description: after a messy breakup, being trapped in the upside down with your ex-boyfriend is the last thing you want. unfortunately, almost dying has a funny way of putting things into perspective.
pairing: eddie x ex gf!reader
tags: eddie x you, no y/n, exs to lovers, second chance romance, hurt/comfort, protective eddie, light(ish) post-breakup angst, satisfying fluff, crawl gone wrong, insisting on changing pairs, robin is sick of their bullshit, steve the relationship counselor
TW: violence, severe injury, blood
WC: 7.3k
A/N: based on a request by @enne02 hope you enjoy:)!! this one had me in my feels idk why LOL. reblogs are a writer's best friend<3 (if you know where this title is from, you know ball)
“Alright,” Steve said, pulling his arms tightly together. “Then it’s decided. Tomorrow, the girls will each wear an article of El and Max’s clothing to throw off the Demodogs.”
“They seem to be gunning for the two of them,” Dustin continued. “El for, well, obvious reasons. And Max, because she has dodged Vecna’s curse like, a thousand times. We add some of their blood to make the scent stronger, and some of Nancy and Robin’s to theirs, so the scent is thrown off. Sound good?”
“Yeah, I love being live bait,” Robin says sarcastically, scanning over to you and Nancy.
Nancy just nods in agreement before looking down at you on the couch.
“What about Will?” You ask, nodding over to the next room. He sat with his back to the group, eyes staring out the window ahead, headphones tight around his head. “Won’t their connection just immediately give this whole plan away?”
Jonathan sighs and closes the door, “He won’t be coming with us. He’s gonna stay at the squawk with my mom and Lucas in case Vecna’s spying. He won’t even be in communication with us.”
You nod once, flashing him a quick sympathetic smile.
“Alright!” Dustin claps his hands together. “Meet at Lover’s Lake gate sunrise tomorrow.”
The room filled with the sound of shifting bodies and tired sighs as everyone slowly stood from their spots around the Byers' living room.
Robin immediately groaned. “Awesome. Another sunrise meetup. Love that for us.”
“You complain every single time,” Steve muttered, grabbing his car keys off the coffee table.
“Because every single time we almost die, Steve.”
“Fair.”
Nancy was already gathering scattered papers from the table, slipping them into her bag with practiced efficiency. Jonathan disappeared toward the kitchen, mumbling something about coffee, while Dustin launched himself into explaining some other part of the plan to Mike for the third time that night.
You pushed yourself up from the couch slowly, exhaustion heavy in your bones. And unfortunately, your eyes caught Eddie’s from across the room.
He stood near the hallway entrance, arms crossed tightly over his chest, fingers tapping nervously against his forearm. His eyes flicked over you for barely a second before looking away just as quickly. Still couldn’t look at each other normally.
Cool. Normal. Totally fine.
You moved first, grabbing your jacket off the arm of the couch. “I’m gonna head out.”
“I’ll walk you,” Nancy offered immediately.
Before you could answer, Eddie suddenly pushed himself off the wall.
“I got it.”
The room went weirdly quiet for half a second. Robin’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into her hairline while Steve looked physically exhausted by the tension.
You stared at Eddie. “I think I can make it to the front door alone.”
“Wasn’t saying you couldn’t,” he muttered.
God. There it was, that sharp edge the two of you had been dancing around for months now.
Nancy glanced between the two of you carefully before stepping back. “Okay then.”
You brushed past Eddie toward the door, hearing his boots follow a second later.
The cold night air hit immediately once the front door opened, damp and sharp against your skin. Crickets buzzed faintly somewhere in the distance while the porch light flickered overhead.
You descended the steps first, and Eddie lingered behind you awkwardly.
“You really think this plan’s gonna work?” you asked quietly.
Eddie shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Nope.”
You huffed out a laugh despite yourself, and his mouth twitched faintly at the sound.
“But,” he added, softer, “it’s the best shot we got.”
You hated how easy it still was to stand beside him. Hated how your body still recognized him instantly. The smell of cigarettes and leather and that stupid cologne you bought him lingered in the cold air between you.
“You should probably get some sleep,” he said finally.
You glanced over at him. “You too.”
There was a moment of hesitation between you, then Eddie rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, curls falling into his face.
“Listen, about tomorrow—”
“We’ll figure it out. Night,” you said quickly, opening your car door and closing it just as fast.
“Night,” he muttered to himself, tapping the hood of your car once.
The Upside Down always felt wrong immediately.
The air was thicker here. Wet, heavy with rot and ash and something metallic that clung to the back of your throat every time you breathed too deeply.
The sky stretched above the group in angry shades of red and black lightning, spores drifting lazily through the air like toxic snow, every step squelching beneath your boots.
“God,” Robin muttered, pulling the sleeves of Max’s sweatshirt farther over her hands. “I seriously forgot how much this place smells like a dead animal’s asshole.”
“That is… unbelievably specific,” Nancy replied.
“It’s accurate, though.”
Steve ignored them, flashlight tucked beneath his arm as he unfolded the rough map Jonathan had drawn the night before.
“The crawlspace splits about a mile ahead,” Steve continued. “We cover more ground if we break into pairs.”
“Cool,” Robin nodded. “Dibs on not dying.”
Steve pointed around the group. “Nancy, you’re with Johnathan. Robin, you’re with Dustin and me—” He paused briefly. “Eddie, you and...”
“No.”
The answer left your mouth immediately. Sharp enough that even the distant growls echoing through the Upside Down suddenly felt quieter. Eddie’s head turned toward you instantly.
Steve blinked. “What?”
“I said no.”
You adjusted the shotgun strap harsher than necessary across your shoulder before looking anywhere except Eddie.
“What about Nancy?” you asked. “I’ll go with her.”
Steve shook his head immediately. “Nope. Both sharpshooters can’t be together.”
“Robin then.”
“Also no,” he replied. “You and Robin both have El's blood scent on you. Two El's means a dead giveaway.”
You clenched your jaw. Of course, there was a reason for everything; of course, it made sense. But still...
“No,” you repeated more quietly this time.
Steve sighed heavily like a tired father of six. “Seriously?”
You finally looked at Eddie, and big mistake. Because he looked just as frustrated as you felt, maybe even a little more exhausted from the situation than you were.
“Jesus Christ,” Robin whispered under her breath. “They’re divorced.”
“We were never married,” you snapped instantly.
“Yet,” Dustin mumbled.
You whipped around. “Whatever. Come on, Dustin.”
The kid blinked. “Wait, what?”
“You heard me.”
“Uh—”
“Dustin. Let’s go.”
Your voice cracked through the air hard enough that nearby spores trembled slightly as you shoved past the group toward the forest line. Dustin looked between you and Eddie like a hostage negotiator trying not to die.
Steve slowly lifted both hands. “Hey, Henderson?”
“Yeah?”
“I wouldn’t argue with an angry girl holding a shotgun.”
Dustin nodded immediately. “Excellent point.”
“Seriously?” Eddie muttered.
Dustin pointed apologetically at himself before jogging after you. “Sorry, man! Self-preservation!”
Robin watched the two of you disappear into the foggy tree line before glancing sideways at Eddie. “…So how bad was the breakup exactly?”
Eddie stared after you quietly for a long moment. “Bad enough,” he said finally, “that she’d rather walk into monster-infested hell with a fifteen-year-old.”
The three of them moved carefully through the wreckage of downtown Hawkins, flashlights cutting through the thick haze drifting between abandoned cars and crumbling storefronts.
Somewhere in the distance, something screeched. Robin immediately tightened her grip on the flare gun in her hands.
“Mm. Hate that sound. Really hate that sound.”
“Pretty sure that’s the point,” Steve muttered from the front.
Store signs flickered weakly overhead, vines pulsing slowly up the sides of buildings like veins beneath skin.
Eddie barely noticed any of it. Because every few seconds, his eyes kept drifting back toward the tree line where you and Dustin had disappeared twenty minutes ago.
“You know,” she said casually, “if you stare any harder, I think you might actually burn a hole right through the fog.”
Eddie rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”
“No, seriously,” Steve added. “It’s getting pathetic.”
“I’m literally just walking.”
“You basically broke your neck turning around five seconds ago.”
Eddie scoffed softly and adjusted the strap of the spear against his shoulder. “She’s fine.”
Steve hummed knowingly. “Uh huh.”
The group ducked beneath a collapsed power line before continuing down the street.
Robin glanced between the two boys. “Wait, hold on. I actually don’t know what happened between you two.”
Eddie groaned immediately. “Absolutely not.”
“Oh, come on,” she said. “We’re in hell dimension therapy hour. Spill.”
Eddie kept walking.
“Munson.”
“No.”
“Eddie.”
He sighed dramatically, dragging a hand down his face. “It was stupid.”
“That means it was definitely your fault,” Robin replied instantly.
“One-hundred percent,” Steve nodded.
Eddie shot both of them a glare before finally relenting. “Chrissy needed a ride home after a game one night.”
Robin blinked. “That’s it?”
“I didn’t tell her beforehand,” Eddie admitted.
Steve already looked exhausted. “Oh, my God.”
“I was going to!”
“But you didn’t,” Robin pointed out.
Eddie groaned louder. “Okay, yes, thank you, I gathered that much.”
Steve shoved aside a hanging vine as they entered the shell of an old grocery store. “So she saw you?”
“Yeah.”
Robin winced. “Oh, that’s brutal.”
“It wasn’t even like that,” Eddie argued quietly. “Chrissy was upset. Jason was being a dick. I just drove her home.”
“But from her perspective?” Steve replied. “Her boyfriend disappears for half the night with the prettiest girl in school.”
Eddie looked genuinely offended. “Why does everyone keep calling Chrissy the prettiest girl in school? That's not even half-accurate.”
Robin deadpanned. "Oh."
“You still love her,” Steve said it casually, like he was commenting on the weather.
Eddie kept his eyes ahead, flashlight shaking faintly in his grip. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Kinda does when you look one bad day away from throwing up every time she talks to another guy.”
Eddie let out a dry laugh. “Yeah, well. She’s still pissed.”
Steve crawled up beside him slightly. “Did you ever actually apologize?”
“Shut up,” Eddie snapped, ears turning red beneath his curls.
Robin gasped dramatically. “Wait, wait, wait— is that why she’s so pissed? Because she thinks something happened with Chrissy?”
Eddie’s expression tightened slightly. Because yeah, that was part of it. But not all of it, not the real part.
The real part was that instead of fighting harder for you, instead of explaining, instead of chasing after you when you stormed away crying…He let you go.
And he’d regretted it every single day since.
Meanwhile, somewhere deeper in the woods of the Upside Down, you and Dustin trudged through layers of ash and rotting vines in tense silence. Well, mostly tense silence. Because Dustin physically could not stop talking if he tried.
“I’m just saying,” he continued carefully, trying to keep up with your pace, “from an outside perspective, I really don’t think Eddie cheated on you.”
You climbed over a fallen tree branch without looking at him. “Congratulations.”
“I’m serious!”
“Dustin.”
“No, because you weren’t there after, okay? He was literally miserable.”
You snorted softly. “Please.”
“I’m not kidding!” Dustin insisted. “The guy looked like someone kicked his puppy for, like… three months straight.”
“That’s dramatic.”
“He started listening to sad music.”
You glanced back at him dryly. “He already listens to sad music.”
“Okay, fair.”
Dustin ducked beneath a low-hanging vine before continuing. “But seriously, he didn’t do anything with Chrissy.”
You tightened your grip around the shotgun because it still stung hearing her name, even now. Especially now. Because logically? You knew Eddie probably hadn’t cheated. But emotionally, that night still replayed in your head perfectly.
Waiting for him, watching the clock, then seeing his van pull into the trailer park with Chrissy Cunningham in the passenger seat, laughing at something he said. And Eddie, sweet, oblivious, Eddie, looking happier with her than he had with you in weeks.
“You didn’t see them,” you muttered quietly.
Dustin sighed. “I saw him after.”
“That doesn’t change anything.”
“It should.”
You stopped walking suddenly, sending Dustin nearly crashing into your back.
“You know what the worst part was?” you asked, voice strangely calm.
The spores drifting through the air caught in your hair as you turned toward him.
“I would’ve understood if he just told me.”
Dustin’s expression softened slightly. “He always thought you were too good for him,” he admitted quietly.
That one hit harder than you expected, because yeah. You knew that already, too. Knew it every time Eddie got weird when boys looked at you too long. Every time he joked about you “slumming it” with him. Every time, he acted as if your love for him had an expiration date.
Your chest tightened unpleasantly, but before you could answer, something screeched in the distance. Both of you froze instantly.
Dustin’s face paled. “Uh…” Another screech, but closer this time. Wet. Animalistic.
You slowly lifted the shotgun. The woods around you suddenly felt very, very quiet. Then, movement, fast shadows darting between the trees. One. Two. Three—
“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Dustin whispered.
Demodogs, at least five of them. Their slick bodies slithered between the vines surrounding you both, snarling lowly as their flower-like mouths slowly opened.
You grabbed Dustin’s jacket instantly, shoving him backward. “Run.”
“You know what your problem is?” Steve asked as the three of them pushed through the hollow remains of Family Video.
Eddie sighed heavily. “Please enlighten me, Harrington.”
“You think if you screw something up once, that’s it.”
Robin nodded immediately. “Oh my God, yes. That’s exactly his problem.”
Eddie rolled his eyes. “You two done psychoanalyzing me?”
“No,” Steve replied simply.
They stepped over collapsed shelves, boots crunching through broken VHS tapes scattered across the floor. Outside, thunder rumbled through the red sky.
Steve adjusted the nail bat over his shoulder before glancing back at Eddie again. “So...did you ever actually apologize?”
Eddie’s jaw tightened. “…Not really.”
Robin looked horrified. “EDDIE.”
“What?” he defended instantly. “Things got heated!”
“She cried and dumped you, and you just let her walk away!” Robin whisper-yelled.
Eddie scrubbed both hands down his face in frustration. “I didn’t know what to say!”
Steve laughed dryly. “Well, there’s your first issue.”
“I figured if she wanted to talk to me, she would’ve.”
Robin stared at him for a long moment. “Men are genuinely stupid.”
Eddie ignored her. “She looked at me like she hated me.”
“Because she was hurt,” Robin shot back. “There’s a difference.”
Eddie went quiet at that, because deep down? He knew. Knew every sharp comment and glare from you over the last few months felt more like woundedness than hatred.
Steve slowed slightly, expression softening just a bit. “Dude.”
Eddie glanced over.
“When this is over…” Steve shrugged. “Just apologize.”
Robin pointed at him enthusiastically. “YES. Exactly. Thank you.”
“Like a real apology,” Steve continued. “Not one of your weird little jokes where you deflect halfway through.”
“I don’t do that.”
“You absolutely do that,” Robin replied.
Eddie opened his mouth to argue, but static suddenly exploded through Steve’s walkie. All three of them froze instantly. A burst of panicked breathing crackled through the speaker. Then:
“STEVE?!” Dustin, terrified.
Steve grabbed the walkie immediately. “Dustin? What happened?”
More static, heavy footsteps, and your voice somewhere in the background, shouting something muffled. Then Dustin again:
“There’s— Jesus Christ— there’s like FIVE OF THEM!” A deafening screech echoed through the radio.
Robin’s face went white instantly. “Oh, my God.”
“We’re headed east through the woods!” Dustin yelled breathlessly. “They’re right behind us!”
Steve already started moving. “Stay moving. We’re coming to you.”
The radio crackled violently. Then your voice cut through this time, sharp and panicked.
“Dustin RUN!”
Eddie’s stomach dropped instantly. A loud gunshot exploded through the walkie. Then another, then static.
Branches snapped violently beneath your boots as you and Dustin tore through the woods.
The Upside Down blurred around you in flashes of red lightning and black vines, spores whipping through the air every time you shoved past another rotting tree. Behind you, there was screeching.
“LEFT!” Dustin yelled breathlessly.
You grabbed the back of his jacket, yanking him sideways just as a Demodog launched from the trees where he’d been standing half a second before. It hit the ground hard with a wet snarl. You spun instantly:
BOOM!
The shotgun blast echoed through the forest, the flare shell exploding directly into the creature’s chest. Fire burst outward, orange flames illuminating the dark woods as the Demodog shrieked and convulsed on the ground.
“Holy shit!” Dustin yelled.
“No time!” you shouted back. “MOVE!”
The two of you sprinted again. Your lungs burned as another screech split the air, then another. Then three more answered.
Dustin looked back once and immediately paled. “Oh, that is SO many.”
Shapes darted through the fog behind you. Fast, crawling over trees and vines with horrifying speed. One leaped from the side, and you reacted instantly, grabbing Dustin by the shoulders and throwing him down as the creature flew over both your heads.
You hit the ground hard beside him. The Demodog spun immediately, flower-mouth peeling open with a shriek. Dustin scrambled backward, fumbling desperately inside his bag.
“SHIT! SHIT! SHIT—”
The creature lunged, and a Molotov cocktail smashed against its face, fire erupting instantly. The thing screamed horribly, thrashing against the dirt while Dustin stared wide-eyed at the flaming bottle in his hand.
“…That was awesome.”
“Dustin!”
“RIGHT. MOVING!”
You hauled him upright again just as another creature burst from the trees, then another, and another.
Your stomach dropped. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”
Because behind the Demodogs, towering above them in the fog…Demogorgons; at least two. Their massive silhouettes moved slowly through the trees, petals twitching open as they tracked the scent of blood soaking into the girls’ borrowed clothes.
“Okay,” Dustin said faintly. “I officially hate this plan.”
One of the Demodogs lunged. Boom. Another flare shell exploded through its jaw. The recoil nearly knocked your shoulder backward as you kept firing. One. Two. Three blasts. Fire illuminated snapping teeth and writhing vines while Dustin hurled another Molotov into the pack.
Glass shattered, and flames erupted across the forest floor. Still, more kept coming.
“Why are there SO MANY?!” Dustin yelled.
“I don’t know!”
A Demodog tackled you from the side before you could reload. You hit the ground hard enough to lose the shotgun entirely. The creature screeched directly in your face, claws slashing wildly as you shoved against its throat desperately, its teeth snapped inches from your face.
“GET OFF!”
You grabbed the knife from your belt and drove it upward into the creature’s neck. Black blood sprayed across your hands as the thing convulsed violently before collapsing on top of you. For one horrible second, you couldn’t breathe.
Then Dustin was there immediately, dragging the body off you. “COME ON!”
The trees ahead suddenly exploded with flashlight beams. Voices.
“THIS WAY!”
Steve. Robin. And then, your heart betrayed you instantly at the sound of his voice. He yelled for you, panicked and terrified; closer now. You turned toward the sound just as one of the Demogorgons burst through the trees.
“LOOK OUT!” Dustin screamed. You barely had time to move.
One massive claw swung forward, and white-hot pain exploded across your side. The force sent you flying backward violently into the dirt.
For a second, everything went silent. No sound. No air. Nothing.
Then warmth poured down your waist, and your hands instinctively grabbed at your sides. Blood, so much blood. Somewhere nearby, Dustin was screaming your name.
And across the clearing, Eddie stopped dead. Because you were on the ground, not moving.
“OH MY GOD—” Dustin’s voice cracked somewhere nearby as the others charged into the clearing.
Steve and Robin immediately started firing at the creatures still circling through the trees, gunshots and screeches echoing violently through the forest while flames spread across the ground from the broken Molotovs.
But Eddie? Eddie only saw you.
Blood soaked through your shirt in horrifying amounts, spilling between your fingers where you clutched desperately at your side. Your breathing came in sharp, uneven breaths against the dirt beneath you.
His stomach dropped so hard it physically hurt. “No no no no—”
He was beside you instantly, collapsing to his knees hard enough to draw blood. Your eyes fluttered toward him hazily, still conscious. Thank fucking God.
“Hey,” he breathed shakily. “Hey, stay with me, alright?”
You grimaced as another cough wracked through your body. Blood splattered across your chin, and Eddie visibly went pale.
“Jesus Christ,” Robin whispered somewhere behind him.
You sucked in a painful breath, immediately trying to push yourself upright. “I’m fine.”
Eddie stared at you in disbelief. “Are you insane?”
“I can still move.”
“You are literally coughing up blood!”
Another wet cough interrupted you immediately, like your body itself was trying to prove his point. You glared weakly at him afterward anyway.
“Don’t,” you rasped.
“Don’t what?”
“Look at me like that.”
Eddie’s face crumpled for half a second before he could stop it. Like that.
Like he was terrified, like seeing you hurt was physically ripping him apart from the inside out.
The sounds of fighting still echoed around the clearing. Steve yelling. Gunshots. Demogorgons screeching somewhere deeper in the woods.
But Eddie barely registered any of it as he pressed, shaking hands harder against the wound in your side. Blood immediately soaked through to his palms.
“You need pressure on this,” he said quickly, voice uneven. “Can you hold this?”
“I can walk.”
“No, you can’t.”
“Yes, I can.”
“You got launched ten feet through the air!”
You tried to sit up again anyway, and immediately regretted it. Pain tore through your side hard enough that a broken sound escaped your throat before you could stop it.
Eddie caught you before you could fall back completely, one arm wrapping around your shoulders carefully.
“There she is,” he whispered shakily. “That’s the stubborn girl I know.”
You clenched your jaw hard, humiliated tears burning behind your eyes. Not now, you refused to cry right now.
“I’m not dying in front of you,” you muttered weakly.
Something about that sentence completely shattered whatever composure Eddie had left. His eyes went glossy instantly.
“Hey,” he said softly, almost pleading. “Hey, don’t talk like that.”
Another scream echoed through the woods. Steve suddenly appeared beside them, blood splattered across his bat. “We need to move. Now.”
“Can she walk?” Robin asked urgently.
You opened your mouth immediately. “Yes.”
“No,” Eddie answered at the exact same time.
“I said I can—”
The second you tried to move again, your entire body folded from the pain, and a horrible gasp tore from your chest. And Eddie finally snapped.
“Jesus Christ, would you stop trying to be tough for five seconds?!”
The clearing went quiet for a second, and even you looked startled. Eddie’s breathing shook violently as he stared down at you, terrified and furious and heartbroken all at once.
“Please.”
That one word hurt worse than the injury. Before you could argue again, Eddie slid one arm beneath your knees and the other around your back.
You instinctively grabbed onto his jacket as he lifted you carefully against his chest. Pain exploded through your side immediately, making you gasp sharply into his shoulder.
“I know,” he whispered quickly. “I know, sweetheart, I got you.”
Sweetheart, your eyes shut briefly at the nickname, because he hadn’t called you that in months.
Eddie adjusted his grip tighter around you before looking toward the others. “Move.”
Nancy’s house in the Upside Down looked even worse from the inside.
The wallpaper peeled in blackened strips from the walls, vines crawling through cracks in the ceiling while spores drifted lazily through the stale air. The entire place creaked softly around them as if it were breathing.
Steve slammed the front door shut behind them while Robin shoved an overturned bookshelf against it.
“Are they following us?” she asked breathlessly.
“I don’t know,” Steve answered. “I don’t hear them.”
Eddie barely registered the conversation. The second they got inside, he lowered you carefully onto the couch and immediately dropped to his knees in front of you again. Your blood stained almost everything now.
The couch. His hands. Your shirt. The floor beneath your boots. It just kept coming.
“Okay,” Robin said quickly, trying to stay calm. “Okay, okay. Nancy keeps medical supplies upstairs, right?”
“Yeah,” Steve nodded immediately. “Bathroom closet.”
The two of them disappeared upstairs instantly. Dustin crouched nearby, frantic fingers fumbling with his walkie.
“Nancy? Jonathan? Come in!” Static answered him.
Your breathing hitched painfully again, and Eddie’s head snapped back toward you immediately.
“Stay with me,” he whispered.
You leaned weakly against the couch cushions, face pale beneath the layer of grime and blood smeared across your skin. Every breath looked harder than the last. Still, you forced out a weak, sarcastic smile.
“Pretty sure… this ruins the mission.”
Eddie let out something halfway between a laugh and a broken sound. “Yeah,” he choked out. “Yeah, sweetheart, kinda.”
Your eyes flicked toward the blood covering his hands, then back to him. He looked terrified, like absolutely terrified.
And it hit you suddenly that Eddie Munson looked like he was watching the worst thing that had ever happened to him unfold in real time.
“You can stop looking at me like I’m dying,” you muttered weakly.
The second the words left your mouth, Eddie’s face crumpled completely. “No,” he whispered instantly. Your chest ached at the sound.
Eddie pressed both shaking hands harder against the wound in your side, trying desperately to slow the bleeding.
“You can hate me later,” he said shakily. “Just don’t leave me first.”
Something in your expression broke, because he sounded serious. His eyes glistened under the dim flickering light, curls stuck damply against his forehead, while blood soaked through his rings and sleeves.
And suddenly, all you could think about was Dustin’s voice earlier.
"He always thought you were too good for him."
Your vision blurred slightly. “Eddie…”
“Don’t,” he interrupted immediately, voice cracking. “Please don’t do the thing where people start talking all soft because they think they’re dying, okay? I can’t—”
His breath hitched sharply. Then…Oh. Oh God. Eddie was crying.
Not loud or dramatic, just silent tears slipping down his face while he tried desperately to keep pressure against your side.
You weakly grabbed at his wrist. Instantly, his other hand wrapped around yours.
“I’m here,” he whispered quickly. “I’m here.”
Upstairs, cabinets slammed open while Robin shouted something about peroxide. Dustin was still trying the walkies. But for a second, the rest of the world faded out entirely. It was just Eddie, holding your hand like letting go would kill you.
Your thumb brushed weakly across his knuckles.
“I don’t hate you,” you admitted quietly.
Eddie froze. His watery eyes snapped up to yours so fast it almost hurt to look at. “What?”
You swallowed painfully. “I tried to,” you whispered. “But I don’t.”
Eddie stared at you like the words physically knocked the air from his lungs. Then suddenly, the house went strangely quiet.
Dustin slowly lowered the walkie. “…Wait.”
Steve reappeared at the top of the stairs with Robin right behind him, carrying supplies.
“What?” Robin asked.
Dustin frowned toward the windows. “Do you guys hear that?”
Everyone went still, and there was nothing. No screeching. No snarling. No pounding footsteps outside. The Demodogs were gone.
Steve moved cautiously toward the window, peeling back the curtain slightly. “…Holy shit.”
“What?” Eddie snapped immediately without taking his eyes off you.
Steve looked back slowly. “They stopped.”
Robin blinked. “Stopped what?”
“Following us.”
Everyone went quiet, then Dustin’s eyes widened. “Oh shit.”
Robin looked at him. “‘Oh shit’, what?”
Dustin pointed toward you carefully. “The blood.”
Eddie frowned slightly, and then realization hit all at once. The creatures weren’t tracking El’s scent anymore, not Max’s either. Your blood threw them back to tracking the real deal.
“Oh, that is dark,” Robin muttered quietly.
Steve looked back out the window one more time before letting the curtain fall shut again. “Doesn’t matter. We still gotta move.”
Eddie’s head snapped up immediately. “She can’t move.”
As if on cue, another painful cough tore through your chest. Blood stained the corner of your mouth again, and Eddie visibly flinched.
Robin quickly knelt beside the couch with the medical supplies, hands moving fast as she peeled back the blood-soaked fabric around your side.
“…Oh.”
Steve’s face tightened instantly. “Bad?”
Robin looked a little pale now, too. “Very.”
You glanced downward weakly. Honestly, you kinda wished you hadn’t.
The slash across your side was deep, way deeper than you originally thought. Blackened blood smeared across torn skin while the edges of the wound pulsed faintly with Upside Down spores and grime.
Robin pressed fresh gauze against it carefully, and you hissed sharply through your teeth.
“Sorry,” she muttered quickly.
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not,” Eddie said immediately, everyone turning to look at him.
He was still kneeling in front of you, one hand locked tightly around yours like he physically couldn’t let go. And somehow he still looked angry at himself, like this was his fault too.
Steve crouched beside Dustin near the walkie.
“We need everyone back here. Now.”
Dustin nodded immediately, adjusting the frequency with shaky hands. “Nancy, Jonathan, Mike— anybody copy?”
Static crackled loudly, then Jonathan’s voice finally pushed through.
“Dustin?”
“Get back to Wheeler’s house now,” Steve ordered quickly. “We have a situation.”
“What happened?”
Steve hesitated briefly, but Eddie didn’t. “She’s hurt.”
Jonathan swore immediately. “How bad?”
Nobody answered fast enough, and that was answer enough. Dustin swallowed hard before grabbing the walkie again. “Guys, seriously, we need everyone here now.”
Robin kept trying to wrap the wound tighter, but every fresh layer of bandages turned red almost instantly. Steve’s expression shifted subtly from worried to straight-up scared.
“Hey,” he said carefully, crouching closer to you now. “Stay with us, okay?”
You let out a weak laugh. “Everybody keeps saying that.”
“Because you look like shit,” Robin replied automatically.
“Robin,” Steve hissed.
“What? I’m motivating her.”
Your eyelids suddenly felt heavy, and your head tipped slightly against the couch cushions.
Instantly, Eddie tightened his grip on your hand. “Hey.”
“I’m awake.”
“No sleeping.”
“I’m literally just resting my eyes.”
“Absolutely not.”
You would’ve laughed if breathing didn’t hurt so badly. Robin exchanged a quick glance with Steve. Then, he stood abruptly.
“We’re getting out of here.”
Eddie looked up sharply. “What?”
“She needs a hospital.”
“In the real world,” Robin added quickly. “Like yesterday.”
Steve nodded toward the ceiling. “Nearest gate’s at the trailer park. We move fast, we can make it.”
“And if the Demogorgons come back?” Dustin asked nervously.
Steve tightened his grip around the nail bat. “Then we fight.”
Eddie looked back down at you again. You looked exhausted now; blood loss had drained almost all the color from your face.
“Okay,” he whispered shakily. “Okay, we’re moving.”
Then softer, mostly to himself as he brushed blood-matted hair carefully from your face, “You’re not dying here.”
The trip back to the trailer park was brutal; every movement hurt. Every step Eddie took with you in his arms jolted painfully through your side, forcing weak gasps from your throat, no matter how hard you tried to hide them.
“You still with me?” he asked quietly after a while.
You hummed weakly against his shoulder.
“Words, sweetheart.”
“…Unfortunately.”
That earned the tiniest huff of laughter from him. Good. You liked hearing him laugh, even now.
Especially now.
The trailer park gates finally came into view ahead through the fog, and relief instantly loosened the group.
“We’re close,” Steve called quietly. “Gate’s right up—”
A screech exploded overhead, and everyone froze. Eddie’s entire body locked up beneath you instantly. Because he knew that sound, all too well. Demobats.
Robin looked upward first. “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.”
The sky above them suddenly erupted with movement. Dark shapes poured through the red clouds in violent shrieking swarms. Dozens, maybe more.
“No, no, no,” Dustin whispered.
Eddie visibly went pale; you could feel it immediately. The way his arms tightened around you, the way his breathing changed to sharp, uneven, panicked. Because last time, these things nearly killed him.
“MOVE!” Steve shouted.
The swarm dove all at once, and chaos erupted instantly. Robin started firing upward while Steve swung the bat wildly at the creatures swooping down around them. Dustin hurled another Molotov skyward, flames bursting violently across the dark sky.
Still, more kept coming. One of the bats shrieked directly beside Eddie’s head. He ducked sharply, nearly dropping you. Another latched briefly onto his jacket, and suddenly he wasn’t here anymore, not fully.
Your stomach twisted painfully as you watched it happen in real time. The fear. The memory. His eyes looked exactly like they had that night in the Upside Down trailer. Terrified. Overwhelmed.
A bat swooped downward fast.
“EDDIE!” you shouted weakly. Too late.
The creature slammed directly into him, and the impact knocked both of you sideways violently, causing you to slip from his grasp. Pain exploded through your body as you hit the ground hard, tumbling through ash and dead vines.
Your vision blurred immediately, and everything spun. For one horrible second, you almost blacked out. Then you heard Eddie release an agonizing scream. Your head snapped upward weakly.
The bats swarmed him instantly, exactly like before. Clawing. Shrieking. Dragging him toward the ground while Steve and Robin tried desperately to fight them off. And suddenly, you weren’t in the present Upside Down anymore. You were back there, watching Eddie nearly die.
Watching him bleed out while everyone screamed. Watching his body go limp in your arms. No, absolutely fucking not.
Adrenaline slammed through your body so violently it almost made you nauseous.
You forced yourself upward with a broken gasp, fingers scrambling desperately through the dirt until they found the shotgun lying nearby. Your side screamed in protest, but it didn’t matter. You cocked the gun shakily.
One of the bats wrapped around Eddie’s throat while another clawed at his back. His eyes met yours across the chaos, terrified. And that? That did it.
BOOM
The flare shell exploded directly into the swarm, and fire erupted violently across the sky. Shrieking filled the air as the Demo-bats ignited all at once, peeling away from Eddie in flaming screeches. Another shot, then another.
Explosions of orange fire illuminated the dark woods around you while burning creatures dropped from the sky one after another.
Steve grabbed Eddie immediately, hauling him backward. “MOVE MOVE MOVE!”
Robin ran toward you instantly. “Jesus Christ!”
Your arms finally gave out. The shotgun slipped from your fingers as the adrenaline vanished just as quickly as it came. Everything tilted sideways, and Eddie reached you before you hit the ground again.
His hands grabbed your face carefully. “Hey,” he breathed frantically. “Hey, hey, hey, look at me.”
Your vision blurred around the edges, but you still managed the weakest smile.
“Told you,” you whispered faintly. “Not letting you die.” Eddie looked absolutely wrecked by that sentence.
The first thing you noticed was the beeping, soft and steady. Then the smell of antiseptic hit next, clean hospital air replacing the rot and ash of the Upside Down.
Your body felt heavy and warm, and pain throbbed dully through your side the second you tried to move.
A small sound escaped your throat before you could stop it. Immediately, a chair scraped harshly beside you.
“Hey.”
Your eyes blinked open slowly. Hospital room. Dim lighting. And Eddie, kneeling beside your bed so fast it almost looked like he hadn’t moved in hours. Because honestly? He probably hadn’t.
His curls were a mess, dark circles bruised beneath his eyes, while dried scratches still marked his neck and jaw from the bats. One of his hands clutched yours tightly enough to hurt a little.
“Oh, thank God,” he breathed shakily.
Your throat felt raw. “You look terrible.”
A watery laugh escaped him instantly. “Thanks.”
You smiled weakly. Eddie immediately leaned forward in the chair, still gripping your hand like he thought you might disappear if he let go.
“You scared the absolute shit out of me,” he admitted quietly.
“How long was I out?”
“Day and a half.”
Your eyebrows lifted weakly. “Seriously?”
“Mhm.”
“Wow. Kinda dramatic of me.”
Eddie let out another broken laugh, but this one dissolved quickly. You glanced down at your intertwined hands, noticing how he still hadn’t let go.
“…You stayed?”
Eddie looked almost offended. “Obviously, I stayed.”
Something warm twisted painfully in your chest. You swallowed carefully. “The others okay?”
“Yeah.” He nodded quickly. “Everyone’s okay. Couple scratches, Henderson won’t stop bragging about his Molotovs, Robin cried for like twenty minutes after you passed out—”
“Robin cried?”
“She threatened Steve when he laughed about it, too.”
That earned a small laugh out of you. God, he’d missed that sound.
Eddie stared at you for a second too long afterward, like he was making sure you were real, and alive.
His expression slowly crumbled again. “Listen,” he started quietly.
You already knew from his tone that this was gonna hurt. Eddie rubbed shakily at his eyes with his free hand before looking back at you.
“I am so sorry.”
Your chest tightened immediately.
“I should’ve told you about Chrissy,” he continued, voice uneven now. “I should’ve explained, and I should’ve come after you that night instead of letting you walk away.”
Tears burned visibly in his eyes again. “But honestly?” He laughed weakly at himself. “I think I was just waiting for you to realize you were too good for me.”
Your face softened instantly. “Eddie—”
“No, let me say it.” His voice cracked slightly. “Because I need you to know.”
His thumb brushed carefully across your knuckles.
“You are the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen in my life,” he whispered shakily. “Like… stupid beautiful. And smart, and funny, and everybody loves you, and I just kept thinking eventually you’d wake up and realize you didn’t wanna be stuck with some freak in a trailer forever.”
Your eyes immediately stung.
“And then when you saw me with Chrissy…” He swallowed hard. “I don’t know. Part of me almost figured maybe this was it. Like maybe I finally ruined the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Silence filled the room softly. Then finally, “You idiot.”
Eddie blinked, and you squeezed his hand weakly. “I never cared about any of that.”
His face crumpled all over again. “I know that now,” he whispered.
“I’m sorry too.”
Eddie frowned immediately. “For what?”
“I should’ve listened.”
“No, sweetheart—”
“I was hurt,” you admitted softly. “But I think part of me already knew you didn’t cheat.”
Eddie’s eyes went glossy again instantly.
You sighed weakly. “You’re too obsessed with me to cheat on me.”
That startled a laugh out of him so suddenly he actually snorted.
“Well, yeah,” he whispered again.
You smiled faintly. Then after a small pause, “So…” you murmured. “What now?”
Eddie looked at you carefully, like he was scared to answer wrong.
Then slowly, he brought your hand carefully to his lips and pressed the softest kiss against your knuckles.
“Whatever you want,” he whispered.
Your heart melted a little. “…I think,” you admitted quietly, “I’d like my boyfriend back.”
Eddie actually stopped breathing. “You mean that?”
You nodded once, and that was all it took.
Eddie surged forward carefully, terrified of hurting you, one hand cradling your face while he kissed you like he’d been dying to do it for months.
Soft at first, shaky. Then emotional enough that you felt tears hit your cheeks before realizing they were his. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.
“I love you,” he whispered immediately. “Like, embarrassingly bad.”
You laughed softly. “I love you too, you idiot.”
Neither of you noticed the door cracking open. At least, not until:
“Oh, thank fucking God.”
You both startled apart immediately. Robin stood frozen in the doorway holding two vending machine coffees and an open bag of chips, staring at the two of you with pure exhausted relief on her face.
Behind her, Steve physically sagged against the doorframe.
“FINALLY,” he groaned dramatically. “Jesus Christ.”
Your face burned hot instantly while Eddie still hovered halfway over you, one hand on your waist. Robin pointed between the two of you accusingly. “Do you understand how insufferable you both have been?”
“Robin—” Eddie started.
“No. No, I’m serious.” She walked fully into the room now, setting the coffees down aggressively on the bedside table. “The sexual tension alone almost killed me before the interdimensional monsters even got the chance.”
Eddie groaned, dragging both hands down his face. “Can we have like… one emotional moment? Alone?”
“No,” Steve answered immediately.
Robin nodded. “Absolutely not.”
Then her expression softened slightly as she looked toward you lying in the hospital bed. “You scared the hell out of us, by the way.”
Your smile faded a little. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” Steve said quickly, pushing off the doorway. “Just stop getting mauled by alternate dimension creatures. It’s becoming a weird habit in this group.”
“You first,” you shot back weakly.
Robin’s eyes flicked back and forth between you and Eddie again before narrowing suspiciously.
“So…” she dragged out slowly. “Are we all emotionally repaired now or what?”
Eddie looked toward you, and you smiled faintly before intertwining your fingers with his again.
Robin gasped dramatically. “OH, my GOD.”
Steve pointed immediately. “I knew it.”
Eddie rolled his eyes, but he was smiling now, actually...no. More like beaming at the fact that your fingers were laced with his.
⬩➤ details: sfw, profanity, emotional hurt/comfort, jealousy fallout, groveling, character growth, accountability, mutual emotional unpacking, miscommunication resolution, jealousy to understanding, boundary setting, relationship rebuilding, public confession, “we’re just friends” trope (resolved), mutual pining resolution, emotional vulnerability, healing arc, established relationship (end), domestic softness, soft intimacy, love confession, redemption arc, angst with a hopeful ending
⬩➤ wordcount: 8.2k
⬩➤ note: second part is hereeee, lowk didn't turn out the way I wanted too tho lol, if u havent read part one go read it first!! and if u have, i hope you enjoy reading this<3
⬩➤ synopsis:
You were never officially his—until he finally understood what that meant. After years of keeping you half-hidden and half-his, Sirius Black is left with nothing but the aftermath of his own choices when you step back for good. What follows is unraveling, regret, and the slow, painful realization that love does not survive secrecy. But when he comes back changed—quieter, honest, undone by everything he lost—he has to prove that wanting you isn’t the same as being worthy of you.
The days that followed felt like walking through glass—sharp, deliberate, and impossible to ignore.
You stuck to your word. Completely.
In Charms, you arrived early and took a seat near the front beside Lily and Marlene. Sirius’s usual spot beside you remained empty. When he walked in late on Wednesday, his eyes immediately found you. You felt the burn of his stare on the side of your face the entire lesson. You never once looked back.
At meals, you sat at the far end of the Gryffindor table with a group of girls from your Arithmancy class. The first time you did it, Sirius froze in the entrance of the Great Hall, plate in hand, staring at the space beside his usual seat like it personally betrayed him. James had to physically tug him toward their normal spot.
He looked like shit.
His hair was more chaotic than usual, dark circles under his eyes. The easy, arrogant smirk he wore like armor had cracked. In its place was a constant scowl, jaw tight, shoulders rigid.
By Thursday, the Marauders had noticed.
You overheard Remus quietly asking him in the corridor, “Padfoot, what the hell is going on with you?” Sirius only snapped, “Nothing. Leave it,” before storming off.
He started getting reckless.
On Friday, he got into a screaming match with a group of Slytherins in the courtyard after Transfiguration. It escalated so fast that James and Remus had to pull him off Mulciber before he did something that would get him suspended. His knuckles were split open, blood dripping onto the stone as he laughed bitterly, eyes wild.
That same afternoon, you were in the library with a few friends when Elias, the Ravenclaw from the party, approached your table. He was polite, funny, and safe. You let yourself smile at him. Let yourself laugh when he made a joke about Flitwick’s singing. You even touched his arm lightly when he offered to help you with a difficult charm.
