties to the side, lining himself up with your dripping entrance, and pushing inside you.
âOh shit, youâre fucking soaked,â he groans as he slides easily all the way in, his voice dripping with lust. âYou really were desperate, huh?â He asks cockily as he starts to fuck into you harshly.
He wastes no time with being gentle, with letting you adjust. Not that you needed nor wanted that right now; letting him fuck you hard and fast was exactly what you wanted. His one hand stays on your ass whilst the other goes to the middle of your back, keeping you pushed down on top of the desk.
âWere you touching yourself at home before you came here?â He grunts between his brutal thrusts.
You nod pathetically, your lips forming a small pout.
âYour fingers just werenât cutting it, huh?â You can practically feel the grin through his smug voice. âNeeded to come all the way here just to get fucked by me hmm?â
You nod again.
âYeah,â he laughs wickedly again. âNothing feels as good as this cock, huh, baby? No one fucks you like I can, isnât that right, sweetheart?â He growls.
You nod, afraid to speak, knowing your voice would be a wavering mess.
âUse your words,â he bites harshly. âTell me no one fucks you like I do. That only I can make you feel this goodâ he grunts, squeezing your ass cheek roughly in one of his hands.
âY-yes Eddieâ you manage to get out. âOnly you can fuck me this good, only you,â you mewl, your voice shaky with the force of him fucking you into the desk.
âThat it baby,â he sighs, his voice strained, both with effort and pleasure.
You whimper pathetically again, your face twisting into the hard surface of the desk as pleasure flares through your body. You felt so happily full, Eddieâs cock hitting that sweet spot inside you with each thrust.
âThis feel good, baby? This what you wanted?â Eddie teases, giving your ass a squeeze again.
âYes. So good Edsâ you whine.
You hear him chuckle in satisfaction as he speeds up his pace even further, slamming into you. Your hips bang painfully into the edge of the desk but honestly you didnât care.
âRub your clit for me babyâ he commands between his grunts. âIâd do it for you, but we canât have you getting any kind of infection from all this car grease on my fingers huh?â He laughs soflty.
It baffled you how lighthearted, but also insanely caring, this boy could be even whilst he was balls deep inside you, fucking you over a desk at his workplace.
But youâre quick to obey his order, slipping a hand between your legs, letting two of your fingers find your clit once again. You start up your circling motion, a sinful moan flying from your lips as even more pleasure flares through your body. Your moans start flying freely now, a cacophony of pleasure leaving your lips. You can practically feel tears spring in your eyes as you finally feel your climax building, the release youâd been seeking all damn day.
âOh fuck Eddie, yes,â you cry. âIâm close,â your voice is barely more than a strangled whisper. âDonât stop, please donât stop,â you plead incoherently, your brain going fuzzy, emptying of all thoughts other than Eddieâs cock moving deep inside you and your fingers working furiously on your clit.
âI got you baby, I got you,â he reassures you quickly. âCome on babygirl, cum for me. Cum for me, you can do it,â he pants.
And within a few more rough snaps of his hips you finally feel the wave break, your climax washing over you.
âOh, s-shit,â you mewl, your entire body convulsing.
Your fingers scrunch random papers on the desk beneath you, your fists balling tightly. Your mouth hangs open, your eyes screwed shut as pleasure takes over your entire body, from your curled toes to the goosebumps at the base of your neck. Your pussy clenches over Eddie repeatedly, squeezing him tightly. Because of this itâs not long âtil Eddie is following suit, his own climax crashing over him.
âFuck yes,â he grunts through gritted teeth. âThatâs it baby,â he groans as he spills inside you, his hips stilling, pushing deeply into you.
You slump against the desk, your legs weak and trembling, Your hand going limp where it was pinned under your body. Eddie fucks your slack body slowly for a short while, milking you both through your highs. He thrusts lazily into you a few more times, making sure his cum was fucked well and truly deep inside you. When he feels your body start to shiver beneath him he finally stops.
He rubs your back with his hand as he slowly pulls out of you, a small gasp leaving your lips at the feeling of being suddenly empty again. Eddie quickly pulls your panties back into place, giving your ass a light peck with his lips before pulling your skirt back into place. He gently helps lift you up off the desk, getting you upright and letting you lean against the desk for support. As he does so you can feel his cum move inside you, pooling into a sticky mess in your panties. It makes you squirm, your thighs clamping together again.
âYou feeling a bit better now?â Eddie teases as he zips himself up and ties his overalls round his waist again.
Despite your completely fucked out state you manage to roll your eyes.
âYes, thank you,â you reply sarcastically.
Eddie just chuckles in response.
Itâs then that you catch a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of the window. Your face was smudged with grime from where Eddie had let his fingers stroke your skin. You look down at your body and gasp when you see similar smudges covering your torso, all over your shirt. Hell, there was probably marks on the back of your thighs and ass as well.
âShit Eddie!!â You exclaim. âI canât go back out there looking like this! I am covered in grime and your fucking fingerprints,â you huff, trying to wipe off the smudge marks that adorned both your skin and your clothes.
But Eddie just chuckles and smirks at you, clearly not phased in the slightest that everyone was gonna know exactly what you two had been up to in that back office. Eddie moves to stand in front of you, slotting himself between your legs. He wipes a grimy finger down your nose, giving it a little âboop â at the end, flashing you a quick wink as he does so.
âWell princess, thatâs what you get for being so impatient.â
Masterlist
A/N: asdfghjkl this was fun to write omg, mechanic Eddie really has a special kind of grip on my coochie honestly! um yeah I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did <33
eddie fic where he's sleeping beside the reader after a heated fight and he makes it up by fucking her from behind?
shisjskssj make up sex *faints.* thank you for requesting! <3
18+ mdni â afab!reader, she/her pronouns, fingering, praising, p in v, unprotected sex, light choking, biting, scratching, creampie
he never thought it would hurt to see your back facing him.
usually it excites him. knowing he'd surprised you, hug you from behind, wrap his arms around your waist and place his chin on top of your head as he greets you with messy kisses.
same goes for tedious nights, spooning you, encasing his own body in yours in benign possession; in a promise of protection to the people who thinks of harming you. eddie feels as though he's keeping his own heart against his chest.
but now, your back facing him squeezes his chest. and you're not even beside him â you're by the edge of the bed, curled into the ball with the blanket halfway through your torso, hands tucked beneath your pillow as you breathe unevenly. you're still awake.
it started at work. at some dingy restaurant where you waitered, serving some greedy and sordid men who thought a hand down your ass was enough of a tip. they never got away with it, because your boss knew it was wrong. and eddie knew that none of it was your fault â of course he did. he should.
but an old friend came over. an old boy-space-friend came over at work. sat on the booth right at the corner. and you couldn't help but catch up, because he was an old friend. but eddie got the wrong idea; standing outside the restaurant with a smile that slowly fell as you laughed and smack some other guy's arm as you did so â the way you'd do to eddie when you couldn't breathe from all the laughter.
he wasn't insecure. eddie knew you loved him. but it didn't mean he would trust the guys around you immediately. watching at the way the old friend eyed you like some fresh meat, the way his hand would go on your shoulder as he laughs like a pretentious dick.
jealousy burnt him alive. it put him in a sour mood even as he picked you up, chastised his kiss by placing it on your cheek, but his hand on your thigh was tighter.
and gasoline rained upon him when you went home.
"come on. i saw the way you touched his arm!"
"it wasn't even a touch, it was a slap! i slap my dad's arm like that all the time. what the hell is wrong with you?"
"maybe if you weren't flirting with some guy, i wouldn't have acted this way."
you weren't even the one who poured it.
as the fire died, residues of leaden smoke pervade the bedroom. as well as your irritation towards his irrationality. because for you, though he may not have said it, you think that he's lost his trust by the simple sight of another man laughing harmlessly with you.
it angers you. how he got jealous â even though you would have felt the same if you ever saw him with some other person. but you know you'd never shout at him, or accuse him of flirting, or any other detrimental acts that could break the chain in your tethered hearts.
but you're young. and you're petty. and you have every reason to be mad. so you are mad. sinking into your side, eyes shut even though the dreams refuse to start. you know eddie's staring at your spine, tracing the color of your thin shirt â your shirt rather than his. a detail he's picked up that leaves a pang to his chest that spreads everywhere.
he thinks of letting this go. letting you sit in your own cottage of anger until its wood has been burnt into nothing but lethal ashes. but if eddie sits this one out, there'll be nothing left to fix; what would ashes do if not be swept away by the wind?
eddie sighs. "(y/n)."
no answer. duh.