You felt him before you saw him.
Sirius was standing between two bookshelves across the room, staring. His grey eyes were murderous, locked on Elias’s hand near your arm like he wanted to set the entire library on fire. When your eyes accidentally met his, the raw pain and fury in his expression almost made you falter.
Almost.
You looked away first and kept talking to Elias.
That night, rumors spread that Sirius had blown up an entire shelf of practice dummies in the Room of Requirement. James apparently had to drag him out.
Saturday was worse.
The Great Hall was packed for breakfast. You sat with your back to the Marauders’ usual spot, refusing to give him even a glance. But you could hear everything.
Sirius was loud. Too loud. Laughing at nothing, voice sharp and mean. When a fifth-year Hufflepuff girl tried to flirt with him (the same one from the corridor), he let her sit on the arm of his chair, but his laugh was hollow. Forced. His eyes kept flicking toward your end of the table.
When one of the Beauxbatons exchange students—a tall, confident boy with dark hair and an accent—came over to your group and asked if you wanted to partner with him for the upcoming Potions project, you said yes. You even smiled at him.
The goblet in Sirius’s hand shattered.
Butterbeer and glass sprayed across the table. James cursed. Remus said something low and concerned. Sirius didn’t even clean it up. He just stood up abruptly, chair scraping loudly against the floor, and stormed out of the Great Hall without a word.
By Monday, the tension in the castle was unbearable.
You kept your head high. You laughed with your friends. You focused on your studies. You ignored the way your chest felt hollow every night when you lay in bed remembering how his body felt against yours. You were done.
But Sirius was unraveling.
He skipped more classes. Got another detention for hexing a Slytherin who looked at him wrong. During Quidditch practice, he flew like he had a death wish—diving dangerously, taking bludgers head-on. James had to bench him for the last twenty minutes.
The Marauders were openly worried now. You overheard Remus and James talking near the common room fireplace one evening:
“He won’t talk about it,” James said, running a hand through his hair. “But it’s bad, Moony. I’ve never seen him like this.”
Remus sighed. “It’s her. Has to be. They’ve been weird since that party… and now she won’t even look at him.”
You slipped away before they could see you.
On Tuesday evening, almost a full week since the fight, you were walking back from the Owlery when you felt him.
Sirius stepped out from behind a pillar, blocking your path. He looked terrible—eyes bloodshot, hair a mess, robes wrinkled like he’d slept in them. The usual effortless charm was gone. All that remained was raw, desperate exhaustion.
“You can’t keep doing this,” he said, voice hoarse. “Ignoring me. Acting like I don’t exist.”
You stopped a few feet away, arms crossed. Your voice was calm but firm.
“I can. And I will.”
He took a step closer, fingers twitching like he wanted to reach for you but knew better. The fading sunset light poured through the corridor windows, turning his grey eyes into liquid steel.
“I’m losing my fucking mind,” he admitted, the words sounding like they were ripped out of him. “I can’t sleep. I can’t think. Every time I see you laughing with someone else I want to—” He cut himself off, breathing hard.
You held his gaze without flinching.
“Good,” you said quietly. “Now you know how it felt.”
Sirius looked like you’d slapped him. For a moment, the fight drained out of him. He just stood there, broken and beautiful in the golden light, watching the girl he refused to claim walk away from him for the hundredth time.
You stepped around him and kept walking.
Behind you, his voice cracked as he called your name.
But you didn’t stop.
By the end of the week, something in Sirius finally cracked.
He stopped pretending he was fine. The reckless anger, the loud laughter, the fake flirting—all of it disappeared almost overnight. In its place was something quieter. Rawer. Almost… pathetic in how openly desperate he’d become.
It started small.
On Wednesday morning, he showed up to Charms on time for the first time in weeks. No dramatic entrance. No smirking at the girls who usually flocked to him. He sat in the back, alone, actually taking notes. When Professor Flitwick praised his perfect Silencing Charm, Sirius barely reacted. His eyes kept drifting to you at the front of the class.
During lunch, he didn’t sit with the Marauders at their usual spot. Instead, he walked straight to the far end of the Gryffindor table where you were sitting with your friends. He stopped a respectful distance away, hands shoved deep in his pockets like he didn’t trust them.
“Can I talk to you?” he asked quietly. No pet names. No cocky grin. Just raw, tired honesty.
You didn’t even look up from your plate. “No.”
He lingered anyway, shifting his weight. “Please.”
The single word—please—coming from Sirius Black felt foreign. Several heads turned. You stood up, gathered your things, and walked out without another word. You heard him exhale shakily behind you.
But he kept trying.
Thursday after Transfiguration, he waited outside the classroom like a lost dog. When you exited with Lily, he stepped forward, looking painfully out of place without his usual swagger.
“I stopped talking to her,” he said quickly, voice low. “The Hufflepuff girl. I told her nothing’s ever going to happen. I haven’t looked at anyone else since… since you walked away.”
You finally met his eyes. He looked exhausted—heavy bags under his stormy grey eyes, curls unkempt, shoulders slightly hunched like the weight of the last two years was finally crushing him.
“I don’t care who you talk to anymore, Sirius.”
“You do,” he whispered, almost like he was trying to convince himself more than you. “Because I’m losing my mind pretending I can survive without you. And the only thing keeping me going is believing you still do.”
His voice cracked on the last part. He stepped closer but didn’t touch you. For once, he didn’t try to kiss you or pull you into a corner. He just stood there, vulnerable and exposed in the middle of the bustling corridor.
“I’ve been a coward,” he continued, swallowing hard. “I wanted you so badly but I was terrified of what it meant. What loving you would mean. So I kept you close enough to keep you, but far enough that I could lie to myself.”
Your chest tightened painfully, but you kept your face neutral.
“I’m sorry,” he said, the words sounding like they burned on the way out. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
You walked past him.
By Friday, he was unraveling in the most open way possible.
He sat two rows behind you in Potions, actually paying attention instead of doodling or passing notes with James. During lunch, he left a small note on your seat before you arrived. Just three words in his messy handwriting:
I miss you.
No signature. Just the truth.
That evening in the common room, he didn’t sit with the Marauders by the fire. He sat alone in the corner, watching you quietly from across the room. When a girl tried to approach him, he gently shook his head and looked away. The rejection was so un-Sirius-like that even James looked concerned.
Later, when most people had gone to bed, he found you again.
You were reading by the window, curled up in a large armchair. He approached slowly, stopping a few feet away like he was afraid you’d bolt.
“I know you said you’re done,” he started, voice hoarse. “And I get it. I deserve it. But I’m trying, love— darling.” He corrected himself quickly, wincing. “I’m trying to be better. I stopped all the flirting. I’m going to classes. I even told McGonagall I’d redo my last essay properly.”
He let out a shaky, self-deprecating laugh and ran a hand through his hair.
“Look at me. I’m fucking pathetic. Begging in the middle of the common room like a lovesick idiot. But I don’t care anymore.” His voice dropped, cracking with raw vulnerability. “I can’t sleep without you. I can’t breathe properly. Every time I close my eyes I see you walking away from me in that corridor. And it’s killing me.”
He took one careful step closer, eyes glassy in the firelight.
“I was scared,” he admitted, barely above a whisper. “Scared that if I called you mine, you’d leave like everyone else does. My family… they ruin everything they touch. I thought if I didn’t label it, I couldn’t break it. But I broke it anyway.”
Sirius looked completely shattered—shoulders slumped, eyes desperate, the arrogant prince of Gryffindor reduced to someone quietly begging the only person who ever made him feel safe.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he whispered. “But I want to learn. For you.”
The common room was nearly empty. The fire crackled softly behind him, casting warm flickering light across his pained expression. He looked like he hadn’t slept properly in days.
He didn’t try to touch you. Didn’t try to kiss you.
He just waited.
Hoping.
At first, it was barely anything.
One evening in the common room, you were reaching for a book on a high shelf when Sirius appeared beside you silently. He levitated it down and handed it to you without a word. Your fingers brushed his for a split second. You didn’t thank him. You simply took the book and returned to your seat. But you also didn’t immediately move to another part of the room.
Days later, during a group Herbology project, Professor Sprout paired everyone randomly. Somehow, you ended up working beside him. The silence between you was heavy at first, thick enough to choke on. But when you struggled with a particularly stubborn Venomous Tentacula, Sirius spoke—voice low and careful.
“Here… tilt the shears like this. Otherwise it’ll spray you.”
You let him show you. No sarcastic comment. No lingering touch. Just quiet help. When you muttered a soft “Thanks,” his shoulders visibly relaxed, like he’d been holding his breath for weeks.
Another week passed, and the conversations grew slightly longer.
In the corridor after Defense Against the Dark Arts, he fell into step beside you. Not too close. Not touching. Just… there.
“I got full marks on the essay,” he said quietly, almost shy. “The one I rewrote. McGonagall looked shocked.”
You glanced at him sideways. His hands were shoved in his pockets, curls falling into his eyes as he stared at the floor. He looked nervous—actually nervous.
“Good for you,” you replied. Flat, but not cruel.
It was the longest sentence you’d spoken to him in nearly three weeks. Sirius’s head snapped up, a fragile spark of hope flashing across his face before he quickly hid it. He didn’t push. He just nodded and kept walking beside you until your paths split.
The change continued in small, careful pieces.
One rainy afternoon in the library, he sat at the table across from yours. Not beside you — across. Far enough to give you space, close enough that you couldn’t ignore him. When you dropped your quill, he picked it up and slid it back to you without a word. Later, when you were struggling with a complicated Arithmancy problem, he slid a piece of parchment toward you with the correct formula written in his messy handwriting.
You didn’t smile. But you used it.
And when you finished the problem correctly, you looked up and said, “You remembered how much I hate this chapter.”
Sirius’s lips twitched—not quite a smile, but close. “I remember everything about you.”
The words hung between you, heavy and honest. You didn’t respond, but you didn’t leave either. You stayed at your table, and he stayed at his. Two people orbiting each other, slowly moving closer.
A few weeks passed, and the conversations grew slightly longer.
You were sitting by the Black Lake after dinner, the water rippling gently under a pale pink and orange sunset. The air was cool, carrying the distant sound of Quidditch practice. You had your knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them, when Sirius appeared.
He didn’t sit too close. He left a respectable gap on the grass between you, folding his long legs beneath him. For several minutes, you both just watched the lake.
“I’ve been thinking a lot,” he said finally. His voice was rough, like he’d been rehearsing this. “About how I treated you. How I kept you in this… in-between because I was scared shitless of losing you. It was selfish. Really fucking selfish.”
You stayed quiet, but you didn’t get up and leave.
Sirius continued, picking at the grass beside him. “I know sorry isn’t enough. Not after two years. But I’m here. Every day. Trying. Even if you never forgive me… I’m still going to be better. For me. And for you.”
You turned your head slightly. The sunset painted his face in warm tones, highlighting the exhaustion in his eyes and the raw sincerity in the set of his mouth.
“I’m still angry,” you said quietly.
“I know.”
“I’m still hurt.”
“I know that too.” His voice cracked. He looked down at his hands. “I just… I miss hearing your voice. Even if it’s only a few words. Even if they’re angry ones.”
You didn’t respond. But when you eventually stood up to leave, you didn’t walk away immediately. You paused for a second, looking down at him.
“Goodnight, Sirius.”
It was small. Barely anything.
But his head snapped up like you’d handed him the moon. His eyes shone with something painfully hopeful.
“Goodnight,” he whispered back, voice thick.
A few days later, the common room was nearly empty.
Most people had gone to bed. The fire was low, crackling softly and casting dancing shadows across the crimson carpets. You were curled up in your usual armchair by the window when Sirius approached slowly.
He stopped in front of you, hands in his pockets.
“Can I sit?” he asked.
You hesitated… then gave a small nod.
He sat on the chair across from you, not beside you. Close enough to talk. Far enough to not crowd you. The firelight flickered over his face as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“I’ve been a mess without you,” he admitted, voice barely above the crackling fire. “Not just because I want you back. But because I hate who I was to you. I hate that I made you feel like you were something I could keep in the dark.”
You studied him carefully. The vulnerability looked strange on him — almost uncomfortable, like ill-fitting clothes. But it was real.
“I’m not saying I forgive you,” you said slowly. “Not yet. Maybe not ever. But… I see you trying.”
Sirius let out a shaky breath, like he’d been holding it for days. His eyes glistened in the firelight.
“That’s more than I deserve,” he whispered. “Thank you. For even… talking to me.”
The silence that followed wasn’t comfortable. It was still heavy with everything unsaid. But it wasn’t hostile anymore.
For the first time in weeks, you didn’t feel the urge to run the second he appeared.
You were still guarded.
Still hurt.
But bit by bit… the ice was starting to crack.
The Gryffindor common room was nearly empty again, the fire burned down to glowing embers that painted the walls in soft, flickering reds. Most students had retreated to their dorms, weighed down by N.E.W.T. revision and the heavy exhaustion of seventh year. Only the occasional crack of a dying log broke the quiet.
You sat curled in your usual armchair by the window, a forgotten Charms textbook open on your lap. Sirius had asked if he could sit earlier, and you’d nodded. He’d chosen the couch closest to you instead of the one across the room—close enough that you could smell the faint trace of his woody cologne, but far enough that neither of you had to acknowledge the careful distance.
He looked different these days. Still devastatingly handsome, but quieter. The sharp edges of his usual arrogance had been sanded down by weeks of regret. His dark curls were messier than usual, like he’d been running his hands through them too often, and his grey eyes kept flicking toward you with a kind of nervous reverence he’d never shown before.
“You don’t have to stay up just because I am,” you said softly, not quite looking at him.
“I want to,” he answered immediately. His voice was low, rough around the edges. “If you’ll let me.”
The silence that followed wasn’t quite comfortable, but it wasn’t hostile anymore. It felt… fragile. Like something new and uncertain was trying to grow between you, and both of you were terrified of crushing it.
Sirius shifted on the couch, leaning forward slightly with his elbows on his knees. He was watching the fire, but you could feel his attention on you like a physical touch. Old habits. Even now, when he was trying so hard to be better, his body still gravitated toward yours.
“You were right, you know,” he said after a long pause. “About all of it. I kept you like a secret because I was scared. And I convinced myself that was enough for you. That it was enough for me.” He let out a shaky breath. “It wasn’t. I see that now.”
You swallowed, fingers tightening around the edge of your textbook. Hearing him say it so plainly still twisted something deep in your chest. “It hurt, Sirius. Every time you’d touch me like I was yours and then act like I was nothing in front of everyone else.”
He nodded slowly, jaw tight. “I know. I hate myself for it.”
Another stretch of silence. The fire popped softly.
You glanced over at him. He was already looking at you—those stormy grey eyes softer than you’d ever seen them. There was no smirk. No deflection. Just raw, aching honesty.
Without thinking, Sirius reached for you.
His hand moved instinctively across the small space between the couch and your chair, heading straight for your fingers where they rested on the armrest. The movement was so natural, so familiar—like he’d done it a thousand times before. Because he had. In private, his hands had always found yours, your thigh, your waist. Touch had been his language. His safety net.
Halfway there, he froze.
His fingers hovered just inches above yours, trembling slightly. You could see the exact moment realization hit him—this wasn’t automatic anymore. He wasn’t sure he was allowed. The confidence that used to let him pull you into his lap without asking was gone, replaced by something careful and pained.
He didn’t pull back right away. His hand just… stayed there. Suspended. Hesitating.
Your breath caught.
That small hesitation hurt worse than any of the cruel things he’d said in the corridor that day. It was proof. Real, tangible proof that he finally understood what he’d done. The old Sirius would have taken your hand without thinking, used the touch to smooth over any tension. This Sirius was learning how to sit in the discomfort instead. Learning how to want you without assuming he could have you.
His eyes lifted to yours, wide and vulnerable. “I… sorry,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I didn’t mean to—just habit. I won’t—”
He started to withdraw his hand.
You didn’t move. You just watched him, heart aching with a messy tangle of tenderness and old pain.
Sirius swallowed hard, curling his fingers into a loose fist before letting his hand drop back to his own knee. The space between you felt heavier now. Charged with everything he wasn’t letting himself take.
“I’m trying,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “I don’t want to touch you just because it feels good anymore. I want… I want to earn it. If you ever let me again.”
The firelight flickered across his face, highlighting the faint flush on his cheekbones and the way his throat worked as he fought to keep himself still.
You didn’t reach for him. Not yet.
But for the first time in weeks, the idea of it didn’t feel impossible.
The Gryffindor common room was more crowded than usual for a Thursday evening. Groups of students were scattered across the couches and armchairs, some revising, others playing Exploding Snap or simply enjoying the rare lull before exams swallowed them whole. The fire burned steadily, casting a warm, golden glow over everything.
You were sitting near the window again, sharing a low table with Lily and Marlene, half-listening to them debate the best way to brew a Pepperup Potion. Your eyes kept drifting across the room.
Sirius sat on the long couch by the fireplace with James and Remus. He wasn’t sprawled like he used to—legs stretched out, taking up space like the world owed him comfort. Instead, he sat more upright, quieter, one elbow resting on his knee as he stared into the flames. He looked tired but present. The sharp, restless energy that once defined him had dulled into something heavier.
A fifth-year Gryffindor girl—pretty, with curly auburn hair and a confident smile—had been hovering near their group for the last few minutes. She finally gathered her courage and approached, perching on the arm of the couch right beside Sirius.
“Hi, Sirius,” she said brightly, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “I was hoping you’d be here. You were brilliant at last Saturday’s practice. The way you dodged that Bludger? Everyone’s still talking about it.”
Her voice carried just enough to reach your table. You kept your expression neutral, but your quill paused over your parchment.
Old Sirius would have leaned into it immediately. A lazy smirk, a flirtatious drawl, maybe even tugged her down onto the couch beside him just to see how you’d react. He used to thrive on that kind of attention—using it like armor.
But this Sirius barely moved.
He lifted his head, grey eyes flicking up to her face for a moment. There was no spark. No crooked grin. No effortless charm turned on like a switch.
“Thanks,” he said. His voice was polite, but flat. Almost distant. “Appreciate it.”
The girl leaned in a little closer, clearly expecting more. “A few of us are heading to the Astronomy Tower later if you wanted to come? It’s supposed to be a clear night. Could be fun…”
She let the invitation hang, hopeful.
Sirius shifted slightly on the couch. For a second his eyes instinctively drifted toward you across the room. When they met yours, something raw and uncertain passed through them. Then he looked back at the girl.
“Not interested,” he said quietly. No smirk. No teasing lilt to soften the rejection. Just simple, honest truth. “Sorry.”
The girl blinked, clearly surprised. A flush crept up her cheeks. “Oh… right. Um, no worries.” She gave an awkward little laugh and quickly retreated back toward her friends.
A few heads turned. Whispers rippled through the nearby groups. Sirius Black turning down a girl so directly—and without any flair—was unusual enough to notice.
James raised an eyebrow from beside him, but didn’t say anything yet. Remus just watched quietly, a small, knowing look on his face.
You felt your chest tighten. Not with jealousy this time, but with something more complicated. Tenderness. Pain. Hope. Because that rejection hadn’t been for show. He hadn’t glanced at you first to make sure you were watching. He’d just… done it. Naturally. Like flirting with other girls no longer even crossed his mind as an option.
Sirius’s shoulders were tense. He ran a hand through his curls, exhaling slowly, then leaned back against the couch. His gaze found you again across the room—longer this time. There was no triumph in it. Just quiet vulnerability. Like he was silently asking: Did you see that? Is this enough?
You didn’t smile. But you held his gaze for several heartbeats before looking back down at your notes, your fingers trembling slightly around your quill.
The common room noise continued around them—laughter, flipping pages, and the occasional snap of cards—but the space between Sirius and his friends felt suddenly smaller.
James waited until the fifth-year girl had fully retreated before he scooted closer on the couch. He moved casually, like he was just shifting for comfort, but Remus caught the deliberate shift and subtly turned his attention elsewhere, giving them a sliver of privacy.
James leaned in, voice low enough that only Sirius could hear.
“Alright, mate,” he said quietly, eyes flicking briefly toward you across the room before returning to his best friend. “What the hell is going on with you?”
Sirius didn’t look at him right away. He kept his gaze fixed on the fire, jaw tight. “Nothing.”
“Bollocks.” James’s voice was gentle but firm. He leaned in even closer, elbows on his knees. “You just turned down a girl who was practically throwing herself at you. No smirk. No clever line. You didn’t even look at her properly. That’s not you, Padfoot.”
Sirius let out a slow breath, running a hand through his messy curls. His shoulders were tense, like the weight of the last few weeks was pressing down on him all at once.
James watched him carefully for a long moment. Then, even quieter, almost hesitant, he asked:
“Do you love her?”
The question landed heavily between them.
Sirius froze. For several long seconds, the only sound was the crackling fire and the distant murmur of students. His hands clenched into fists on his knees. The old Sirius would’ve laughed it off. Cracked a joke. Changed the subject with a wink. Anything to avoid saying it out loud.
But he didn’t.
He swallowed hard, throat working visibly. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough, low, and stripped of every defense he used to hide behind.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “I do.”
James’s eyebrows rose slightly, but he stayed quiet, letting the words breathe.
Sirius kept going, the confession spilling out like it had been trapped inside him for years. “I love her. Been in love with her for a long time. I was just too fucking scared to say it. To make it real.” His voice cracked on the last word. “I thought if I didn’t call it anything, I couldn’t ruin it. But I ruined it anyway.”
He finally turned his head to look at James. There was no smirk. No mask. Just raw, exhausted honesty in those grey eyes.
“I hurt her, Prongs. Badly. For two years I kept her close when it suited me and pushed her away when it got too real. And now…” He glanced across the room toward you again, something tender and aching flickering across his face. “Now I’m trying to fix it. But I don’t even know if she’ll let me. And I deserve that.”
James was quiet for a beat, studying his best friend like he was seeing a new side of him.
“Merlin,” James said softly, almost to himself. “You really mean it.”
Sirius gave a small, broken nod. “Yeah. I do.”
The two of them sat in silence after that. James reached over and clapped a hand on Sirius’s shoulder—brief, grounding, brotherly—before pulling back. No big speeches. No teasing. Just quiet understanding.
Across the room, you couldn’t hear what was said. But you saw the way James leaned in. You saw the tension in Sirius’s shoulders. You saw the way he looked at you afterward—longer, heavier, more vulnerable than ever.
And for the first time, you wondered if maybe… just maybe… he was finally ready to say the things he’d spent years avoiding.
The rain was relentless that Friday night, drumming hard against the tower windows and turning the world outside into a blur of grey and silver. Most students had already disappeared into their dorms, but you and Sirius had ended up in the small alcove off the boys’ staircase—a tucked-away window seat hidden behind a heavy tapestry that smelled of dust and old magic. It had become one of the few places where the careful distance between you sometimes felt a little smaller.
You sat with your back against the stone wall, legs stretched across the cushioned bench. Sirius sat opposite you, one knee drawn up, his long fingers tracing idle patterns on the fabric between you. The storm outside made the space feel smaller. Intimate. Dangerous.
You’d been talking for nearly an hour—real talking. Not the shallow, safe conversations you’d been having for the past few weeks. He’d asked about your Arithmancy exam. You’d asked him why he’d started skipping Quidditch practice. Slowly, carefully, the words had deepened.
“I keep thinking about that day in the corridor,” you admitted quietly, eyes on the rain-streaked window. “When I walked away. Part of me still expects you to disappear again the second things get real.”
Sirius was quiet for a long moment. The firelight from a nearby wall sconce flickered across his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw and the shadows under his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t been sleeping much.
“I deserve that fear,” he said eventually. His voice was low, rough. “I earned it.”
You glanced at him. He was watching you with that new, unguarded intensity—the one that still made your stomach flutter even after everything. His hand had inched closer across the cushion, not quite touching yours, but close enough that you could feel the warmth.
The silence stretched. Vulnerable. Heavy.
Then Sirius shifted. You saw the exact moment the old instinct kicked in—the panic behind his eyes, the need to lighten the weight before it crushed him.
He let out a short, forced chuckle and rubbed the back of his neck. “Merlin, listen to us. We sound like we’re in some tragic romance novel. Next thing you know I’ll be writing you bad poetry and reciting it dramatically in the Great Hall.”
It was a stupid joke. Classic Sirius deflection. Light. Easy. Safe.
Your stomach dropped.
Here we go again.
The familiar chill settled in your chest. You pulled your legs back slightly, creating more space between you without meaning to. Your expression shuttered. You’d heard jokes like that for two years—right before he’d kiss you senseless and then tell James you were “just mates” the next morning.
You looked away toward the rain. “Yeah,” you said, voice quieter. “Hilarious.”
Sirius froze.
The silence that followed was brutal. He could see it on your face—the way you’d braced yourself, the way your shoulders had tensed like you were preparing for him to run.
His hand, which had been hovering near yours, curled into a fist on the cushion.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
You didn’t look at him. “It’s fine. You don’t have to—”
“No.” The word came out sharp. He caught himself immediately, softening his tone. “No, it’s not fine.”
He shifted closer, but still didn’t touch you. His knee brushed the side of your leg, but he kept his hands to himself. You could see the battle happening behind his eyes—the old Sirius screaming to make a joke, change the subject, pull you into a kiss so he wouldn’t have to feel this exposed. The fear was there, raw and obvious.
But he didn’t run.
Instead, he swallowed hard and forced himself to stay right there. His voice came out strained, like every word hurt.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “That was… that was me being scared. Again.” He let out a shaky breath and ran a hand through his curls, gripping them for a second like it grounded him. “I felt it getting heavy and I tried to dodge it. Old habit. Two years of training myself to run the second things felt real.”
He looked at you then—really looked. Grey eyes stormy with fear and determination.
“I don’t want to do that anymore,” he continued, voice cracking slightly. “I don’t want to make you wait for me to be brave. So I’m staying. Even if I feel like I’m going to throw up from how terrifying this is.”
The honesty hit you hard. You searched his face, waiting for the smirk, the retreat, the mask.
It didn’t come.
Sirius stayed exactly where he was. Shoulders tense, hands clenched like he was physically holding himself in place, but he didn’t pull away. He didn’t joke again. He just sat in the discomfort with you.
“I’m still shit at this,” he admitted after a long pause, voice barely above the sound of the rain. “I’m going to mess up again. Probably soon. But I’m trying to catch it now instead of letting it win.” His eyes softened, almost pleading. “Tell me when I do it. Please. Don’t just… shut down and walk away like I deserve. Yell at me if you have to. Just don’t let me get away with it anymore.”
Your throat felt tight. The relapse had been small—just a stupid joke—but it had triggered every insecurity you still carried. Yet watching him fight against two years of instinct, watching him choose to stay… it cracked something in you.
You didn’t reach for his hand.
But you also didn’t move away.
“I hate how easy it still is for you to do that,” you whispered.
“I know,” he said immediately. No defense. No excuse. Just quiet acceptance. “Me too.”
The rain continued to pour outside. Inside the little alcove, the air felt thick with everything still broken between you—and everything that might, someday, be repaired.
Sirius didn’t try to touch you. He didn’t try to kiss the moment better.
He simply stayed.
And for the two of you, that was everything.
The Great Hall was loud with the usual morning chaos. Sunlight streamed through the enchanted ceiling, showing a bright, cloudless sky. Owl post fluttered down between tables, students laughed and argued over plates piled high with toast, eggs, bacon, and steaming porridge. It felt almost normal.
Except nothing between you and Sirius had felt normal in a long time.
He’d found you outside the portrait hole that morning. No grand gesture. Just a quiet “Can I walk with you?” and a careful half-step of distance as you made your way down. Now, as you entered the hall together, he didn’t head toward his usual spot with the Marauders. Instead, he followed you to the far end of the Gryffindor table where you’d been sitting with your friends for weeks.
When you slid onto the bench, Sirius sat down right beside you. Close. No space left for interpretation. His thigh pressed warmly against yours, and this time he didn’t hide it under the table.
You tensed for half a second—old instinct—but he didn’t pull away. His hand came to rest lightly on the bench between you, his pinky finger brushing against the side of your hand. Open. Visible. Deliberate.
James, Remus, and Peter were already seated a little further down. James did a double-take when he saw where Sirius had chosen to sit, but he quickly hid his surprise behind a grin and a mouthful of toast.
You reached for some scrambled eggs, hyper-aware of every point of contact. Sirius’s shoulder brushed yours as he leaned forward to grab the pumpkin juice. He poured some into your goblet first without asking, then his own. Small things. But they felt enormous in the bright morning light of the Great Hall.
A few seats away, Marlene raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Dorcas just smirked into her tea.
The minutes passed in a strange, humming tension. Sirius didn’t try to fill the silence with jokes or flirtatious comments. He simply existed beside you—solid, quiet, and openly there.
Then it happened.
One of the sixth-year girls who used to flirt with him—the same one from weeks ago—walked past the table with a group of friends. She slowed when she saw the two of you sitting so closely. Her eyes flicked down to where Sirius’s hand now rested near yours in plain view.
She let out a surprised little laugh. “Wait… you two together now, then?”
The question landed casually, like it was nothing. But the entire section of the table seemed to pause. James stopped chewing. Remus looked up from his book. Even Peter’s fork hovered mid-air.
Everyone knew the script. They’d heard Sirius say “We’re just mates” a hundred times. They expected the deflection. The easy smirk. The casual denial.
Sirius went still.
For a moment, you felt that familiar twist in your stomach—the fear that the old pattern would win again. That he’d crack a joke, pull his hand away, protect himself like he always had.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he turned his head and looked at you first.
Really looked. His stormy grey eyes were soft and uncertain, but steady. The noise of the Great Hall seemed to fade as he searched your face, giving you the chance to stop him if you wanted. His pinky finger curled gently around yours on the bench—the smallest, bravest touch.
Then he turned back to the girl and answered, voice calm and clear:
“Yeah.”
The single word dropped like a stone into still water.
He didn’t stop there.
“If she’ll still have me,” he added quietly, the vulnerability in his voice unmistakable. No smirk. No charm. Just raw honesty in front of half the Gryffindor table.
The girl blinked, caught off guard. A few whispers rippled down the table. James broke into a wide, proud grin. Remus gave a small, approving nod.
You felt your heart stutter.
Sirius’s hand shifted. He slowly slid his fingers over yours properly this time—no hiding, no secrecy. His grip was warm and a little unsteady, like he was still terrified you might pull away.
He didn’t look at anyone else. Just you.
“I’m done pretending,” he said, low enough that only you could hear, though the whole table was watching. “I should’ve said this a long time ago.”
Your throat tightened. The old wound—the one that had bled for nearly two years every time he called you “just mates”—ached sharply… and then began to ease.
You didn’t answer with words. Not yet.
But you turned your hand over and laced your fingers through his. Right there on the Gryffindor table in the middle of breakfast. Open. Honest. Claimed.
Sirius let out a shaky breath, his shoulders finally relaxing as he squeezed your hand like it was the only thing anchoring him.
For the first time, the entire Great Hall saw what had always been true.
You weren’t just mates.
You never had been.
Later that evening, the Gryffindor common room had emptied out again. Only the low crackle of the dying fire remained, casting long, gentle shadows across the crimson carpets. You and Sirius had claimed the same window seat alcove where the relapse had happened days ago. This time, the space between you felt smaller. Safer. But still fragile.
Sirius sat with his back against the stone wall, one leg stretched out along the bench. You were curled up beside him, your shoulder brushing his arm. His hand rested openly on your knee—no hesitation, no hiding. He’d been like this since breakfast: quietly attentive, like he was afraid the moment might slip away if he wasn’t careful.
The silence had stretched for several minutes, comfortable but heavy with everything still unsaid.
You stared at the rain-streaked window, watching droplets race each other down the glass. Your throat felt tight. The public claim earlier had cracked something open inside you, and now it was all spilling out whether you wanted it to or not.
“I need to say something,” you whispered.
Sirius turned his head toward you immediately. “I’m listening.”
You took a shaky breath. Your fingers traced the seam of your skirt, avoiding his eyes.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about what happened between us. Not just what you did… but what I did too.” Your voice wavered. “I enabled it, Sirius. For two years, I let you keep me in the dark. I accepted every crumb you gave me—the secret touches, the late-night whispers, the way you’d fuck me like I was everything and then call me ‘just mates’ the next morning. And I stayed. Even when it was killing me.”
Sirius’s hand tightened slightly on your knee, but he stayed quiet. Letting you speak.
“I told myself it was enough,” you continued, the words burning on the way out. “That having you in private was better than not having you at all. I got so used to being loved privately that I stopped believing I deserved to be loved properly.”
Your voice cracked on the last word. You finally looked at him, eyes glassy.
“I was scared too. Scared that if I pushed you, you’d leave. So I stayed silent. I played the game with you. I used jealousy as a weapon—flirting with Elias, letting those boys dance with me at the party—because it was the only way I knew how to hurt you back. I let the cycle keep going because admitting I deserved more felt more terrifying than staying in the pain I knew.”
A tear slipped down your cheek. You wiped it away angrily.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “For letting you treat me like a secret. For treating myself like one too.”
Sirius was quiet for a long moment. His grey eyes were wide and raw, glistening in the firelight. You could see how deeply your words hit him—not with defensiveness, but with understanding.
He slowly lifted his hand from your knee and gently cupped the side of your face, thumb brushing away another tear. His touch was tender. Careful. Like he was handling something precious he’d almost broken beyond repair.
“Merlin,” he breathed, voice rough. “I never wanted you to feel like that. But I know I made you feel it.” He swallowed hard. “Thank you for saying it. For being brave enough to admit your part when I’ve been owning mine.”
He leaned his forehead against yours, eyes closed.
“We both fucked this up,” he murmured. “I ran from loving you out loud. You stayed when it hurt because you thought it was all you’d get. But you deserve everything, darling. Not crumbs. Not secrets. Not late-night versions of me. You deserve the version of me that sits next to you in the Great Hall and tells the whole bloody world you’re mine.”
You let out a watery laugh, your hands coming up to clutch his shirt.
“I’m still scared,” you admitted softly.
“I know. Me too.” He pulled back just enough to look at you properly. “But I’m not going anywhere. And I’m never hiding you again. We do this properly this time. Messy. Slow. Honest. Even when it’s terrifying.”
The fire popped softly behind you. Outside, the rain continued falling, but inside the alcove it felt like the first real breath either of you had taken in years.
Sirius pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, then your temple, then lingered against your cheek—not demanding, not possessive. Just… there.
“I love you,” he whispered against your skin. The words came easier now. “Out loud. In public. Wherever you’ll let me say it.”
You closed your eyes, letting the truth of it settle deep in your chest.
“I love you too,” you whispered back.
For the first time, it didn’t feel like settling.
It felt like beginning.
A month had passed.
The Gryffindor common room was quiet again, wrapped in the soft hush of late night. Most students had long since gone to bed. Only the low, steady crackle of the fire remained, casting a warm amber glow across the crimson furniture and worn rugs. Outside the tall windows, snow fell gently, blanketing the grounds in silence.
You sat curled in the corner of the large couch, legs stretched along the cushions. Sirius lay with his head in your lap, eyes closed, his dark curls spilling over your thighs like ink. One of his arms was draped loosely across your legs, fingers resting lightly against your knee. There was no tension in his body tonight. No guarded edges. Just the steady rise and fall of his breathing and the quiet contentment of someone who had finally stopped running.
Your fingers moved slowly through his hair, untangling the knots with the same gentle rhythm you used months ago, but everything felt different now. Softer. Safer.
Sirius hummed lowly, a sound of pure contentment, and turned his face slightly toward your stomach. His nose brushed against the fabric of your sweater as he nuzzled closer.
“Keep doing that and I might fall asleep right here,” he murmured, voice rough with tiredness and warmth. The same words he’d said once before, but this time there was no fear beneath them.
You smiled, nails scratching lightly against his scalp. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing.”
He cracked one eye open, grey eyes soft in the firelight as he looked up at you. No mask. No deflection. Just open, steady affection.
The portrait hole swung open with a quiet creak. Marlene and Dorcas stumbled in, cheeks flushed from a late-night walk around the castle. They paused when they saw the two of you, Marlene’s mouth curving into a familiar teasing grin.
“Oi, lovebirds,” she called softly, not wanting to wake anyone. “Get a room, yeah?”
Sirius didn’t tense. He didn’t pull away or make a sarcastic remark to downplay it. Instead, a small, lazy smirk tugged at his lips as he nestled deeper into your lap.
“Already have one,” he replied, voice low and easy. His hand slid a little higher on your thigh, not possessive, just affectionate. “Right here.”
Marlene laughed quietly, rolling her eyes as she and Dorcas headed toward the girls’ staircase. “Disgusting. I’m happy for you two, though.”
The portrait hole clicked shut behind them, leaving the common room in peaceful quiet once more.
Sirius shifted slightly, turning so he could look up at you properly. For a long moment, he just studied your face, his expression tender and unguarded. Then he reached up, fingers gently brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.
“I love you,” he whispered. Simple. Honest. No performance.
You leaned down and kissed him softly. No heat. No desperation. Just a slow, gentle press of lips that tasted like peace and belonging. When you pulled back, he smiled against your mouth.
This time, you didn’t feel hidden.
You didn’t wonder what tomorrow would bring or whether he’d pretend again in the morning. There was only the warmth of his head in your lap, the steady weight of his arm across your legs, and the quiet certainty that he was yours — openly, completely, gently.
“I love you too,” you whispered back, fingers resuming their slow path through his hair.
Sirius let out a contented sigh and closed his eyes again, trusting you completely in the firelight.
⬩➤ details: nsfw, profanity, situationship, undefined relationship, toxic situationship, jealousy, possessiveness, emotional dependency, mutual obsession, miscommunication, angst, sexual themes, “we’re just friends” trope, public denial/private intimacy, breakup, betrayal of trust, confrontation, blurred boundaries
⬩➤ wordcount: 8.0k
⬩➤ note: i was actually so excited to write this one, so much that I accidentally made it too long and had to cut it in half lol. hope u like it! (was supposed to actually post this in my other account since it's nsfw but oh well.....)
⬩➤ synopsis:
You were never officially his. Not his girlfriend, not his anything—just a name he never quite stopped coming back to. But when the lines between friendship, desire, and possession blur too far, what starts as something unspoken begins to feel dangerously like love. And when you finally see where you stand in his world, you’re forced to decide whether being “just mates” is something you can survive anymore.
The Gryffindor common room is almost empty, the fire crackling low in the hearth like it’s whispering secrets to the shadows. Most people have already disappeared to their dorms, chasing sleep before another brutal week of N.E.W.T. revision. But not you. And definitely not him.
Sirius is sprawled across the worn crimson couch like he owns it, his dark curls fanned out over your lap. His head rests heavy and warm against your thighs, one arm lazily draped across your legs as if anchoring you there. The common room’s golden light flickers over his sharp cheekbones and the faint scar near his jaw, making him look dangerously soft in a way only you ever get to see.
Your fingers card slowly through his hair, tugging gently at the knots the way he likes. A low, contented hum vibrates from his chest. His free hand traces lazy circles on the inside of your knee, slipping just beneath the hem of your skirt. The touch is absentminded, familiar, possessive.
“Keep doing that and I might fall asleep right here,” he murmurs, voice rough with exhaustion and that signature lazy drawl. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing. Waking up with you like this…”
You smile despite yourself, but there’s that familiar twist in your chest. The same one that’s been there since fifth year. Because this—his head in your lap, his fingers on your skin, the way he says things like that—is everything a boyfriend would do.
Except he isn’t.
You’re not his girlfriend. He’s not your boyfriend. You’ve never been anything with a label. Just… this. Whatever this is. A complicated, addictive, messy tangle that neither of you has the guts to name.
A log pops in the fireplace. Sirius shifts slightly, turning his face toward your stomach. His breath is warm through the fabric of your shirt.
“Long day?” you ask quietly, nails scratching lightly against his scalp.
“Fucking McGonagall breathing down my neck about Transfiguration theory. As if I don’t already know it better than half the class.” He smirks, eyes still closed. “Then Evans lectured me for ten minutes about ‘responsibility’ because I hexed that Slytherin git in the corridor. Worth it, though.”
You let out a soft laugh. Your hand drifts down to the side of his neck, thumb brushing over the pulse point there. He tilts his head just enough to press a slow, open-mouthed kiss against your thigh. The casual intimacy of it makes your stomach flip.
No one else gets this version of him. The lazy, almost vulnerable Sirius who lets you touch him like this. Who seeks you out after every bad day. Who looks at you like you’re the only steady thing in his chaotic world.
But the second someone else walks into the room, the mask slides back on.
As if summoned by your thoughts, the portrait hole swings open. Marlene McKinnon stumbles in, giggling, with Dorcas Meadowes right behind her. They both freeze when they see the two of you.
Sirius doesn’t move. His hand stays high on your thigh, fingers still tracing patterns like he couldn’t care less who sees. But you feel the tiniest shift in his body—the way his shoulders tense just slightly.
“Oi, lovebirds,” Marlene teases, grinning as she heads toward the girls’ staircase. “Get a room, yeah?”
Dorcas snorts. “Pretty sure they already have several.”
Sirius cracks one eye open, flashing that devastating, crooked grin. “Jealous, McKinnon?”
Marlene rolls her eyes and disappears up the stairs with a laugh. The portrait hole swings shut again, leaving the common room quiet once more.
You wait.
The silence stretches.
Finally, you speak, voice low. “You know… they all think we’re together.”
Sirius opens both eyes this time. He stares up at you, grey eyes unreadable in the firelight. For a second, something flickers across his face—something almost like panic—but it’s gone so fast you might’ve imagined it.
He shrugs one shoulder. “People think a lot of things.”
His hand squeezes your thigh, a silent reminder. A claim without words.
You bite the inside of your cheek. The familiar sting rises in your throat, but you swallow it down. This is how it always goes. He gives you everything except the one thing you keep waiting for.
Sirius sits up slowly, the loss of his weight in your lap leaving you colder than it should. He turns to face you fully, one knee braced on the couch between your legs. The fire paints warm shadows across his face as he leans in close.