"sweetheart."
he gently, so gently, places a hand on your shoulder to shake you carefully. you frown at his sudden touch, but you refuse to move and try to trick him into thinking that you were asleep. because you really just want to sleep.
but ever the fighter, eddie makes another sigh before he's scooting closer to you. until the curve of your back hits his chest and he hooks his arms around your waist, his fingers splayed around your stomach. "baby," he mumbles, pressing his lips on your clothed shoulder.
your tongue clicks with the roof of your mouth, the lines between your eyebrows deepening as you try not to melt into his touch. "what, eddie?"
his nose tickles the crevice of your neck, his breath hot as he huffs against your skin. "i'm sorry, baby," eddie pouts, his head lifting slightly to take a glimpse of your eye and cheek. "i didn't mean to yell. or accuse you."
hesitantly, you open your eyes, staring onto the poster that sticks to the plaster walls of his trailer, but your focus remains on the way his hand is lightly massaging your stomach and his lips that stay on your shoulder.
you turn around, the sheets ruffling along with your heavy huff. eddie etches a small, triumphant smile on his face, even though you're still frowning at him.
"sorry doesn't cut it, eddie," you whisper. his smile withers, licking his lips before he nods in understatement. "you yelled at me. you accused me of flirting with someone else. it's like you don't trust me."
eddie puts his hand on your arm, furrowing his eyebrows as he leans closer. "no. no baby, i trust you. it's just thatâ"
"you don't trust them. i know," you pinch the bridge of your nose. "but that doesn't mean you should yell at me. he was a friend. we were catching up. and i'm sorry if it made you think that way but we should have just talked about it."
guilt showers him. and embarrassment drowns him in this tub; because he knows you're right. eddie should have sat down, or approached you quietly, and maybe he should have just asked who he was and told himself that you'd choose him over anyone. because you would, right?
because you promised. and he believes it because he trusts you.
"princess," he whispers into the thin air, cold and cruel to exposed skin. "i'm sorry. i- i trust you with my whole heart. i swear. okay? i'll never do it again, i promise you." brazenly does he let his fingers dance up your arm to the side of your face where he pushes your hair away, swallowing thickly. "i swear to you. i swear on my hair. on ozzy osbourne. on the hellfire club. even dustin henderson. i swear."
you find the love in you to laugh and smile at him, despite the fact that it wasn't a joke and he knew that he'd actually swear on dustin â the kid he adores the most. you place your hand on top of his, the one on your cheek, and find comfort in the warmth of his flesh in this cold night.
"i still need to see some groveling, though," you half-jest. "i wanna see you on your knees tomorrow. cooking for me. iron my clothes. fold my laundry. everything." eddie grins, his teeth glinting between his thin lips. "that shows then how sorry you are."
"baby, i'd be at your service any time," he takes your hand and kisses the back of it, lips placed on top of a vein. "i'd be on my knees for you anytime." eddie says this with the hand beneath his body untucking itself so that it would travel down your stomach, coz he's a sucker for a great performance.
eddie nudges his nose with yours, his lips hovering in a ghost of a wanted kiss but never truly reuniting. his hand wanders down, cheeky fingertips lingering above your shirt before it comes down beneath to touch your hot flesh. "babe," you warn, letting your eyes flutter shut when his thumb grazes the skin beneath your breasts. "i still- i still haven't fully forgiven you. 'was supposed to give you the silent treatment butâ"
"but we're here now, hm?" you gasp at the touch of his rough hand suddenly groping your tit, pressing your hard buds against his palm as his fingers dig onto your flesh, squeezing it like some pillow. eddie smirks when your eyebrows join, lips parted to let out small, quiet whines when his other hand decides to slither beneath your shirt and cup your tits with his thumbs running over your nipples. "gonna let me make it up to you, princess? we can start now, yeah?"
you know he's not fully in control, in the way his hands still stay on your tits and never really where you want him to. his thumbs and fingers that pinch and pull on your hardened buds awaits for your guidance; you take one hand of his, and shove it beneath your sleep shorts to let him cup the pool of wetness created by merely by the fondling of your breasts.
eddie chuckles, each beat drips boastfully. "all that for me? you're mad at me but you're still wet, huh?"
you tsk, frowning still with your eyes closed. "shut up or i'll fuck myself in the bathroom."
"with what?" he queries, fingers tracing the lace of your panties before they press against your slit through the fabric. eddie bites his lip when you moan quietly, subtly grinding against his palm. "your fingers, hm? thought you can't make yourself cum? because your fingers aren't as big as mine, sweetheart. you'll just anger yourself more."
still, despite his teasing, he moves your panty to the side and lets his fingertips drag through your slick folds. eddie swallows the moan that comes out by pressing his lips with yours â a messy, breathy open mouthed kiss that makes your hips stutter against his fingers that they slip to prod on your starving hole. he shoves his tongue in your mouth, flicking it with yours before he closes his lips around you to fully kiss you, silencing your moans.
his fingers decide that sliding them against your cunt wasn't enough, coming up to rub your clit in slow figure-eights. you squirm against him, slowly lifting when eddie's other arm wraps beneath you to push your head closer to him, resting on the side of your head to at least keep you still and quiet.
"eddie," you whine. "you're such- you-ah...you're an asshole."
your glinting slick coats his fingers. your supposed insult makes him press harder to your clit that makes you jolt, eyebrows clenched and raised when he does so. "i know, baby," he hums, smiling roguishly. "i'm such an asshole for touching you after we fight. i'm such an asshole thatâ"
he plunges his fingers â two fingers, right inside your hole. straight up until he's knuckle deep and his fingertips graze your g-spot when he curls them. you moan loudly against his lips, only to be muffled when he encases your mouth again.
"âi'm only fingering you," he finishes. "that i'm teasing you. because you want my cock, right? i know you want it. gotta give my princess what she wants, hm? but how will i be sure if it's my dick she wants if she can't even say it?"
you're panting, even though eddie's doing all the work by fucking you with his long fingers. he's pressing and tracing your gummy walls; scissoring his limbs in the way he knows you love that has your toes curling. your grip his forearm, nails digging on the bats on his skin until there's crescent indentations on his opalescent organ.
"say it, baby," he nips at your bottom lip, opening his eyes just to stare at your slacked jaw and wrinkled face. you whine and whimper when he picks up the pace and goes fast, a soft squelching noise heard beneath the blankets from your arousal.
"i- i want your cock," you mewl, legs spreading wider. when eddie shoves a third finger, your forehead touches his, greeted by an unsynchronized kiss where you take his top lip into yours. "p-please. i want your cock, eddie. your big, fat fucking cock inside me."
"atta girl," eddie takes his fingers away, shoving three of them to suck out your sweet juices. he moans as he does so, your eyes opening and you feel like you could just cum right there at the sight of it. "turn around, sweetheart."
you go back to your old position â your back to his chest. but this time it doesn't squeeze his chest. it makes all the blood flow down to his hardening cock, begging to be sprung out by his tight boxers and dive into your gaping hole.
still with an arm beneath you, eddie uses the advantage to lightly wrap his hand around your neck, pressing on the sides. your hand moves blindly behind you, searches for his cock that eddie tries to free as he removes his briefs and tucks it beneath his ass. he licks on his palm and jerks himself a few times, groaning when your palm meets his shaft and pumps him sloppily.
"fuck, baby," he pants. "god it hurts. i need to- i need to be inside you right now."
eddie nips at your earlobe, both your hands holding his cock upright as he presses his tip right into your hole that clenches on nothing but the sweaty air. you take a deep breath when he starts pushing in, his hand leaving his cock to push your leg up from beneath your knee, his length slowly pushing in until his thick mushroom bulges almost painfully at your cervix.
he stops then when he's pushed to the hilt; his balls right up at your neglected hole. eddie lets out a short moan, grunts when your nails scratch at his forearm and throw your head back where your hair meets his lips.
"ây so tight, (y/n)," he sighs. "can feel you squeezing the shit out of me. i'm gonna move now, okay?"
you nod. eddie pushes his hips back, cunt halfway through his length before he slams back in, tip almost bulging out of your navel. your hand comes up to wrap behind his head, letting his lips evade your temple, trailing down to your neck where he removes his hand just so he can suck on your sweaty complexion.
he's slowly pistons himself, though despite the laggard thrusting, skin slapping is heard. eddie's panting on your neck, your moans high-pitched and sometimes mistaken as a whimper when you try to keep quiet as to not disturb neighbors nearby.