His fingers catch your chin, tilting your face up to his.
“Don’t do that,” he says softly. There’s a warning edge beneath the gentleness.
“Do what?”
“Get that look. Like you’re thinking too much again.” His thumb brushes your lower lip. “We’re good, aren’t we? You and me. Like this.”
Like this.
The words hang between you. Heavy. Insufficient.
You meet his gaze, searching those stormy grey eyes. “Yeah,” you whisper, even though it feels like a lie. “We’re good.”
A slow, satisfied smirk curves his mouth. He closes the distance and kisses you—slow at first, almost sweet. Then deeper. Hungrier. His hand slides into your hair, gripping just tight enough to make you gasp against his lips. The kiss tastes like firewhisky from earlier and the familiar comfort of too many late nights.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours. His breathing is uneven.
“Stay with me tonight,” he murmurs. “My bed. The others are all out cold by now.”
You laugh quietly, a little breathless. “You’re so demanding.”
“Only with you, darling.”
There it is again. Darling. The pet name that makes your heart ache and race at the same time.
You should ask him. Right now. What are we, Sirius? The words are on the tip of your tongue, the same ones that have been choking you for nearly two years.
But you already know what he’ll say.
Why ruin it? We don’t need labels. You know you’re the only one I want.
And you’ll accept it. Because as messy and frustrating and toxic as this is—him acting like you’re his entire world in private while refusing to claim you in public—you’re addicted to it. To him.
Just like he’s addicted to you.
Sirius kisses you again, softer this time, like he can taste the uncertainty on your lips and wants to kiss it away. His hand slips further up your thigh, possessive and warm.
“Come on,” he whispers against your mouth. “Let’s go upstairs before I decide I can’t wait and take you right here on this couch.”
You let him pull you up, fingers intertwined. As you follow him toward the boys’ staircase, his arm slides around your waist, holding you close like he’s afraid you might slip away.
For tonight, at least, he’s yours.
Even if tomorrow he’ll smirk and tell James “Nah, we’re just mates” again.
And you’ll let him.
Because that’s what you two do.
The morning light filters weakly through the heavy crimson curtains of the boys’ dormitory, casting a soft, golden haze over everything. Sirius’s four-poster bed is an absolute wreck—sheets tangled and twisted around your bodies, half the pillows tossed onto the floor, your skirt and his shirt lying in a careless heap near the edge. The air still hangs heavy with the evidence of last night: the musky scent of sweat, the faint trace of firewhisky on his breath, and that warm, woody cologne he always wears that now clings to your own skin.
You wake slowly, every muscle deliciously sore in the best possible way. Flashes of the night before keep flickering through your mind—Sirius’s hands gripping your hips as he pulled you down onto him, the low, wrecked sounds he made against your throat when you moved just right, the way he’d kissed you like he was trying to devour every moan. How he’d held you tight afterward, chest heaving, refusing to let even an inch of space come between you until sleep finally claimed you both.
His bare chest is pressed flush against your back now, warm and solid. One strong arm is slung possessively over your waist, fingers splayed wide across your stomach like he’s claiming every inch even in his sleep. His breath fans steadily against the nape of your neck, lips brushing your skin with every exhale. The faint scratch of his stubble sends tiny sparks down your spine.
You shift just a little, testing the ache between your thighs, and Sirius stirs immediately behind you. His arm tightens, pulling you back against him with a low, sleepy groan.
“Morning, darling,” he rasps, voice rough and intimate against your ear. He presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your bare shoulder, then drags his teeth over the same spot, making you shiver. “Mmm… still here. Good. I like waking up to you like this.”
His hand slides lower, fingertips tracing lazy circles over your hip before slipping down to squeeze your thigh. There’s a smirk in his tone even though his eyes are barely open. “Did I wear you out last night? You were making such pretty sounds for me.”
You turn in his arms to face him properly. His grey eyes are soft and dark in the dim morning light, his dark curls wildly tousled from your fingers running through them hours earlier. A few faint love bites mark his neck—marks you left on him. He looks devastatingly beautiful like this: unguarded, rumpled, and completely focused on you. In these stolen moments behind closed curtains, he’s entirely yours.
You reach up and brush your fingers through his messy hair, tugging gently at the roots the way he likes. “You’re impossible in the mornings.”
Sirius chuckles lowly, the sound vibrating through his chest. He leans in and kisses you—slow, deep, and unhurried. His hand roams down your side, squeezing your waist, then your thigh again, like he’s considering pulling you on top of him for another round. The kiss deepens, his tongue brushing yours, tasting like sleep and leftover desire. For a few perfect minutes, nothing else exists.
But reality always creeps back in.
You eventually pull away, breathless. “We should go down. Breakfast will end soon, and we’ve already been missing too many meals lately.”
He groans dramatically, burying his face in the crook of your neck and nipping at your skin. “Skip with me. I’d much rather stay here and have you instead. Slowly this time.”
The words send heat rushing through you, but you force yourself to slip out of his warm embrace. You feel his eyes on you the entire time as you move around the bed—watching intently while you tug your shirt back on, smooth down your rumpled skirt, and try to fix your hair in the small mirror by his bedside. His gaze is dark and hungry, lingering on the faint marks he left on your collarbone that you’ll have to hide later.
By the time you both sneak down the spiral staircase and push through the portrait hole into the Great Hall, the hall is already alive with noise. Sunlight streams brightly through the enchanted ceiling, showing a clear blue sky. The long Gryffindor table is packed with students chatting loudly, clinking cutlery, and passing around platters of scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, buttered toast, and jugs of pumpkin juice.
Sirius walks in first, shoulders relaxed, that signature arrogant swagger firmly in place. The second he steps into the crowded hall, the shift happens so naturally it almost hurts to watch. The soft, possessive Sirius from the dorm vanishes. The mask slides on.
“Morning!” he calls out cheerfully, dropping into his usual seat with easy confidence. He immediately reaches for the nearest platter and starts loading his plate high, acting like any other seventh-year with nothing heavier on his mind than N.E.W.T.s and Quidditch.
You slide into the seat right beside him—the spot everyone has quietly accepted as yours. Your leg brushes against his under the table, and he presses back for a brief second, warm and deliberate. A secret little I’m right here.
James looks up with a wide, knowing grin. “Late start again? You two are becoming predictable.”
Sirius shrugs casually, stealing a strip of bacon straight from your plate without even asking. “Couldn’t sleep properly. Too much on my mind these days.”
Remus glances between you both, his observant eyes narrowing just slightly. He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel him reading the room.
“Just coincidence,” Sirius adds smoothly, flashing that devastating crooked grin. He leans back in his chair and drapes one arm casually along the back of yours. Close enough to feel intimate. Loose enough to look completely platonic. “We’re just mates. Right?”
The words settle over you like cold water.
You force a small, easy smile and reach for your goblet of pumpkin juice. “Yeah,” you reply lightly, keeping your voice perfectly normal. “Just mates.”
Under the table, Sirius’s hand finds your thigh again. His fingers squeeze once, firm and warm, almost like a silent apology or a reminder. His thumb strokes slowly against your skin, hidden from everyone.
A group of sixth-year girls walks past the Gryffindor table, laughing and whispering. One of them—the tall, pretty one with long dark hair and bright eyes—slows her steps noticeably. She smiles at Sirius, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.
“Morning, Sirius,” she says sweetly, voice carrying just enough to catch his attention. “You were incredible during last weekend’s match. Really brilliant on that broom.”
Sirius turns his head and gives her the full Black treatment: lazy smile, slight tilt of the head, sparkling grey eyes full of effortless charm. “Thanks, love. Glad someone was paying attention.”
He doesn’t brush her off. Doesn’t mention you. Doesn’t do anything except return that flirtatious little grin like it’s nothing.
Your fork presses harder into your eggs. A sharp, quiet burn of jealousy twists low in your stomach. You stay silent, chewing slowly, pretending to be focused on your food. But inside, the familiar ache builds—the same one that’s been growing since fifth year. His hand is still high on your thigh under the table, possessive and secret, while he smiles at her like you’re not even there.
The Great Hall feels louder than usual this morning, filled with the clatter of plates, bursts of laughter, and the occasional owl swooping in through the high windows to deliver post. You keep your eyes mostly on your plate, pushing the eggs around while the burn in your chest refuses to fade. Sirius’s hand is still resting high on your thigh under the table, his fingers occasionally flexing against your skin like he can sense the tension radiating from you. It’s a silent claim, a hidden reminder of how he’d had you writhing beneath him just hours ago, yet it only makes the contrast sharper.
James is in the middle of some animated story about a prank he’s planning on the Slytherins, waving his fork around for emphasis. Peter laughs too loudly, and Remus just shakes his head with a small, amused smile. Sirius laughs along at the right moments, his voice carrying that easy, confident charm. His arm stays draped along the back of your chair, fingers occasionally brushing the fabric of your robe near your shoulder in what looks like a casual, friendly touch to anyone watching.
To everyone else, you two are just close friends. Really good mates who sit together, share food, and banter. Nothing more.
But you can still feel the faint ache between your legs from the way he’d fucked you last night—deep, slow, and then desperate, like he couldn’t get enough. The small marks he left on your inner thighs are hidden beneath your skirt, but they throb every time you shift in your seat.
Another wave of students passes by. The dark-haired girl from earlier circles back with her friends, this time stopping a little closer to the table. She leans slightly toward Sirius, her smile bright and hopeful.
“By the way, Sirius,” she says, voice sweet and a touch flirtatious, “a few of us are having a little gathering in the common room this Friday after the match. You should come. It’ll be fun.”
Sirius tilts his head, giving her that trademark half-smirk that makes your stomach twist. “Yeah? Might stop by. Sounds like a good time.”
He doesn’t say “we” might stop by. Doesn’t glance at you. Doesn’t do anything to suggest his nights are already very much occupied.
Your jaw tightens. You reach for another piece of toast and spread butter on it with more force than necessary, the knife scraping loudly against the plate. Under the table, Sirius’s hand squeezes your thigh harder in response—almost a warning, or maybe a silent stop. His thumb strokes soothing circles against your skin, but it only fuels the messy mix of frustration and want swirling inside you.
Because this is the game you’ve been playing for nearly two years. He’ll flirt just enough to keep his reputation as the unattainable Sirius Black, then later he’ll pull you into an empty classroom, push you against the wall, and kiss you like he’s starving. Like you’re the only thing that matters.
James nudges Sirius with his elbow. “You gonna bring anyone, Padfoot?”
Sirius shrugs, popping a piece of stolen bacon into his mouth. “Dunno. We’ll see. I’m not really tied down or anything.” He says it so casually, so lightly, like the words don’t carry weight. Like they don’t stab.
You swallow hard and take a long sip of pumpkin juice, keeping your expression neutral. The hand on your thigh stays put, warm and heavy, a complete contradiction. His fingers drift a little higher, brushing the hem of your skirt, pressing just enough to remind you exactly who you spent the night with.
Remus is watching the two of you again. His eyes flick from Sirius’s relaxed face to the way your shoulders are slightly tense. He doesn’t comment, but you catch the subtle raise of his eyebrow before he looks away.
The girl finally walks off with a little wave and a hopeful “See you around, Sirius!”
You let out a slow breath. Sirius turns back to the table fully, laughing at something James says about Quidditch strategy. His arm shifts slightly behind you, almost like he wants to pull you closer but stops himself. Instead, he leans in just enough that his shoulder brushes yours.
“Pass the marmalade, yeah?” he asks, voice low and familiar, like nothing happened.
You hand it to him without looking up. His fingers deliberately graze yours as he takes the jar, lingering for a second longer than necessary. When you finally glance at him, his grey eyes meet yours—stormy, intense, and full of that unspoken heat. For a brief moment the mask cracks. There’s possession there. Want. Maybe even a flicker of guilt.
But then he looks away, spreading marmalade on his toast like everything’s perfectly fine.
Breakfast drags on like that—easy conversation flowing around you while the tension between you and Sirius simmers underneath. His hand never leaves your thigh. He keeps stealing food from your plate. He keeps that arm draped behind your chair like it belongs there.
Yet when another girl waves at him from across the hall, he waves back with that same charming smile.
By the time people start getting up to head to classes, your chest feels tight. You stand, smoothing down your skirt, and Sirius rises with you. As the group starts walking out of the Great Hall together, he falls into step beside you, close enough that your arms brush.
In the crowded corridor, away from the direct eyes of the whole table but still in public, he leans down slightly, voice quiet near your ear.
“Library later?” he murmurs, breath warm against your skin. “Or maybe that empty classroom on the third floor. You know the one.”
The suggestion is laced with promise—the same promise that always follows these mornings. He’ll kiss you breathless. He’ll touch you like you’re his. He’ll make you forget the jealousy for a while.
You nod, not trusting your voice.
Sirius’s hand brushes the small of your back for just a second before he pulls away, slipping back into that effortless “just mates” stride as James claps him on the shoulder.
The mask is back on.
And you’re still right here, caught in the middle of it all.
The week had dragged on in that familiar haze of N.E.W.T. revision, stolen kisses in empty corridors, and the usual push-and-pull between you and Sirius. He’d mentioned the party exactly once—casually, over lunch on Wednesday—while laughing with James about how “the sixth years are finally doing something worth showing up for.” He never actually asked you to go with him. Never said “Come with me” or “Save me a dance, darling.” Just tossed the information out like it was public news.
So you decided you wouldn’t ask either.
You spent extra time getting ready that evening, standing in front of the dormitory mirror while your friends chattered around you. You chose a slightly shorter skirt than usual, one that hugged your hips, paired with a fitted black top that showed just enough collarbone to highlight the faint mark Sirius had left there earlier in the week. Your hair fell in loose waves, and you added a touch more makeup than normal. Not for him. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.
You don’t have to care this much, you thought, staring at your reflection. He doesn’t want labels. Fine. Then you don’t have to act like his girlfriend when he won’t even call you one.
The Gryffindor common room had been transformed. Furniture pushed to the sides, fairy lights strung across the ceiling charmed to shimmer in deep reds and golds, music pulsing from an enchanted record player. Someone had smuggled in bottles of firewhisky and butterbeer, and the room was already packed with seventh and sixth years laughing, dancing, and spilling drinks. The fire roared high in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across everyone’s faces.
You arrived with a group of friends, deliberately not looking for Sirius right away. But you felt him the second you stepped through the portrait hole—his eyes on you from across the room like a physical touch.
He was leaning against the stone wall near the fireplace, surrounded by the usual crowd: James, a few teammates, and a couple of girls hanging on his every word. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top, sleeves rolled up, hair artfully messy. The moment his grey eyes locked on you, something dark flickered across his face—appreciation, followed quickly by that possessive glint he always tried to hide in public.
But he didn’t come over. He just raised his glass in your direction with a slow, crooked smirk, like you were another pretty face at the party instead of the girl whose name he’d groaned against your neck two nights ago.
Fine.
You grabbed a cup of firewhisky, letting the burn slide down your throat as you moved deeper into the crowd. The music thrummed through your bones. You laughed louder than necessary with your friends, swaying your hips to the beat. And when a Ravenclaw boy named Elias—tall, friendly, with an easy smile—approached you, you didn’t brush him off.
“Hey,” he said, raising his voice over the music. “You look great tonight. Haven’t seen you at one of these in a while.”
You smiled up at him, letting your gaze linger. “Been busy. But I figured it was time to have some fun.”
The two of you fell into conversation easily. He was charming in a safe, uncomplicated way—complimenting your laugh, asking about your classes, standing just close enough that your arms brushed when you both moved to the music. You let yourself lean in when he said something funny, touching his forearm lightly as you laughed.
You could feel Sirius watching. The weight of his stare prickled across your skin like a warning.
A few minutes later, another boy joined— a Hufflepuff seventh year you’d shared Herbology with. Soon you were in a small group, dancing loosely, smiling, letting them pull you toward the center of the room where bodies moved freely. One of them spun you playfully under his arm. You let it happen, the firewhisky making everything feel warmer, bolder.
This is what he does all the time, you told yourself. Smiling at girls. Letting them touch his arm. Acting like he’s free.
So why should you sit on the sidelines waiting for scraps of his attention?
Across the room, Sirius had detached from his group. He was moving now, weaving through people with that predatory grace, but still not coming straight to you. Instead, he stopped near a cluster of girls, laughing at something one of them said, flashing that devastating Black smile. The same one he gave you when he was buried inside you and calling you “darling.”
Your stomach twisted, but you forced yourself to keep smiling at Elias as he handed you another drink.
That’s when Sirius finally appeared at your side.
His hand slid around your waist from behind—possessive, warm, and sudden. He pulled you back against his chest just enough to make a point, his breath brushing your ear.
“Having fun, love?” His voice was low, deceptively casual, but you heard the edge beneath it.
You turned your head slightly, meeting his stormy eyes. “Yeah. It’s a good party. You?”
His jaw ticked. His fingers pressed harder into your hip, hidden by the crowd. “Didn’t realize you were bringing friends.”
The way he said friends dripped with something ugly.
Elias glanced between the two of you, sensing the shift. “I’ll catch you later,” he said politely before slipping away.
The second he was gone, Sirius turned you to face him fully. His hands stayed on your waist, holding you close while bodies moved around you. To anyone else, it probably looked like two mates dancing. But you felt the tension vibrating off him—the same barely-contained jealousy he always denied.
“You really gonna flirt with every tosser who looks your way tonight?” he muttered, voice dark. His forehead nearly touched yours, grey eyes burning. “Thought we had an understanding.”
You tilted your chin up, heart hammering. “Understanding? We’re just mates, remember? That’s what you always say.”
His grip tightened, pulling you flush against him as the music slowed. You could feel the heat of his body, the way his chest rose and fell faster than normal. One of his hands slid lower, dangerously close to the curve of your ass, claiming you in the middle of the crowded room while still refusing to name what this was.
“You know it’s not like that,” he growled softly, lips brushing your temple. “You’re mine, and you fucking know it.”
The words sent a thrill through you, but they also stung. Because he’d never say them louder than this. Never say them where people could hear.
You danced with him then—bodies pressed close, his hands roaming with that familiar hunger—but the air between you crackled with everything unsaid. Every time you glanced away, you caught him glaring toward where Elias had disappeared. Every time a girl tried to catch his eye, his hold on you grew tighter.
This was the game.
Both of you playing it.
Both of you losing.
And the night was still young.
The music had shifted into something slower, heavier, the bass vibrating low in your chest as bodies pressed closer on the makeshift dance floor. Sirius hadn’t let you go. His hands stayed firm on your waist, fingers digging in just enough to leave faint imprints through your skirt. You danced with him like that—chests brushing, his breath warm against your temple—but the air between you was anything but soft.
Every sway of your hips felt like a challenge. Every time his grip tightened, it felt like punishment.
You could still see Elias across the room, chatting with friends but occasionally glancing your way. Sirius noticed too. His jaw was locked, grey eyes dark with barely contained irritation.
“You’re really pushing it tonight,” he muttered, lips brushing your ear as he pulled you even closer. His body was hot against yours, the scent of firewhisky and his cologne wrapping around you. “Flirting with Ravenclaws like I wasn’t even here.”
You tilted your head back to look at him, your hands resting on his chest. His heart was beating fast under your palm. “I thought we were just mates, Sirius. Isn’t that what you told James this morning? What you tell everyone?”
His eyes flashed. For a second, the mask slipped completely. The possessive, stormy Sirius you only ever saw in private was staring down at you in the middle of a crowded room.
“Don’t,” he warned, voice low and rough. One hand slid lower, resting dangerously close to the curve of your ass as he moved you both slowly to the music. To outsiders, it probably looked like heated flirting. Only you could feel the anger and want radiating off him.
A new song started, and another boy—this time a Gryffindor sixth year you barely knew—walked up with a cocky grin, clearly tipsy.
“Hey, mind if I cut in?”
The words barely left his mouth before Sirius’s arm tightened around you like a vice.
“Fuck off,” Sirius said flatly, not even bothering to look at him. His tone was ice-cold, the kind that made most people back off instantly.
The boy raised his hands and retreated with a nervous laugh. Sirius didn’t relax. If anything, he grew more tense, spinning you around so your back was pressed to his front. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you flush against him as he swayed with you. His lips found the side of your neck, not quite kissing—just hovering, breathing you in.
“You’re mine,” he whispered harshly against your skin, so quiet only you could hear. “Stop acting like you’re not.”
Your heart stuttered. The words sent heat rushing through you, but they also made that familiar ache bloom in your chest. He could say it here, in the dark, surrounded by noise and shadows. But never in the light. Never where it mattered.
You turned in his arms again, facing him. Your bodies were pressed together, barely moving now despite the music. “Then maybe act like it,” you shot back, voice just as quiet. “Or are we still ‘just having fun’?”
Sirius’s eyes darkened dangerously. For a moment you thought he might kiss you right there in front of everyone. Instead, he grabbed your hand and started pulling you through the crowd without another word.
He led you toward the edge of the common room, weaving past laughing groups and discarded cups until he pushed open the door to one of the smaller side rooms used for storage. The second the door closed behind you, the noise of the party dulled to a distant thump.
Sirius backed you against the wall instantly, hands on either side of your head. His face was inches from yours, breathing hard.
“What the fuck was that out there?” he demanded. “Letting those idiots touch you. Laughing with them. You knew I was watching.”
You lifted your chin, refusing to shrink back even though your pulse was racing. “And what about you? Smiling at every girl who looks your way? Telling people you’re not tied down? I’m just supposed to sit there and take it?”
His hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip roughly. “You know it’s different.”
“Why?” you pressed, heart hammering. “Because you fuck me every night? Because you sneak into my bed and call me darling when no one’s looking?”
Sirius made a frustrated sound and crashed his lips against yours.
The kiss was messy, angry, and desperate. All teeth and tongue and pent-up frustration. His body pinned you harder against the wall as his hands roamed down your sides, gripping your hips, then sliding under your skirt to squeeze your thighs—the same thighs he’d had wrapped around him two nights ago.
You kissed him back just as fiercely, fingers tangling in his dark curls and tugging hard. He groaned into your mouth, pressing one thigh between your legs.
“You drive me fucking insane,” he growled against your lips, biting your bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue. “Seeing you with them… I wanted to hex both of them across the room.”
“Then maybe stop pretending we’re nothing,” you breathed, even as your hips rolled against his.
Sirius pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were wild, hair even messier from your hands. For a second, something vulnerable flickered across his face—fear, maybe. But it was gone too fast.
He kissed you again, slower this time but no less intense. His hand slipped higher under your skirt, fingers teasing the edge of your underwear as he pressed closer.
“Stay with me tonight,” he murmured, voice rough. “My bed. I don’t want anyone else near you.”
You laughed bitterly against his mouth, even as you arched into his touch. “Until tomorrow, when you tell everyone we’re just mates again?”
Sirius didn’t answer with words. Instead he kissed you harder, like he could silence the truth with his mouth. His fingers pushed your underwear aside, stroking you with practiced ease until your legs trembled.
The party continued raging outside the door, but in here it was just the two of you—messy, toxic, addicted, and unable to let go.
Neither of you were willing to name it.
But both of you were terrified of losing it.
A week had slipped by since the party, wrapped in a fragile, suffocating silence. Neither of you had spoken about what happened in that cramped storage room—the angry kisses, the biting words, the way his fingers had dug into your skin like he was terrified you’d slip away. You both simply pretended. It was easier that way. Safer.
You went back to stolen glances across the Great Hall, his hand creeping up your thigh under the table during meals, and nights where he’d pull you into his bed like a man drowning, fucking you with a desperate intensity that left bruises and unspoken feelings in its wake. In the daylight, though, he was still just Sirius Black—charming, untouchable, quick with a “we’re just mates” whenever anyone raised an eyebrow.
It was supposed to be a normal Tuesday afternoon.
Charms class felt endless under the soft afternoon light filtering through the tall arched windows. Golden dust motes danced lazily in the sunbeams as Professor Flitwick’s squeaky voice droned on about complex silencing charms and their applications in dueling. Your quill moved mechanically across the parchment, but the ink kept smudging from how tightly you were gripping it.
The seat beside you was empty.
Sirius’s usual spot—the one he’d claimed since fifth year with a dramatic flop and a wink that always made your stomach flip—sat glaringly vacant. His absence felt louder than any spell. He rarely skipped without some kind of sign. A crumpled note in your bag. A whispered promise in the corridor. A smirk across the room that said meet me later, darling.
Today? Nothing.
You tried to focus on Flitwick’s demonstration, but your mind kept drifting. The castle outside the windows looked deceptively peaceful—the Black Lake shimmering darkly in the distance, the Whomping Willow swaying gently in the breeze. Everything felt too still. Too wrong.
By the time class ended, the worry had coiled tight in your chest like a living thing. You lingered as students packed up, chatting and laughing around you. James and Remus were near the door, heads bent together over some Marauder map.
“Have you seen Sirius?” you asked, trying to keep your voice casual.
James shrugged, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Not since lunch. He was in a weird mood. Probably off causing trouble somewhere. You know Padfoot.”
But you did know him. And that was exactly why the unease wouldn’t settle.
You left the classroom with your bag slung over your shoulder, the stone corridors stretching long and echoing around you. The afternoon light had started to shift, casting longer shadows across the ancient floors. Suits of armor stood silent and watchful as you passed, their empty visors seeming to follow your hurried steps. You checked all the usual places first.
The empty classroom on the third floor—the one with the creaky desks where he’d pressed you against the wall more times than you could count—was deserted. Only dust and faint chalk marks remained.
You moved on to the alcove behind the tapestry near the library. The heavy fabric smelled of old wool and history as you pushed it aside. Empty. Just a forgotten book lying open on the stone bench.
Your heart beat faster as you climbed another staircase, the marble steps cold beneath your shoes. Why did it matter so much? You weren’t together. He’d reminded you of that a thousand times. He could skip class without you. He could do whatever—whoever—he wanted.
Still, your feet kept moving. Past the Gryffindor Tower. Down toward the Quidditch pitch where the grass swayed under a greyish sky. No sign of his tall frame or messy black hair. The worry twisted sharper now, mixing with something uglier—a quiet fear you hated admitting to yourself.
What if he was pulling away? What if the fight at the party had finally cracked the fragile thing between you? What if he was done pretending in his own messy way?
You turned down a quieter corridor on the fourth floor, near the Hufflepuff common room entrance. This hallway was rarely used—dimmer, dustier, lined with faded tapestries depicting old forest scenes that seemed to shift when you weren’t looking directly at them. The air felt cooler here, carrying the faint scent of damp stone and wildflowers from somewhere below.
Your steps slowed as you approached the end of the hall.
Soft sounds drifted toward you.
A girl’s laughter—light, breathy, flirtatious. Then a lower murmur. Deep. Familiar. The kind of voice that had whispered filthy praises against your neck countless nights.
Your stomach dropped.
You told yourself it was nothing. Just students messing around. But your pulse roared in your ears as you moved closer, staying hidden behind a large, cracked suit of armor. The shadows clung to you like a second skin.
And then you saw them.
Your breath caught in your throat as you peered around the edge of the old suit of armor.
There he was.
Sirius Black, leaning against the stone wall in the shadowed alcove, looking every bit like the reckless, beautiful disaster he was. His dark curls were messy, falling into his eyes, and his Gryffindor tie was loosened, the top buttons of his shirt undone. But what made your stomach twist violently was the girl pressed up against him.
A Hufflepuff seventh year—you recognized her vaguely. Soft blonde hair, warm brown eyes, and a sweet face that was currently flushed with pleasure. She was giggling softly, one hand resting on his chest while his head was buried in the crook of her neck. His lips moved lazily against her skin, not quite kissing, more like breathing her in, teasing the sensitive spot just below her ear.
The same way he did with you.
One of his hands was braced on the wall beside her head, the other resting low on her waist, fingers playing with the hem of her yellow-trimmed robe like he had all the time in the world. The scene was intimate. Too intimate. The kind of casual closeness he usually reserved for stolen moments with you.
For a second, the world narrowed to just this—the faint sound of her breathy laugh, the low murmur of his voice saying something you couldn’t quite hear, the way her fingers curled into his shirt. The dusty afternoon light filtering through a high window painted them in soft gold and shadow, making the moment look almost romantic. Like something out of a dream.
Except it was your nightmare.
Your heart slammed against your ribs so hard it hurt. A hot, ugly wave of jealousy crashed over you, followed immediately by nausea. Your bag slipped slightly from your shoulder, but you caught it before it hit the floor. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t look away. Your feet felt rooted to the cold stone.
This is what he does when you’re not around?
Memories flashed through your mind—his hands on your waist last night, the way he’d groaned your name like a prayer, the way he’d held you afterward like you were the only thing keeping him grounded. And now here he was, skipping class, nuzzling into some Hufflepuff girl’s neck like it was nothing.
Like you were nothing.
Sirius shifted slightly, lifting his head just enough that you caught the lazy smirk on his face. He said something else—low and teasing—and the girl laughed again, tilting her head to give him better access. His lips brushed her neck once more, slower this time.
That was the breaking point.
A sharp, bitter sound escaped your throat before you could stop it—half a scoff, half a broken breath. Not loud, but enough.
Sirius’s head snapped up instantly. His grey eyes locked onto yours across the dimly lit corridor, widening for a split second in genuine surprise. The easy, flirtatious expression on his face shattered completely.
For one long, agonizing heartbeat, neither of you moved.
The Hufflepuff girl turned her head, confused, following his gaze. When she saw you standing there, her cheeks went bright red and she stepped back quickly, smoothing down her robes.
“Oh—I didn’t… we were just—” she stammered, clearly embarrassed.
But you weren’t looking at her.
You were staring at him.
Sirius straightened up, running a hand through his messy hair. The mask was already trying to slide back into place, but you could see the flicker of guilt, the flash of panic in those stormy eyes. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. The distant sounds of students moving through other corridors felt miles away. All you could hear was the roaring in your ears and the rapid thud of your own heart.
You felt sick. Exposed. Stupid for even caring this much when he’d spent years telling you there was nothing to care about.
Finally, you found your voice. It came out quieter than you wanted, but edged with something sharp and trembling.
“…Really, Sirius?”
Your voice came out quieter than you expected, but it sliced through the dusty corridor like a hex. The words hung there, raw and trembling with everything you’d been swallowing for years.
The Hufflepuff girl looked mortified. Her eyes darted between you and Sirius, clearly sensing she’d walked into something much bigger than a casual flirtation. She muttered a quick, awkward “I should go…” and hurried past you, her yellow-trimmed robes swishing as she disappeared around the corner. Her footsteps faded quickly, leaving only the heavy silence and the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the air.
Sirius straightened up slowly, his back still pressed against the cold stone wall. His grey eyes—usually stormy, now blazing like thunderclouds ready to split open—locked onto yours. His shirt was rumpled, tie hanging loose like a noose, dark curls wild from the girl’s fingers. The faint scent of her perfume still clung to him, sweet and cloying, mixing with his familiar woody cologne in a way that made your stomach churn.
You stood tall, shoulders squared, the dim afternoon light slicing through a high arched window and painting harsh golden lines across the ancient stone floor between you.
“This is what you do the second I’m not around?” Your voice came out low, steady, and razor-sharp.
He pushed off the wall, jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle ticking. “Don’t start. You don’t own me. We’ve never been exclusive—”
“Exclusive?” You let out a bitter, cutting laugh that echoed off the faded tapestries. “You’ve had your mouth between my legs more times than I can count. You growl that I’m yours when you’re inside me. You threaten to hex any guy who looks at me too long. But the second you get bored, you’re nuzzling some Hufflepuff’s neck like a fucking dog in heat?”
Sirius’s eyes flashed dangerously. He stalked toward you, tall and predatory, the shadows clinging to his broad shoulders. “You’re being ridiculous. It was nothing. She came onto me. I wasn’t even going to do anything.”
“Nothing?” Your voice rose, cracking with pure fury. The dusty air felt thicker, harder to breathe. “Your face was buried in her neck, Sirius. I saw your hand on her waist. The same hands that were on me last night.”
He reached for you suddenly, fingers wrapping tight around your upper arm, yanking you closer. His breath was hot against your face, eyes wild with frustration and something darker.
“We are not together!” he snarled, voice low and venomous. “I told you that from the fucking beginning. I don’t do labels. I don’t do cages. If you can’t handle that, then maybe you should’ve stopped spreading your legs for me years ago.”
The words hit like a slap.
You ripped your arm free, chest heaving. “And maybe you should’ve stopped crawling into my bed every night like a pathetic, scared little boy who wants a girlfriend but is too much of a coward to call her one.”
Sirius’s face twisted in anger. He moved fast—grabbing your waist with both hands and crashing his mouth against yours in a bruising, furious kiss. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t loving. It was desperate, teeth clashing, tongue demanding, like he could force you back into submission the way he always had before.
For half a second, the familiar heat tried to pull you under.
Then you shoved him back hard, both hands on his chest.
“No.” Your voice was steel. “I’m done.”
He stumbled back a step, breathing ragged, lips swollen and eyes blazing with disbelief and rage. “You’re not fucking done. Don’t you dare walk away from me.”
“I’m done, Sirius.” You stared him dead in the eyes, unflinching. “I’m done being your dirty little secret. I’m done pretending that the way you fuck me at night makes up for the way you humiliate me during the day. I’m done waiting for you to grow up and claim what you clearly don’t want enough to fight for.”
The corridor felt alive with tension—dust swirling in the slanted beams of light, the old tapestries seeming to hold their breath, the stone walls closing in like they were witnessing something ugly and inevitable.
Sirius looked wrecked. His chest rose and fell rapidly, fists clenched at his sides. “You think you’re so much better than me? You’ve been playing this game just as long as I have. Jealous. Needy. Acting like you don’t care until someone else touches you. You’re just as fucked up as I am.”
“Maybe,” you said coldly, lifting your chin. “But at least I’m finally choosing myself. I deserve more than being your emotional whore whenever you feel like it.”
He lunged forward again, trying to pull you into another kiss, fingers digging into your hips almost painfully. “Stop saying that shit. You know I want you. You know it.”
You turned your face away sharply, refusing his lips.
“I said I’m done.”
The finality in your voice seemed to hit him harder than any spell. Sirius froze, hands still gripping you, eyes searching your face like he was waiting for you to crack.
But you didn’t.
You pried his hands off your waist, stepped back, and held his gaze one last time—cold, exhausted, and completely finished.
“You can keep playing your little games with every girl in this castle. I’m not playing anymore.”
Then you turned and walked away down the long, shadowed corridor. Your footsteps echoed like gunshots. Behind you, you heard the sharp crack of his fist slamming into the stone wall, followed by a furious, broken curse.
description: a soft and sweet eddie fic about crying too easily, feeling things too deeply, and finally being loved gently because of it instead of despite it.
pairing: eddie x gf!reader (fem!reader)
tags: eddie x you, no y/n, fluff, hurt/comfort, "sensitive" reader, emotional reassurance king, soft relationship dynamics, overapologizing, subtle angst, happy ending
TW: angst, anxious/insecure themes, mention of evil ex
WC: 2.2k
A/N: requested by @beansboop i hope you enjoy! just some gentle hurt/comfort to get this week started:) reblogs are always apprecited <33
also, thank you thank you THANK YOU for all of the love on Wishbone! part 2 shall be out soon;)) love ya!!
The first time your ex called you exhausting, he did it in front of his friends, as if it were a joke.
You had been sitting in the Hawkins High parking lot after one of his basketball games, knees tucked to your chest in the passenger seat while he smoked a cigarette out the window.
You don’t even remember what upset you anymore. Something small, probably. Maybe he forgot your plans. Maybe he snapped at you after a bad game. Maybe one of his friends made a comment that stung more than it should have.
Whatever it was, your eyes had gotten glossy, your voice quiet in that humiliating way it always did when you were trying not to cry. And he laughed. Like, actually laughed.
“God damn,” he muttered, leaning back against the driver’s seat. “You are so sensitive.”
His friends snickered from outside the car, where they stood passing around beers.
You remember shrinking instantly. “I’m not trying to start anything,” you said quickly, immediately trying to fix it. “Forget it.”
“No, because every little thing turns into this whole emotional production with you.” He shook his head with this incredulous smile, as if you were impossible to understand. “It’s exhausting.”
That word lodged itself somewhere awful inside your chest. “Exhausting.” “Too emotional.” “Too sensitive.” “Too much.” “Grow up.”
After that, you started noticing how often people acted inconvenienced by your feelings. Your friends sighing when you got quiet after being teased too hard.
Being called dramatic when something genuinely hurt your feelings. Getting told to “lighten up” when jokes crossed lines nobody else seemed to notice.
Eventually, you adapted. You learned how to swallow hurt before anybody could see it. You learned how to laugh when people embarrassed you. You learned how to cry silently.
And worst of all, you learned how to apologize for having feelings before anyone even asked you to. By the time you broke up with your ex and started dating Eddie, you had perfected pretending things didn’t bother you, which was difficult because Eddie noticed everything.
It starts small.
You’re sitting with him and the Hellfire boys in the cafeteria one afternoon, tucked quietly against Eddie’s side while he argues dramatically with Dustin over some campaign detail. You mostly just listen, occasionally smiling when Eddie gets especially animated.
Then Gareth says something. Nothing cruel, technically, just teasing. “You always this quiet,” he asks you with a grin, “or is Munson holding you hostage?”
The table laughs. You smile automatically because that’s what you’re supposed to do, but Eddie feels it.
The tiny way your body pulls inward. The way your fingers stop moving against your lunch tray. The way your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes anymore. And then, almost like instinct, you make yourself smaller.
“He's not,” you say softly before anyone can even react. “I’m just tired.” You say it like an apology.
Eddie’s eyes flick to you immediately. He doesn’t say anything then. Doesn’t embarrass you by making it a bigger deal.
He just throws an arm over the back of your chair and smoothly changes the subject, loud enough to redirect everyone’s attention somewhere else.
But later, when he’s driving you home with one hand lazily resting on your thigh, he asks quietly:
“People give you shit for being quiet a lot?”
You stare out the window. “Not really.”
“You know I can tell when you’re lying, right?”
That almost makes you smile. “It’s not a big deal,” you mumble.
Eddie glances at you briefly before looking back at the road. “Didn’t say it was.”
A few weeks into dating Eddie, everyone starts noticing the same thing: He’s obsessed with you.
Not in a casual high school boyfriend way, either. No, Eddie hovers.
Always touching you somehow. Hand on your knee under the table. Fingers hooked through your belt loops.
Pulling you into his lap at movie nights like it’s instinct instead of thought. Looking at you constantly, no matter the circumstance. And honestly, it confuses people a little. Because you’re quiet.
Sweet, yeah. Pretty in that soft sort of way that sneaks up on people. But shy enough that most people at Hawkins High never really knew what to do with you. You spent more time listening than talking, smiling politely while louder personalities swallowed entire rooms whole.
One Friday night, you’re all crammed into Steve's living room for movie night. Robin’s upside down in the armchair, Dustin and Mike are fighting over snacks on the floor, and Nancy’s trying to get everyone to shut up long enough to actually start the movie while Steve complains dramatically about people getting grease on his couch.
You’re tucked into Eddie’s side on the floor, knees pulled close to your chest while his arm hangs lazily around your shoulders; it’s nice.
Until Robin snorts at something you say. It isn’t even intentionally mean, either.
“You apologize a lot, you know that?” she says casually, reaching for popcorn. “Like… a weird amount.”
Heat crawls up your neck instantly. “Oh,” you laugh softly. “Sorry.”
Robin bursts out laughing. “See? You literally just did it again.”
Steve groans. “Jesus, now I'm noticing it too.”
“It’s like a reflex,” Robin says, still giggling. “Like one of those little dogs that shakes all the time.”
Everyone laughs lightly. Not cruelly or maliciously, but your stomach drops anyway. Because suddenly every apology you’ve said all night feels humiliating. Every sentence is replaying in your head too loudly.
Your ex’s voice echoes automatically. Exhausting.
You shrink without realizing it, curling a little tighter into yourself. And immediately, Eddie notices. His laughter dies first, eyes flicking down toward you, brows pulling together slightly.
You feel him squeeze your shoulder gently. “You okay, sweetheart?”
Every instinct you have screams at you to fix it before you make things awkward, so you smile.
“Yeah,” you say softly. “I’m okay.” Eddie watches you for another second, like he can see the exact moment you tucked the hurt away.
The room moves on quickly after that. Robin starts arguing with Steve about the movie choice, Dustin throws popcorn at Mike, and the conversation shifts naturally.
But Eddie stays quieter, his thumb rubbing absent little circles against your shoulder for the rest of the movie. And later, when everyone’s distracted in the kitchen, digging through Steve’s fridge for drinks, Eddie catches your wrist gently before you can follow after them.
“Hey.”
You glance up. “Hm?”
“You sure you’re alright?”
Your stomach twists instantly because he’s asking genuinely. “I’m fine,” you insist softly.
Eddie tilts his head slightly. “Robin hurt your feelings.” It isn’t a question.
You immediately shake your head too fast. “No, she didn’t mean anything by it.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
You blink at him. And there’s no accusation on his face, just this quiet patience that makes something uncomfortable tighten in your chest. Because most people don’t notice when your feelings are hurt. Or they do notice, and act like it’s ridiculous.
But Eddie notices and treats it like it matters. Even now, he keeps his voice gentle. “Did it upset you?”
You stare down at your hands. “No, it’s fine, really. Promise.”
He steps closer then, hands settling carefully on your hips. “You know what I think?” he says quietly.
“What?”
“I think you spend a lotta time trying to convince people you don’t have feelings.”
Your throat tightens. Because he says it like he already knows the answer, like he’s been watching you fold yourself smaller and smaller since the day he met you.
The fight starts over nothing, which somehow makes it worse. Eddie had canceled plans. Not even completely, just pushed them back a couple of hours.
He was supposed to come over after Hellfire, but the campaign ran long, and then Gareth’s car broke down, and suddenly it’s nearly ten o’clock and Eddie’s climbing through your bedroom window apologizing breathlessly while you sit curled up on your bed pretending you hadn’t been waiting by the window for over an hour.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he says immediately. “Everything got fucked up.”
And logically, you understand that, you do. But disappointment had already settled heavily in your chest hours ago, and once feelings land there, they stay.
You shrug lightly instead. “It’s okay.”
Eddie pauses halfway through taking off his jacket. That tone.
“You sure?”
“Mhm.”
He studies you carefully for a second. “You’re upset.”
“No, I’m not.”
Lie. A painfully obvious one, at that.
Eddie sighs softly, moving closer. “Baby.”
“It’s seriously fine.”
Except now your voice has that awful tightness in it, the one you get when you’re trying too hard to sound normal.
Eddie notices immediately. “Hey,” he says gently. “Talk to me.”
You stare hard at your comforter instead. Because you want to. You want to tell him your feelings were hurt.
That you missed him. That you spent the last hour convincing yourself not to cry over something stupid. But experience has taught you what happens when you do that.
People get irritated. People think you’re dramatic. People get tired.
So instead, you swallow it, again. “It doesn’t matter,” you mumble.
Eddie’s brows knit together. “Clearly it does.”
You shake your head quickly. “No, seriously, it’s fine.”
His expression shifts slightly at that. “What?”
“It’s fine,” you repeat quietly. “I shouldn’t care so much, anyway.”
Something flashes across his face then. Not anger exactly, something more towards frustration. But not at you, at whatever invisible thing keeps making you do this.
“Can you stop doing that?” he says suddenly.
You blink. “Doing what?”
“This.” He gestures vaguely between you. “Agreeing with me immediately so we don’t actually talk about anything.”
Your stomach twists instantly. “I’m not—”
“Yes, you are.” Eddie runs a hand through his curls roughly now, pacing once beside your bed. “Every time something bothers you, you act like you’re not allowed to feel it.”
You shrink a little automatically. “I just don’t wanna start problems.”
“That’s not starting problems!” His voice rises without meaning to, causing you to flinch instantly.
His face falls a little, but now you’re already spiraling internally, heartbeat climbing too fast.
“It’s fine,” you say quickly, nodding before he can continue. “It’s really nothing! I’m just being dramatic and—”
“Jesus Christ.” The words snap out sharper than he intends, and you go silent immediately.
Your eyes gloss over instantly, but you’re still trying so hard to keep yourself together that it almost hurts him to watch.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper.
Eddie stares at you in disbelief. “Why are you apologizing?”
You shrug helplessly, arms wrapping around your stomach now.
“I just do! I get it, I do it too much.”
The sentence comes out so small and so, so practiced. Like something you’ve been told too many times.
Eddie feels sick. “Sweetheart…”
“It’s okay,” you rush out before he can continue. “Seriously, I know I get upset over dumb stuff, and I’ve been trying really hard not to—”
“Hey.” His voice softens immediately. “No. Stop.”
But now that you’ve started, it all comes pouring out. “My ex used to say I made everything into a huge emotional thing,” you admit shakily, eyes fixed on the floor. “And my friends always acted annoyed when I got upset, so I’ve really been trying not to be like that anymore—”
Your voice cracks. “I know it’s probably exhausting.”
“Baby,” he says quietly, horrified. “Who the fuck convinced you that having feelings makes you exhausting?”
You wipe angrily at your face before tears can fall, embarrassed now.
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
And you do. Every eye roll. Every sigh. Every laugh. Every “it’s not that serious.”
Eddie kneels in front of you then, hands settling carefully on your knees. “You listen to me right now,” he says softly but firmly. “Feeling things deeply does not make you too much.”
Your lip wobbles immediately.
“It doesn’t make you dramatic. It doesn’t make you childish. And it sure as hell doesn’t make you hard to love.”
The first tear slips down your cheek, and Eddie wipes it away instantly with his thumb.
“I got frustrated because I want you to tell me when something hurts,” he admits quietly. “Not because I think your feelings are annoying.”
And there’s no irritation on his face anymore. Just concern, guilt, and this overwhelming softness like he’s terrified you think he sees you the way other people did.
“I’m sorry I snapped at you,” he murmurs. “I never want you thinking you gotta earn the right to feel things around me.”
That completely undoes you. A sob catches in your throat before you can stop it, and Eddie immediately moves, pulling you into him so fast you barely process it.
“C’mere,” he whispers, wrapping both arms tightly around you.
You hide your face in his shoulder while you cry, mortified, but Eddie just holds you closer. “No more pretending you’re okay when you’re not,” he says quietly into your hair. “Not with me.”
Your fingers curl weakly into the back of his shirt. “I’m trying,” you whisper tearfully.
“I know.” He presses a kiss against your temple. “And you’re doing so good, sweetheart.”
dividers by @strangergraphics
hope you all enjoyed a little sweetness:) until the next one xoxo<3
description: you’ve always been sweet. too sweet, probably. then, eddie starts taking you on dates, putting cigarettes to your lips, and looking at you like he wants to ruin you just a little bit.
pairing: eddie x henderson!reader (fem!reader)
tags: eddie x henderson!reader, innocent!reader, virgin!reader, soft corruption, "good girl" energy, sweethearts you to DEATH, firsts, mutual pining, praise kink undertones, protective eddie, eddie not knowing what to do with all of this softness, "jesus christ" 24/7, shy affection, "there she is", "that's my girl", horny but sweet
TW: NSFW (18+) minors do not interact!!, PiV, smoking
WC: 9.9k
A/N: requested by @ihaveaspoon i hope you enjoy!!!! reblog for ya girl, if you don't mind ;) why do i lowkey love a corruption fic🫣 *proofread as best as i could, my brain hurts, sorry
People always say the same things about you.
Sweet, polite, and pretty in that soft sort of way that makes old women at the grocery store smile at you fondly and teachers immediately trust you with passing out papers.
The kind of girl who remembers everyone’s favorite candy, who waves when people let her cross the street, who still says bless you when someone sneezes, even if she doesn’t know them. Hawkins is small enough that kindness stands out, and yours seems endless.
It’s almost strange, really.
Not because you’re naive exactly, but because the world has not managed to harden you yet. You still help Dustin with his homework even after he acts like a little asshole all through dinner. You still leave little notes in his lunchbox and compliment strangers’ outfits and smile at people like you genuinely hope they’re having a good day.
And maybe that’s why nobody’s ever dated you.
Not for lack of trying, because boys definitely do. They trip over themselves around you constantly, all awkward grins and sweaty palms and invitations to the movies that you somehow never realize are dates until weeks later when Robin physically grabs your shoulders and says, “Honey, he was flirting with you.”
Your response had only been a confused blink. “He was?”
Robin had stared at you for a very long moment before muttering something about you being “a baby deer in the middle of hunting season.”
The thing is, romance has always felt like something happening around you instead of to you. Girls in your grade pass notes about kissing boys behind the bleachers while you sit beside them, doodling little stars in the margins of your notebook.
Nancy comes over ranting about Steve, and you listen carefully, chin in your palm, like she’s telling you a story from another planet entirely. Then there’s Eddie. And honestly, maybe the universe should’ve warned him first.
Because Eddie is used to people looking at him and immediately deciding what he is before he even opens his mouth. Freak. Burnout. Drug dealer. Satanist. Every adult in Hawkins looks at him like he’s one wrong move away from corrupting their children, and every girl who flirts with him does it with this expectation that he’ll play into the role they’ve already created in their heads.
But you don’t, you look at him the same way you look at everyone else: warmly.
The first time he really notices it is after Hellfire one night, when everyone else has already cleared out of the drama room except you, sitting cross-legged in one of the chairs, waiting for Dustin to finish arguing with Mike about some campaign detail. Eddie’s shoving books back into his bag when you quietly slide a can of Coke across the table toward him.
“I remembered this was your favorite,” you say simply.
And Eddie just stares at you. Because you remembered that. Not in a flirty way. Not trying to get anything from him. You’d just noticed him mentioning it once weeks ago and tucked the information away in that sweet little head of yours like it mattered.
“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath, dragging a hand down his face.
You blink at him softly. “What?”
“Nothin’, sweetheart.”
The nickname slips out before he can stop it. And the worst part is the way your entire face warms at it, ducking your head shyly like nobody’s ever called you something like that before. Which, horrifyingly enough for Eddie, might actually be true.
Steve’s living room is already loud by the time Eddie gets there.
Robin is halfway through aggressively arguing with Nancy about what movie they’re watching, Steve looks one inconvenience away from death on the couch, and somewhere in the kitchen, Dustin is complaining about the lack of “real snacks” like he personally funds the grocery shopping.
It’s warm inside the Harrington house, all yellow lighting and cluttered blankets draped over the couch cushions, the kind of easy domesticity Eddie always feels a little strange stepping into. Then he sees you.
Curled up in the corner of the couch with sock-covered feet tucked beneath you, smiling the second the front door opens.
“Eddie!” you say brightly, like you hadn’t just seen him yesterday at Hellfire. “There’s still space next to me.”
That immediately becomes the worst moment of Eddie’s entire life.
Because there is space next to you, a very obvious space. One you apparently saved for him without thinking twice. Robin notices the way Eddie visibly hesitates in the doorway and has to fake a coughing fit into her sleeve to keep from laughing.
Eddie drops onto the couch beside you with what he hopes resembles casualness. “Well, sweetheart, how thoughtful of you. Saved me from sitting on the crusty Harrington carpet.”
Steve flips him off from the recliner. “You’re lucky you were invited at all.”
You giggle softly at that, and Eddie immediately has to look away from you.
The movie starts eventually, though Eddie barely absorbs any of it. Not when you’re sitting tucked against his side close enough that your knees keep brushing every few minutes. Every time it happens, you murmur a tiny “sorry” under your breath before doing it all over again thirty seconds later, entirely unaware of the psychological warfare you’re inflicting on him.
At some point during the movie, you start reaching into the popcorn bowl in his lap instead of the one on the coffee table. Again, absentmindedly. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world to lean across him every few minutes with your soft perfume surrounding him and your sleeve brushing against his rings.
Eddie thinks he may actually be dying.
“Oh my god, this part is so sad,” you whisper at one point, turning toward him with wide eyes.
Eddie blinks. “Sweetheart, this guy has been on screen for maybe four minutes.”
“I know,” you whisper back earnestly. “But look at him.”
And Christ.
That’s another thing about you, you care about everything. Movie characters with three lines. Stray cats behind Melvald’s. Random kids crying in the grocery store. You move through the world with this unbearable softness that makes Eddie feel simultaneously protective and completely ruined by you.
About halfway through the movie, the room cools enough that you quietly reach for the blanket bunched beside Eddie’s leg. He lifts it automatically to help you pull it over yourself, only for you to immediately lift one side toward him too.
“You’ll get cold,” you murmur.
Eddie stares at you for a beat too long before slowly ducking beneath the blanket beside you. Across the room, Robin physically presses her lips together to stop herself from making a noise. Then, somehow, things get worse. Because sometime during the second movie, you get sleepy.
Eddie notices it in little ways first. The slower blinking, the way your words trail off halfway through comments. Eventually, your head tips sideways against his shoulder so naturally that it almost seems unconscious.
The entire room goes quiet for exactly two seconds. Not because of you, but because Eddie completely freezes.
You don’t even realize what you’ve done at first, already half-asleep against him beneath the blanket. Then your eyes blink open slightly, face warming the tiniest bit when you realize where you’re leaning.
“Oh,” you mumble softly. “Is this okay?”
Eddie thinks his heart physically hurts.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, sweetheart. ‘Course it is.”
You smile at that. Small and sleepy and trusting. Then your eyes drift shut again against his shoulder like there was never a possibility he’d say no. Robin watches Eddie very carefully after that. Specifically, the way he doesn’t move for the next hour, not even once.
By the time the movie ends, you’ve wandered into the kitchen with Nancy to help clean up empty soda cans while Dustin argues with Steve over something stupid in the dining room. Eddie is still sitting on the couch like he’s recovering from a near-death experience when Robin drops into the seat beside him.
“You are so unbelievably into her,” she says immediately.
Eddie scoffs without looking at her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Bullshit. You looked at her like a Victorian man seeing an ankle.”
That finally gets a reluctant snort out of him. Robin grins, leaning back into the couch cushions. “She likes you too, y’know.”
Eddie’s expression changes instantly. “No, she doesn’t.” The response comes too fast.
Robin’s face softens slightly beneath the teasing. “Eddie—”
“She’s nice to everybody,” he cuts in quietly, eyes flicking toward the hallway where you disappeared moments ago. “That’s just who she is.”
And maybe that’s the problem, because Eddie knows what people like him do to things that are soft.
Friday afternoon sunlight spills warm through the hallway windows, catching against Eddie’s face as he leans against the lockers outside your classroom like he’s been there a while, pretending not to wait for you.
Which is exactly what he’s been doing.
You almost miss him at first while stuffing books into your bag, too focused on making sure Dustin remembered his science worksheet this morning. It’s only when someone whistles obnoxiously down the hall, and Eddie flips them off without even turning around, that your eyes finally land on him.
And immediately, your stomach does something strange. Not bad, strange, just strange. Because Eddie’s looking at you already.
Not casually either. His dark eyes lock onto yours the second you notice him, and for a moment, he looks almost nervous, which feels impossible considering this is Eddie. Eddie, who performs lunch table monologues and flirts with teachers for extra credit, acts like the entire world is his stage.
You smile anyway.
“There she is,” he says, pushing off the lockers.
“Hi,” you answer softly, adjusting the strap of your bag higher on your shoulder. “Were you waiting for someone?”
Eddie actually laughs at that.
“Sweetheart,” he says, stepping closer, “you are genuinely killin’ me.”
Your brows pull together a little. “What?”
“Nothin’.” He shakes his head, grinning to himself before dragging his rings along the back of his neck. Suddenly, he looks oddly uncertain again. “Uh… actually, I was waitin’ for you.”
“Oh.” The word comes out quieter than you mean for it to.
The hallway around you buzzes with noise, lockers slamming and people shoving past each other on their way outside, but it suddenly feels very far away. Eddie shifts his weight once, eyes flicking over your face like he’s trying to gauge something.
Then he says, “You wanna go out with me tonight?”
“You mean…” You blink once. “Like a date?”
Eddie’s mouth twitches slightly. “Yeah, sweetheart. Like a date.”
And maybe it’s embarrassing how fast your face warms.
Not because you don’t want to go. God, you do. You think maybe you’ve wanted to for longer than you realized. It’s just that nobody’s ever looked at you quite like Eddie is right now, all careful confidence hiding something softer underneath.
“Okay,” you say before you can overthink it.
Eddie stills. “Okay?”
You smile a little shyly. “Yeah. I’d really like that.”
For a second, Eddie genuinely looks stunned.
Then the slowest grin spreads across his face, crooked and warm and so unfairly pretty that you have to glance down at your shoes for a second just to collect yourself.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath, mostly to himself.
You laugh softly. “What?”
“There’s that thing again where you say yes to me like I just asked if you wanted a pencil instead of—” He cuts himself off with another disbelieving shake of his head. “Tonight. I’ll pick you up at seven?”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” he repeats, like he still can’t believe it.
He walks backward down the hallway afterward, still grinning at you in this helpless sort of way, before finally turning toward the exit. You stand there for a moment after he disappears, your heartbeat feeling strangely uneven beneath your ribs.
Then, naturally, you go find Robin.
She’s already behind the Family Video counter when you walk in later that afternoon, lazily rewinding tapes with Steve half-asleep beside her. The second she sees your face, her eyes narrow suspiciously.
“What happened?”
You blink. “Nothing happened.”
“That is not a nothing face.”
Steve lifts his head slightly from the counter. “What’s a nothing face?”
Robin points at you dramatically. “That face. That’s the face girls make before they tell you life-altering information.”
Your cheeks warm immediately. “It’s not life-altering.”
“Oh my god,” Robin gasps. “You kissed someone.”
“What? No!”
Steve snorts tiredly into the counter. Robin leans forward. “Then what?”
You hesitate for half a second before saying quietly, “Eddie asked me on a date.”
Then Robin slams both palms onto the counter so hard Steve nearly falls out of his chair. “I KNEW IT.”
Your face warms instantly beneath her stare. Steve looks significantly more awake now, too, blinking between the two of you while Robin points at you like you’ve personally validated her entire worldview.
“I told you he liked her,” she says to Steve.
Steve shrugs. “I mean, yeah. The guy looks at her like she personally invented music.”
“Oh my god,” you mumble, covering your face briefly with your sleeve.
Robin immediately softens at that, grinning as she leans her elbows onto the counter. “Aw, honey, don’t look embarrassed. This is cute.”
Cute. The word alone makes your stomach flutter strangely.
You glance down shyly, tracing your thumb along the strap of your bag. “It’s just a date.”
“Mhm,” Robin hums knowingly. “And what exactly are we wearing to this very casual, definitely-not-important date?”
You blink. “I don’t know yet.”
Steve finally sits up straighter. “Wait, hold on. Tonight tonight?”
You nod once. Robin gasps dramatically. “Oh, this is serious.”
“It is not serious,” you protest immediately.
Robin’s expression turns fond in that way it sometimes does around you, all teasing melting into something softer. “Sweetie, he stood outside your classroom looking nervous and was a statue when you fell asleep on him. You’ve altered his brain chemistry.”
You hide your face again with a quiet groan while Steve laughs under his breath.
“I’m serious,” Robin continues. “I have literally never seen him act normal around anybody he’s interested in.”
Before you can answer, Robin suddenly narrows her eyes. “Wait. Have you even been on a date before?”
You hesitate just long enough for her to gasp. “Oh, my god.”
“It’s not a big deal,” you say quickly.
Steve blinks at you. “Like… ever?”
You shrug awkwardly. “I don’t know. Nobody’s really asked.”
Robin and Steve share a look over your head that feels deeply loaded.
“What?” you ask suspiciously.
Robin shakes her head slowly. “Nothing. I just think half the male population of Hawkins is profoundly stupid.”
You laugh quietly at that, cheeks still warm. “You guys are making this sound way more dramatic than it is.”
Robin reaches over the counter to squeeze your hand once. “No, honey. We’re making it sound exactly as dramatic as it is.”
By seven o’clock, your bedroom looks like a small tornado passed through it.
Not because you’re trying overly hard, exactly. More because every outfit suddenly feels wrong the second you put it on. Robin’s teasing voice still echoes faintly in your head every time you glance in the mirror.
"Eddie Munson stood outside your classroom, nervous."
Which is ridiculous, Eddie doesn’t get nervous. However, your stomach has been fluttering stupidly for the last hour anyway.
Eventually, you settle on something simple. Something that still feels like you. Soft sweater, jeans that fit nicely, a little lip gloss Nancy once insisted you’d “thank her for later.” By the time you finally step out of your bedroom, the house is quiet except for the television murmuring faintly from the living room.
Dustin is sprawled across the couch with a bowl of cereal balanced on his stomach despite the fact it’s fully evening. He glances up absentmindedly at first.
His entire face lights up. “Whoa.”
You immediately laugh nervously. “What?”
“You look pretty.”
The sincerity in his voice catches you slightly off guard. Dustin sits up straighter on the couch, grinning at you in a way that suddenly reminds you painfully that he’s still your little brother underneath all the dramatics and endless talking.
“You really think so?”
“Duh.” He gestures vaguely with his spoon. “Eddie’s gonna freak out.”
Your cheeks warm instantly. “Dustin.”
“What? He likes you like… aggressively.”
You laugh softly despite yourself, smoothing your hands nervously over your sleeves. “Robin said the same thing.”
“Because it’s true,” Dustin says, like it’s obvious. “He talks about you all the time.”
That makes you blink. “He does?”
“Oh my god,” Dustin groans, dropping back dramatically against the couch cushions. “You seriously have no idea, do you?”
Before you can answer, headlights sweep briefly across the front window.
Dustin notices your expression and grins even wider. “You’re nervous.”
“I am not.”
“You are,” he says delightedly. “This is amazing.”
Then there’s a knock at the door, and your heartbeat feels too loud. Dustin looks between you and the front door with poorly concealed excitement before jumping up from the couch first.
“Oh, I’m answering it.”
“Dustin—”
Too late. He yanks the front door open with the energy of a child on Christmas morning.
Eddie’s standing on the porch in dark jeans and his leather jacket, curls slightly messy like he’s been dragging nervous hands through them.
He’s holding a small bouquet of flowers that look suspiciously like they came from the little stand outside Melvald’s, and for once in his life, Eddie Munson actually seems unsure of himself.
Then his eyes land on you behind Dustin, and he completely forgets how to speak. Dustin looks back and forth between the two of you with visible delight.
“Oh my god,” he whispers dramatically. “He is freaking out.”
Eddie blinks once like he’s rebooting. “Henderson, I will kill you.”
“You brought flowers,” Dustin says smugly.
Eddie ignores him entirely, still staring at you in a way that makes your chest feel warm all over again. “Hi, sweetheart.”
“Hi.” The word comes out softer than you intended.
Eddie swallows once. Then, very carefully, he holds the flowers out toward you. “These are for you.”
“Be home by ten!” Dustin calls dramatically as Eddie leads you back toward the van.
You pause halfway down the walkway. “Since when do you give me a curfew?”
“Since now,” he says importantly, leaning against the front doorframe. “And no funny business.”
Eddie scoffs loudly without looking back. “You are literally fifteen.”
“And wiser than both of you combined.”
You laugh softly under your breath as Eddie opens the passenger door for you with an exaggerated bow.
“Goodbye, Dustin.”
“GOODBYE. BE SAFE. DON’T GET PREGNANT.”
“Oh my god,” you groan, face burning as Eddie bursts into helpless laughter beside you.
The front door slams shut before you can retaliate further.
“Your brother is insane.”
“You encourage him.”
“Because he’s funny.”
“He’s awful.”
Eddie laughs again as the van rumbles to life beneath you. The sound settles warmly through the small space alongside the radio's quiet static, and for a little while, things feel easy.
Eddie drums his fingers against the steering wheel while he drives one-handed, occasionally glancing over at you with this small private smile that makes your stomach flutter every single time.
It isn’t until he pulls into the overlook outside town later that night that things start to shift.
The place is mostly empty this late, only a couple of scattered cars parked beneath the dark stretch of sky overlooking Hawkins. “This okay?” he asks.
You nod immediately. “Yeah. It’s pretty up here.”
Eddie’s eyes linger on your face for a second too long before he looks away again with a quiet hum. “Yeah,” he says softly. “It is.”
Then, after a moment, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a crumpled pack of cigarettes.
You watch absentmindedly as he taps one loose and settles it between his lips, the flame from his lighter briefly illuminating the sharp lines of his face in warm orange. Smoke curls slowly into the night air once he exhales.
You don’t know why you ask. Maybe curiosity, maybe because everything about Eddie feels a little intoxicating lately.
“Can I try one?”
Eddie freezes mid-exhale. Slowly, he turns toward you. “What?”
You shrug a little, suddenly oddly shy beneath the intensity of his stare. “Just once.”
For a second, he just looks at you. “You’ve never smoked before.”
It isn’t a question. You shake your head once. “No.”
Eddie lets out the faintest breath through his nose, eyes dragging away toward the windshield for a moment. His rings tap softly against the cigarette resting between his fingers.
And maybe this is exactly the kind of thing everyone in Hawkins expects from him. Corrupting nice girls in parked vans late at night. The thought should probably make him feel guilty. Instead, all he can think about is the way you’re looking at him right now, all soft curiosity and trust.
“Sweetheart,” he says slowly, “you really shouldn’t ask me things like that.”
Your brows pull together slightly. “Why?”
Eddie glances back at you then, dark eyes unreadable in the low lighting.
“Because,” he says quietly, “I’m probably gonna say yes.”
Before you can overthink it, Eddie sighs softly and shifts closer across the seat, cigarette still balanced between his fingers. “C’mere.”
You lean closer instinctively, knees brushing his in the cramped space between the seats. Eddie watches you the entire time, gaze flicking once toward your mouth before he catches himself.
“This’ll probably taste awful, by the way.”
You smile a little. “You’re really selling it.”
“Just bein’ honest.”
Carefully, he lifts the cigarette toward your lips. And Christ. The sight alone nearly does him in.
You hesitate only briefly before taking a tentative inhale exactly the way he showed you. Almost immediately, your face scrunches up as you start coughing lightly into your sleeve.
Eddie laughs instantly, reaching over to rub a warm hand against your back. “Easy, easy— there she is.”
“That is horrible,” you rasp between coughs, eyes watering slightly.
“I did warn you.”
You’re still laughing softly at yourself when you finally glance back up at him, only to realize how close he is now. For a moment, neither of you moves.
The cigarette burns slowly between Eddie’s fingers, forgotten entirely now as his eyes stay fixed on yours. You can still feel the warmth of his hand through your sweater, where it rests against your back. Though the look on his face is becoming significantly less careful by the second.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
You nod once.
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.”
Your voice comes out softer than usual, and Eddie notices immediately.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath, almost to himself, dragging his eyes away from your mouth with visible effort.
His hand slips from your back only so he can lean farther into the seat, head tipping briefly against it like he’s trying to regain control of his own thoughts.
You watch him for a second before smiling slightly. “What?”
Eddie laughs once, but there’s no real humor in it. “You have genuinely no idea what you do to me, huh?”
Your stomach flips hard enough to make you glance away. Not because you don’t understand what he means, you do.
Maybe not fully, or with the same confidence other girls seem to have, but you understand enough to feel the tension thickening between you now. The difference is you’re not afraid of it, not with him.
“You make me nervous, too,” you admit quietly.
That gets Eddie’s attention instantly. His head turns toward you again, curls falling slightly into his eyes. “I do?”
You nod, fingers fidgeting lightly in your lap. “You always look at me like you’re thinking something.”
Eddie goes very still. Because he is, constantly.
And suddenly, he’s picturing every single filthy thought he’s had about you over the last few weeks while you sat beside him smiling sweetly like you trusted him with your whole heart.
Every moment, he’s imagined pulling you into his lap, kissing you until you forgot your own name, hearing soft sounds fall from your mouth, all because of him.
Dangerous thoughts, especially about someone like you.
“You really wanna know what I’m thinking?” he asks finally, voice lower now.
The question sends heat crawling up your neck. Still, you nod.
Eddie studies your face for another long second. Then he leans closer again, slowly enough for you to stop him if you want to. You don’t.
“You sit next to me,” he murmurs, eyes flicking between yours and your mouth, “lookin’ all pretty and sweet all the time, and you don’t even realize what it does to me.”
Your breath catches quietly.
“Sweetheart,” he says softly, almost pained, “I’m trying my best here not to ruin you.”
The word ruin sends a pulse of heat low in your stomach. His gaze darkens immediately at your reaction.
“There she is,” he says quietly, almost pleased. “That got your attention.”
Your face burns. “Eddie…”
“What?” he asks innocently, though there’s nothing innocent about him anymore. “You asked.”
You should probably tell him to stop. Instead, you whisper, “Keep talking.”
Eddie actually closes his eyes briefly at that. When he opens them again, his face slips into something soft, following something dangerous. Like the restraint he’s been clinging to all night is finally beginning to slip.
“You’re trouble,” he murmurs.
You laugh nervously. “I thought you were supposed to be the bad influence.”
“Oh, trust me, doll.” Eddie’s hand slides slowly along your knee, warm and deliberate enough to make your pulse jump. “I am.”
The touch alone feels impossibly intimate. Not because it’s inappropriate, not because it’s even that scandalous. But because it’s Eddie.
Because he’s touching you like he’s trying very hard not to scare you away while simultaneously imagining a thousand worse things.
“You know what the worst part is?” he asks quietly.
You shake your head once.
“I don’t even think you mean to do it.”
His thumb brushes absentmindedly against your knee, and you swear he notices the exact second your breathing changes.
“You smile at me,” he continues softly, “sit close to me, remember little details that nobody should remember… and every time you do, I think maybe this is the moment I finally lose my mind.”
Your heart is pounding so hard now you’re convinced he can hear it. Especially when his eyes drop once more toward your mouth.
Eddie’s thumb is still stroking slow circles over your knee, his dark eyes locked on your mouth like he’s starving for it. You can barely breathe.
“Eddie…” you whisper, not sure what you’re even asking for.
He lets out a shaky breath, like your voice alone is undoing him. “Yeah, sweetheart?”
You don’t answer with words. Instead, you lean in the last few inches and press your lips to his: soft, uncertain, barely a kiss at all, more like a gentle brush.
Eddie freezes for half a second, then groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your mouth. His hand slides up to cup the back of your neck, careful, as he tilts his head and kisses you back properly, like he’s teaching you how good it can feel.
You make a tiny surprised sound when his tongue traces your bottom lip, and he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breathing hard.
“Easy, baby,” he murmurs, voice rough. “We can stop anytime. Just tell me.”
“I don’t want to stop,” you whisper, cheeks burning. Your hands are trembling as you reach up and curl your fingers into his jacket. Eddie’s eyes flutter shut like the words physically pain him. “You’re gonna kill me, you know that?”
He kisses you again, deeper this time, guiding you with gentle pressure until your mouth opens for him. The slide of his tongue against yours makes heat pool low in your belly, unfamiliar and overwhelming.
You try to match him, tentative and sweet, and when you shyly suck on his tongue, he makes a broken noise and pulls you closer across the seat.
He pants against your lips while his hand stays gentle on your neck, thumb stroking your jaw, but his other hand grips the edge of the seat like he’s holding himself back from devouring you.
You kiss him harder, braver now, and he rewards you with a soft moan that goes straight between your legs. When you accidentally graze his bottom lip with your teeth, something you’ve only ever seen in movies, he jerks, fingers tightening in your hair.
Eventually, he pulls back, eyes dark, lips swollen. “Back of the van?” he asks, almost hesitant. “Only if you want. We don’t have to—”
You nod before he can finish, heart hammering. “I want to. With you.”
Eddie helps you climb through to the back, spreading out the blankets he keeps there like he’s making a nest for you. He lays you down so gently it makes your chest ache, then settles over you on his elbows, careful not to crush you.
“Look at me, baby,” he says softly, brushing hair from your face. “We go as slow as you need. Tell me if anything hurts or feels weird, okay? Promise me.”
“I promise,” you whisper, reaching up to touch his cheek.
He kisses you again, slower, deeper, until you’re squirming beneath him.
His hands stay respectful at first, stroking your sides and waist, until you arch into him and he finally slides one under your sweater. The warmth of his palm on your bare skin makes you gasp.
“So soft,” he murmurs against your neck, kissing down the column of your throat. “So fucking perfect.”
You’re trembling when he helps you out of your sweater and bra, but not from fear. Eddie looks at you like you’re something holy, eyes reverent as he cups your breasts, thumbs brushing your nipples until they tighten.
“Eddie—” Your voice breaks on his name when he leans down and takes one into his mouth, gentle suction and slow flicks of his tongue. You’ve never felt anything like it. Your hands fly to his hair, gripping curls, and he groans in approval.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Hold onto me.”
He works you open with patient fingers later, after your jeans and panties are gone, whispering praise the whole time.
“Relax for me, baby… just like that. Good girl. So wet already, fuck. All for me?”
You nod frantically, hips twitching. When he curls his fingers just right, you cry out, shocked by the sharp burst of pleasure.
“There?” he asks, voice low and pleased. He does it again, watching your face. “Yeah? You like that?”
You can barely speak, just whimper and nod. He keeps talking you through it, gentle but filthy, until you’re shaking apart on his fingers with a broken little moan.
He kisses you through it, then rests his forehead against yours while he rolls on a condom. “You sure, sweetheart? We can stop right here. I’d be happy just making you come all night.”
You shake your head, pulling him closer. “I want you. Please, Eddie.”
He enters you so slowly it almost hurts, a combination of pain and how careful he’s being, how full you feel. He stops every inch, murmuring against your temple.
“Breathe, baby. That’s it… doing so good for me. So tight—fuck, you feel incredible. Breathe, okay?”
When he bottoms out, you both moan. He stays still, buried deep, kissing you softly until the stretch eases into something warm and aching and good.
“Move,” you whisper, nails digging into his back. “Please.”
He rocks into you gently at first, then a little deeper when you start lifting your hips to meet him. Every thrust is measured, his voice a constant low rumble in your ear; praise, dirty little observations, encouragement.
“Look at you taking me so well… my sweet girl. Never thought I’d get to have you like this.”
You get bolder as it builds, wrapping your legs around his waist, experimentally clenching around him. Eddie’s rhythm falters.
“Shit—baby, do that again.”
You do, shy but eager, and he groans like he’s dying. On impulse, you tilt your head and bite his shoulder. Not hard, but just enough to leave a mark. Eddie curses loudly, his hips snapping forward harder for a second before he catches himself.
“Fuck, you’re gonna make me lose it,” he laughs breathlessly, kissing you deep.
He reaches between you and rubs your clit in tight circles, voice growing rougher as you both get close.
“Come on, baby. Let me feel you. Want you to come on my cock—yeah, just like that. Good girl. So good for me.”
You shatter with his name on your lips, clenching around him so hard his thrusts turn erratic. He follows right after, burying his face in your neck as he comes with a broken moan, hips jerking.
Afterward, he stays inside you for a long moment, stroking your hair, pressing soft kisses to your flushed face.
“You okay?” he whispers, voice tender. “Did I hurt you?”
You shake your head, smiling shyly as you nuzzle into him. “It was perfect. You were perfect.”
Eddie laughs softly, pulling the blanket over both of you. “Yeah? Even when I almost lost my mind because you bit me?”
Eddie’s arm is wrapped carefully around your waist, fingers absentmindedly tracing slow patterns against your skin like he can’t stop touching you now that he’s allowed to. Not that you mind.
Your head rests against his chest, listening to his heartbeat slowly come back down while his other hand plays gently with your hair. Every few seconds, he presses absent little kisses to the top of your head like he’s doing it unconsciously, like affection simply spills out of him naturally around you.
You feel him shift slightly beneath you after a minute, enough that you tilt your chin up to look at him. He’s already staring down at you, dark curls messy, lips slightly swollen, expression somewhere between completely wrecked and deeply concerned.
“…You sure you’re okay?” he asks again quietly.
The question makes your chest ache a little. Not because it’s upsetting, but because he sounds genuinely nervous about it.
You smile softly almost immediately. “Yeah.”
Eddie studies your face carefully anyway, like he’s searching for any sign you don’t mean it. “Yeah?” he repeats.
“Mhm.”
“You promise?”
A quiet laugh leaves you then, small and sleepy and warm from where you’re curled against him. “Eddie.”
“What?” he says defensively, though his hand tightens slightly around your waist. “I’m serious.”
“I know.” Your fingers drift lazily along the chain around his neck while you look up at him. “I’m okay.”
Eddie exhales slowly through his nose, tension visibly easing from his shoulders. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, mostly to himself.
You smile a little wider. “You say that a lot.”
“That’s because you keep doin’ things that make me need divine intervention.”
Your laugh this time is brighter, and Eddie immediately looks at you like he’s just won something.
There’s still this almost disbelieving softness in his expression now, like he hasn’t fully processed that this actually happened. That you happened.
“You’re thinkin’ too hard,” you murmur.
His mouth twitches slightly. “Can you blame me?”
You shrug a little against him. “Maybe.”
“Sweetheart,” he says quietly, brushing his knuckles gently along your cheek, “you trusted me with your first time. I think I’m allowed to spiral a little.”
Heat blooms softly across your face at the words.
“You’re really okay?” he asks one more time, softer now.
You nod against him. “Yeah.”
Then, after a tiny pause: “It was nice.”
Eddie goes completely still underneath you. Slowly, he lifts his head enough to stare down at you properly. “Nice?”
You blink innocently. “Yeah.”
A laugh bursts out of him so suddenly it startles you.
“Baby,” he says through his grin, “I am never letting you describe that as nice again.”
Your face warms instantly as you hide it against his chest with a groan, and Eddie just laughs harder, wrapping both arms around you tighter while pressing another kiss into your hair.
“There she is,” he murmurs fondly. “My sweet girl.”
The next morning feels strangely dreamy. Not in some dramatic life-changing way.
Dustin is still loudly arguing with the television before noon, the neighbor’s dog still won’t stop barking, and Hawkins still looks exactly the same outside your bedroom window.
Every time your mind drifts back to the night before, heat creeps slowly up your neck all over again. Eddie’s hands on your waist. The sound of his voice going rough when you kissed him back. The way he kept checking in afterward, like your comfort mattered more to him than anything else in the world.
You think maybe that’s your favorite part. Not the sex itself, though that had certainly been overwhelming in ways you’re still trying to process. It’s the fact that Eddie held you afterward like something precious.
The phone rings around two in the afternoon. You perk up instantly from your spot sprawled on the living room carpet, flipping through a magazine. Dustin glances over from the couch suspiciously while you practically scramble for it.
“Hello?”
A small pause. Then: “Hey, sweetheart.”
Your stomach flips immediately. You smile before you can help it, curling the phone cord loosely around your finger. “Hi.”
Eddie goes quiet for a second on the other end, like maybe hearing your voice affected him too much. When he speaks again, there’s a smile tucked into his words.
“How’re you feelin’ today?”
Warmth floods your face instantly. “I’m okay.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.”
Another tiny pause. “Good.”
From the couch, Dustin narrows his eyes. “Is that Eddie?”
You wave him off blindly while Eddie snorts quietly through the phone. “Your brother sounds possessive.”
“He’s nosy.”
“I heard that,” Dustin calls loudly.
You laugh softly, and Eddie goes quiet again for half a second in that way he keeps doing now, like hearing you laugh still catches him off guard.
“So,” he says eventually, voice lower now, easier. “I was wonderin’ if maybe you wanted to come to the Hideout tonight.”
“The bar?”
“Mm.” You can practically hear him lighting a cigarette through the phone. “Thought maybe I could buy you a drink. Since you’re all grown up now.”
Your face burns instantly. “Eddie.”
“What?” he asks innocently. “You are.”
You tuck your hair behind your ear shyly despite the fact that he can’t see you. “I’ve never been to the Hideout before.”
“I know.”
And for some reason, the way he says it sends warmth straight through you again. Like he enjoys being the first person to show you these things.
“Only if you want to,” he adds after a second, softer this time. “No pressure.”
You smile immediately at that. “I wanna go.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Eddie exhales quietly through his nose, almost sounding relieved. “Alright, sweetheart. I’ll come get you around eight.”
“Okay.”
There’s another pause afterward that stretches warm and comfortable between you both. Then Eddie says, quieter now, “Missed you today.”
Your heart stutters embarrassingly hard. “Oh.”
A soft laugh crackles through the receiver. “There’s that little sound again.”
“What sound?”
“The one you make when I say somethin’ that gets in your head.”
You duck your face instinctively, even though he still can’t see you. From the couch, Dustin groans dramatically. “You are smiling so weird right now.”
The Hideout smells faintly like cigarettes, beer, and old wood, the second Eddie pushes the door open for you.
It’s darker inside than you expected, lit mostly by warm amber lights strung lazily behind the bar and the colored glow from an old neon beer sign buzzing softly in the corner. A band is setting up near the tiny stage in the back while people crowd around sticky tables, laughing too loudly over the music humming through the speakers.
His hand settles lightly against the small of your back, warmth through your shirt as he leans closer so you can hear him over the noise. “You okay, sweetheart?”
You glance up at him and smile. “Yeah. It’s just different than I expected.”
Eddie grins. “What, you thought it’d be glamorous?”
“A little.”
“Aw, honey.” He nudges you gently toward the bar. “This place barely passes health inspection.”
You laugh softly under your breath, and Eddie’s expression immediately softens at the sound like it always does now. There’s still something almost disbelieving in the way he looks at you tonight, like he can’t quite process that you came here with him willingly. That you’re sitting beside him at the Hideout, of all places.
The bartender greets Eddie immediately as soon as you slide onto the stools. “Munson.”
“Hey, Frank.”
Then Frank notices you beside him, one brow lifting slowly.
Eddie catches it instantly. “Don’t start.”
Frank smirks knowingly before wiping down the counter. “Wouldn’t dream of it. What can I get you two?”
Eddie glances sideways at you thoughtfully for a second, tapping his rings lightly against the bartop. “Lemme get a beer…”
Then his eyes flick back toward you again, something amused flickering there.
“And a Dirty Shirley for her.”
You blink. “How did you know that’s what I’d like?”
Eddie shrugs casually, though the corner of his mouth twitches upward. “You just seem like a Dirty Shirley kinda girl.”
The answer makes you laugh softly. And for some reason, Eddie looks absurdly pleased with himself over that. When the drinks arrive a minute later, you eye yours curiously before taking a cautious sip through the straw.
Immediately, your face brightens. “Oh, this is good.”
Eddie snorts into his beer. “Yeah, because it’s basically candy.”
You narrow your eyes playfully. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Nah.” His gaze drifts slowly over your face again, softer now. “Kinda fits you, actually.”
Heat creeps up your neck at the way he says it. You glance down shyly at your drink while Eddie leans one elbow onto the bar beside you, watching you with open fondness now that nobody from school is around to see it.
“You nervous?” he asks after a moment.
“A little.”
“About bein’ here?”
You shrug slightly. “I guess.”
Eddie hums quietly, eyes flicking around the crowded bar before settling back on you. “Nobody’s gonna bother you while you’re with me.”
The words shouldn’t affect you as much as they do. Maybe it’s the confidence in his voice. Maybe it’s the fact that he says it so naturally, like protecting you is already instinct.
Or maybe it’s just Eddie.
“Good,” you say softly before taking another sip.
Eddie goes suspiciously quiet beside you, and you glance over. “What?”
His eyes drag slowly from your lips back up to your face.
“Nothin’, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “You just look real pretty sittin’ here.”
The music hums warmly through your chest now instead of pounding against it, and the second Dirty Shirley Eddie absolutely did not need to buy you has left your cheeks pleasantly warm. You’re leaning closer to him without thinking anymore, your knee pressed between his, where he sits angled toward you at the bar like the rest of the room barely exists.
Eddie’s halfway through telling you some ridiculous story about Gareth nearly setting a school amplifier on fire when you start laughing hard enough to grab onto his arm.
And that completely derails him.
He loses his train of thought instantly, eyes dropping to your hand wrapped around his forearm before slowly flicking back up toward your face. You’re still smiling at him, all sweet and tipsy, entirely unaware of the effect you have on him.