"love this cunt," eddie groans, his thrust slowly fastening. "such a tight pussy. pretty fucking pussy jus' taking all of me 'coz you're such a good girl, yeah? a good girl who deserves everything; even my fucking cock. come on, baby, milk me dry."
his grunting exceeds when he fucks himself faster, your ass grinding up against him. you wish to see his face, the way they would always scrunch up into his blissful haze at the feeling of your walls against his bare dick. but you're too cockdrunk, your limbs tangled into this clusterfuck of released anger and make up sex.
you squeeze your eyes shut, feeling his teeth biting at your skin. "shit, baby," you mewl, pushing up against him. "fuck me fasterâ oh, yes! yes yes, fuck!"
he removes the hand from your knee to rub your clit, almost ripping the seams of your underwear as his hand moves vigorously on the swollen nub. he circles, he rubs it left and right in a quick pace that almost matches his thrusts. his slick and your arousal creating the most lewd and loud squelching noises that the covers can't even muffle.
"oh- yeah," eddie moans, maybe a bit louder than you. "fuck, i'm gonna cum. i'm gonna fucking cum, baby."
eddie doesn't need your approval, anyway, because at one thrust, you're spilling all over his thick cock, painting his muscle in white, salty cream. he moans when he feels your warm substance coat him like the way your hand would. and soon, his tip pushes his seed deep in your pussy, paints you hot white like a blank canvas.
but despite his sensitive cock twitching, he's still slowly thrusting inside you. eddie pulls out when he's had enough, turns your panting into whimpers when his fingers scoop up his cum and push it back inside your spasming hole.
"eddie, i'm still sensitive," you say absentmindedly, eyes dripping.
"i know, baby," he kisses your cheek. "just gotta keep you full, okay? just keepin' it inside."
and when he's pressed your panties back in places and cleaned himself up with his hand, eddie wraps his arms around you once more, pushing you close to his chest and peppers kisses all over your head.
"i'm sorry," he whispers. "i still am sorry for what i did. i'll grovel tomorrow, i promise."
you hum, taking his hand and kissing the back of it. "you're forgiven for like, five percent."
"five?!"
"because you teased me," you playfully kick his shin. "now let me sleep."
Eddie would 100% wear your purity ring around his neck, clear as day. For your catholic parents to see. And he'd do it with THE BIGGEST shit eating grin.
OH HE WOULD
i can see this happening after the thing i wrote where her dad walked in on them fucking. like maybe her dad was throwing eddie up against the wall, ready to fucking kill him, but her mom came up like, âno, no, letâs all sit down and discuss this like rational adults,â even though she was just as upset. so, her parents sit them down on the bed after making them get dressed, have a very strict talk with them about premarital sex, and forbid him from ever seeing their daughter again. her dad already hated eddie, but now? he would actually commit murder if he knew it wasnât such a sin.
and of course, their plan works about as well as water & oil. she sneaks out at night to fuck him, she continues seeing him, they each skip school to spend afternoons together, and they get caught making out by one of the nuns at her school. well, that goes over well with her parents, who are absolutely furious at her disobedience. but if you think thatâs bad? when they see their daughterâs purity ring dangling from his neck, they see fucking red. they know exactly what it symbolizes, and her dad is ready to throw down with eddie yet again.
âwhatâs wrong, sir?â eddie asks her father with a cheeky grin, toying with the ring before giving it a kiss. âitâs not like iâm wearing a photo of your daughterâs sweet little pussy around my neck. now, thatââ
and thatâs all he would be able to say before her dad threw a punch.
Thinking about eddie being super horny and needy then laying on top of you while youâre reading or doing something and humping you to get off đ”âđ«đ”âđ«
summary: on the hottest day of the year, the heat isnât what has eddie all hot and bothered.
warnings: smut, slight dirty talk, ass grinding
word count: 1.2k
authors note: this was going to be a little blurb but i got carried away. this was such a hot concept that i had a lot of fun with. i hope you all enjoy. this work contains smut as is eighteen plus only.
It was a hot day in Hawkins. Not the kind of hot where the sun was blaring down, making the pavement burning hot to the touch. The kind of hot where the air felt heavy, making your skin sticky after being outside for only a few minutes.
You had convinced Eddie it would be best to spend the day indoors, not wanting to spend the day covered in your own sweat.
So there you were, laying on your stomach on his bed. You were contently reading a book for your English class, eyes focused on nothing but the words on the old wrinkled pages in front of you.