“Why’d you stop talking?” you ask.
Eddie blinks once. “You’re pretty distracting, sweetheart.”
Your face warms immediately.
“There she is,” he murmurs fondly into his beer.
Eventually, the bar starts getting louder as more people crowd in, conversations overlapping with the music until Eddie notices you beginning to glance around, slightly overwhelmed.
His hand settles instinctively against your knee beneath the bar. “You wanna get outta here?”
You look back at him immediately. “Yeah.”
Eddie studies your face carefully for a second before asking softer, “Wanna come back to my place?”
And maybe it should feel more scandalous than it does. Instead, all you feel is warm trust settling low in your chest when you nod. “Okay.”
The drive to the trailer park is quiet in the nicest way.
One of Eddie’s tapes plays softly through the van speakers while warm night air drifts through the cracked windows. Your head rests lazily against the seat as streetlights pass over Eddie’s face every few seconds, catching the silver of his rings against the steering wheel.
He keeps glancing at you, not subtly either. Every time you catch him, he smiles crookedly to himself before looking back at the road.
By the time he parks outside the trailer, you’re pleasantly floaty enough that you don’t even think twice before following him up the steps. The trailer is dim and familiar from all the times you’ve picked Dustin up after Hellfire. Eddie immediately tosses his keys onto the counter before turning toward you.
“You want somethin’ to drink?”
You shake your head slightly before your eyes catch the cigarette pack sticking halfway out of his jacket pocket.
“…Can I try another one?”
Eddie actually laughs softly under his breath. “You are trouble.”
You smile innocently. “You said that already.”
“Yeah, well.” His eyes drag slowly over your face again. “Still true.”
This time, when he pulls a cigarette loose and lights it, you step closer before he even asks. Eddie notices immediately, something dark and pleased flickering briefly across his expression before he tamps it down.
“C’mere then, sweetheart.”
The pet name lands warm in your stomach now.
You lean in slightly while Eddie lifts the cigarette toward your mouth again, two fingers resting carefully beneath your chin to angle your face upward. The touch alone feels unfairly intimate, especially when his eyes stay fixed on your lips the entire time.
“That’s it,” he murmurs softly as you inhale carefully.
This time, you barely cough, and Eddie’s brows lift immediately. “Well, look at that.”
You laugh lightly through the smoke, a little proud of yourself despite how ridiculous that probably is.
Meanwhile, Eddie looks devastatingly fond. “That’s my girl,” he says quietly.
Your face flushes even more now, like that’s even possible.
“You like it when I say stuff like that, huh?” he asks gently.
You glance down shyly. “Maybe.”
His grin turns downright dangerous. “Jesus Christ.”
Then, before you can recover from that, Eddie disappears briefly toward his bedroom area. You hear drawers opening for a second before he returns holding something glass and obnoxiously large in one hand.
You blink. “What’s that?”
“A bong.”
Your expression must give you away because Eddie immediately laughs. “Relax, sweetheart. It’s just weed.”
“I know what weed is.”
“Mhm.” He drops onto the couch cushions beside you, smirking slightly. “And yet you looked at it like a church girl.”
You nudge his shoulder lightly while he chuckles to himself, already packing it with practiced familiarity. Then he glances sideways at you.
“You wanna try?” There’s no pressure in his voice, just some boyish curiosity.
You hesitate briefly before nodding. “Okay.”
Eddie’s expression softens instantly into something almost unbearably affectionate. “Attagirl.”
Heat floods your face again.
A few minutes later, you’re sitting tucked against his side while he guides you through it patiently, one hand steady against your waist while the other helps position your fingers correctly.
“Slow,” he murmurs. “Yeah, just like that.”
You follow his instructions carefully, trying not to focus too hard on the fact that his mouth is barely inches from yours right now. The hit burns less than the cigarette but still catches in your throat enough to make you cough lightly against his shoulder afterward.
Eddie laughs warmly, rubbing your back. “That wasn’t too bad!”
“You make everything sound embarrassing.”
“That’s because everything you do is cute.”
Your face immediately buries against his shoulder while he laughs harder, wrapping an arm around you automatically like he can’t help himself anymore.
By the time the second hit settles in properly, you are absolutely gone.
You’re not panicking or dizzy or anything nightmare-inducing. Everything just suddenly feels unbelievably funny and soft all at once, like the entire trailer has been wrapped in warm cotton. The music playing quietly from Eddie’s radio sounds deeper somehow, and you cannot stop giggling every time he looks at you.
Which he keeps doing, constantly.
“You good there, sweetheart?” he asks from beside you, trying very hard not to laugh himself.
You stare at him for a second too long before nodding very seriously. “Your eyelashes are really pretty.”
That immediately breaks him. Eddie doubles over laughing, one hand covering his mouth while the other stays loosely around your waist to keep you upright, where you’re practically folded into his side on the couch.
“Oh my god,” he wheezes. “You’re high as a kite.”
You gasp softly like he’s offended you. “No, I’m not.”
“You just complimented my eyelashes like you discovered religion.”
“They are pretty.”
That only makes him laugh harder.
You narrow your eyes at him for approximately two seconds before dissolving into giggles, too, burying your face against his shoulder. Eddie wraps both arms around you automatically, then, still shaking slightly with laughter, he presses a kiss into your hair.
“Godt,” he murmurs fondly. “You’re adorable.”
You hum happily against him, completely content tucked into his chest while his rings drag lazily along your back.
A few minutes later, you start rambling, not about anything important either. Just whatever pops into your head.
“You know what’s weird?” you mumble suddenly.
“What’s weird?”
“The moon.”
Eddie snorts softly. “The moon.”
“Yeah. It just follows you around all the time. That’s weird behavior.”
“Sweetheart, I don’t think the moon has behavior.”
“It does.”
“Mhm.”
You tilt your head up to look at him very seriously. “You smell good.”
Eddie visibly short-circuits for a second. “…Thanks.”
“And your hair is soft.”
“You touched my hair for like three seconds.”
“I know,” you sigh dreamily. “It was nice.”
That’s apparently the final straw. Eddie drops his forehead briefly against the top of your head with a groan. “Baby, you gotta stop sayin’ things like that before I lose my damn mind.”
You just smile at him sweetly, which does not help. Eventually, after you nearly fall asleep sitting upright against him, Eddie gently decides you need to move to the bed before your neck ends up permanently bent at a horrifying angle.
“C’mon, pretty girl.”
You blink sleepily up at him. “Hm?”
“Bedtime.”
The second he slides an arm beneath your knees and lifts you into his arms, you immediately wrap yourself around him with a soft little laugh.
Eddie steadies you against his chest easily, though his expression goes dangerously fond all over again when you instinctively nuzzle closer against his neck.
“You’re comfy.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhm. Like a heating pad.”
Eddie nearly walks directly into the wall laughing.
The mattress dips softly beneath you a moment later as he sets you down carefully onto his bed. You immediately starfishing across it in a way that makes him snort affectionately while crouching beside you.
“You wanna sleep in jeans, sweetheart?”
You make a face. “No.”
“Okay.” His voice stays gentle. “Can I help you change then?”
You nod immediately. That feeling hits Eddie square in the chest every single time.
So he moves slowly. Helping you swap your jeans for a pair of old sweatpants and one of his oversized shirts while you continue mumbling nonsense the entire time.
“Attractive people should legally have warning labels,” you inform him seriously while he helps guide your arm through the sleeve.
“Oh yeah?”
“Mhm. It’s stressful.”
Eddie laughs softly under his breath. “Poor thing.”
“I’m serious.” You squint at him sleepily. “You’re very handsome. It’s distracting.”
He actually stops moving for a second. “Good lord,” he mutters weakly.
“What?”
“Nothin’, baby.”
By the time you’re finally settled beneath the blankets, your eyes are barely staying open anymore. Eddie starts to pull away toward the edge of the bed before soft fingers catch loosely around his wrist.
“Stay.”
Eddie looks down at you for a long second before his entire expression melts. “Yeah, sweetheart,” he says softly, climbing in beside you. “I’m stayin’.”
By Monday morning, half of Hawkins High has already noticed the jacket.
Not because it’s particularly flashy. Eddie’s leather jacket has always looked a little worn around the sleeves, a little too big on you, where it hangs past your fingertips. But everyone knows who it belongs to. Hellfire patches and metal pins tend to stand out in a school full of pastel sweaters and varsity jackets.
You don’t even think much of it at first while standing at your locker between classes, adjusting your books against your hip as Robin practically materializes beside you with the energy of someone spotting celebrity gossip in real time.
“Oh, my god.”
You blink. “What?”
Robin gestures wildly toward your body. “The jacket.”
Your eyes drop downward like you somehow forgot you were wearing it. “Oh.”
“Oh?” Robin repeats incredulously. “That’s Eddie’s jacket.”
You shrug a little, though warmth immediately creeps into your cheeks anyway. “I got cold Saturday.”
“And he let you keep it?”
The way she says it makes you pause. “…Yeah?”
Robin stares at you for a very long moment before muttering, “That man is so far gone.”
You laugh softly under your breath, trying and failing to suppress your smile while Robin watches the entire thing happen in real time.
“Oh, you like him bad too,” she realizes immediately.
“I do not like him bad.”
“Honey, you are literally wearing his jacket. Is that not the universal equivalent of a declaration?”
Before you can answer, someone whistles from farther down the hallway.
You glance up instinctively just in time to see Eddie leaning beside the cafeteria doors, already beaming, looking at you. More specifically, at you in the jacket. The slow grin that spreads across his face afterward is downright unfair.
Robin physically grabs your arm. “Oh, he’s gonna be unbearable now.”
And she’s right. Because Eddie spends the rest of the day looking at you like he won something.
Every time you pass each other in the hallway, his eyes immediately flick toward the oversized sleeves swallowing your hands before dragging slowly back toward your face with a deeply pleased expression.
At lunch, he hooks two fingers through one of the jacket loops while passing behind your chair and murmurs a quiet, “Looks better on you anyway, sweetheart,” directly into your ear.
You nearly forget how to speak afterward. By the end of the school day, your cheeks hurt from smiling.
Outside, the parking lot buzzes with engines starting and people spilling toward their cars in noisy groups while you make your way down the front steps. And there he is. Leaning against the side of his van with a cigarette resting between his lips, like he’s been waiting a while. The second he notices you walking toward him, his entire face softens.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
“Hi.”
Eddie takes another drag from the cigarette while you stop between his knees, where he’s perched against the van door. “You survive another thrilling academic day?” he asks dryly.
“Barely.”
“Yeah? Tragic.”
You laugh quietly while his eyes drift over your face again, lingering there warm and heavy enough to make your stomach flutter. Then your gaze drops toward the cigarette between his fingers.
A slow smile pulls at his mouth. “What?”
You hesitate briefly before leaning in slightly. “Can I?”
This time, he doesn’t even tease you about it.
He simply lifts the cigarette toward your mouth automatically, eyes fixed steadily on your lips while you lean closer to take a slow drag. The smoke burns less now, familiar enough that you barely cough at all when you exhale.
Eddie watches the entire thing like he’s completely mesmerized.
“Atta’ girl,” he says quietly. The praise settles warm all through you.
Maybe it’s the nicotine. Or the way he’s looking at you. Or the fact that you spent the entire day missing him in a way that feels embarrassing to admit.
But suddenly you just want to kiss him, so you do. You lean forward softly, cigarette smoke still lingering faintly between you as your lips press against his. Eddie makes the quietest sound into your mouth.
His free hand immediately slides against your waist, pulling you closer between his knees while he kisses you back, slower this time, like he’s savoring it. Around you, the parking lot continues moving in noisy blurs, but Eddie kisses you like there’s nobody else there at all.
When you finally pull back slightly, he’s staring at you with completely blown pupils.
For a second, he just looks at you. Then he lets out a quiet laugh under his breath, thumb brushing absentmindedly along your waist where it’s still holding you close.
“Who are you?” he murmurs, almost disbelieving.
Your face warms instantly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Eddie grins slowly, eyes flicking toward the cigarette still dangling between his fingers before dragging back to your mouth.
“Couple weeks ago you were apologizing for saying hell in front of teachers,” he says softly. “Now you’re stealin’ drags from my cigarettes and kissing me in the school parking lot.”
Heat blooms all through your chest at the way he says it. Not mocking, something more towards pleased. Like he’s enjoying watching this softer, bolder side of you emerge.
You smile shyly despite yourself. “Maybe you’re a bad influence.”
Eddie actually groans at that, dropping his forehead briefly against your shoulder.
“Sweetheart,” he mutters, “you cannot say things like that to me.”
“Why not?” you ask innocently.
Eddie’s thumb hooks beneath your chin immediately.
“Because,” he says quietly, voice rough around the edges now, “you say it like you have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
The warmth in your stomach deepens at that familiar tone, at the way he’s looking at you like he’s equal parts obsessed and completely doomed by it. And maybe you do understand a little more now.
Maybe that’s why your smile turns just slightly shy and knowing when you whisper, “Maybe I do.”
Eddie stares at you for half a second like you just physically struck him. Then he laughs softly under his breath, completely gone for you.
“There she is,” he murmurs.
He doesn’t reply with words after that, just hooks his fingers more firmly beneath your chin and drags your mouth back to his.
Eddie kisses like he’s addicted to it already, cigarette smoke still clinging faintly to him while his hand slides warm against your jaw. The parking lot noise fades somewhere far into the background as he tilts his head and kisses you again and again like he can’t help himself anymore.
And when you melt closer against him with a tiny contented sigh, Eddie smiles directly into your mouth, completely, and hopelessly ruined.
badda bing badda boom.
anyyywayyyyy, hope you all enjoyed.... i have a surprise coming at 11pm >:)
description: the second eddie sees you for the first time, he's hooked. after stalking your job's instagram account, he finds your profile. cue shameless flirting in the DMs, cryptic notes, and a "hey girlie!" DM.
pairing: eddie x you (fem!reader)
tags: eddie x you, no y/n, mixed media fic (writing, text messages, images), modern au, flirting through ig notes, eddie slid in her DMs, mutual pining, y2k alt baddie reader, cigarettes as flirting, eddie's on his phone every 6 seconds, robin buckley is a menace, possible love triangle, possesive-ish!eddie, jealous!eddie, eddies down catastrophically
TW: smoking, horny eye contact
WC: 5.6k
A/N: here's the ig notes fic!!! i made it with some dms, notes, and pictures with some reading too. i tried to make the actual fic accessible to everyone, but the pictures used do display caucasian reader, but i tried to make them limited (like an arm or a shoulder) so i apologize.
reblogs are always appreciated<3 i hope you all enjoy! :)) i poured my whole puss into this.
The Hawkins High parking lot always smells vaguely like gasoline and wet pavement in the mornings.
Eddie’s gotten used to it.
It’s part of the routine now. Park the van in his usual spot, ignore the stares, climb the concrete steps near the side entrance, and smoke before first period while Gareth complains about something dramatic and entirely self-inflicted.
“—and then she says I ‘lack emotional maturity,’” Gareth scoffs, leaning against the railing beside him. “What the hell does that even mean?”
Eddie snorts, cigarette tucked between his lips. “Means you’re annoying.”
“Seriously? That’s all you have to say?”
“Yep.”
The morning air’s cold enough to bite. Students pour through the lot below them in loud clusters and varsity jackets and clouds of perfume and hairspray.
Eddie barely looks at any of them anymore. Until, a girl stops at the bottom of the stairs. Not just a girl. A fucking vision.
Eddie’s entire train of thought derails so hard it’s almost audible.
You stand there for a second like you belong on a completely different planet than the rest of Hawkins. Black leather jacket hanging off one shoulder, dark denim mini skirt, sheer tights with little runs in them like you’ve had them forever.
Dark hair all messy in that effortless way that should honestly be illegal. And then you pull out a cigarette. Eddie straightens slightly without realizing.
“Well, hello,” he mutters.
“What?” Gareth asks. But Eddie’s too busy staring.
You cup your hand around the lighter against the wind, face briefly illuminated gold as the flame catches.
You inhale slowly, calmly, and completely unbothered by the dozens of people staring at her like Hawkins High has never seen a pretty girl in black before. And maybe, they haven’t.
You look mean. Not a cruel mean, just the terrifying kind of pretty that makes anyone suddenly aware of their own existence. Eddie feels a little insane about it immediately.
“Holy shit,” he breathes.
Gareth follows his line of sight. “Oh.”
“Right?”
“You don’t stand a chance.”
“Shut up.”
You exhale the smoke toward the cloudy sky, eyes scanning the parking lot with obvious disinterest. Like you already know, this town’s too small for you.
Eddie’s halfway through wondering if he should say something when someone suddenly jogs toward you from across the lot.
Robin Buckley.
Your face immediately softens, and Eddie’s eyes go wide.
Robin reaches you first, grabbing your arm dramatically while talking a mile a minute about something that instantly makes you laugh under your breath.
Eddie nearly drops his cigarette. “No fucking way.”
Gareth grins slowly. “You know her?”
“No,” Eddie says, already standing up straighter. “But Robin does.”
“Oh my God.”
Eddie watches Robin link arms with you casually, walking toward the school entrance like you’ve known each other forever. You glance up the stairs briefly, the briefest of briefs. But your eyes flick over Eddie for half a second before looking away again.
And somehow that’s worse for him, way fucking worse.
Eddie turns to Gareth slowly. “I need to know everything about that girl immediately.”
By the time Eddie gets inside, he’s already lost sight of you twice. Which feels ridiculous considering you look handcrafted from a fever dream specifically to distract him.
He shoves through the front doors anyway, cigarette smell still clinging to his jacket, scanning the crowded hallway until he spots Robin near the front office windows.
Bingo.
She’s leaning against the wall outside the office, arms crossed, clearly waiting for someone. Eddie slides up beside her casually. Robin looks at him once and immediately narrows her eyes.
“No.”
“What?”
“No.”
“I haven’t even said anything yet.”
“You have ‘I just saw the hottest girl alive and now I’m about to embarrass myself’ written all over your face.”
Eddie scoffs. “That is slander.”
Robin just stares.
“…Is she new?”
“There it is.”
“Robin.”
She sighs dramatically like he’s deeply inconveniencing her personally. “Yes, she’s new.”
“What’s her name?”
Robin smirks slowly now, clearly enjoying herself. “Why?”
Eddie deadpans. “Because I’m asking.”
“Oh my God,” she laughs quietly. “You do like her.”
“I saw her for like twelve seconds.”
“And yet here you are.”
Eddie opens his mouth to argue, then immediately shuts it again because honestly? Fair.
Robin grins wider.
“She’s cool,” she says. “Her mom opened that vintage boutique downtown? The one next to the old Family Video?”
Eddie blinks. “The one with all the leather jackets in the window?”
“Yes, grandpa.”
“Huh.”
That actually tracks disturbingly well.
Robin nods toward the office window. “She works there after school sometimes. I started helping out a few weeks ago because apparently I’m incapable of saying no to cool women.”
“Shocking.”
“Anyway,” Robin continues, “she moved here like… last week? We’ve mostly just been hanging out at the shop.”
Eddie risks a glance through the office doorway. You’re standing at the counter while the secretary flips through papers, one boot hooked behind the other lazily.
Jesus Christ.
Before Eddie can defend himself, the office door swings open. And there you are again, closer this time.
The fluorescent lights should make everyone look terrible, but somehow you still look unfairly good standing there with your folded schedule in one hand and your headphones hanging around your neck.
You glance up, your eyes landing on Eddie for half a second.
Then Robin waves you over casually. “There you are.”
You walk toward them, expression calm, vaguely bored, like Hawkins High has already exhausted you and it’s barely first period.
“Your school is confusing,” you tell Robin flatly.
“Trust me, it doesn’t get better.”
Robin takes your schedule from your hand, scanning it quickly before suddenly snapping her fingers.
“Oh, shit.”
“What?”
“I have band first period.”
Eddie perks up immediately. Robin looks between the two of you with an expression that instantly makes him suspicious.
“But,” she continues slowly, “Eddie can show you where to go.”
Your eyes flick to him again.
Up close, Eddie notices even more details: the silver rings covering your fingers, the faint smudge of dark makeup beneath your eyes, the tiny scar near your lip.
You smell faintly like smoke and vanilla, and it’s honestly a little distracting.
Eddie straightens slightly. “Yeah, I can.”
Robin hands your schedule back with a grin that feels far too knowing.
“Perfect. Okay. Great. Problem solved.”
“You’re awfully excited about this,” Eddie mutters.
Robin kicks his boot lightly. “Be nice,” she whispers before turning back to you. “He looks scary, but he’s mostly harmless.”
“Mostly?” Eddie repeats.
You glance at him again. Then, finally, you smile. Not too long, but enough to make Eddie feel briefly insane.
“Good to know,” you say.
Eddie learns very quickly that showing you around is significantly harder than he expected. Mostly because every time he looks at you, his brain short circuits a little.
“You have approximately five seconds before someone shoulder-checks you,” he says as you step backward into the middle of the hallway traffic, still staring down at your crumpled schedule.
Without thinking, he catches your elbow and steers you out of the way just as two basketball players shove past.
You glance up at him. “Friendly school.”
“Oh yeah,” Eddie says dryly. “Real community-oriented.”
A laugh slips out of you.
He walks you through the hallways slower than necessary, pointing things out while secretly trying to extend the interaction for as long as humanly possible.
“That hallway floods when it rains.”
“Charming.”
“The cafeteria pizza can legally qualify as a weapon.”
“Good to know.”
“And if you hear screaming near the gym, just keep walking.”
You glance over. “You’re kidding.”
Eddie just looks ahead solemnly. “I wish I was.”
Another laugh. God, he’s obsessed already.
By the time you reach the arts wing, people are openly staring. Not even subtly, and Eddie notices every single one of them.
Some because you’re new. Most because you’re beautiful.
And weirdly enough, the realization makes something possessive curl low in his chest before he shoves it away immediately because Jesus Christ, Munson, get it together.
“So,” you say after a minute, eyes flicking toward him, “you always volunteer to guide random girls around school?”
“Only the cute ones.”
That finally gets a real smile out of you.
“There it is,” Eddie says before he can stop himself.
Your eyebrow lifts slightly. “What?”
“That smile.” He shrugs casually, despite the fact his heart’s beating weird now. “Was beginning to think you didn’t have one.”
You shake your head a little, looking down briefly like you’re hiding another smile.
Cute. Dangerously cute, at that. Eddie’s so distracted watching you that he nearly walks directly into a freshman carrying a trumpet.
“Watch it, freak,” the kid mutters.
Eddie blinks. “Did a fourteen-year-old just disrespect me?”
You snort quietly beside him. Worth it.
When you finally reach your class, Eddie almost feels disappointed. Which is insane because he’s known you for maybe twenty minutes.
The door’s still closed, a few students lingering outside waiting for the teacher to arrive.
You glance down at your schedule again before looking back up at him. “Guess this is me.”
“Guess so.”
For a second neither of you moves. Then you shift your bag higher onto your shoulder. “Thanks for showing me around.”
“Anytime.”
Another tiny pause. And then:
“I’m Eddie, by the way.”
Your lips twitch slightly like you already knew he’d eventually get around to introducing himself.
You tell him your name. And Eddie swears he’s never heard anything prettier.
He repeats it once immediately, like testing how it sounds in his mouth. You notice, and he can tell you noticed. And somehow that makes it worse.
“Well,” you say, stepping backward toward the classroom door as more students start arriving, “thanks, Eddie.”
He watches you disappear inside. Then stands there for another full five seconds doing absolutely nothing. A freshman walks around him awkwardly.
Eddie exhales sharply. “…I’m so fucked.”
By lunch, the situation has escalated dramatically.
“You’re being weird,” Dustin informs him around a mouthful of fries.
Eddie ignores him completely, leaning over the Hellfire table while staring at the tiny screen of Dustin’s phone. “I’m not being weird.”
“You asked me if the school office keeps records of student last names.”
“That was research.”
“That was stalking.”
“Semantics.”
Dustin sighs dramatically but keeps scrolling through Instagram anyway.
“Okay, wait. So, what do we know?”
Eddie starts counting on his fingers.
“New girl. Robin knows her. Her mom owns that boutique downtown.”
“Helpful.”
“She smokes Marlboro Reds.”
Dustin stares at him. “…You noticed the brand?”
Eddie points at him. “Don’t judge me.”
“I’m absolutely judging you.”
They continue scrolling, no luck.
“No offense,” Dustin says, “but you don’t even know her last name. How are we supposed to find her?”
Eddie leans back in his chair with a groan. Then suddenly, “Oh my God.”
“What?”
“The store.”
Dustin squints at him. “What store?”
“The store,” Eddie says again, grabbing the phone back. “Businesses have Instagram accounts, Henderson. Keep up.”
Dustin scoffs and snags the phone back, searching desperately to find the boutique. And suddenly they’re both hunched over the screen like detectives trying to crack a federal case.
“Found it,” Dustin says suddenly.
Eddie nearly snatches the phone out of his hands.
The boutique’s Instagram pulls up first: grainy photos of vintage jackets, chunky jewelry, and old band tees hanging on racks. The whole page looks cool in a way Hawkins definitely isn’t.
Even the bio is intimidating. Dustin scrolls through the feed while Eddie hovers over his shoulder impatiently.
“Can you move faster before I die?”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m being efficient.”
Dustin opens one of the newer posts, a mirror picture from inside the shop. Robin’s in the background making a face while holding up a leopard print jacket.
And there you are.
Standing behind the counter in a black lace tank and low-rise jeans, one hip leaned against the register while looking down at something out of frame.
Eddie fully stops breathing for a second.
“Oh, she’s cool cool,” Dustin mutters.
“Told you.”
“Yeah, but this is, like…” Dustin gestures vaguely at the screen. “Advanced levels of hot.”
Eddie grins smugly like he personally accomplished that somehow. Then Dustin notices the tagged accounts at the top.
“Ohhhhhh.”
Eddie leans closer immediately, and there it is: your Instagram.
Your profile picture alone nearly kills him. A blurry flash photo in a back alley, cigarette in one hand, while you face into nothing.
“Open it,” Eddie says instantly.
Dustin clicks the account, and the second he does Eddie is absolutely done for. Your entire feed looks like something ripped out of a late-night MTV music video.
Dark blurry photos. Band posters. Mirror selfies. Stacks of CDs. Cigarettes balanced between ringed fingers. Random shots of rainy streets and coffee cups and record players.
And then there are selfies. Jesus Christ.
“She looks famous,” Gareth says suddenly, appearing behind them out of nowhere.
Eddie jumps. “Where the hell did you come from?”
Jeff leans over too now. “Munson’s in love.”
“I’m not in love.”
“You remembered her cigarette brand,” Dustin says.
Eddie ignores them, thumb hovering over the follow button. Which somehow now makes this all feel more serious.
“Do it,” Gareth says immediately.
“Absolutely do it.”
“What if she thinks I’m weird?”
The entire table goes silent, then they all burst into laughter.
“YOU’RE asking that?” Dustin nearly wheezes.
Eddie flips him off without looking away from the screen. Your bio is short. "no one mourns the wicked."
Eddie’s even more obsessed now, like that's even possible.
“Okay,” he mutters mostly to himself. “We’re doing this.”
Then he hits follow, and the table erupts immediately.
“Oh my God, he folded.”
“That was FAST.”
“Munson’s down catastrophic.”
Eddie shoves Dustin away. “Shut up.”
But he’s grinning, actually grinning. Because now there’s a chance you’re gonna open Instagram later and see his name sitting there waiting for you.
Your phone buzzes:
edsthebanished started following you.
Cute didn’t even begin to cover it, honestly.
Pretty in that dangerous sort of way. Big brown eyes, rings on every finger, messy curls, cigarette smoke clinging to his jacket. The kind of guy your mother would immediately clock as trouble before he even opened his mouth.
Which, naturally, made him exactly your type. Unfortunately for him, you’d met boys like Eddie before.
Cocky ones. Flirty ones. Boys who looked at you too long in hallways and thought a little charm and a pretty smile could get them anything they wanted.
And sure, maybe it worked sometimes. But you’d gotten good at the game too, maybe even better than they were.
So instead of following back immediately, you let the notification sit there untouched for the rest of the school day, left lingering in your inbox while you pretended not to think about it every ten minutes.
By the time you get to the boutique after school, Robin’s already behind the counter reorganizing a rack of skirts while blasting The Cranberries through the store speakers.
She glances up the second you walk in, then immediately narrows her eyes.
“…Why do you look smug?”
“I don’t look smug.”
“You absolutely look smug.”
She abandons the rack she’s fixing, crossing her arms dramatically as she leans against the counter. “Alright. Tell me everything.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“Mhm.”
You unlock your phone casually, sliding it across the counter toward her. Robin looks down, then immediately bursts out laughing.
“No fucking way.”
There, sitting at the top of your notifications:
edsthebanished started following you.
“Oh, he folded FAST,” Robin says delightedly.
You take your phone back before she can snoop any further. “It’s just a follow.”
“From Eddie Munson,” she emphasizes. “Who spent half of first period pretending he wasn’t trying to impress you.”
A laugh slips out before you can stop it. “That obvious?”
“To me? Extremely.”
You lean back against the counter, phone still in your hand. “I mean…” Your shoulders lift slightly. “He’s cute.”
Robin gasps theatrically. “Oh my God.”
“Stop it!”
“I’m not doing anything!”
You roll your eyes, but you’re still smiling faintly as your thumb taps absentmindedly against your phone case.
“He just…” You pause. “I don’t know much about him.”
“He’s actually really nice,” she says. “Like, genuinely. He acts all dramatic and flirty and whatever, but Eddie’s kinda… different.”
"Different."
You glance down at the notification again. The username alone screams dramatic little shit. You can practically picture the grin he probably had while hitting follow.
Robin watches your expression carefully before smirking knowingly.
“Oh, please,” she says. “I know how much you love different.”
You point at her immediately. “That sounds judgmental.”
“It’s observational.”
“It’s rude.”
“It’s accurate.”
You snort quietly, shaking your head. Then, after one last second of pretending to think about it, you follow him back.
Eddie is sprawled dramatically across Gareth’s garage couch when it happens. The boys are supposed to be practicing.
Instead, Jeff’s tuning his bass for the fifteenth time, Gareth’s arguing with someone over the phone, and Eddie’s been pretending to listen while checking Instagram every thirty seconds like a psychopath.
Then suddenly, his phone buzzes:
midnightanomaly started following you
Eddie sits upright so fast he nearly falls off the couch. “No way.”
“What?” Gareth asks distractedly.
“She followed me back.”
The entire garage erupts instantly.
Jeff points accusingly. “OH, he’s smiling smiling.”
“Shut up.”
Eddie opens your profile immediately anyway. Now that you’re mutuals, it’s somehow even worse for his mental stability.
Eddie thumb begins to loom over the message button instinctively.
“Jesus Christ,” Gareth mutters. “You are DOWN horrendous.”
“I need to message her.”
“Immediately?” Jeff asks.
“Yes immediately.”
“That’s insane behavior.”
Eddie ignores them, already opening his DMs. And for the first time all day, Eddie suddenly feels nervous.
Because flirting in person is one thing, but DMs are forever.
“Okay,” he mutters. “What do I say?”
“Don’t be weird,” Gareth says.
“Not helpful.”
Jeff leans over his shoulder. “Say something normal.”
“I am normal.”
All three of them stare at him.
“…Right,” Eddie sighs.
Then finally, after another second of overthinking it, he starts typing.
Your phone buzzes while you’re reorganizing necklaces behind the counter.
Robin immediately notices. “You smiled again.”
“I did not.”
“You literally did.”
You glance down at the notification:
Your eyes flick over Eddie’s last message again. You hate how much you can picture him typing it.
Probably grinning at his phone, surrounded by friends making fun of him, and fully aware of exactly what he’s doing.
Robin appears beside you again carrying a stack of folded shirts. “You’ve reread that message like four times.”
“I’m analyzing it.”
“You’re flirting.”
You angle the phone toward her finally, letting her skim through the conversation. Robin’s reaction is immediate.
“Oh, he likes you bad.”
“It’s been one day.”
“And yet.” She points dramatically at the screen. “This.”
You bite back another smile, locking your phone before she can keep reading.
Robin watches you carefully. “So what’re you gonna say?”
You shrug. Honestly? You’re not entirely sure.
Because Eddie’s smooth, annoyingly smooth. The kind of smooth that should feel rehearsed, except somehow it doesn’t, and that’s the dangerous part.
You glance down at your phone again before an idea suddenly hits you. Slowly, a grin spreads across your face, and Robin notices instantly.
“Oh no.”
“What?”
“You’re about to instigate.”
You open Instagram. “Maybe.”
“Girl.”
“He’s in a band, yeah?”
“…Yeah.”
A few taps later, your new note goes live.
Robin bursts out laughing almost instantly. “You are SUCH a menace.”
“It’s subtle.”
“It’s literally bait.”
You grin shamelessly, locking your phone. Across town, Gareth notices the note before Eddie does.
“WAIT,” he says suddenly, grabbing Eddie’s arm. “Read that.”
He goes quiet, then a slight grin forms across his face. “Oh, so this is how she wants to play it, huh?”
Jeff throws a balled-up receipt at his head immediately. “You are unbelievable.”
“She literally handed me an opening.”
“That was not specifically for you.”
Eddie’s already opening Instagram stories anyway. “Yes it was.”
Gareth watches him type with growing horror. “Whatever you’re doing right now is gonna be embarrassing.”
“No,” Eddie says confidently. “It’s gonna be charming.”
He snaps a blurry picture of Gareth’s garage: amps stacked against the wall, guitars and tangled cords everywhere.
Then, types over it:
When you check your phone fifteen minutes later, you immediately laugh under your breath.
Robin looks up from steaming tags onto new inventory. “What now?”
Without answering, you turn the screen toward her, and Eddie’s story fills the display.
“A little?” Robin grabs your wrist. “No, absolutely not. We’re going.”
You blink at her. “To the gig?”
“Yes.”
“Robin.”
“You literally baited him first.”
“That’s not—”
“And now he’s inviting you out in public like a normal person instead of lurking in your DMs.” She points accusingly. “That’s growth.”
You snort, shaking your head. The idea of seeing him again sends a weird little spark low in your stomach, which is annoying.
Robin notices your hesitation instantly and grins. “Oh my God, you want to go.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
An hour later, after closing, you’re standing in the boutique’s back room staring at yourself in the mirror while Robin digs through clothing racks like a woman possessed.
“You need something hot.”
“I already look hot.”
Robin pauses dramatically. “…Well.”
You end up in a pair of gray denim jeans, a studded belt, and a fitted black tank top with lace detailing.
Robin wolf whistles from behind you. “Eddie Munson the man that you are.”
“Relax.”
“You’re posting that.”
You glance at yourself once more before shrugging and pulling out your phone.
A quick mirror picture: flash on, but messy enough to look accidental. Then you post it to your close friends story.
And, very intentionally, you put Eddie on your close friends list…
Across town, Eddie’s midway through tuning his guitar when his phone lights up. He almost ignores it. Then, he sees the little green circle around your icon and immediately drops the guitar pick.
“No way.”
“What?” Gareth asks.
Eddie opens the story and forgets how to breathe for a second. “Oh, she’s evil.”
You stare at the screen for a second before slowly turning your phone toward Robin. “…You invited Steve?”
Robin doesn’t even look guilty. “If by invited you mean casually mentioned we were going and he invited himself? Then yes.”
“Robin.”
“What?” she says innocently. “Steve likes live music.”
“Not this kind of music.”
“He likes me. Big difference.”
You laugh despite yourself, shaking your head as you tuck your phone back into your pocket. A dangerous little grin spreads across her face. “Oh,” she says softly.
You immediately narrow your eyes. “No.”
“No, listen.”
“That sentence has literally never ended positively.”
Robin leans across the counter conspiratorially anyway. “If Eddie wants to act all smooth and flirty and mysterious—”
“He’s not mysterious.”
“He thinks he is,” Robin corrects. “Which means we now have leverage.”
You already know where this is going, and absolutely not. “Robin—”
“Imagine,” she interrupts dramatically, “how insane Munson’s gonna go when Steve Harrington walks into the Hideout with you.”
You snort immediately. “You’re evil.”
“I’m hilarious.”
“You’re trying to start a fight.”
“I’m trying to create atmosphere.”
You shake your head, but the idea is admittedly a little funny. Mostly because Eddie does seem like the possessive type. Not in a bad way, just in the very obvious way. And you are very familiar with the game that is boys and their fragile egos.
Robin notices your expression instantly and points at you. “OH, you’re thinking about it.”
“I’m thinking about how much trouble you’d cause in another life.”
“And yet you love me.”
Unfortunately? Also true.
Before you can respond, your phone buzzes again:
You lock your phone slowly, still grinning a little despite yourself.
“Well?” she asks immediately.
You shrug, trying for casual. “He’s funny.”
Robin gasps dramatically. “Funny? That’s the word we’re using now?”
You busy yourself with fixing the sleeve of your jacket instead of answering, which is apparently answer enough.
Robin grins knowingly. “Oh, you like him.”
“I think he likes attention.”
“And you don’t?”
You point at her accusingly. “You’re getting way too much enjoyment out of this.”
“Because it’s entertaining.” She grabs her bag from beneath the counter. “Also, because Eddie Munson has never looked at his phone this much in his life.”
That image alone makes your stomach flip annoyingly.
“Oh, you’re gone.”
“I’m literally standing right here.”
Before Robin can torment you further, headlights flash through the boutique windows. Then a horn honks twice outside.
Robin brightens instantly. “Our chariot awaits.”
You glance through the front window just in time to see Steve leaning across the driver’s seat of his BMW, one hand on the wheel.
Your eyebrows lift. “You weren’t kidding.”
“Told you.”
Outside, Steve looks between the two of you as you climb in the car. Then he does a visible double-take at your outfit. “…Jesus Christ.”
Robin cackles immediately from the passenger seat. “RIGHT?”
You snort, shutting the back door behind you. “Relax.”
“No, I’m serious,” Steve says, pulling away from the curb. “Munson’s gonna forget how to speak.”
Meanwhile, across town, Eddie’s trying very hard not to lose his mind. The Hideout smells like beer and old wood and cigarette smoke, the small stage barely big enough for the band’s equipment.
Jeff’s tuning, Gareth’s complaining, and the crowd’s slowly filtering in. And Eddie keeps checking the front door every thirty seconds like a maniac.
“She’s coming,” Gareth says without looking up.
“I know.”
“You’re pacing.”
“I’m not pacing.”
Jeff glances over. “You changed shirts twice.”
“Okay, first of all—”
The front door swings open before Eddie can finish, and suddenly every thought in his head evaporates.
You walk in beside Robin, looking exactly as devastating as your story suggested. Tight black top and silver jewelry catching under the dim bar lights, leather jacket slipping slightly off your shoulder.
For one brief second, Eddie forgets literally everything else in the room exists, then he notices who’s behind you.
Steve fucking Harrington.
Eddie’s smile drops instantly. “…What the fuck?”
Normally, Eddie loves this part: the adrenaline, the noise, the attention. Tonight, though? Every single one of his thoughts keeps circling back to the same thing:
Why the hell did you come with Steve Harrington?
He grips the mic tighter as Jeff starts the opening riff of their first song, then his eyes find you again automatically. You’re standing near the front with Robin, one hand wrapped around a drink, while Steve leans down, saying something that makes you laugh.
And Eddie immediately misses a lyric.
Jeff shoots him a horrified look from across the stage. Eddie recovers quickly enough that most people probably don’t notice. Most people, except Gareth, who absolutely notices and starts grinning like an asshole behind his drums.
Dick.
Eddie tries focusing on the music instead; he really does. But then Steve touches your shoulder while guiding you through the crowd, and Eddie nearly breaks a guitar string.
“Oh my God,” Gareth mouths dramatically mid-song. Eddie glares at him, which only makes Gareth laugh harder.
Meanwhile, from where you’re standing, it’s becoming increasingly obvious that Eddie’s watching you. Like, a lot.
Robin notices first, naturally. “He’s losing his mind.”
“What?”
She tilts her drink subtly toward the stage, and Eddie’s eyes are already on you again. The second he realizes you caught him staring, he immediately smirks and turns back toward the crowd like he meant to do it.
Cocky asshole.
Steve notices, too, after about the third time. “…Wait,” he says slowly. “Is Munson glaring at me?”
Robin bursts out laughing. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you showed up with her.”
Steve blinks once, then looks between you and Eddie onstage. Then, he slowly grins.
“Don’t encourage him,” you mutter.
“Too late.”
Unfortunately, Steve seems to take this as a personal challenge. During the next song, he leans closer just to say something in your ear over the music. Not even flirting, just talking.
But from the stage, it looks very flirty. Eddie's jaw tightens instantly.
The next guitar solo comes out sharper somehow, louder, rougher around the edges, like he’s trying to prove something.
Robin watches the whole thing unfold with the satisfaction of a woman witnessing live theater.
“Oh, he’s pissed,” she says happily.
“What does that even mean?”
“It means Eddie wants you so bad he’s entering alpha male state.”
By the time Corroded Coffin finishes their last song, the entire bar feels warmer somehow. Sweat sticks to the back of your neck beneath your hair, the room still buzzing with leftover energy as people clap and whistle while the band starts packing up equipment.
And Eddie looks unfairly good after performing.
His curls are damp with sweat, rings flashing in the dim light as he unplugs his guitar cable. Adrenaline still clings to him visibly, chest rising heavier than before, while people stop him every few seconds to talk.
You catch him glancing toward you twice. Three times. Okay, maybe more than that.
Robin notices, too, obviously. “He’s absolutely coming over here.”
“Robin—”
“You made eye contact during the guitar solo.”
“I did not.”
“You literally did.”
Before you can argue further, Eddie finally slips away from a group near the stage and starts making his way through the crowd toward you. The closer he gets, the more obvious it becomes that he’s trying to play it cool. Emphasis on trying.
Eddie finally reaches your group, slightly breathless, cheeks flushed from the set. His eyes go to yours automatically, which you definitely notice.
“So?” he asks, trying for casual confidence. “Did Corroded Coffin survive the pressure?”
You tilt your head slightly like you’re considering it seriously. “Barely.”
Eddie laughs instantly, ducking his head for a second. “Brutal.”
“You recovered from forgetting the lyrics, though.”
His eyes narrow immediately. “I knew you noticed.”
“You made it kinda obvious, sweetheart.”
That earns you a look, one that lingers just a little too long. Then, Eddie glances toward the crowded room before looking back at you again.
“Wanna come outside with me?” he asks. “Need a cigarette before Gareth starts talking about the set for the next three hours.”
You try not to smile too obviously as you set your drink down. “Sure.”
Eddie immediately straightens slightly, like he wasn’t expecting that answer so easily.
The cold night air hits the second Eddie pushes open the back door. It’s quieter outside. Just distant traffic, muffled music through the walls, and the scrape of Eddie’s lighter as he sparks a cigarette to life.
Eddie leans back against the brick wall outside the Hideout, cigarette balanced between his fingers while smoke curls around him in the cold night air. The dim neon sign above the back door paints everything in washed-out blues and white, catching on his face.
Honestly, it’s unfairly cinematic. You stare at him for a second too long, apparently, because Eddie smirks lightly around his cigarette.
“What?”
You shake your head once, already digging through your bag. “Wait.”
His eyebrow lifts. “That dangerous?”
“Stay still.”
Now he looks genuinely confused, but he listens anyway. One hand shoved into the pocket of his leather jacket, while he watches you pull out your camera.
The sight of that alone nearly kills him. “You carry a camera around?”
“Obviously.”
“That’s hot.”
You ignore him, squinting slightly through the viewfinder instead. God.
The lighting, the curls falling into his face. He looks like he belongs on the cover of some underground rock magazine.
“Okay,” you murmur mostly to yourself. “Yeah. This is photo worthy.”
Eddie visibly short-circuits for half a second.
“Photo worthy?” he repeats.
“Don’t let it get to your head.” Too late.
You snap the picture anyway, and the flash goes off between you. For a second, Eddie’s left blinking spots from his vision while you grin down at the developed polaroid slowly appearing in your hand.
Then his expression softens a little when he sees the way you’re looking at it. “…Lemme see.”
You hold it out reluctantly. Eddie takes one glance at the picture and actually laughs quietly.
“Holy shit,” he says. “I look cool.”
“You’re welcome.”
“You made me look mysterious.”
“You already think you’re mysterious.”
“I am mysterious.”
You snort softly, taking the photo back. Then, before you can overthink it, you pull out your phone and upload the picture to your Instagram story.
You don’t miss the way his entire demeanor shifts when he realizes what you’re doing.
“…Wait,” he says slowly. “You’re posting me?”
You glance up innocently. “Problem?”
Eddie stares at you for a second like he genuinely doesn’t know what to do with himself anymore. Then he laughs under his breath, rubbing a hand over his mouth.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he says softly. “You’re gonna kill me.”
By the time you get home, it’s nearly one in the morning. Your ears are still ringing faintly from the music, the smell of cigarette smoke still clings to your jacket, too, mixing with perfume and cold night air as you flop backward onto your bed with your phone already in your hand.
And immediately, your stomach flips. Because Eddie reposted your story. The picture of him outside the Hideout now sits on his story, too.
You stare at it for a second longer than necessary, then another. Goddamn it. You’re grinning like an idiot.
Your phone buzzes before you can think too hard about it:
You’re halfway through typing a response when another notification appears across the top of your screen:
crissy.cunningham started following you.
Your fingers pause immediately, and you shoot up. Because Robin told you all about Crissy.
Head cheerleader, pretty blonde hair, perfect all-American girl. The kind of girl who absolutely does not interact with girls like you. What the hell?
Before you can even process it fully, another message from Eddie comes through.
You stare at Chrissy Cunningham’s follow for a solid ten seconds before letting your stomach settle. Because honestly? What the hell else are you supposed to do with that?
Almost immediately, your phone buzzes again, and your eyebrows lift at the notification:
You sit upright so fast your blanket falls into your lap.
No fucking way.
You reread the message once, then twice. Then immediately screenshot it and send it straight to Robin.
Your eyes widen slightly.
Fuck.
this is me btw^
AHHHHH okay so im actually addicted to making these...i feel like it just adds more of a realistic feel, yk?
anywayyyyy ofc there's gonna be a part two because love triangle? love square? obsessed.
part two to 'chance meeting'. rebrand to make this into a proper series babayyy
pairing: poly!marauders x fem!reader
summary: modern university au. PART TWO. After finding housemates to move out with for your second year, you decide to go for drinks to get to know them better first. mdni
ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ content: lots of fluff, alcohol, clubbing and casual hookup culture (reader indulges), mentions of drugs and sex etc., some angst- allusion to trauma, slowburn poly!marauders x reader but they're all really affectionate already, and some barty x reader.
author's note: this isn't completely proofread and i wrote half of this on my phone on the bus :)
ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ deep dive the archives
part one
The trusty eyeshadow palette you’d had since you were thirteen sprawled across your dormitory desk, alongside a dozen makeup brushes and other bits and pieces you’d collected in your teen years. Designed for completing essays on, tonight, your desk had been transformed into a vanity, your main lights on as you examined your side profile in your mirror for the fifth time since spritzing your setting spray.
You sipped your wine; the cheapest bottle of Pinot Grigio the Co-Op on campus had to offer, now (offensively, your posh flatmate would say) placed in a glass, a couple of ice cubes inside, which were periodically stirred around by your metal straw.
It had been a few weeks since you had last gone out drinking. Not only was the exam period starting, but your coursework had been getting more intense, and you hadn’t wanted to go out with any of your flatmates.
It was only a matter of time before you had to tell them that you were looking around to move out without them. Perhaps you’d feel bad about the short notice if they hadn’t been so horrible to you first.
Your phone began to buzz from where it was propped up against your little standing mirror, and you accepted the FaceTime call without hesitation.
“Baby girl!” Lily cheered down the phone.
“You look fucking gorgeous!” Mary exclaimed, and appeared behind Lily, slinging her arm over the redhead’s shoulders.
“Let me see,” Marlene’s muffled voice called in the background, and soon enough, all three faces were smushed into the camera, gawking at you.
Your face felt warm as you waved a dismissive hand and grabbed your glass, sipping through your straw again.
“Are you going out with your new boyfriends?” Lily asked with a smug grin.
You rolled your eyes. “Yes. We’re meeting at the campus bar and Sirius said we might go clubbing afterwards.”
“I’m glad you’re finally getting away from those other cunts,” Mary snarled. “Have you told them you’re ditching them yet?”
“Not yet,” you sighed, playing with your earring as you glanced out your window. “I don’t even know if I’m moving out with the three guys yet. I’m still apprehensive that they’re all…boys.”
Marlene began excessively gagging from where she had gone back to whatever she was doing off the camera.
“Valid,” Mary insisted. “But from what you’ve said, they seem really nice.”
“Yes, but my old friends seemed really nice too, at first. And I’ve only seen them a few times. Most of our conversations have been so surface-level, which I suppose is fine because we don’t know each other. But maybe I should just lower my expectations. Only, I really, really wanted to have a close dynamic for my uni house experience, you know?”
“You’ll probably get there,” Lily said. “Or worst case scenario, you have three polite boys living with you who might make small talk in the kitchen. That sounds worlds better than your other friends.”
“Yeah,” you admitted. “Maybe tonight will help. I always feel more chatty with some alcohol. They’re all so, so nice. I just feel like I’m intruding.”
“Didn’t they offer you the room?”
“Yes. But they’re desperate,” you replied. “But so am I, I suppose.” You sipped some more of your wine. “I have to meet them in half an hour. You don’t think I’m too dressed up, am I?”
“You look absolutely gorgeous,” Lily insisted, similar words coming from Mary. “Not too much at all.”
“I don’t want them to think I’m after them like that.”
“Are they fit?” Mary asked, and Lily looked like she was about to tell her off, but perked up interestedly, too.
Your grin told them everything they needed to know, and suddenly they were all screaming. Moments later, you were putting the links to their Instagrams in your groupchat, and Mary was gasping.
“Oh, they are! You lucky cow.”
Marlene made a noise in the background. “I like the one with the glasses. He looks like that masc I went home with once. You remember, Lils?”
Lily snorted. “How could I forget? You were obsessed with her.”
“She was gorgeous. Too bad she wasn’t willing to give up the communal strap, if you know what I mean.”
You screeched alongside your friends, your hand clamping over your mouth to quieten your laughter. Marlene then proceeded to recount her ‘situantionship’ in great detail, and although you had heard it a dozen times already, you listened and sipped as if she was speaking on a podcast.
You supposed there was nothing like phoning your friends from home to give you a boost for the evening.
Once your wine was gone, you bid farewell to your home friends, who had all gone back to your hometown for Marlene’s brother’s birthday party. You hadn’t been able to get the time off from your part-time weekend job, so there was no point in spending all of the money on a train ticket to only go for a few hours.
As soon as the FaceTime call ended, you realised how quiet your room was, since your music had automatically shut off when your Bluetooth connected to Lily. You sighed and stood up from your chair, wrigging your toes in your shoes to make sure you didn’t need that extra blister plaster, and heading into your tiny en-suite showeroom to check your makeup in the brighter lights.
“Alright, okay,” you whispered beneath your breath, juggling your keys and your phone, shoving them into the only small bag you owned.
You packed your lipbalm and your lipstick as an after thought, and sprayed more perfume than you needed to.
You weren’t used to clubbing or going drinking without your flatmates, and you almost dreaded one of them coming out of their room and seeing you leave. Part of you was terrified that they’d make the rest of your year hell if they found out you weren’t moving out with them in a few months. Right now, it was easy to pretend to be friends, and avoid them wherever you could.
As quietly as you could, you opened your dorm door and locked it behind you. You could hear chatter coming from the kitchen further down the hall, and what sounded like Gilderoy’s ball being kicked around. Emmeline was squealing at something.
You hurried down the corridor (which felt longer than ever) and made it out of the main doors, letting them swing shut behind you as you hurried down the two flights of stairs and out of your university accommodation. The night air was warmer than you anticipated, but that was fine, because you had dressed appropriately as somebody who hated paying for the cloakroom fee at clubs. You’d rather shiver all night than lug a coat around with you.
The university bar wasn’t too far from your accommodation. On the rowdier nights, if you had your window open, you could hear everybody sat outside drinking and laughing. You could see the back of the bar from your flat’s kitchen window—where drunk boys from the sports societies often went to piss, much to your dismay.
You made sure that you were five to ten minutes later than you said you would be, because you didn’t want to be the first one to arrive, and you were sure all of the boys would be turning up together, considering they lived in the same flat in some accommodation only five minutes away from you.
When you turned the corner, every bench was brimming with a group of students, and the drinks were flowing. You were glad that summer was starting, so the night was still bright, and you didn’t have to squint in the dark to see your potential second-year housemates.
Remus was the first one you saw.
Stood several feet away, he had his back to you, clad in a tan leather jacket and some baggy jeans, his fluffy brown hair slightly longer at the nape of his neck, flicking into soft curls like the start of a mullet. He was speaking to two people sat down on the bench—Sirius and James, you realised—balancing four cups in his hands.
James met your eyes first. Behind circular glasses, his dark eyes lit up when you began to approach them, his entire face brightening. Sirius craned his neck past Remus to look, and called out to you.
“Hi, guys,” you greeted them softly, as Remus placed all of the cups down.
You lifted your leg over the bench seat and sat down beside him, opposite Sirius, smiling gratefully when Remus shifted a glass of cider towards you.
“I wasn’t sure what you liked to drink, but I thought you can hardly go wrong with a cider,” Remus said.
“Thank you,” you exclaimed. “That’s so sweet. Next round will be on me.”
“Nonsence,” James cut in. “We’re trying to persuade you to pick our spare bedroom, aren’t we? What sort of rubbish estate agents would we be if we kept bumming drinks off you all night?”
You shrugged your shoulders and smiled slyly into your drink as you took a sip. “So what I’m hearing is that you will all be spoiling me all night instead?”
“Exactly,” Sirius grinned. “And you’re in luck, sweetheart, because payday was nice to me this month.”
Your smile widened. “Oh, you’re sugar-daddying me?”
“Oh yeah,” Sirius confirmed, “Of course.”
You were pleased that the three of them were matching your teasing energy without overstepping any invisible boundaries, or making things uncomfortable. They were silently passing tests that you hadn’t realised you had been setting, such as James asking you if you’d be alright walking to the bathroom alone and offering to chaperone you the short distance, or when Remus asked you lots about your degree, and then asked more and more and more questions, as if he found everything you said really interesting.
“Have you been looking at any more houses?” James asked as he sipped his beer, fiddling absentmindedly with a splintered bit of wood sticking up from the bench.
You shook your head. “No, I haven’t.” You didn’t miss the way that they all beamed. “I think I’m definitely going to take up your offer on that spare bedroom, if you still don’t mind.”
“Of course we don’t,” Remus replied softly, instantly. “That’s why we offered it to you. ‘Could tell from the very start you were a sweetheart.”
You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop the smile blossoming over your face. “Yeah. You three seem alright, too.”
Sirius batted his hand. “Aw, you.”
“You know how to flatter a man,” James quipped. “We’ll need more of your lovely words when we’re all in exam season.”
You chuckled. “Hm. You’ll have to earn them.”
“We’ll be good boys for you,” Sirius promised, and you buried your face in your hands as you laughed some more, shaking your head.
“You’re all tidy, aren’t you?”
“Sirius is a bit on the scruffy side, but he’s not unhygienic,” Remus promised.
“You make me sound like a dog!”
“He’s a bit like a dog,” James confirmed, and stroked the top of Sirius’ head. “If I do this long enough, his leg will start kicking.”
Sirius huffed and leaned away from James. You smiled as you looked between all three of them. Already, you felt more comfortable with them than you felt with your current flatmates. You wished there was some sort of way you could ditch your university flat now, and just live with the three boys. Maybe that was the cider speaking.
“Are you tidy?” Remus asked her interestedly.
“I am. And I am just letting you all know now that just because I am the only girl of the house, does not mean I am the mother of the house, and does not mean I will be picking up after any of you, or doing your dishes, or—or whatever else. Alright?”
“Absolutely alright,” James agreed quickly. “Remus is mother of the house, anyway. You can’t dethrone him."
“Perfect, then. I just wanted to confirm. I know you probably wouldn’t, but I don’t want to fall into…gender stereotypes and things. Some of my female flatmates seem to like running around for my male flatmates like headless chickens, but I’m not that way inclined.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Remus placed a hand on your back, patting it. “We’ll look after each other—but nobody’s going to be putting all of the work in by themselves.”
You nodded. “Thank you.”
“Is that why you’re not moving out with your old friends now?” Sirius asked you, tilting his head to the side slightly. “Were they all messy?”
“They’re sort of messy, yes. It never bothered me that much until I started to stop getting along with them very well. Now, I can’t stand their mess. I just haul myself up in my room so I don’t have to look at the abominations they create in the kitchen. The worst part—” you sipped your drink as the boys gave you sympathetic looks. “-is that I really, really love cooking, but I’ve been sticking to sauce jars and ready meals and pot noodles just to avoid them.”
“That’s horrible,” Remus said.
“Have you told them yet?” Sirius asked.
“No. I’m actually sort of worried to,” you admitted. “You know how hyperactive everybody was during freshers? All of the partying, and the screaming, and the constant drinking, and the excitement of living away from home? They have never left that phase. All of the time—it’s getting fucked up in the clubs, throwing up in the kitchen sink or—they threw eggs at the opposite flat’s door the other week!” You added as an exasperated after thought, and all of the boys made pinching faces of disgust or disappointment.
“They were my eggs too,” you muttered glumly. “But I can hardly say anything, because they’re all like a unit. And so, I know it sounds pathetic, but I just let them do rubbish things, or treat me like shit— because at least then I’m not alone.”
Remus cooed gently, and rubbed your back again. “I’m sorry, dove. That sounds like shit.”
“We’d never throw your eggs,” James said in an effort to lighten you up, and it worked, the corners of your lips twitching upwards.
“You’re not going along with it, because you’re leaving them,” Sirius said. “And I don’t blame you for not telling them right now. I’d wait it out as long as you can so they don’t use your forks to unplug the sink or something.”
You feigned a gag. “Grim. Thanks for the new fear.”
Sirius grinned widely. “Well, actually, I can be quite creative if you ever need some revenge plan ideas.”
You snorted. “I’ll let you know if they throw anymore of my eggs. Thanks, Sirius.”
“Always happy to help.”
A few more drinks in, you were buzzing at the idea of leaving to get to a club. The boys were also as enthusiastic, Remus perhaps a little more silently so, as you finished off what must be your fifth round of ciders and began to head for the bus stop at the edge of campus.
“Bus is in three minutes,” Remus said as he checked the board. “Everybody got their passes?”
You got your up on the city bus app on your phone, nodding along, amused when you realised that the boys were right, and Remus definitely was a mother hen. He checked Sirius’ for him, sending him a rather fond look when Sirius was all too proud to show Remus the QR-code.
You clambered onto the bus when it arrived. James let you walk up the stairs in front of him, and grabbed a hold of your waist when the bus started up again, a gasp leaving your lips as it jostled you back slightly. You chuckled gratefully to him as James huffed irritably down the stairs, “Wait one second, mate!”
“Impatient tosser,” James muttered, as you chucked yourself into the seats on the aisle next to Sirius and Remus.
You adjusted your bag on your shoulder and shrugged. “Thanks for catching me. Nearly broke my ankle during fresher’s week on the bus stairs.”
“Clumsy, are you?” James smiled.
“I have been told I am a nuisance when I am drunk.”
“Yeah, but was that from your shitty flatmates?” Sirius asked, and pushed himself so that his back was to the window, his legs kicked across Remus’ lap to look at you.
“Unfortunately, my friends from home think the same thing,” you said. “Although Marlene isn’t here, and she is always the one dragging me down with her, I promise. She actually volunteers to drink the forbidden drink if nobody has by the end of each game.”
All of the boys pulled faces, and you laughed. “Oh, you’d love all of my friends. They’ll have to come over and visit when we’re all settled in our house.”
Sirius grinned so widely it nearly looked like it hurt. “Our house!” He repeated. “I am so excited.”
You beamed across at him. “I can tell! But I am too. You three are—” you hesitated. “Really nice. Probably the best people I’ve met at uni so far.”
“Only probably?” James teased you.
“Hm…” You teased him back, and he rolled his eyes, smiling.
It felt like you were only on the bus for a few minutes rather than the usual fifteen or so. James helped you back down the stairs, though you were certain you didn’t actually need his help, but you also weren’t declining it.
Other students and young people were also leaving the bus, heading down the main road where a couple of the best clubs in town were. Remus grabbed a cigarette out of his back pocket before you all joined the queue to your favourite, lighting it and standing by the curb to smoke it.
“Don’t mind if you guys wanna start queuing,” he said, gesturing to the line which was slightly longer than you were used to seeing it.
You shook your head. “No, we’ll all go together. Nobody should be alone.”
Remus’ eyes softened. He’d picked up from some of your previous short conversations over the last couple of weeks that perhaps something bad had happened on a clubbing night and that was why your flatmates were no longer your friends, but he’d been too nervous to ask, and you hadn’t explicitly said anything just yet.
“Yeah, ‘course,” he agreed, and handed the rest of his cigarette to Sirius, who hummed in thanks.
The club was packed when you entered. One of the boys had paid for your entry, though you weren’t sure if it was James or Sirius—someone’s phone had met the contactless machine before yours had been able to—and now Remus was paying for more drinks at the bar for everybody, his height giving him the advantage as he easily moved to the front.
You sort of loved the smell of alcohol and perfume and cologne and vape and cigarettes. You hated it the morning after when it clung to your clothes and your hair, but for the night, it was perfect. It felt even better when Remus pushed a double vodka lemonade into your hand, and when Sirius raised all of your plastic cups for a cheers.
“I love this song!” You exclaimed, and took Sirius as your victim to jump with towards the centre of the dancefloor.
Sirius was an enthusiastic partner, mouthing the words boldly and even leaning into the fake microphone that you made with your hands. He was quick to grab a hold of James when he noticed him, dragging him into your circle. You were having so much fun.
“Where’s Remus?” You called.
“Remus doesn’t dance!” James replied loudly against your ear, smelling like beer and his cologne, his breath warm.
You gasped dramatically, shaking your head. “There’s no way. He has to. Wait here.”
You weaved your way through the dense crowd and made it back to Remus, who was by the bar with a drink in his hand, his eyes already following you as you made your way over to him. You stopped in front of him and grabbed his forearms as if you had known him for years, looking up at him eagerly.
“Rem, you have to dance with me,” you pleaded with him.
His lips twitched at the nickname. “I don’t like dancing.”
“Neither do I—until I’m drunk!” You agreed.
“Not even when I’m drunk,” Remus said. “Sorry. I’m boring. Sirius and James love it though—you should take them for a spin.”
Your face went bright red, and Remus’ mouth fell open as he laughed. “Oh, shit. Not like that. That sounded awful, didn’t it?”
You laughed. “I know what you meant. Don’t worry.”
A hand skimmed your waist as a group of guys tried to get passed you. You glanced up at them, and paused when the one touching you smiled. He was handsome, the tips of his dark hair dyed bright green, a few piercings over his face.
“Do you want to dance with me instead?” He asked loudly by your ear, and stuck his hand out so you could shake it. “Barty.”
Boys never usually offered you their names or their hands before they tried to kiss you in the middle of the club. You smiled, and shook his hand, which was adorned with plenty of silver rings. You already knew his type, but he was pretty, and you were really drunk and having the best night you’d had in such a long time.
“I’m here with my new friends,” you told him.
Remus shook his head. “If you want to dance with him, dance with him, dove. I’ll keep an eye on you.”
Your eyes found him again. “Rem, you should dance with me.”
He laughed. “Go ahead, dove.” He lowered his mouth by your ear. “I know you don’t just want to dance with him.” He watched your face go bright red. “But you’re too drunk to go home with him, alright?”
“Oh—oh,” you choked. “No, I don’t really do things like that—I don’t go that far.”
“Smart girl,” Remus murmured, and patted your arm. “Go ahead.”
And by some surprise, Barty was still waiting for you a foot or so away, and grinned widely when you finally approached him, grasping you by your arm and leading you into the crowds of people.
summary: part one of an au series i'm starting! muggle modern university au (set it any uk university lol). you need housemates for next year, and you meet three guys desperate for a fourth roommate.
ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ content: mentions of alcohol
author's note: not proofread, sorry!! i'm lazy
ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ navigation
The Student Union was quiet for a Wednesday afternoon, but you supposed that was likely just the calm before the storm. Lectures ended for all classes around mid-afternoon at the same time each week, and that was when the Co-Op on campus became so thick with students, that the meal deal shelves were empty, and it was hard to get to the rows of self-checkouts.
The new bubble tea shop they’d opened next to the student help centre and the merchandise store was desolate, so you decided to treat yourself to the free milk tea you’d acquired with your rewards card. You sipped your drink as you headed around the corner of the building, stopping beside the main Student Union doors to read the notice boards.
It was often where students and the university came to post accommodation advertisements. You were only way through your first year, but already, everybody had picked somebody to move out with for next year, and you were struggling to get along with the people you’d initially gravitated towards.
Circumstance meant that you were in a flat on campus with six of the most irritating people that you had ever met. One girl, you thought was the best of the bunch, seemed friendly enough at first. She introduced you to the three other friends she’d made during fresher’s week—a couple of guys and another girl—and you had quickly accepted their request to rent a student house by campus, considering the mass hysteria to find somewhere. They needed you, and you needed them.
Only, after a couple of bad nights out in a row, you had decided that they weren’t your type of people. In fact, you were unsure you could ‘grin and bear it’ like your friends from home had suggested to you. Not only had the girls insulted you to make the boys laugh, but they had left you when you were too drunk, abandoned down a street you hardly knew as they drifted on to the next club. They’d apologised to you the morning after, however, half-heartedly, and you were determined to not have an entire year of it next year.
Thus, you were desperate.
You saw advertisements for student halls that you would never be able to afford with your loan and budget, and single rooms in houses that were tiny, or too far away from campus. One advertisement was for somebody’s room while they were on an abroad placement for three months, and you were unsure who on earth would ever take it.
You chewed your lip, dread filling your system. Out of the glass doors, you saw the floods of students begin to pour from the buildings at every angle, and onto the green grass of the centre of campus. Classes had finished, and now came the rush. You were glad you’d already set up a spot in the library and bought your meal deal.
The main door to the union burst open so quickly that it smacked the wall behind it with a loud bang. You winced as the receptionist began to loudly scold three boys who had barrelled through. One of them apologised quickly—the tallest who had thick, brown hair and an oversized knitted jumper on—whilst the other two headed right to where you stood.
You sipped your drink and raised your eyebrows as their eyes raked the noticeboard. The paler boy with long dark curls made a tutting noise and reached over your head to stab his finger against one of the advertisements with photographs of a bedroom swarmed by clothes and books.
“See. At least we the rooms in our pictures look clean,” the boy said. “Who would want to live there?”
“Sirius,” the boy beside him scolded. He had dark curls too, though his hair didn’t surpass his ears, and circular glasses that seemed to make how incredibly handsome he was, slightly less intimidating.
Sirius furrowed his brow. “What?”
He nudged Sirius’ arm with his elbow, and rather obviously gestured with his eyes towards you. Sirius glanced over, just as their friend wandered over, looking less than pleased.
“Oh!” You exclaimed, and then shook your head with a small laugh. “No. No, that’s not mine.”
Glasses sighed in relief, and Sirius scoffed and nudged him back as if to say see?
“Sorry,” Glasses said. “It’s just because you were standing right in front of it. I didn’t think you’d have a room that looked like such a bomb site.”
“Thinking about her room, were you, James?” Sirius grinned, his pearly whites on display. You couldn’t help but acknowledge how handsome he was, too—more in a pretty way than his other friends.
The tallest among them scoffed and rolled his eyes, pulling a neatly folded piece of paper out of the pocket of his trousers.
“Sorry about them,” he muttered, and found a space on the board where he smoothed out the creases. “James, tape.”
“Sirius has it.”
Sirius paused. “No. Remus told you to take it.”
“Yeah, but then I told you to grab it and you said alright.”
“I thought you were talking about the flat keys!” Sirius exclaimed, holding his hands up defensively as both his friends facepalmed and sighed.
You couldn’t help but laugh, smiling in amusement as you reached into your tote bag. “I think I have some washi-tape.”
“You do?” Remus’ head turned towards you, still holding his page in place, a relieved smile on his face. “Thank you. I think that receptionist would rip me a new one if I walked in her proximity ever again.”
“It’s alright,” you said, and pulled out the little pencil case you kept your pens inside. “Now, would you like the pink Chococat one or the blue Cinnamaroll one?”
Sirius grinned. “Sick.” And he came forward to examine your Sanrio-themed tapes. “Definitely the Chococat one. That’s a bit of us, isn’t it, boys?”
“Definitely,” Remus said, and you beamed, breaking them off a bit so they could tape their page to the board. You gave Remus some more for the bottom of the page, so it didn’t flap every time the door opened, which it was opening frequently as students came through to either exit out of the other side or get lunch.
“Very pretty,” you commented.
“Thanks,” James beamed. “You have no idea how hard it was to print that thing. We thought something was wrong because it kept printing in black and white, but turns out the librarian had to swap out the colour cartridge. Didn’t even get our money back for all of the shit ones, so I lost two quid’s worth of printing credit.”
You held a hand to your mouth and mocked a gasp. “Not the printing credit.”
“It’s worth more than Bitcoin,” Sirius muttered, and you laughed again.
“Your rent’s really good,” you said as you eyed their poster. "Maybe you can afford the printing credit."
They were looking for a new roommate to start living with them at the start of their second year for a house they had signed for. The pictures of the room made it look relatively spacious and clean, and there were two bathrooms for a house of four. Not to mention, it was right by the campus, so you wouldn’t need to walk for very long or get any bus rides.
“One of the cheapest houses we could find on Rightmove,” James said proudly, and huffed. “Which is why we’re desperate to keep a hold of it. We were supposed to be moving out with our friend Pete, but he’s decided to drop out of uni. 'S just not for him.”
“I see,” you murmured, and glanced over all of the advertisements again.
“You looking?” Remus realised, eyebrows lifting.
“Yeah. I befriended a group I’d like nothing to do with once first year is over,” you chuckled awkwardly. “I’m quite desperate.”
“Are you looking for a house of girls, or do you not care?” He asked.
You shrugged. “I’m not particularly fussed. Just people who aren’t secretly awful.”
“James, would you consider us secretly awful?” Sirius asked, smiling childishly.
James caught on. “Not secretly.”
You laughed with them. “Hm. Upfront about it, then?”
“Honesty is key to a healthy uni household.”
Remus hesitated. “Well, how about you think of moving in with us? We’re allowed to move in by June, if you need to stay in the city for the summer.”
“I do, actually. For my part-time job.”
You considered Remus’ offer. You had been dreading sending Facebook or Instagram messages to the numbers and social media accounts on the boards, and trying to get to know everybody before the summer. Your biggest fear was for the new school year to roll around, and you’d find your new housemates were just as bad as the group you’d currently fallen in with.
Looking at Remus, Sirius, and James, you couldn’t help but feel as though a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. They seemed organically real, unlike a lot of people you had met during your first few months of university, and they were all so polite and positive, like a breath of fresh air.
“Are you considering it? Or are you trying to find a way to let us down which won’t leave us sobbing?” Sirius asked. “Because you should know, Remus here is a sensitive soul, and for him to put himself out like that and ask you such an important question, was incredibly, seriously hard for him.”
“Oh, shut it, you,” Remus scolded and whacked him. “You’ll scare her off. Wait.” He winced. “I just realised we haven’t even asked for your name yet.”
James laughed. “Oh yeah!”
Your cheeks warmed slightly. “It’s Y/N.” And you jokingly shook their hands, which they smiled at. “And I’d definitely like to consider your offer. Would the three of you be interested in coffee sometime, perhaps? So we know we’re all compatible.”
“Geesh. Aren’t we lucky? A beautiful girl asking all three of us out,” Sirius quipped smugly. “I’m sure we’ll be more than compatible. Where are you off to right now?”
You adjusted your tote bag. “I have a space in the library. I was getting some work in before student union tonight.”
“We got tickets for that, too,” James smiled. “I suppose we might see you there?”
“Yeah,” you breathed. “Hopefully.”
“Give us your number,” Sirius said, and whipped his phone out, pulling up the contacts app and shoving it into your hand. “I’ll message you. We can ask the estate agent for another house viewing if you’d like to see it, too.”
You smiled softly. “I’d like that.”
You gave Sirius his phone back with your number and name saved into it, and the four of you said goodbye. You headed for the exit of the student union building, your heart skipping a beat at the amount of luck you’d endured. It felt surreal that you could actually find your people at university, like the people online always said you would.
And as you turned to wave by the glass door, you saw Sirius ripping their advertisement back off of the board. They obviously saw something in you, too.
starry-eyed-moony ᯓ★ˎˊ˗
i can't wait to start with this au! i have so many ideas!!
on a night back in hawkins, you decide to drop by an old not-haunt just to see how your old not-friend eddie is doing.
what’s the harm in that?
18+ MDNI┃7.2k
cw: fluff-fest with angsty undertones. reserved/wallflower reader feat. some deep-seated insecurity (they say write what you know, y’know?) and flashbacks to a shitty first kiss that is for sure most definitely not ripped directly from sarah lore 👀
eddie is the Flirtmaster Supreme, I made him too smooth for his own good, truly. r wears a dress, uses she/her pronouns, drinks alcohol, and smokes weed (badly).
You might have guessed Eddie Munson would wind up running the Hideout.
He’d worked there throughout high school, possibly even before then. It had only added to the shroud of mystery and intrigue surrounding him—a source of endless fascination for you and the rest of your former classmates.
Well, okay, maybe that was just you.
Back then he was a lowly barback, bobbing and weaving around the same group of drunks every night, clearing empties and wiping down sticky tables, attempting the Sisyphean task of keeping the bathrooms clean in exchange for his band being allowed up on their so-called stage.
Now he was acting manager and in the process of buying out the original owner so she could retire. He made a lot of changes already—not that you’d ever dared set foot in here during your tenure at Hawkins High back in the day. But you (rightfully) assumed it was your average hole in the wall, with barely any light coming through the dirt-streaked windows; all the walls papered so thoroughly with stickers and graffiti you couldn’t guess what color they were; furniture so rickety and shoddily built it fell apart if you so much as looked at it wrong.
The space was still divey, but he’d changed up some of the decor and added some light fixtures over the bar so people could actually see what they were drinking. He’d swapped out the older standing tables for black vinyl booths that lined the walls, leaving the middle open for shows.
He’d also managed to construct an honest-to-god stage in the corner with lights, and a sound system and everything. At present it was empty, but according to the fliers tacked up on the door quite a few bands were slated to play there over the next couple of weeks. His own included.
And it seemed the interior wasn’t the only thing that had been updated.
His height still afforded him the same gangly frame you remembered from high-school, but he’d filled out slightly with more muscle and a bit of softness around his formerly bony hips—which you were most definitely not checking out as he spun a bar key on his middle finger and slipped it smoothly into the back pocket of his black jeans.
You had fully been expecting just to slide onto one of the newly refurbished stools that ran along the side of the bar and drink in relative anonymity. Instead, you were stunned to find recognition in Eddie’s eyes as he turned to greet you and your name fell easily from his lips.
Like he’d been saying it for years.
“This is a surprise,” he said, leaning casually on his side of the bar.
Your mouth dropped open, but not to speak. You just blinked back at him in silent stupor.
His arms were turned out, his sleeveless tank showing off the sinewy muscles wrapped around them and the same tattoos you must have wasted hours of class time staring at. He’d cut it off at the bottom,its curled hem barely skimming the top of his handcuff belt, and your mouth watered at the thought of him reaching for something over his head to reveal a sliver of his pale stomach and the tantalizing patch of sparse hair that swirled just below his navel.
“You know me?” you asked, still blanched with confusion.
“‘Course I do.” He gave you a warm smile, deep dimples forming on either side of it. “I think I only passed Old McDonnel’s class because you let me copy your notes every morning.”
He paused and took a long moment to let his eyes wander appreciatively up and down your form. You felt your thighs press, grateful for the oak shield that hid your reaction from his view.
“Don’t you know me?” he purred.
Jesus. You thought you might slide right off the freshly re-upholstered seat under you.
“Oh– I…um,” you cleared your throat, “Yeah, of c-course I do. You’re Eddie. Eddie Munson.”
“Ding ding,” he grinned. “Remembering my name gets you a drink on the house. Whad’you like?”
He pushed off the bar and tipped his head at the rows of bottles lined up behind him, never taking his eyes off yours. They glinted like shards of onyx under the warm glow of the pendant lights.
“A rum and ginger?” you replied sheepishly, praying he didn’t think you were too lame for not going with the typical whisky. But Eddie just shot you a wink as he reached for a clean glass.
“Mm, something sweet with a little bite? Sounds about right for you.”
You’re glad to have a moment to collect yourself when he looks down to scoop some ice out of the bin, because you were not remotely prepared for this onslaught of charm. You also weren’t sure where he got the idea that there was any bite to you at all, but the implication alone makes your body buzz watching him pour out the liquor and then spray in your mixer with the soda gun.
He placed the drink down in front of you, bubbles effervescing as he set a lime on the rim and juices dribbled down its side. He then waited, expectant smile on his lips as he watched you take your first sip. Only when you had, giving an encouraging nod and a quiet thanks, did Eddie finally tear his eyes away, seemingly remembering the rest of the people in the bar existed.
In a flash, he’d done a quick check with the scant number of other patrons, closing out one’s tab and replenishing another’s drink before he returned to his spot in front of you.
“So, what brings you in?” he asked. “You moved, right? Haven’t seen you around.”
“Y-yeah, I left for school and just…stayed away,” you chuckled. “I’m here for my dad’s birthday.”
Eddie plucked a maraschino cherry from a jar he produced seemingly out of thin air and dropped it into your drink, giving you another smile as he licked sticky red juice from his thumb.
“Sounds festive,” he hummed, veins in his hand bulging as he screwed the lid back on the jar.
Fucking christ on a cracker.
Was he trying to kill you?
“Well, I guess…” you cringed inwardly at the words before they even left your mouth, “I guess it’s sort of my birthday too? They’re a couple days apart, but we always mash ‘em together.”
“Oh, shit. Way to bury the lede, sweetheart!”
Eddie leaned on the bar again, folding his arms under his chest this time so his eyeline was level with yours and he could lean a little further forward, edging his way into your space.
“It’s not a big deal,” you insisted. “I don’t really celebrate it.”
“Well, that’s no good.” He shook his head. “You’re definitely worth celebrating.”
Pure fire rose in your cheeks at his leading tone, and you felt your brain whirring trying to think of a response. Thankfully, a rumbly and disgruntled voice from the end of the bar called out for some attention and saved you from yourself. Eddie’s expression soured and his eyes rolled as he straightened up to full height.
“Wha-a-at?!” he brayed loudly, shooting you a sly wink when he caught your wide-eyed gaze.
Your panic turned out to be unfounded, the owner of the voice giving up a wry chuckle, evidently not phased in the slightest by this outburst. The older man huddled against the wall simply smirked and snarked about how he needed to ‘quit flirting long enough to serve some drinks.’
“Bah! You’re just jealous, Ray,” Eddie scoffed, flapping a hand at him that turned into a warning finger. “And I better not catch you trying to sneak her out from under me, alright? She’s mine.”
This time, it wasn’t just your cheeks that caught on fire. Your entire body was searing, engulfed by flames, tingling as if you’d been dunked in a vat of magma. And your mind was blank—devoid of any thought aside from those two words flashing like a neon sign on a loop in your head:
She’s mine. She’s mine. She’s mine.
It had to be a bit. Just an off-handed comment he threw around without giving any thought to who it was being prescribed to. Even so, you allowed yourself to bask briefly in the satisfaction.
It made something stir deep within your gut. Some slumbering giant who had lain dormant for so long you were certain it had fallen into legend. A creature you tended from a young age, only to seal it away in a cavernous tomb before it could grow too large to contain—strong enough to decimate whole villages in a single strike.
But now it was awake. And making itself known by the ache at the crux of your thighs.
“Can’t believe you weren’t going to tell me it was your birthday,” Eddie chuckled as he came back to you with a teasing smile. “You’re really racking up the free drinks tonight, huh?”
You sputtered on the sip you’d just taken of the cocktail in front of you.
“Oh, no, you don’t have to—”
He held a hand up to stop you, the other reaching blindly behind him to grab a bottle of rye he used to top off Ray’s drink. “Nope, uh-uh, don’t wanna hear it,” Eddie insisted. “It’s actually illegal for me to charge for a birthday drink. Unless, of course, you wanna see me in handcuffs?”
He leaned into your space again, lowering his voice for that last part.
His brow lifted in a suggestive arch, disappearing behind his scraggly bangs, and you felt like you might rip off a hunk of your stool you were gripping the seat so tight.
Was this real life?
Was Eddie Musnon…flirting with you?
The thought alone sets off a second heartbeat between your legs, practically throbbing.
Absolutely not, you answered yourself. He is a bartender and you’re at his bar. All he’s interested in is a good tip. Don’t be that guy at the strip club who thinks a lap dance ‘means something.’
“N…no,” you answered him meekly (also lying), “wouldn’t want that.”
Eddie nodded, still smiling as he grabbed a glass and started to dry it with a towel. Conveniently, remaining in the same spot in front of you.
“So, how’s the visit so far?” he asked.
“It’s good, um…just kind of strange being back,” you hemmed, hands wringing in your lap.
Eddie pulled his lower lip back with his teeth. A look you couldn’t quite name flickered in his dark eyes and he shrugged, his chin dropping to his chest as he watched his hands dry another glass.
“Yeah, well. You took off so fast after graduation I’m surprised you didn’t break the sound barrier.”
He kept his head bent, focused on his task, but he couldn’t stop his gaze darting up to watch you through the fan of his thick lashes. You felt your breath catch when your eyes met, and promptly looked away. You took another sip of your drink, mostly sucking air through your straw while you stared at the ice, and couldn’t help but wonder if he was thinking of the same thing you were…
Graduation night. The bonfire in the woods. The rows of trucks and cars parked haphazardly along the edge of the forest with their headlights shining into the treeline as the class of ‘86 reveled in the bacchanalia of their newly minted freedom.
The last high-school party any of you would ever attend.
You couldn’t say what ultimately possessed you to go. Maybe you’d been emboldened by the fact that it was most likely the last time you’d ever see any of these people again. Maybe it was just good timing that your friend from yearbook had offered you a ride seconds after you overheard some jock confirm with Eddie that he’d be there selling that night. Maybe you wanted, for once in your entire high school career, to do something a little bit reckless and decidedly un-like yourself.
Or maybe it was just the pure, unbridled hope you might run into him there.
Eddie’s lips parted to speak again, but he was cut off by a group of younger guys who had come in and immediately started asking him about drinks and where the darts were for the dartboards.
And while he dealt with them, you found yourself drifting back into the memory of that night…
Clutching the ringed hand he offered as you clumsily tried to navigate the roots that sprawled on the forest floor; making your way towards the outermost edge of the party. Still close enough to the blaze to be scantly lit, but far enough that no one would notice you with The Freak, standing behind the thick trunk of a tall, imposing oak.
You leaned back against it, the rough bark biting into your bare back and snagging slightly on the gauzy material of your sundress. You had talked yourself into buying the revealing garment by reasoning that no one would ever even see the spaghetti straps and the nakedness of your arms and shoulders and collar bones under the bulky cover of your emerald green robe.
But now, with Eddie’s gaze drinking in the sight of all your gloriously exposed skin, you were oddly pleased you hadn’t had enough time to change in between coming home from the dinner with your parents and rushing back out the door when you spotted your friend’s car pulling into the driveway.