Eddie sat across his room from you, tuning the strings of his guitar. He quickly grew uninterested in his prized possession, his eyes making their way back to your figure more and more often.
He felt like a little guilty for how much the sight in front of him was turning him on. Though he wasnât to blame entirely. It wasnât like he got himself worked up on purpose.
Maybe it was the way you looked on the drive from your place to his. Window rolled down completely, your head thrown back against it as you let the warm breeze wash over you.
The small tank top you wore did little to cover you. The thin material was nearly see through against your skin, your nipples poking through making it impossibly hard to keep his eyes on the road.
He had the mind to blame in on the way you sweetly begged him to stop for ice cream. The way you looked up at him through your eyelashes while angelically muttering,
âPlease, Eddie..it would make me feel so much better. We can even share one..â
He playfully rolled his eyes as he agreed, pulling into a small drive in. You happily took his hand in yours, leaning up to kiss his cheek, thanking him as you waited patiently for your sweet treat.
It would be well reasonable to blame the burning sensations he was having on how you looked at him while eating the cold snack.
Licking up one side of slowly before handing it to him, licking your lips as you waited for him to take his bite. The soft hums of content that left you as you swallowed it down were like music to Eddieâs ears.
When the ice cream dripped down onto his hand you were quick to grab him, licking the sticky sweetness from his pale skin. Eddie was tempted to take you in the backseat right then and there, but found it in himself to let you enjoy what you wanted so bad.
Eddie blinked quickly as he snapped back to reality.
The reality being you on his bed in only that skimpy little piece of fabric you called a tank top and a little pair of panties.
Even in the coolness of his room, Eddie felt like he was on fire. Cock twitching in his boxers as he watched you smile at whatever you just read, hand moving up to subtly cover your soft lips.
Carefully placing his guitar back up, he walked over to you. He hovered over top of you, resting his chest against your back comfortably.
You tilted your head up at him, barely looking at him before he tilted it back for you. You felt his warm breath against your ear, a series of goosebumps making the hairs rise all over your body.
âKeep reading your little book, sweetheart.â His voice was a hot whisper, âDonât mind me.â
As his thick arms pressed into the mattress beside you, confusion taking over your previously clear mind. Deciding to not pay much thought to it you kept reading.
Your body froze as you were turning a page, the feeling of Eddieâs hips pressing into your ass ever so lightly flooded your mind.
You could feel his hard length clearly through the thin material of your panties. Part of you wondered if it was an accident, but the logical part of you, the part that knew Eddie too well had an idea of what was going on.
There was no movement for a few seconds, making you wonder if he was actually just adjusting himself. His hips pushed into you again, much harder this time, making your teeth sink into your bottom lip and stay there.
âEddie..â You whined, the sound of your voice coming out more pathetic than you anticipated.
He rutted his hips against you again, dragging his length along your ass.
âWhatâs wrong, baby?â He mocks the sound of your voice, whispering right in your ear. His hips finding a gentle rhythm against the black cotton.
âYouâre being naughty..â You mumble, eyes closing at the feeling of slick growing between your thighs.
He chuckles deeply, before murmuring, âMe? Being naughty? Never, sweetheart.â
You toy with a page in your book, fingers bending the page back and forth as Eddie confidently rocks his hips into your behind. You can feel his cock twitching against your ass making you desperate to be touched in any kind of way.
Eddie groans in your ear, itâs throaty and dirty, his hands now grip the sheets beside you. His knuckles slowly get paler as he grips them, his breathing picking up.
You let out a soft whimper, moving your hand on top of Eddieâs as you whine.
Eddie smirks to himself, intertwining your fingers as his hips speed up.
âSuch an innocent little thing, letting me use her while she reads her book like a good girl.â He says darkly, his strokes becoming deeper and longer.
You close your eyes, leaning your head back against his shoulder. His moans get closer together, his breathing quickening as the familiar small groans of âIâm gonna cumâ fill your ears.
His hips stutter as you feel a warmth pressing against you, his body weight resting on you more as he pants gently. He tilts your head to look at him before he kisses your face lightly.
âE-Eddie!â You smile through giggles, he pulls away as he smiles at you.
âSweetheart.â He laughs softly, carefully removing his body from yours.