The firelight flickered, reflecting in his eyes that were as black as the shadowy woods at his back, and you literally felt every thought in your head being obliterated. You tried to will yourself to speak but couldn’t manage so much as a squeak, having used up all your boldness to approach him at the fire and ask if he had anything to smoke. Stomach tying itself into knots with every word.
With a slow smile, Eddie pushed back the curtain of his long hair and revealed the joint he’d tucked behind his ear. He held it out in a quiet offering, but you made no move to take it from him.
“I, um…I don’t know h-how,” you admitted, heart thumping relentlessly against your ribcage.
“That’s okay,” he said before placing the joint in between his lips instead. God, his lips…
Your pulse jumped, temples throbbing so hard you could scarcely breathe while he dug around in his jacket pocket looking for a lighter. He took a couple short, shallow puffs to get it going and a cloud of its earthy smell imbued your senses, blending with the sharper scent of the bonfire.
He then pinched it in the middle and held up the smaller end to your mouth.
“Just…take it slow,” he murmured, heavy-lidded gaze transfixed somewhere on the lower half of your face. “Don’t inhale too hard.”
You nodded, even though you barely registered the words he was saying you were still so deeply distracted by his lips, and the fact that your own were now so close to his fingers. Trembling like a leaf and desperately trying not to look like you were, you touched your mouth to the paper.
Oh fuck, mother bitch, that burned—
Tears immediately sprang in your eyes and you sputtered, trying to smother the cough as it burst forth and failing. It came out in a relentless string of dry hacks, your nose stinging and your throat tightening as you whipped your head sideways to avoid spraying spittle directly in Eddie’s face.
“You’re okay, you’re okay,” he soothed, the tiny smile he was trying to hide coming through in his voice as he rubbed his hand across your back in a wide circle, coaxing you through your fit.
Not that you could even enjoy the sensation of his warm palm on your bare skin.
He kept it up, though, until you were able to catch your breath and stand up (somewhat) straight.
“So-sorry,” you wheezed, giving your chest a solid thwap trying to clear your throat.
“Nah,” Eddie waved off your apology, grinding the lit end of the joint into the bark of the tree before he placed it back behind his ear. “It’s really fine. Happens to the best of us. Honest.”
You felt yourself slump against the trunk in an attempt to hold yourself up. It was tough to say if the dizzy, floating feeling in your head was due to the singular hit you’d taken off that joint, or just a reaction to Eddie’s very presence. He’d stopped rubbing your back, but hadn’t yet moved away from you. Still standing close enough you were breathing in the smell of his cologne.
Slowly, his hand came up to the side of your face and he pressed the pad of his thumb to the skin just beneath your lashes, swiping away a stray tear that leaked from the corner of your eye.
In that moment, everything had seemed to slow practically to a standstill. No more breeze rustling the tree branches overhead, no more drunken teenagers stumbling into one another, no more beers sloshing out of plastic cups and splattering on the soft earth. The scope of the entire world had narrowed down to you and Eddie and the negligible number of inches between you.
“You want, uh…water? Or anything?” he asked, his thumb still idly stroking your cheekbone.
Your head shook slowly, barely conscious of the moment, your eyes never leaving his. He gazed back at you, soft and endearing, the corner of his mouth crooked up. Looking at you almost like he knew all the things you’d been thinking as you laid in your bed at night. Like he’d seen you touch your fingers to your lips in the softest, barely-there brush, imagining it was his mouth.
His shoulder shifted and you felt his other hand on your hip, gripping you purposely. Deliberately.
All at once, it was too much. The heavy pounding of your heart in your chest too rapid, turning from anticipation to terror. You felt like you were behind the wheel of a racecar whose speed had climbed too high without you noticing, teetering on the verge of spinning out of control.
Almost hearing the screech of tires, you slammed down on the brakes.
“I-I have to go.”
With the ghost of his hand’s warmth still on your cheek, you slipped out of the space in between the tree and his body. In short, uneven strides you stumbled back to the party and gripped your friend’s forearm as hard as you could when you found her, insisting ‘we need to leave.’
And seeing the wild, panicked look in your eyes, she didn’t dare argue.
You wished he kissed you that night. You thought about it for weeks afterward, reliving every step in your head, pinpointing every humiliating second.
It was a fool’s errand, honestly. From the moment you approached him, you should’ve known.
Eddie Munson had plenty of girls to kiss. Plenty of girls whose pits didn’t sweat and whose knees didn’t buckle at the thought of someone getting close to them. Who didn’t tremble with full-body shakes like a neurotic chihuahua when someone put a hand on their hip.
You and he weren’t even friends. You’d never had so much as a real conversation.
The best you could muster was a timid ‘you’re welcome’ whenever he’d returned your notes after copying them, or a small wave when your eyes unwittingly met his across the cafeteria.
He talked, sure. But he could talk to anybody. He could debate a brick wall if the occasion arose. Any time he’d spent making idle chatter with you was surely just an attempt to fritter away a couple hours of class time. And you’d hung on his every word, barely offering a pittance in return.
“Sorry about that,” Eddie grumbled.
He slid back into his place in front of you just as the door behind you smacked closed. The group of guys who came in left just as quickly, evidently unimpressed with his selection of Scotch.
Truthfully, you couldn’t say you were sad to see them go.
“You okay?” he asked, his head dipping to catch your eye. “You want water, or…”
Your eyes flicked up to meet his as he trailed off, his face clouding with some strange expression as his fingers drummed on the surface of the bar. His gaze was suddenly distant, almost as though he too was recalling the last time he’d asked you that. Impossible as that was.
“N…no,” you exhaled the sharp breath you were holding. “I’m alright.”
Eddie nodded, his head bobbing longer than was necessary as if to a song that only he could hear before he grabbed a pint glass and filled it with water anyway, setting it down in front of you.
Even without that group of guys to deal with, Eddie got annoyingly busy after that. Annoying to him, at least. He grimaced every time somebody called him away either for a refill or to order.
The bar wasn’t crowded, by any means, but there was a consistent flow of people who needed him, demanding the attention he seemed antsy to direct somewhere else.
You got down to the last of your drink, and just as you were debating whether you should commit to another, a new one had appeared in front of you, delivered with a wink and a smirk from a dark-haired blur as he moved past you on his way down to the other end of the bar.
Smiling around the straw, you snuck a glance at Eddie and found him already looking back at you while he counted out l change. Your neck twinged with the urge to turn away, embarrassed at being caught, until you remembered he was the one who’d been caught looking at you.
And he didn’t seem embarrassed at all.
The small rush petered out and Eddie came back to you, letting out an exaggerated ‘whew!’ as he dragged the back of his hand across his brow.
“That almost felt like work,” he groaned.
Maybe it was the rum going to your head, but you couldn’t help giggling at the terrible joke, a hand coming up to cover your face when a soft snort unwittingly escaped through your nose.
Your eyes met his again, twin pools of espresso just about twinkling at the sound.
The bar was much emptier now, and quieter too. It wasn’t like it had been loud before, but now its silence felt sort of daunting. The kind of silence that made you feel anxious about how to fill it.
Thankfully, Eddie was adept as ever at defeating awkward pauses.
“You know…there’s a bunch of stuff I never knew about you,” he said after a few minutes.
“Really?” you scoffed. “Like what?”
“I don’t know, lots of things,” he chuckled. “What about, like…your first kiss?”
Your fingers tensed around your glass. And you thought if you were a little stronger, it might have cracked open against your palm when every muscle in your face went still as stone.
You hated thinking about your first kiss.
Simply put, it was a mess. Brought on by a lethal mix of green apple vodka and your self-esteem at a record low. Sloppy and clumsy and too-quick. Over before you even had your bearings.
He just…attacked you. Pushed his face into yours, barely aiming. Like he was in a hurry to get it over with. Like you could’ve been anybody with a mouth and it wouldn’t make any difference.
It was a guy who was sort of friends with (and sort of wanted to fuck) your roommate. One you’d go with to parties or out to the bars. But he’d only ever engaged with you after he’d been drinking. Sober, you were lucky to get so much as a cursory greeting—assuming he got your name right.
The night it happened, you'd gone out with a big group and he’d been pestering you.
Not flirting, not as far as you could tell, just irking. Stealing sips of your drink, reaching behind you to pick up the hood of your sweatshirt and pull it up over your head, tugging on your sleeves, poking you, reaching behind his friend sitting in the middle seat of the cab to tickle your ear.
Then you got home and he started texting, asking for—no, telling—you to come over.
And to your credit, you tried to discourage it.
Begging him off with next time, some other time, another time. Because maybe if he could muster some of this enthusiasm when he was sober, you might find yourself a little more amenable to the idea. But then he hit you with the words you had no idea would still haunt you even years later:
honestly, it’s now or never.
You’d panicked. It had taken this long to find someone who was even willing to kiss you—who knew how long it would be before you could find another? Before you’d ever have another chance. So…you did it. Told him to meet you outside your dorm, and kissed him. And then he left. Because of course he didn’t just want to make out. But at least you had enough sense to shut that down.
You shook your head, mouth dry and your throat suddenly too tight for your words to get out.
“It, um…it was nothing to write home about.” you answered, staring at your lap.
Eddie, mercifully, either didn’t notice the immediate shift in your demeanor, or he simply elected to ignore it. “Okay, screw your first kiss,” he said daringly. “Tell me about your best one.”
Your fingers traced the edge of your glass, running down the ridges of the facets, freezing at his question. All ofthe air in your chest rushed out, leaving the cavity constricting as you struggled to breathe normally. The molten brown of Eddie’s eyes scanned over your expression, his features wrinkling with concern when he saw the pained look that came over your face.
“I don’t wanna do that,” you said quietly.
Something in your tone made Eddie’s gaze soften. He dropped down to his elbows, leaning in a bit closer and lowering his voice to a murmur. Something just for you to hear.
“How come?” he asked.
“Because I…” Your throat tightened in a thick, dry swallow and you had to take a swig of your drink before you could go on, “...because I’ve never really had a good one.”
The admission hangs in what little space there is between your faces. As soon as the words left your lips, you wished you could take them back. Suck them back into your lungs and rewind the whole evening until your feet carried you back out to the parking lot and over the gravel where your car was parked, back to your room at your parents house where you belonged.
“Never?” Eddie frowned.
And you can’t say if it’s the softness in his voice or the confusion in his eyes, but you keep going. Trying to shrug it off, trying not to sound so sad and pathetic. Broken and weary.
“They always kinda rushed it,” you said. “I didn’t get a chance to breathe or think, they just—”
“No drumroll,” Eddie finished for you.
His expression seemed to curdle like he’d just smelled something sour, his jaw ticking in a hard set frown. The veins in his arms stood out slightly as his grip tightened on the bar towel he’d been using to dry some glassware while you talked.
“That’s awfully disappointing,” he sighed, twirling the towel between his hands and then snapping it lightly against the edge of the bar with a soft tap. “Sometimes the lead-in is the best part.”
“Yeah, well,” you shrugged and swept the back of your hand across your cheek just to be sure you weren’t crying. “Clearly, I pick a lot of winners.”
Eddie chortled at that, his chest rising in a short puff. “Any of ‘em still live ‘round here?” he asked. “Gimme some names, I’ll take care of the rest.”
“Oh, no,” you shook your head rapidly, “this was in college. I never—”
You winced, cringing inwardly at what you’d been about to reveal: that you had gone most of your adolescent life without kissing anyone. That the thing most people had knocked out by the time they were pre-teens, you hadn’t managed until you were well into your twenties. And even when you did, it was always so dissatisfying. Lacking.
You let out a joyless laugh, glancing down at the drink in front of you. “I mean, nobody around here was ever interested, so—”
“Bullshit.”
“Huh?”
“I’m calling bullshit, sweetheart,” Eddie echoed himself, the sing-song words laced with a leading tone. “I know for a fact someone liked you.”
“Oh, really?” you scoffed in disbelief as you went to take another sip. “Like who?”
That devilish smile twisted up the corner of his lips again, and he tilted his head. “Me, for one.”
Your sinuses erupted with pain as you nearly shot ginger ale out of your nose. You blinked furiously and your hand shot up to cover your face.
“Yo—you what?” you sputtered, still half-choking.
“Always thought you were cute,” he shrugged. “Got a thing for smart girls.”
You felt your stomach drop, plummeting to the dingy floor underneath your feet.
Jesus. Were you really so pathetic that Eddie Munson had to dream up some imaginary crush just to make you feel better? This was a level of rock bottom you’d never imagined hitting. With a trembling hand, you reached for a napkin at the same time Eddie offered you one, your fingers meeting briefly when you took it, static crackling in the air and tingling where you’d touched.
You dabbed under your nose, still burning from the threat of fizzy ginger ale shooting through it.
“I wasn’t that smart,” you muttered, mostly to yourself. “Trust me.”
Eddie’s mouth popped open to respond, but he didn't get the chance. From the same spot he had not moved from all night, Ray’s voice cut through the low music playing over the sound system.
He said something about his chariot being on the way and having to cash out—assuming that Eddie actually wanted to get paid that night. The pair of them traded a few more friendly barbs you were starting to glean were par for the course for these two, and as Ray settles up it dawns on you.
Aside from him, you’re the only one left in the bar.
While you were distracted with Eddie, everybody else had steadily filtered out until it was down to just the three of you. And once Ray was gone, it would be just you and him. All alone.
Once he’d paid, Ray slid off of his stool and Eddie came out from behind the bar to help him over to the door. The two of them chuckled together as Eddie held it open for him and then pulled it firmly shut once they said their goodbyes.
But then, instead of returning to his side of the bar, he sidled up next to you instead.
You fought the instinct to jump when Eddie appeared at your side, the closest he’d been to you all night. His scent was even stronger, sweat and musk mingling with the aromas of bitters and liquor. It made you feel woozy, swaying on your stool like you’d taken a shot of 100-proof him.
“I need a break,” he said, nodding in the direction of the back door then tapping the pack of smokes rolled into his shirt sleeve that sat on his shoulder.
You blinked back at him mutely.
Was that your cue to get lost? If you weren’t here, would he be able to close up and go home? If he genuinely wasn’t going to charge you for your drinks, you had no tab to settle.
You could just tip him and go. Get out of his hair. God, his hair. His beautiful, beautiful hair.
“Oh…kay,” you said slowly, mentally flogging yourself for remaining in your seat when he was so clearly trying to get rid of you. But you couldn’t find the will to stand—not when you were being pinned down by his devilishly handsome smile and his penetrating, all-consuming stare.
He chuckled, letting his head fall to rest his cheek on his shoulder, his eyes shining as he smiled at you and then nodded at the back door again.
“Come keep me company, sweetheart.”
The back of the Hideout wasn’t all that different from the front.
Aside from the dumpsters and the wooden crates stacked next to them, it was nearly identical. And rather of an assortment of cars parked across the gravel lot, it was Eddie’s van pulled up next to the loading door, alongside the cinderblock structure.
A single flood light shone down on the two of you as he pushed the door open, brandishing his free arm with a flourish as though he was escorting you into a castle rather than an alley.
You giggled at the display, recalling how he used to do the exact same thing when you were leaving the one class you had in common—hanging back after the bell had rung so you and he were walking out at the same time, then scurrying ahead of you to grab the door and hold it before it closed.
Hugging yourself despite the balmy night air, your eyes darted about nervously, looking anywhere but at him, already mentally preparing an excuse for not taking a cigarette when he offered one.
Except Eddie didn’t even reach for his pack.
“So…” he said, spinning abruptly to face you, “I’ve been thinking about something.”
“Really?” you asked. “What’s that?”
“I just…” he sighed and tipped his head back, exhaling up to the sky. He brought his eyes back down and you swore tiny pieces of the moon had landed in them. “I think you deserve a good kiss.”
You stared back at him, speechless as you’d been when he recognized you the moment you came into the bar. Beneath you, your legs had started to tremble and you felt your breathing get heavier. Your shoulders tensed, thinking any minute you’d be hearing the blare of your alarm clock.
“Oh,” was all you could say.
Eddie licked his lips thoughtfully, taking a careful step closer to you. “And I,” he started with a thick swallow, “would really like to give you one.”
You felt your eyes widen, about ready to pop out of their sockets. The ‘YES’ you wanted to scream gets lodged so tight in your throat you think you might actually choke, mouth dropping open.
“Is that…okay?” he asked, tilting his head at you as he parsed your expression. It was more than okay. It sounded like a dream come true.
You took the deepest breath you could manage, chest shuddering with the effort, and nodded
“Okay,” Eddie said, letting out a breath of his own, as if he had been holding it. “Good.”
He took your hand in his and carefully brought it up to the nape of his neck. He helped you thread your fingers into his hair and encouraged you to grasp his curls firmly at the root. Your breathing hitched as his touch trailed over your knuckles and down your forearm to your elbow.
“Don’t be scared to hold on tight,” he burred low in your ear. “I like it when it hurts a little.”
Your grip tensed as his hands settled on your hips, squeezing gently as he backed you up to the brick wall. It felt gritty and cold against your back, but you couldn’t find it in you to care one bit.
Eddie’s hands squeezed again, sliding them up a little higher to your waist.
“Fuck, are you beautiful…” he murmured, his eyes flitting wherever they were able at such close proximity. The slope of your nose, the curve of your jaw, the graceful lines of your neck.
His voice was so soft, so adoring, you felt your knees liquifying. You wanted nothing more than to believe him implicitly, but you couldn't stop the little seed of doubt deep in your gut that quivered beneath the earth from peeking out through the undergrowth until it had sprouted.
“Really?” you whispered, hating how mousey you sounded. How timid and unsure.
He brought one of his hands up to cradle the side of your face. Your eyes fluttered closed, leaning in to the warmth of his palm, interrupted only by the cool bite of his rings that dissipated when they warmed to the temperature of your skin.
Still, you couldn't help but shiver when your eyes opened to find Eddie's gaze focused so intently on yours, squinting in a bemused sort of way.
“Do you honestly not know?” he asked you with a slow grin. “You really don’t see it?”
All you could do was shrug. You didn't think you were, like, hideous or anything. But you had never been particularly impressed by your looks. And no one had ever looked at you or acted like you were some ethereal being who'd fallen to earth just to grace these mere mortals with your face.
Well, at least not until now.
“Eddie, you…”
He shook his head, stopping your words on their way out of your mouth. Like somehow he’d heard the ‘don’t have to do this’ you’d been thinking.
“I know,” he whispered, close enough that his breath hit your skin in a soft puff. “I want to.”
He took a long moment, letting the edge of his thumb brush along the high points of your cheek. His gaze only grew more intense, his face inching closer as his eyes began to flutter closed. You felt your foot hovering over that imaginary brake pad, threatening to slam down on it just like it had all those years ago. But it never does.
You don’t let it.
His nose touched your face before his lips, its rounded tip pressing into the apple of your cheek before your mouth melds with his. It’s the softest, slowest, most tender kiss you ever experienced. He lets you have all the time in the world to think about it, to notice the ways his movements ebb and flow, his jaw and mouth all working together.
To feel the way his chest expands, taking the deepest breath of you he can and holding it inside his lungs like he can’t stand the idea of losing whatever part of you he just inhaled.
You have all this time to think, but your head has never been so empty. No, not empty. Quiet.
It’s as if sound itself ceases to exist. Not even your own rapid heartbeat pounding in your ears is enough to break through the pure peace of finally, finally getting to kiss Eddie Munson.
There’s no more cars whizzing past, speeding down the two-lane highway. There’s no more hum of the exhaust fan or relentless buzz of the bare bulb flickering over the back door.
There’s just…nothing.
Nothing but the feel of Eddie’s mouth tenaciously exploring yours, dragging every second out into a minute and savoring like it’s something precious—something he’s scared he’ll never get again.
He doesn’t dare pull back when your lips part with a quiet click, just stays right there with his face close to yours and his shaky breath expelling. It’s only as the world slowly leaks back into focus that you realize his fingers are trembling against your waist and his bottom lip is quivering.
“That was…wow.”
You can’t help but laugh gently at his words, dizzy with the elation that went straight to your head. His eyes flit across your face, his brows lifting in a silent request for more.
Your nod is shaky, but lacks no enthusiasm. And it’s all the permission he needs to dive back in.
He takes you faster this time, clutching you harder to pull you tighter against him. There’s a latent strength in his arms, a tension coiled in his corded muscles he’s working so hard to restrain.
Don’t, you wanted to scream at him. Don’t stop, don’t hold back, I want it all—
God, you wished you could will the words to leave your throat. They sat there, lodged firmly in your esophagus, practically cutting off air supply.
Eddie moved his hands upwards to cup your face, squishing your cheeks just a little as he cradled them tenderly in his calloused palms.
You hummed into his mouth, excited and anxious all at once, and Eddie sucks in a breath through his nose. Like he’s not gonna let something stupid like breathing get in the way of this.
You break apart just shy of your lungs bursting, the both of you panting heavily into one another’s mouths, trying to catch your breath. He blinks heavily, dazed and delirious as he asks,
“When’s your birthday?”
“Wh…huh?”
“Your birthday,” he repeated, still panting, “was it today?”
You tried to think—a Herculean sort of effort when you could still taste Eddie’s lips on yours—and finally sifted something from the primordial ooze he’d turned your brain into.
“N-no. It’s, uhh…” It took you a second to remember what day it even was. “It’s tomorrow.”
“Thank god,” Eddie grinned and breathed out in relief. “I want to take you out.”
“Out?” You blinked a couple times, brow pinching together. “Out…where?”
“Like for a date, out,” he couldn’t help but snicker. “Movie. Dinner. General revelry?”
Warmth exploded in the middle of your chest. “You…you’re not working?”
“Peg’ll cover for me,” he said assuredly. “If it’s for something important.”
“And I’m…” you looked back at him, hope shining in your gaze, “...important?”
He smiled at you again, eyes all peaceful and dreamy as he reached up to trace the side of your face, sweeping the tips of his fingers from your temple to the bottom of your chin.
“If you even have to ask,” he sighed and shook his head, “I didn’t do my job right.”
And then his mouth is on yours again, his hand sliding back to cup the nape of your neck, holding you in place as he kisses you deeply. It’s not, not a sweet kiss, but it’s not just sweet. There’s a little something more to it this time. Something dizzying and breath-stealing and…hot.
You feel his body press up against yours fully before he remembers himself, but the loss of heat and pressure makes you mewl pitifully into his mouth. No. Don’t. Stay, you want to beg.
Your hands moved out of their own volition and grasped fistfuls of his shirt, tugging him back into you. His laugh rumbles low in his throat and you can feel him smiling into your next kiss.
A smile that doesn’t dim one bit when you part.
“Should we, um…” you heard your own giggle, the twitterpated reaction semialien to your dazed and dopamine-addled brain. “Should we go back in?”
Eddie let out a tiny noise that sounded dangerous close to a whine. “What for?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” you tittered, “just to be sure you’re not being robbed blind or something?”
You glanced at the door, imagining the bar filled with big disgruntled men ransacking the liquor on the other side, descending into chaos with no one to stop them. Eddie’s teeth flashed in a grin, dark chuckle stuttering in his chest, a mischievous edge to the sound you remembered well.
Normally hearing it right before he did something particularly devious.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he exhaled, letting his forehead rest against yours, “the door’s been locked and the sign’s been off since Ray left.”
big time snuggles for reading my lil indulgence 😌 this one is for the bad-kiss-havers, we deserve a re-do. love you, mean it!
description: you spend your birthday at the renaissance faire with the hellfire boys. you and eddie are both very obviously into each other, but you're the last two to figure it out. cue dustin and gareth meddling to knock some sense into the both of you.
pairing: eddie x you (fem!reader)
tags: eddie x you, no y/n, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff the house down boots, everyone knows but them, cute confession, renaissance faire, pirate captain reader, hellfire club shenanigans, dialogue heavy, group teasing, acts of service! eddie, light angst if you squint, they share one braincell, "fucking finally"
TW: nada.
WC: 5.4k
A/N: requested by @enderbite i hope you love it!! i lowkey adore this concept, and i know for a FACT eddie would get dowwwwn at a ren faire. also these dividers are cute as fuck. reblogs are always appreciated<33 enjoy (some more) fluff! this is my apology for not making the next parts of my series' lolololololol
The first thing Eddie notices is the way you fit here. Not like you belong to the faire, no, that would be too small of a statement. You look like you stepped out of a story someone forgot to finish writing.
Leather boots worn just enough, a loose white blouse tucked into a corset that laces tight at your waist.
Rings on your fingers that glint when you move, and a sash slung low on your hips where a prop dagger rests like it’s been there your whole life.
Your DnD character: exiled princess turned pirate captain. And somehow, standing under the flutter of striped banners and the distant crash of staged cannon fire, you make it look real.
“Jesus Christ,” Eddie mutters beside you.
You glance at him. “What?”
He shakes his head like he’s rebooting. “Nothing. Just, uh. You look…” He gestures vaguely, like words have abandoned him. “Yeah.”
Helpful.
You snort. “You clean up alright yourself, Munson.” And he does. God, he does.
Black poet shirt, sleeves shoved to his elbows. A belt slung low with a fake cutlass. Rings, of course, and a bandana tied around his hair like he belongs on the deck of some cursed ship.
He grins, recovering. “Careful, sweetheart. You keep talking like that, I’ll start thinking you’re into me.”
You roll your eyes, but your smile lingers too long to be casual. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
Behind you, the rest of Hellfire erupts.
“YO—BIRTHDAY GIRL!” Gareth yells, already halfway to some game booth.
Jeff is holding a turkey leg like it’s a weapon. Dustin is arguing with a vendor about historically accurate dragons. Mike looks overwhelmed. Lucas is laughing at all of them.
It’s chaos. Perfect, familiar chaos. And Eddie leans closer to you, voice dropping just enough to be heard only by you. “Your court awaits, Captain.”
You bump your shoulder into his. “Walk with me, then.”
The faire is loud in the best way; music drifting through the air, boots crunching gravel, performers shouting, people laughing, somewhere a fiddle playing too fast.
You spend hours like that.
Sword fighting demonstrations where Eddie loudly critiques everyone’s technique like he’s an expert (he is not), shouting things like “WRIST WORK, MAN, IT’S ALL IN THE WRIST,” while you try, and fail, not to laugh. At one point, he grabs your hand to “demonstrate,” stepping behind you, guiding your wrist with his.
“See? You’d totally win in a duel,” he says, voice low near your ear.
You tilt your head back just enough to glance at him. “Are you saying that because it’s true or because it’s my birthday?”
“Both,” he says easily. “But mostly because I’m trying to stay on your good side in case you overthrow the monarchy again.”
You snort, but you don’t pull your hand away right away.
A fortune teller who tells you something cryptic about “two paths becoming one,” which Eddie absolutely does not let go of.
“Two paths,” he repeats, walking backwards in front of you as you move through the crowd. “Becoming one. Sounds familiar.”
“Oh, my god.”
“I’m just saying, kinda feels like foreshadowing.”
“It feels like you’re being annoying on purpose.”
He grins. “Working?”
You shove his shoulder. He barely stumbles, just laughs, reaching out to steady you instead like you’re the one who needs it.
There's a 100% rigged ring toss that he insists on winning anyway because he refuses to lose on your birthday. You’re standing off to the side, arms crossed, watching him absolutely lock in like this is life or death.
“Eddie,” you call, laughing, “it’s literally plastic rings.”
“Not today,” he shoots back. “Today it’s about honor.”
“You missed the last three!”
“THAT WAS A WARM-UP.”
The vendor looks unimpressed. You’re trying not to double over. Then miraculously, he lands one. And the way he turns to you after, eyes wide, arms thrown up like he just won a championship…You clap dramatically.
“My hero!”
“Damn right,” he says, breathless, already grabbing the prize like it’s something sacred. He hands you the prize, a cheap, gold-painted ring, and slides it onto your finger with exaggerated reverence.
“For the captain,” he says.
You grin. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah,” he says softly. “Only for you, though.”
Because before you can even respond:
“OH, MY GOD.”
Dustin appears out of nowhere like a summoned entity, eyes locked onto your hand.
“Is that a ring?”
Mike’s right behind him. “Did he just—?”
“DID YOU JUST PROPOSE?” Gareth shouts, already halfway doubled over laughing.
Eddie physically recoils. “WHAT, no! Jesus Christ—”
Jeff snorts. “Man really said ‘for the captain’ and got down on one knee.”
“Every great hero needs a quest,” he says, as if this is obvious. “And since you’re—” he gestures at your outfit, “—clearly the main character today—”
“Finally, someone said it,” Eddie mutters.
“—We are assigning one.”
“Oh no,” Mike says. “This is going to be bad.”
“It’s going to be epic,” Dustin corrects. “Objective: acquire the finest treasure in all the land.”
“What does that even mean?” Lucas asks.
Dustin turns, pointing dramatically across the faire. “That.”
You follow his finger. A booth, a very crowded booth. With a massive, ridiculous stuffed dragon hanging overhead as the grand prize.
You laugh immediately. “Absolutely not.”
Eddie cracks his knuckles. “Absolutely yes.”
“You saw the line, right?”
“I also saw my competition,” he says confidently. “And I’m not impressed.”
“You missed three rings ten minutes ago.”
“That was a different sport,” he shoots back. “Different skill set.”
“Uh-huh.”
He leans closer, lowering his voice just for you. “You doubtin’ your champion, Captain?”
You raise a brow. “You haven’t proven yourself yet.”
“Wow,” he breathes, placing a hand over his heart. “Wounded. Devastated, even.”
“Then go win me something,” you say, smiling sweetly. And that’s it, challenge accepted.
What follows is a disaster, for lack of better terms. A loud, chaotic, hilarious disaster. The entire group crowds around the booth, shouting conflicting advice.
“USE MORE FORCE—”
“LESS FORCE—”
“YOU’RE OVERCORRECTING—”
“JUST THROW THE THING—”
Eddie misses. Again. And again. And again.
He turns slowly. “I need new friends.”
“You chose us,” Gareth reminds him.
“Biggest mistake of my life.”
You’re laughing so hard your stomach hurts, leaning into the wooden railing for support. At some point, Eddie looks over at you, and his expression softens.
“Hey,” he calls.
You meet his eyes. “Yeah?”
He nods toward the game. “Watch this.”
“You’ve said that every time.”
“And this time I mean it.”
You grin. “Alright, Munson. Impress me.”
He lines it up, throws, and lands it, clean. The group erupts.
“NO WAY—”
“HE DID IT—”
“OH MY GOD—”
Eddie just stands there for a second, staring at it like he doesn’t believe it either. Then he turns to you. That same stupid, boyish, so proud of himself grin spreading across his face.
“Told you,” he says.
Your smile softens without you meaning it to. “Yeah,” you say. “You did.”
He comes back a few minutes later, slightly out of breath, holding the most obnoxiously large stuffed dragon you’ve ever seen.
“Your treasure, Captain.”
You laugh. “Eddie, it’s huge.”
“Yeah,” he shrugs. “Felt right.”
You take it from him, arms barely wrapping around it.
“Thank you,” you say, quieter now.
“Anything for you,” he replies, just as soft.
And the group immediately starts making gagging noises.
“UGH—”
“DISGUSTING—”
“GET A ROOM—”
Eddie flips them off without looking.
“Alright,” Eddie says suddenly, clapping his hands once like he’s got a mission. “I’m getting a drink before I pass out in medieval agony.”
“Beer?” Gareth perks up immediately.
“Beer,” Eddie confirms.
Gareth’s already moving. “Say less.”
Eddie starts after him, then pauses, glancing back at you like he almost forgot something important.
“You good?” he asks.
You nod, adjusting your grip on the giant stuffed dragon. “Yeah, go.”
He hesitates, eyes flicking between you and the crowd like he’s debating something.
Then he points at Dustin. “Watch her.”
Dustin straightens immediately. “I always do.”
Eddie squints at him. “…That didn’t sound reassuring.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
You laugh. “Go get your beer, Munson.”
He huffs, but he’s smiling, already backing away. “Don’t let her join another crew while I’m gone.”
“No promises,” you call after him.
He points at you like he doesn’t trust that at all, then disappears into the crowd with Gareth.
You and Dustin fall into step together, weaving through people a little slower now. For a minute, he doesn’t say anything, which is suspicious.
You glance at him. “What?”
He looks up at you like he’s been waiting for that. “So.”
You groan immediately. “No.”
“I didn’t even say anything yet!”
“You were about to.”
“I was about to ask a perfectly reasonable question.”
“Dustin.”
“Okay, fine,” he says, not even trying to sound innocent. “What’s going on with you and Eddie?”
You keep walking. Very focused on walking.
“Nothing,” you say.
He snorts. “Right.”
“Nothing,” you repeat, stronger this time.
“Yeah, okay, and I’m the king of England.”
You shoot him a look. “You’re literally fifteen.”
“Sixteen,” he corrects. “And also correct.”
You shake your head, trying not to smile. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you didn’t answer the question.”
“There’s nothing to answer.”
Dustin stops walking.
You take two more steps before realizing, then turn back. “What are you doing?”
He crosses his arms. “I’m not moving until you stop lying to me.”
You stare at him. “I’m not lying.”
He raises a brow.
You sigh. “Dustin—”
“I’ve known Eddie for, like, years,” he says, suddenly more serious. “I’ve never seen him act like that.”
Your chest tightens a little. “Like what?”
“Like you single-handedly molded the Earth and all it’s creation,” he says simply.
You blink. “That’s dramatic.”
“It’s accurate,” he shoots back. “He literally almost fought a guy earlier because he looked at you for too long.”
“What?”
“Okay, not fought,” Dustin amends. “But there was definitely a moment.”
You try to picture it. Eddie, getting weirdly protective. Eddie, hovering. Eddie, looking at you like that.
“…He’s just, Eddie,” you say, a little weaker now.
Dustin softens, just a bit. “Yeah. He is.”
He steps closer, lowering his voice like he’s sharing classified information.
“But he doesn’t look at anyone else like that.”
Your fingers tighten slightly around the plush dragon.
“Not even close.”
You look away first. Because that feels like too much, because you don’t trust your face not to give you away. Dustin watches you for a second.
“…You like him,” he says.
It’s not a question. You let out a slow breath. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m right.”
“You’re annoying.”
“Still right.”
You shake your head, but you’re smiling now; small, helpless, a little caught.
“That obvious?” you murmur.
Dustin grins. “Painfully.”
You laugh under your breath, glancing out at the crowd where Eddie disappeared.
“…Yeah,” you admit quietly. “Okay. Maybe a little.”
Dustin lights up like he just won something. “I KNEW IT!”
“Keep your voice down!” you hiss, swatting his arm.
“Sorry, sorry,” he says, absolutely not sorry. “Does he know?”
You hesitate.
“…No.”
Dustin makes a face like that’s criminal.
“Why not?”
“I don’t know,” you admit. “I just…what if I’m wrong? What if I say something and it ruins everything?”
Dustin stares at you like you’ve just said the dumbest thing he’s ever heard.
“You are wrong,” he says.
Your stomach drops. “Wow, okay.”
“You’re wrong because he’s already gone for you,” he interrupts. “Like, gone gone. There’s no ruining it. It’s already ruined.”
You blink. “…That’s not reassuring.”
“It’s supposed to be,” he insists. “I’m saying you can’t mess it up because he’s already…” he gestures wildly, “ …like that.”
You huff a laugh despite yourself. “Like that?”
“Yeah. Like a loser. About you.”
You smile, you can’t help it. “…He is kind of a loser.”
“The biggest,” Dustin agrees. You both laugh.
“…Don’t tell him I said anything,” you add.
Dustin immediately puts a hand over his heart. “My lips are sealed.”
You narrow your eyes. “Dustin.”
“I mean it!” he pauses, then grins, “…Mostly.”
“Dustin.”
“Okay, okay!” he throws his hands up. “I won’t. Scout’s honor.”
“You were never a scout.”
“Details.”
“Hey!” Eddie’s voice cuts through the crowd as he reappears, Gareth trailing behind him with two drinks already in hand. Eddie’s eyes go straight to you, like they always do.
“There you are,” he says, like he’s been looking.
Dustin glances at you, smug. You elbow him hard before Eddie can see.
“What?” Eddie asks, immediately suspicious.
“Nothing,” you and Dustin say at the exact same time.
Eddie squints. “…I don’t like that.”
He steps closer anyway, holding out one of the cups toward you.
“Peace offering,” he says. “Or, y’know, birthday tribute. Depends how you wanna frame it.”
You take it, your fingers brushing his.
“Wow,” you say, inspecting it like it’s something rare. “My crew finally proves useful.”
He huffs a laugh. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get used to it.”
You take a sip, then glance at him over the rim. “You didn’t poison it, did you?”
Eddie leans in just a little, voice dropping. “Only a little.”
You raise a brow. “Bold move. Killing your captain on her birthday.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmurs. “Kinda need you around.”
Your stomach does that annoying little flip again.
“…Yeah?” you say, quieter.
His eyes flick to your lips for half a second before snapping back up. “Yeah.”
There’s a moment. And then:
“OH MY GOD, CAN YOU TWO NOT.”
Gareth. You both jolt apart like you’ve been caught doing something illegal.
“What?” Eddie snaps, turning on him immediately. “We’re literally just standing here.”
“Yeah,” Gareth says, completely unimpressed. “Standing there like you’re about to recreate a romance novel cover.”
Jeff chokes on his drink. Mike and Dustin are visibly trying not to laugh. Lucas is not trying at all.
You bury your face in your cup. “I hate all of you.”
Eddie gestures wildly. “THANK YOU.”
Gareth points between you two. “You handed her a drink like you were presenting her with the Holy Grail.”
“It’s her birthday!”
“And then you leaned in,” Gareth continues, relentless. “And did the whole low voice thing—”
“I did NOT do a ‘low voice thing’!”
“You absolutely did,” Dustin cuts in. “It was like—” he drops his voice into a terrible impression, “‘Only a little.’”
You let out a strangled laugh, immediately covering it with your hand.
Eddie spins to you. “Don’t encourage them!”
“I’m not!” you insist, failing miserably because you’re smiling.
Gareth folds his arms, grinning like he’s having the time of his life. “So what I’m hearing is…you admit there was a vibe.”
“There was NO VIBE.”
“There was a vibe,” Jeff says helpfully.
“There was NOT—”
You take another sip of your drink, trying to play it off, but Gareth clocks the ring again immediately.
“And the ring,” he adds, like it’s evidence in a trial. “Let’s circle back to the ring.”
“Oh my god,” you mutter.
Eddie throws his hands up. “IT WAS A PRIZE.”
“Uh-huh,” Gareth nods. “And the way you put it on her finger?”
“IT WAS FUNNY.”
“Romantic,” Dustin corrects.
“Shut up.”
“Intimate,” Mike adds.
“SHUT UP.”
“Life-altering,” Lucas finishes.
You laugh into your drink, shoulders shaking.
Eddie looks at you like he’s seconds away from betrayal. “You’re enjoying this.”
“A little,” you admit.
He groans. “Unbelievable. I do one nice thing!”
“Oh, you do one nice thing?” you cut in, smiling. “That’s your story?”
He leans closer again without thinking. “For you? I do plenty.”
The group goes dead silent for half a second. Eddie freezes. You freeze. Gareth’s eyes go wide.
“…Oh, that was good,” he whispers, impressed.
Eddie immediately backtracks. “I meant, like, general nice things, I’m a nice guy, I—”
“Yeah,” you say softly, saving him just a little, though your smile is teasing. “You’re a real gentleman, Munson.”
He exhales, relieved, shooting you a quick look like thank you.
“Finally, some recognition.”
“Don’t push it.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Captain.”
Your fingers brush his again as you adjust your grip on the drink.
“Alright,” Gareth claps, like he’s wrapping up a performance. “I’ve seen enough.”
Eddie narrows his eyes. “Of what?”
“This,” Gareth gestures between you both. “Whatever this is.”
“Nothing,” you and Eddie say at the same time.
Gareth grins. “Sure.”
Dustin nods. “Definitely nothing.”
“Absolutely nothing,” Mike agrees.
Lucas snorts. “Nothing at all.”
Eddie points at all of them. “You’re all dead to me.”
You laugh, leaning slightly into him without thinking.
Gareth watches Eddie’s arm settle at your back, smugly.
“…Nothing,” he repeats under his breath.
Eddie points at him. “Say another word and I’m pushing you into the moat.”
“There is no moat!”
“Don’t test me.”
You laugh, shaking your head, only to feel a sudden tug on your sleeve.
“C’mon,” Dustin says, already pulling you backward.
You stumble a step. “Wait—what—?”
“Emergency,” he insists.
“What kind of emergency involves dragging me away from my drink?”
“The important kind.”
You glance back once, catching Eddie mid-argument with Gareth. His eyes flick to you immediately, and they soften.
“You good?” he calls.
You nod. “Yeah!”
Dustin waves dramatically. “We’re stealing her!”
Eddie frowns. “For what?”
“CLASSIFIED.”
“That’s not reassuring—”
But you’re already being pulled into the crowd, Dustin weaving through people like he’s on a mission.
“Okay,” you say, catching your balance. “Explain.”
Dustin turns, practically vibrating with excitement, and then gestures grandly behind you.
“Behold.”
You turn, and immediately light up.
A storefront packed with DnD merch: dice sets glinting in glass cases, character sheets pinned up like posters, cloaks and accessories hanging from wooden racks, little carved figurines lined up like they’re waiting to be chosen.
“…Oh my god,” you breathe.
“I KNOW,” Dustin says, thrilled with himself.
You step closer without thinking, eyes scanning everything at once.
“This is insane,” you murmur, picking up a set of deep blue dice, turning them in your fingers. “These are gorgeous, look at the detail!”
“So,” he says casually.
You don’t even look up. “If you say ‘Eddie’ right now, I’m leaving.”
“Wow,” he says. “Didn’t even have to try.”
You grin despite yourself, still focused on the display. “You’re predictable.”
“And you’re deflecting.”
“I am browsing.”
“You’re avoiding.”
You glance at him. “I’m doing both.”
He nods like that’s fair. “Okay. Respect.”
You turn back to the table, picking up a small pendant, a compass design, worn-looking, like something a pirate might carry. Your thumb brushes over it absently.