You quickly move so youâre sitting on your knees before shyly whispering,
i need one where the readers dad walks in on them and eddie going at it. like all fours hand around theirs neck, pulling them back on his cock. and they just keep going whether they hear him come in or not
OKAY BUT IMAGINE THIS WITH CATHOLIC!READERâ
theyâre just going the fuck at it in her room. i mean, they are not being quiet at allâsheâs moaning, the headboard is banging when they get around to fucking, heâs saying some filthy & blasphemous shit, you name it. iâm thinking her parents were at a late church function, so no one was home and they werenât expected to return for a long time. sheâs in nothing but the guitar pick & rings necklace he gave her a week prior, and heâs got his head between her legs for awhile as he eats her pussy so wildly & messily that sheâs seeing stars. itâs probably some of the craziest sex theyâve had, absolutely no question about it; her guard is coming down more & more, and sheâs able to really let loose now. it fucking shows, and eddie is loving every goddamn second of it.
when itâs time for them to have sex, he says that he wants to try a new position with her. he calls it the âgod position,â because sheâs on all fours while he absolutely pounds her from behind. sheâs fucking loving it, too; his hands around her throat, choking her as he slams into her at a fast pace, one hand moving to occasionally slap her ass, both of his hands grabbing her hips and crashing then into his as he fucks her. heâs got her hair wound in his freed fist at one point, yanking her head up with a grin.
âhas your god ever made you feel this fucking good?â he rasps in her ear, snapping his hips against her ass. âhas he ever stuck his long, thick cock inside of you like this and made you scream?â
âno,â she manages around the grip he has on her throat, her eyes rolling back as he rams into her g-spot. ânever. fucking never.â
âthatâs what I thought,â he says, biting her neck after he let her go. âtell me youâve sinned. tell me you fucked up because you were praying to him. say it just the way i fucking like.â
âf-forgiveâŠmmmâŠforgive me, father, for i have sinned,â she pants, moaning as he reaches around to rub her clit. âitâs beenâŠthree days since my lastâŠmy last confessionâŠâ
âand what did you do, hm?â eddie asks, spanking her hard when she doesnât speak. âtell me, or iâll get the paddle.â
âi worshiped a false idol,â she breathes. âiâŠi prayed to a false god, one that wasnât you.â
âand what else?â eddie asks, his hand wrapping around her throat again.
âi donâtââ she begins, but he cuts off her air before she can finish.
theyâre so caught up in everything that she doesnât hear her dad coming in downstairs. she doesnât hear her mom coming in behind him, talking excitedly about the function they just returned from. all she can hear is the sound of slapping skin, of eddieâs moans, heavy breathing, and his spanking, of the deliciously blasphemous shit heâs saying in her ear as he mercilessly fucks into her dripping pussy. the headboard is somehow banging on the wall, and eddie is not being quiet at all when he says his next statement.
âdo you think your false god is watching you right now?â he asks, choking her hard as she gasps around his grip. âthink he can see his little angel getting her shit fucked up? what do you think he would say? personally, i think he would be jealous that i get to sink my dick into such a sweet, wet pussy every day.â
he lets go of her when she claws at his hand, and his lips press against the small marks that form on the sides. he kisses it hard, moaning against her neck as he slams her onto his cock. sheâs moaning more freely now, sounding like something out of one of those dirty movies the two of them often watched together. sheâs loud and careless, and heâs calling her a filthy little harlot as he drills into her cunt with both hands around her throat yet again. sheâs drooling, practically cock drunk as his necklace beats against her skin with every thrust.
âgonna make you forget that asshole exists, baby,â he purrs in her ear. âgonna make you know & worship only me. i donât care how long it fucking takes; iâll do this forever, if i have to.â
âeddie,â she moans, trying to fuck herself further on him. iââ
but she never gets a chance to complete her sentence. at that time, her bedroom door is thrown open rather violently, and her father is standing in the doorway. he looks angry, his eyes blazing and fists balled at his sides as he looks at the scene in front of him. she screams and tries to cover herself, but eddie isnât pulling out. heâs still balls-deep inside of her, his dick & parts of his thighs wet from just how drenched her cunt is, a look of shock on his face that soon turns to indifference. his thrusts stopped the moment her dad walked in, but now theyâre slowly starting again as she buries her face in embarrassment.
âdonât mind us, sir,â eddie says with a smirk. âjust breaking her into a new religion, thatâs all.â
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