“…It’s just,” Dustin adds, quieter now, “you should know he almost didn’t come today.”
“…What?”
“He said he didn’t want to make it weird,” Dustin shrugs. “Since it’s your birthday. Didn’t want to mess anything up.”
Your chest tightens a little. “He did come,” you say.
“Yeah,” Dustin grins. “Because I told him he’d regret it for the rest of his life if he missed you dressed like that.”
You snort. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m right,” he says, again. “Also, he’s been staring at you like you’re gonna disappear if he blinks.”
You look down at the pendant in your hand.
“…He does that,” you admit quietly.
“Yeah,” Dustin says. “Because he likes you.”
You huff a small laugh. “You’ve made that very clear.”
“And you like him,” he shoots back.
Dustin leans closer. “So what’s the holdup?”
You hesitate, your fingers curling slightly around the pendant.
“…I don’t want to lose him,” you say, softer now.
Dustin’s expression shifts; less teasing, more certain. “You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do,” he says. “Because he’d rather chew off his own arm than let that happen.”
You laugh under your breath. “That’s a very specific image.”
“I stand by it.”
You shake your head, but your shoulders relax just a little.
“…He called me ‘Captain’ like, five times today,” you say, almost to yourself.
Dustin grins. “Yeah. That’s his thing now.”
“It’s not his thing.”
“It’s definitely his thing.”
You smile, small and helpless again.
“…I don’t hate it.”
“I know you don’t.”
You nudge him with your elbow. “You’re annoying.”
“And you’re in love,” he says sweetly.
You freeze. “…Don’t say that.”
He tilts his head. “Why not?”
“I don’t know,” you admit.
“…Okay,” he says. “Then don’t say it.”
“…But maybe do something about it,” he adds.
You groan. “Dustin.”
“I’m just saying!”
You laugh, shaking your head, then glance back down at the pendant in your hand.
“…You think he’d think this is stupid?” you ask.
Dustin looks at it, then back at you.
“He’d think it’s the coolest thing he’s ever seen,” he says immediately. “And then he’d make some dumb joke about being your first mate.”
Meanwhile…
“…You’re staring again,” Gareth says.
Eddie doesn’t even look at him. “I am not.”
“You are,” Gareth nods. “Like, aggressively.”
Eddie tears his eyes away, scowling. “I was just making sure she didn’t get lost.”
“She was gone for, like, five seconds.”
“It’s a crowded place.”
“Uh-huh.”
Eddie takes a long sip of his drink, like that’ll end the conversation, it does not. Gareth leans closer, dropping his voice like he’s about to share a secret.
“So…you gonna tell her or just keep doing the whole ‘yearning in silence’ thing?”
Eddie chokes. “The what?”
“The yearning,” Gareth repeats. “It’s loud, man.”
“I am not yearning.”
“You just watched her walk away like your entire soul left your body.”
Eddie blinks. “…That’s dramatic.”
“It’s accurate.”
Eddie drags a hand down his face. “There’s nothing going on.”
Gareth just stares at him, then looks in the direction you went. Then back at Eddie.
“…Right.”
“Shut up.”
“You put a ring on her finger.”
“IT WAS A PRIZE.”
“And then you held her hand after.”
Eddie freezes. “…I did not.”
“You did.”
“…Okay, maybe for like, half a second.”
“It was not half a second.”
“I can’t believe you considered not coming today,” Gareth says casually.
Eddie goes still. “Who told you that?”
“You did,” Gareth deadpans. “Yesterday. When you were pacing.”
Eddie groans. “I was not pacing!”
“You were pacing.”
“You said you didn’t want to make it weird,” Gareth continues, ticking it off on his fingers. “That it’s her birthday, and you didn’t want to, oh, what was it? ‘Ruin the vibe.’”
Eddie points at him. “I didn’t say it like that.”
“You absolutely did.”
Eddie exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair.
“…I just don’t want to screw it up.”
“You’re gonna screw it up,” Gareth says.
Eddie glares at him. “You’re so helpful, thank you.”
“I mean, if you don’t say anything,” Gareth adds.
“…I don’t want to lose her.”
Gareth snorts. “You’re acting like telling her would be the thing that ruins it.”
Eddie looks past him, back toward the crowd. “…What if it is?”
Gareth follows his gaze and sees you standing there, smiling softly at something Dustin’s saying.
“…Dude,” he says, almost incredulous. “She’s the only girl I have ever seen out up with your bullshit. If that’s not evidence enough…”
Eddie lets out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. “…That doesn’t mean anything.”
“Yeah,” Gareth says. “It does.”
Eddie shifts his weight, suddenly restless. “…You really think—?”
“Yes,” Gareth says immediately. “I really think.”
Eddie exhales, long and slow. “…Shit.”
Gareth grins. “Yeah. Shit.”
From somewhere in the crowd: “HEY!”
Eddie’s voice cuts through, and you and Dustin both turn. He’s already moving toward you, Gareth right behind him.
“There you are,” Eddie says, a little breathless.
His eyes go straight to you, like always. Dustin looks at you, smug, and you elbow him. Hard.
“What?” Eddie asks, narrowing his eyes.
“Nothing,” you and Dustin say at the same time.
Gareth snorts behind him. “…Yeah,” he says. “Nothing at all.”
Dustin and Gareth glance at each other; it’s quick and silent. But understood.
Dustin straightens. “Actually—”
Gareth cuts in, grabbing his shoulder. “We should, uh, go check out that thing.”
“Since right now,” Gareth says, clapping him on the back. “Don’t screw it up.”
Eddie blinks. “Don’t screw what—?”
But they’re already gone, vanished into the crowd like they were never there.
Eddie exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “They’re acting strange.”
“Yeah,” you say, though your voice is softer now. “They are.”
“…You wanna do a lap?” he asks.
You nod. “Yeah.”
You fall into step beside each other, slower now, drifting away from the thicker crowd. For a moment, neither of you speaks, just walking close enough that your arms brush every now and then.
“I, uh—” you start, then stop.
Eddie glances at you. “What?”
You hold up the pendant, turning it slightly so it catches the light.
“What do you think?” you ask.
He glances between your face and the pendant, a small knowing grin forming.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “That’s…that’s very you.”
You smile a little. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he nods. “Captain’s gotta have something like that.”
You huff a small laugh, looking down at it again.
“…Dustin said you’d say something like that.”
Eddie groans. “Of course he did.”
You smile, but it fades just slightly. “…He also said something else.”
Eddie’s shoulders tense a fraction. “Oh yeah?”
You nod. “Why did you almost not come today?”
He goes still, like completely still. The noise of the faire fades a little around you.
“…What?” he says, quieter.
You glance at him. “Dustin said you almost didn’t.”
Eddie shoots a quick look out at the crowd, like he’s checking if Dustin’s within range to strangle.
“He talks too much.”
“Eddie.”
He releases a long exhale and runs a hand through his hair.
“…I just didn’t want to make it weird,” he says finally.
“Weird?” you echo.
“Yeah,” he huffs, a little laugh slipping out, nervous. “Like, your birthday, and I didn’t wanna show up and mess it up or something.”
“You wouldn’t mess it up.”
“You don’t know that,” he says, a little too quickly.
You stop walking. He takes a step before realizing, then turns back to you.
“What?”
“…Why would you think that?” you ask.
He shakes his head like he’s already regretting the inside thought, but it becomes an outside thought anyway.
“…Because I like you, okay?” he blurts.
“I always have,” he adds, quieter now, like it’s something he wasn’t supposed to say out loud. “I just…I didn’t want to make things weird or screw it up or have you look at me differently or—”
“Eddie.”
He stops and swallows. “…Yeah?”
“You wouldn’t,” you say softly.
“Wouldn’t what?”
“Mess it up.”
He searches your face like he’s trying to figure out if this is real. “…You sure about that?”
You smile and nod. “Yeah,” you say. “I’m pretty sure.”
His voice drops, barely above a whisper. “…You don’t think I’m ruining this right now?”
You shake your head.
“No,” you say gently. “I think you’re finally catching up.”
He blinks. “Catching up to what?”
You don’t answer right away. Instead, you reach for his hand and slip your fingers into his.
Just like earlier, only this time, it’s not accidental.
“…I like you too,” you say.
Eddie short-circuits.
“…Oh,” he breathes.
You laugh softly. “Yeah. Oh.”
He stares at you for a second like he’s trying to process it. Then a grin breaks across his face, slow and disbelieving and oh-so-Eddie.
“Okay,” he says. “Cool. Cool cool cool.”
You laugh. “You’re such a dork.”
“Yeah,” he nods immediately. “But I’m your dork now, right?”
You tilt your head, teasing. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
He squeezes your hand. “Too late. Already planning our pirate crew dynamic.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Oh yeah,” he grins. “Captain and her extremely devoted, very attractive, first mate.”
You snort. “Very attractive?”
“Had to throw that in there. Branding.”
You shake your head, smiling, but your grip on his hand tightens anyway.
“Good,” you say.
His expression softens again. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Good.”
Eddie looks down at your joined hands, then back up at you. Still smiling like he can’t quite believe this is real.
“…So,” he says, clearing his throat a little. “We should uh, go back?”
You smile, squeezing his hand once. “Yeah. We should probably let them stop being weird about it.”
He huffs. “Bold of you to assume they’ll ever stop.”
“Fair.”
Your fingers are fully laced together, swinging slightly between you as you move.
And Eddie? Eddie is so aware of it. Every few steps, his thumb brushes over your knuckles like he’s checking you’re still there. You catch him doing it more than once.
“…You okay?” you tease.
He glances at you, a little sheepish. “Yeah. Just making sure you’re not gonna vanish on me.”
You smile, softer now. “Not going anywhere, Munson.”
His grip tightens just slightly. “Good,” he says.
You spot the group before they spot you. Clustered near one of the food stalls, all mid-conversation, and then Dustin looks up and freezes.
His eyes drop immediately to your hands, then snap back to your face. His expression goes nuclear.
“Oh my—”
He slaps Gareth’s arm so hard it echoes.
“WHAT—” Gareth turns, annoyed, then follows Dustin’s line of sight.
“…No way.”
Jeff squints. “What?”
Mike turns. Lucas turns. One by one, they all clock it.
The hand holding, the very obvious hand holding.
“FUCKING FINALLY—”
The group erupts. You flinch, laughing immediately as Dustin sprints toward you like he’s about to tackle you.
“I KNEW IT—I TOLD YOU—I LITERALLY TOLD EVERYONE—”
“Back up!” Eddie laughs, holding out his free hand like he’s fending him off. “Give us a second, man—”
Gareth is howling, doubled over. “Oh my GOD, I thought you were gonna die before you said it—”
“Shut up!” Eddie shoots back, already turning red.
Mike shakes his head, grinning. “That took way too long.”
“Painfully long,” Lucas adds.
Jeff just nods. “Embarrassing, honestly.”
You bury your face in Eddie’s shoulder for a second, laughing. “I hate all of you.”
“NO YOU DON’T,” Dustin says, still buzzing, pointing between you and Eddie. “THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE—”
“It’s her birthday!” Eddie argues.
“SECOND BEST DAY OF MY LIFE,” Dustin corrects immediately.
Gareth straightens, wiping at his eyes. “So what happened? Who said it first? I need details.”
“Absolutely not,” you say.
“Come on—”
“No.”
Eddie nods firmly. “Nope. Classified.”
Dustin gasps. “You used my line against me?”
“Learned from the best,” Eddie shoots back.
Gareth leans in closer, lowering his voice, but clearly not enough.
“So you’re, like…official now?”
Eddie glances at you, and you glance at him. A small smile passes between you.
“…Yeah,” he says.
“Yeah,” you echo.
The group collectively loses their minds again.
“OH MY GOD—”
“DISGUSTING—”
“I’M SO HAPPY—”
“I’M GONNA THROW UP—”
Eddie flips them off, but he’s laughing.
“Alright, alright,” Gareth claps, regaining some composure. “So what’s the plan now, Captain?”
Eddie perks up immediately at that, nudging you. “Yeah, Captain. What’s next?”
You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. You glance at the group, then at Eddie. Then out toward the glowing lanterns and distant docks.
“…I think,” you say, “the crew owes me one more adventure.”
hi, i just wanted to say i'm loving the prince!james au and so so excited to see how you end it! much love <3
Thank you angel <3
cw: muggle au, arranged marriage, discussion of war
a/n: Please do not misconstrue my participation in the marauders fandom as support of JKR. If you’re new here and want to participate in the fandom, I encourage you to do so without participating in anything that would provide financial gain to her or her transphobic agendas
poly!marauders x princess!reader ♡ 1.6k words
You wonder if you should be packing. It wouldn’t take long; you didn’t come to Gryffindor with much. Maybe the prospect of how simple it would be to leave is what keeps you still, sat stiffly on your bed while James paces the room from end to end.
You feel half frantic, twitchy, like you really should be doing something but you’re afraid to do anything at all. To move seems dangerous, which you know is a silly thought. The danger has passed, now. The war is ending. You wish your feelings about all that entails weren’t so complicated as they are.
“Have you eaten?” Remus asks Sirius quietly. The other boy is leant on the wall across from your bed with his jaw deadbolted shut, and what is perhaps meant to be a private conversation carries through the too-quiet room.
“Not yet,” says Sirius.
“We can go see what they have in the kitchen…”
“I’m good.”
That’s it. Where James is wearing a trench into the floor and Remus is in the unusual position of doing most of the talking, Sirius seems to have shut down. The mood has changed from their joy at telling you the news about Riddle, but you can’t fully make out its new direction.
“James?” Remus tries.
James stops. “Hm?”
Remus looks slightly pained, but it doesn’t wear away his fondness. “Lunch?”
“Oh.” James blinks. “Right, yeah. Maybe in a bit? You both ate, didn’t you? Sirius, you didn’t have breakfast, are you—”
“I’m good,” Sirius says again.
You feel your eyes darting about like a tennis match, trying to understand what they’re each thinking. It reminds you of how most interactions went when you first came to Gryffindor, and you don’t like it. You thought you were done with feeling on the outside.
When your analysis returns to Remus, sitting next to you on the bed, he’s waiting for you. “What are you thinking?” he asks, gently.
You swallow, shrugging helplessly. There’s less than a meter between you, but Remus feels so much farther away than he did at your picnic an hour ago. “I guess…I should talk to my family’s courtiers.” You look at James. “Have your parents heard anything?”
James shakes his head. “Not that they’ve told me.”
“What do they want me to do?”
“I…” James looks distraught, and also like he’s trying to hide it (James is not a very good actor). “I think it matters more what you want to do. They only want us to be happy.”
It’s the sort of thing you wouldn’t have believed a few months ago; anyone involved in politics always has an opinion, a directive, a motive, no matter how they try to soften it with diplomacy. If individual happiness was prioritized over the good of the people, things would fall apart. But you know Monty and Effie mean it as more than a platitude. They really will go along with whatever you choose to do.
“Would breaking off the engagement now have any repercussions for Gryffindor or Peleria?” Remus asks.
James frowns, tilting his head from side to side. “Some, yeah. But without the war, they wouldn’t be anything terrible.”
You nod along. “Things could go back to the way they were.”
You watch them each carefully as you say it. You don’t know what you’re looking for—agreement, displeasure, relief.
“Do you think you might visit?” asks James.
You press your lips into a smile. “If you’ll have me.”
His eyes go melty soft. Your heart mushes similarly. “Of course, lovely. We’ll have you as often as we can get you.”
“Is that what you want?” Remus asks tentatively. “For things to go back to how they were?”
You ignore a twinge of revolt in your gut. “What do you want?” you counter.
“I think that this should be your decision.”
“Why?” you ask. “It affects all of us.”
Your tone reveals more frustration than you mean for it to. Since your rather ungraceful fainting incident and the subsequent monumental shift in how each of the boys act around you, they haven’t let you feel alone in this for a second. You’re not going to let them abandon you now.
After everything, all the chaos and uncertainty of the last few months, you finally feel this quiet, steady warmth between you, an ember that might grow into something new if you let it. As grateful as you are that the war is over—because you are, that part isn’t complicated at all—you’re a bit disappointed that it means this new warmth you were only beginning to acquaint yourself with will likely fizzle out.
“But it affects you and James the most,” Remus reasons. He casts a look to the side. “James, what are you thinking?”
James, pacing again, puffs out his cheeks with a big breath. “It just feels like everything has happened so quickly,” he confesses.
“It was always going to.” Remus sounds almost solemn. “Even with the long engagement, you’d need to get married soon.”
“That was too fast, too.” James weaves around your vanity chair like slowing for even a moment is out of the question. Sirius tracks him silently with his eyes. “It was always a tactical marriage. We didn’t have time to really—you know.”
You nod, drawing your knees close. “Better to end it quickly than go through with something that was always going to be premature,” you say.
James is nodding, nodding, nodding, but his expression is still all pinched tight.
You turn to Sirius. He’s already watching you, and his gaze seems to catch and hold yours in that way that he does, like a challenge.
“Sirius,” you say.
He makes a short humming sound.
“You’re being so quiet,” you say, rather quietly yourself. Insecurity weaves itself through the fibers of your voice.
Sirius sighs and drops his head, fingers pressing into his browbone. “I’m trying not to be selfish.”
You brace yourself. “What would you say if you were?”
He shakes his head. “Like Remus said. This is your choice.”
“It’s not just mine,” you say stubbornly. “I want to know what you all think.” You hesitate. There are some things you might feel better not knowing, but you’ve never truly thought ignorance was bliss. If you did, things might have gone very differently for you here. “Would it make things easier for you if I wasn’t here?”
Sirius’ hand falls away, his brows hooking. “No.” The word sounds dragged out of him, rough and fast. “I want you to stay here.”
It shouldn’t surprise you. Sirius has been possibly the most plain about his feelings of all of you—though that may be partly because the contrast after he admitted them has been so stark. You keep expecting him to go back on it. For all of them to, honestly. Now would be the opportunity to admit that they only pitied you, that they’ve been spending time with you out of kindness and a sense of obligation, that your presence here causes more turmoil than anything else.
But Remus and James don’t disagree with him. James looks relieved; Remus watchful. Neither of them argue.
That new warmth flares between you.
“I think we all like having you nearby,” Remus says after a while, “but we know how much you’ve missed home.”
Your throat contracts. “If I went back, I think I’d miss you more.”
James’ whole face lights with hope. “You don’t have to go,” he says. “You could stay here, and just visit home when you want. We could go with you.”
“Would that even be possible?” you ask.
“Anything’s possible,” James says easily. A true child of Gryffindor, all confidence and determination. “We could split our time, if we wanted to. Obviously, I have to be here some of the time, and so does Sirius, but—”
“Alright,” Remus quiets him, a sweet curve at the corner of his mouth. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
James holds his hands up. You feel your own mouth tug. When your eyes wander, Sirius finds them.
“You still haven’t said what you want,” he says.
You feel yourself shrink under three curious stares. In truth, there hasn’t been a question of what you want for a long time. Only whether you can have it. “I don’t want to get married,” you say. Your gaze goes to James, holding back the apology on your tongue. “It’s too fast, and it would never not be political. And we wouldn’t be able to…it couldn’t be all of us.”
“I’m not ready either,” James agrees. “I could do it, if we had to—and I—I didn’t mind that it was you, you know.” Heat rises to your face, and his cheeks darken too. “But if we don’t have to, I’d like to slow things down.”
“Could we do that?” you ask. “If I stayed here?”
“You always seem to forget that you’re royalty,” says Sirius, apparently feeling well enough to tease now. “We can do whatever we want, gorgeous. Is that what you want?”
You do. You want to explore Gryffindor on your own terms, knowing Peleria is safe and open to you when you want it. You want to get to know James, and Sirius, and Remus, without the need to solidify an alliance like a noose tightening around you. You want to see summer in this place, and to develop an earnest friendship with Lily and Marlene, and to let the warmth between you grow and grow and grow.
“I want to stay,” you say.
Remus’ eyes are flickering with warmth, too. “Then you should stay.”
Your first beginning in Gryffindor was forced. A stiff dress, a foreign home, a myriad of strangers who seemed to both pity and distrust you. A rough tumble into love, with a prince with a nice smile and a guard with a quick tongue and a seneschal who spoke gentleness into every breath. An engagement you didn’t know you weren't allowed to want. A war. A cruelly good kiss.
description: you’re Hopper’s daughter, which means one thing: no dating. ever. unfortunately for Eleven, that also means she can’t date either, unless you do first. cue Mike and Dustin coming up with the worst (best) idea possible: paying Eddie to take you out. too bad you’re the last person in Hawkins who’d ever fall for it… right?
pairing: eddie x you (fem!reader)
tags: hoppers daughter! reader, enemies to lovers (or something like that...), punk x menace, you hate everyone but him (eventually), he falls first, persistent idiot x guarded girl, sibling dynamic with el, soft eddie munson, we love a mean girl with a soft center, slight angst
TW: deception/manipulation, mild angst
WC: 12.2k (sorry not sorry)
A/N: i just re-watched 10 Things I Hate About You for the millionth time and immediately caught inspo. it's taking everything out of me to not make this a series but i stay doing that to myself. reblogs are always appreciated :) enjoy!!!! <3
The road is quiet in that late-afternoon way Hawkins always seems to settle into, golden light stretching across the pavement, your window cracked just enough for the wind to tug at your hair and carry in the faint smell of something burning from someone’s backyard.
You’re halfway through a cigarette you probably shouldn’t be smoking when you see them up ahead, two figures walking a little too close together to be accidental.
You don’t even have to squint to recognize Eleven in that oversized flannel she stole from your closet three weeks ago and never gave back.
You slow the car just slightly, not enough to be obvious, just enough to take it in. She’s looking up at Mike like he hung the goddamn moon, and he’s talking with his hands like he always does when he’s nervous, their shoulders brushing every few steps like it’s something they’re still getting used to but don’t want to stop.
It’s… harmless, objectively. Soft, even. The kind of thing most people would smile at.
You don’t.
You flick the ash out the window, press your foot back on the gas, and drive right past them without so much as a glance in their direction, because whatever this is, it’s not your problem. Not yet.
By the time you get home, Hopper’s truck isn’t in the driveway, which means you’ve got a small window of peace before the nightly interrogation disguised as dinner.
You take it without hesitation, tossing your keys on the counter and kicking your shoes off like the house belongs to you, because in every way that matters, it does.
El walks in about twenty minutes later.
You hear the door before you see her, the soft creak, the careful steps like she’s trying not to be noticed, which is almost funny considering the fact that she is, quite literally, impossible to ignore.
You’re leaning against the counter, flipping through some old magazine you found under a stack of mail, when she finally steps into the kitchen, pausing when she realizes you’re there.
Like a deer caught in headlights that doesn’t quite understand what a car is yet, but knows it should probably be afraid of it.
You don’t look up.
“You walk home?” you ask, voice casual in a way that’s almost too deliberate.
“Yes.”
You hum, turning a page. “Must’ve been a long walk.”
She doesn’t answer that, and for a second, you think she’s going to drop it, retreat, let it go the way you just did out on the road. But then she shifts, something in her posture tightening, like she’s bracing herself.
“I was with Mike.”
You glance up finally, one slow look that says everything you’re not bothering to put into words, and she lifts her chin just slightly under it, defiant in that quiet way of hers that almost makes you respect it.
“Congrats,” you say flatly, tossing the magazine back onto the counter. “Want a medal or are you just sharing?”
Her brows pull together. “You saw.”
“Yeah,” you shrug, reaching for the fridge like this conversation couldn’t matter less. “Hard to miss the whole hand-holding, walking-like-you’re-in-a-romance-movie thing.”
“It is not a movie,” she says, sharper now, stepping closer. “It is real.”
You close the fridge a little harder than necessary, turning to face her fully now, leaning back against the counter like you’ve got all the time in the world.
“Then maybe you should be smarter about it.”
Her eyes narrow. “You think you are smarter?”
“I know I am.”
You can see it in the way her jaw sets, the way her hands curl at her sides like she’s resisting the urge to do something she’ll regret.
“You don’t understand,” she says, voice tight. “You don’t even try.”
You let out a small laugh, not kind, not cruel, just dismissive. “Oh, I understand plenty. I just don’t care.”
That’s the wrong thing to say.
You know it the second her expression shifts, something hurt flashing across her face before it hardens into something else. Something a little more calculated, a little more familiar to you than you’d like.
“You are alone,” she says quietly. “You push everyone away.”
You go still.
“And now you want me to be alone too.”
There’s a moment where you could back off, could soften it, could remind her that you won't say anything to Hopper.
“If you end up alone,” you say, voice even, “it won’t be because of me.”
The front door opens before she can respond.
Hopper fills the doorway like he always does, presence first, everything else second, shrugging off his jacket and glancing between the two of you like he already knows he walked into something he doesn’t have the patience for.
“Why do I feel like I missed a fight?” he mutters, heading toward the kitchen.
You push off the counter, grabbing your keys again. “Because you did.”
“Hey—”
“I’m going out,” you cut him off, already moving past him. “Don’t wait up.”
“Dinner’s in twenty—”
“Then eat it without me.”
You’re halfway out the door when El’s voice cuts through the air, quiet but deliberate.
“I was with Mike.”
Slowly, you turn back.
Hopper frowns. “You were what?”
El doesn’t look at you. She keeps her eyes on him.
“We were walking together. We are… dating.”
Hopper’s expression darkens. “No, you’re not.”
El’s chin lifts. “Yes. We are.”
You watch it unfold like a car crash you could’ve prevented but chose not to. Something almost detached settles over you as Hopper starts pacing, running a hand over his face.
He's already gearing up for a lecture that’s going to last longer than either of you has the patience for.
“I told you, no dating,” he says, voice rising. “You’re too young, you’re not—this is not happening.”
El’s gaze flickers, just briefly, toward you.
And then, like she’s made a decision. “Just because she does not date doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”
You let out a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah, because I don’t want to.”
Hopper looks between the two of you, something clicking into place in that stubborn, overprotective brain of his, and you can actually see the moment the worst possible idea forms.
“…Fine,” he says.
“If she wants to date,” he continues, pointing at El, “then the rule changes.”
“Dad—”
“No dating,” he says firmly, eyes locking onto yours now, “until you do.”
Silence. You stare at him, and he stares right back.
And then you laugh, full and sharp, like this is the funniest thing you’ve ever heard.
“That’s not a rule, that’s a death sentence for El.”
“And why would that be?”
You roll your eyes. “Please. I would never date the neanderthals in this school if they were the last living organisms on earth.”
Hopper crosses his arms, satisfied. “Then I guess nobody’s dating.”
El’s lips press together, trying and failing to hide the smallest hint of disappointment.
You point at her. “This is on you.”
The next morning feels heavier for her in a way she can’t quite name.
Hawkins High hums the same as it always does, lockers slamming, voices overlapping, sneakers squeaking against the tile.
Eleven moves through it like something slightly out of place, like the rhythm doesn’t quite match her steps.
People notice her before she notices them, and then they look away just as quickly, conversations dipping, shoulders angling.
A group of girls by the lockers goes quiet when she passes. One of them mutters something under her breath, not loud enough to repeat, just loud enough to land.
El doesn’t react outwardly, but her jaw tightens, her hands curling into the sleeves of her sweater as she keeps walking, eyes forward, because she’s learned that looking back only makes it worse.
She doesn’t understand all of it, but she understands enough.
She finds Mike and Dustin near their usual table, both of them mid-conversation, Dustin animated as always, Mike nodding along like he’s only half paying attention until he spots her.
His whole face changes. “Hey,” he says quickly, standing up like he always does, like it’s instinct now. “Hi.”
El slows when she reaches them, glancing briefly at Dustin before looking back at Mike.
“Hi.”
Dustin leans forward immediately, eyes flicking between them. “Okay, so, I feel like something happened because you look like you just came back from, like, emotional warfare—”
“El, did you get in trouble—” Mike starts, already bracing.
“It is worse,” El cuts in.
Mike’s brows pull together. “Worse than what?”
“Hopper made a new rule.”
Dustin groans immediately. “Oh, that’s never good. Last time there was a new rule I wasn’t allowed in your house for, like, a month—”
“He says I cannot date,” she continues, voice steady but tight, “until she does.”
Mike blinks. “Until… who does?”
El doesn’t have to say it. Their heads both turn slightly, almost in sync, scanning the cafeteria like they expect to spot you immediately.
Dustin’s mouth falls open. “You’re kidding.”
“I am not kidding.”
Mike runs a hand through his hair, already stressed. “That doesn’t make any sense. That’s not even fair.”
“It is not fair,” El agrees, sharper now. “It is stupid.”
Dustin nods emphatically. “Super stupid. Like, impressively stupid. Like, I didn’t even know you could make a rule that stupid—”
Mike cuts him off. “Okay, okay—wait.” He looks back at El. “Why would he do that?”
El’s expression shifts, something more complicated flickering there. “Because she does not date.”
“…At all?” Dustin asks.
El shakes her head. “She said she would ‘never date the neanderthals in this school.’”
Dustin lets out a low whistle. “Wow. That’s… harsh. I mean, not entirely inaccurate for some of the male population here, but still. Harsh.”
Mike doesn’t laugh; he’s busy thinking.
“I want to be with you,” she says quietly. “Not in secret. Not like… like something bad.”
Mike looks at her, and whatever frustration he had a second ago shifts into something more determined. “Yeah. I know. I want that too.”
Dustin straightens, eyes lighting up just a little, that familiar spark of an idea forming, whether anyone asked for it or not. “Okay, wait. Wait, wait, wait.”
Mike groans. “Dustin—”
“No, hear me out,” he insists, pointing between them. “If the rule is that she has to date someone, then all we have to do… is make that happen.”
Mike stares at him. “You say that like it’s easy.”
Dustin leans in, lowering his voice like he’s about to propose something highly illegal, which, in his mind, is probably half the appeal.
“We find someone who’s willing to go out with her.”
Mike blinks. “And why would anyone do that?”
Dustin pauses, considers. Then slowly, a grin spreads across his face, the kind that usually means trouble. “…Incentive.”
Mike’s eyes widen. “Oh no. No, absolutely not—”
“It could work!” Dustin presses. “Think about it, man. We just need one guy, right? One guy who’s not completely terrified of her—”
“That’s already a short list,” Mike mutters.
“—and who doesn’t care about her whole… thing,” Dustin continues, gesturing vaguely. “Someone who’d do it for the right price.”
El watches them, confusion knitting her brows. “You want to pay someone to date my sister?”
Mike winces. “When you say it like that—”
“That is what you are saying.”
Dustin shrugs. “I mean… yeah. But it’s not, like, real dating. It’s just…strategic.”
El looks between them, uncertainty flickering, but underneath it is something stronger.
“If it works,” she says slowly, “the rule will change.”
Mike hesitates, then nods. “If it works… yeah.”
Dustin claps his hands together once, already scanning the cafeteria like he’s picking from a lineup.
“Okay. So. Who do we know that’s got a high tolerance for danger, questionable decision-making skills, and absolutely nothing to lose?”
There’s a pause. And then, almost simultaneously, both boys have the exact same thought.
Across the room, at a table that feels more like its own territory than part of the cafeteria, sits Eddie, boots up on the bench, laughing too loud at something one of the Hellfire guys just said, completely unaware that somewhere behind him, a very bad idea has just found its target.
They don’t move right away.
For a second, both of them just stand there, watching from a distance like they’re about to approach a wild animal that might be friendly but could just as easily bite.
Dustin shifts his weight from foot to foot while Mike very clearly considers abandoning the plan entirely.
“This is a terrible idea,” Mike mutters under his breath.
Dustin doesn’t disagree. “Yeah. Yeah, it is. But it’s also the only idea.”
Mike glances back at Eleven, still standing by the table, watching them with that quiet, unwavering expectation that makes it very hard to say no to her.
He sighs. “…Fine.”
The Hellfire table is loud in a way the rest of the cafeteria isn’t.
“Wheeler. Henderson,” Eddie drawls, leaning back slightly, a grin already forming like he can smell trouble from a mile away.
“To what do I owe the pleasure? You here to finally admit my campaign last night was amazing, or—”
“We need a favor,” Dustin blurts, cutting him off.
That gets his attention.
Eddie’s brows lift, interest piqued, grin sharpening into something more curious as he slowly lowers his boots from the chair.
“A favor,” he repeats. “From me.”
Mike crosses his arms, trying to look more confident than he feels. “Yeah.”
Eddie glances between them, taking in the tension, the way neither of them looks entirely sure about what they’re about to say, and it only makes him more entertained.
“This should be good,” he says, gesturing lazily. “Go on. Enlighten me.”
Dustin steps forward like he’s presenting a business proposal. “Okay, so. Hypothetically—”
“Oh, we’re starting with hypotheticals,” Eddie hums.
“—if someone,” Dustin continues, ignoring him, “needed you to, I don’t know, go out with someone—”
Eddie snorts. “Henderson, you’re gonna have to narrow it down. My dance card is shockingly empty.”
Mike cuts in, faster this time. “We’ll pay you.”
Eddie goes still for half a second, definitely caught off guard, like he wasn’t expecting them to skip straight to that part.
“…You’ll what?” he says, slower now.
Dustin nods, serious. “Pay you.”
Eddie lets out a short laugh, dragging a hand down his face as he leans forward onto the table, eyes flicking between them like he’s trying to figure out if this is a joke he hasn’t been let in on yet.
“You’re offering me money,” he says carefully, “to go on a date.”
“Yes,” Mike says.
“With who?” Eddie asks, already half amused again.
Mike hesitates.
Dustin doesn’t.
“Hopper’s daughter.”
Eddie leans back in his seat, something thoughtful creeping into his expression now.
“…That Hopper’s daughter,” he repeats.
Mike nods. Eddie’s gaze drifts, almost unconsciously, across the cafeteria. It doesn’t take long to find you.
You’re not hard to spot, not because you’re loud or attention-seeking, but because people give you space without meaning to, a quiet radius that forms around you wherever you sit.
You’re leaning back in your chair, one leg crossed over the other, completely uninterested in anything happening around you.
Like the entire room is background noise you’ve already tuned out. He’s never talked to you, not once. But he knows you. Everyone does.
The attitude. The sharp tongue. The way you look at people like you’ve already decided exactly what they are and found it lacking.
He watches you for a second longer than necessary, then looks back at them.
“…You want me,” he says slowly, “to go out with her.”
“Yes,” Dustin says again, like repetition might make it sound less insane.
Eddie exhales through his nose, shaking his head slightly as he leans back, running his tongue over his teeth in thought.
“You guys have a death wish or something? I mean, I’ve seen the way she looks at people. I’m pretty sure I’d burst into flames on contact.”
“You won’t,” Mike says quickly. “Probably.”
Eddie shoots him a look. “Reassuring.”
Dustin leans in. “Look, it doesn’t have to be real. You just have to take her out a couple times, make it believable, and that’s it.”
“Why?” he asks.
Mike hesitates. El answers from behind them.
“Because I want to be with him.”
All three of them turn.
El stands a few steps closer now, her gaze steady as it moves from Mike to Eddie, something earnest and unfiltered sitting right at its center.
“Hopper says I cannot date until she does,” she continues. “So she must.”
Eddie’s expression shifts, just slightly, and he glances back at you again. You haven’t noticed him. Or maybe you have, and you just don’t care.
Either way, it does something strange in his chest, something he doesn’t quite have a name for. He looks back at Dustin and Mike.
“…And you’re paying me,” he says.
Dustin nods eagerly. “Yes.”
Eddie taps his fingers against the table, thinking.
“You do realize,” he says after a moment, “this is gonna blow up in your faces, right? Like, spectacularly. Possibly with casualties.”
“Probably,” Mike admits.
Eddie huffs out a quiet laugh. Then, almost absently, his eyes flick back to you one more time, alone at your table.
He tilts his head, something like a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.
“…Alright,” he says.
Mike blinks. “Wait—seriously?”
Eddie shrugs, pushing himself up from the chair, grabbing his jacket like he’s already halfway committed before he’s even finished deciding.
“What can I say? I’m a sucker for a good cause.”
Dustin grins. “And the money.”
Eddie points at him. “And the money.”
Then he glances back at you, eyes narrowing just slightly, like he’s studying something he doesn’t quite understand yet but very much intends to.
“…Plus,” he adds, almost to himself, “I’ve never met a dragon I didn’t want to try and charm.”
Mike groans. “Please don’t call her that to her face.”
Eddie’s grin widens. “No promises.”
The bell cuts through the cafeteria, sharp and final, and the room shifts all at once, chairs scraping, conversations breaking, bodies funneling toward the exits in a familiar, restless wave.
You don’t rush, you never do.
You take your time gathering your things, sliding your bag over your shoulder, letting the crowd thin just enough that you don’t have to fight your way through it.
You don’t notice him at first, not until he’s already there.
Falling into step beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like this isn’t the first time he’s ever willingly placed himself in your orbit.
“Hey,” Eddie says easily, turning slightly so he’s walking half backward just to catch your eye, a crooked grin already in place. “Hopper, right?”
You don’t stop, you don’t even look at him.
“Do I know you?” you ask flatly, eyes fixed ahead.
He presses a hand dramatically to his chest, as if you’ve wounded him. “Wow. That’s cold. I’m hurt.”
“Tragic.”
He snorts, clearly entertained, and then, without missing a beat, sticks his hand out between you like he’s introducing himself at a business meeting.
“Eddie. Munson. Local celebrity, part-time academic menace, full-time delight. Pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”
You glance down at his hand. Then back up at him. And just… stare.
He holds it there a second longer than most people would, grin twitching slightly at the edges as he realizes exactly what’s happening, and then he exhales a quiet laugh, dropping it back to his side.
“Alright, tough crowd,” he mutters, half to himself.
You keep walking.
“So,” he continues, undeterred, falling back into step beside you like he’s decided this is a long game. “I was thinking, dangerous, I know, but maybe you and I could—”
“No.”
He blinks. “I didn’t even finish the sentence.”
“I didn’t need you to.”
That earns a laugh, low and surprised, like he wasn’t expecting you to shut him down that fast but he’s not exactly mad about it either.
“Okay, fair,” he concedes, nodding like you’ve made a solid point. “But hypothetically, if I had finished the sentence—”
“You shouldn’t.”
You cut around a group of people blocking the hallway, not slowing, not adjusting your pace to make room for him.
He sidesteps neatly back into place beside you, hands slipping into his jacket pockets, glancing at you from the corner of his eye like he’s studying a puzzle he hasn’t quite figured out yet.
“You always this friendly,” he asks, “or am I just special?”
You let out a quiet, humorless breath. “You’re not special.”
“Ouch,” he says, though there’s no real sting to it, just amusement. “Gonna have to try harder, I see.”
You stop at your locker, spinning the dial without acknowledging him, and he leans casually against the one next to yours like he’s got nowhere else to be.
“I mean, come on,” he goes on, softer now, less performative, more coaxing. “You haven’t even heard my pitch.”
“I don’t care about your pitch.”
“Not even a little curious?”
You glance at him then, finally, just a flick of your eyes.
“…No.”
He grins, like that’s the answer he wanted.
“See, that’s where I think you’re wrong,” he says, pushing off the locker, stepping just a little closer. “Because if you were really not curious, you would’ve told me to shut up and left already.”
You slam your locker shut. “I’m telling you to shut up now.”
He laughs, full and unbothered. “There she is.”
You sling your bag back over your shoulder, turning to walk away again, and he falls into step beside you immediately, like this is just how things are now.
“Just one shot,” he says, holding up a finger. “One sentence. If you hate it, I’ll disappear, never bother you again, you can go back to your regularly scheduled brooding—”
“You’re already bothering me.”
“—but if you don’t hate it,” he continues smoothly, ignoring that, “you hear me out.”
You stop again, slowly.
“…You have one sentence,” you say.
His grin comes back, slower this time, a little more careful.
“Go out with me.”
Silence. You stare at him, and he holds it, waiting.
And then you let out a short laugh, like he’s just confirmed exactly what you thought about him the second he opened his mouth.
“Absolutely not.” And just like that, you turn and walk away, not even giving him the chance to respond this time.
Behind you, Eddie just watches you go, something thoughtful settling in behind the amusement. Then he huffs out a quiet laugh, dragging a hand through his hair as he falls back a step.
“…Alright,” he mutters to himself, a crooked smile pulling at his mouth again. “Challenge accepted.”
By the time the plan reaches its next phase, it already feels like something that’s gotten out of hand. Not that that stops them.
The cabin is quiet when they get there. Late afternoon light spills through the windows, warm and low, dust floating lazily in the air like the place is holding its breath, and Eleven pushes the door open without hesitation.
The boys follow more cautiously.
Mike lingers just inside the doorway, already tense, eyes darting around like Hopper might materialize out of thin air, while Dustin closes the door behind them with a soft click, lowering his voice instinctively.
“This feels illegal,” Eddie whispers.
“It is not illegal,” El says, already moving toward the hallway. “It is necessary.”
Mike runs a hand through his hair. “We’re going through her stuff.”
El pauses, glancing back at him. “We are learning.”
“That’s worse.”
They find your room easily.
The door’s half-open, like you never bothered to shut it fully, and there’s something about that alone that makes all four of them hesitate for a second.
Dustin pushes it open anyway.
“Okay,” he says under his breath, stepping inside. “Recon mission.”
The room is exactly what Eddie expected. And not at all.
It’s not messy, not really, but it’s not polished either, not curated in that way some people’s rooms are.
Yours feels lived in, real. Clothes draped over the back of a chair, books stacked unevenly on your nightstand, a jacket tossed carelessly across the end of your bed like you’ll come back for it later.
There are posters on the wall, and not the ones people expect. Not pop stars or clean-cut bands, but darker, louder things, edges curling slightly at the corners, ink-heavy designs that feel more like statements than decoration.
Eddie steps further in, slower than the others, gaze dragging across the details, taking it in piece by piece like he’s reading something written in a language he almost understands.
“…Huh,” he says quietly.
Dustin’s already at your shelf, flipping through a stack of vinyls with growing enthusiasm. “Oh, this is gold. This is gold—she’s got good taste, I’ll give her that.”
Mike’s still hovering, arms crossed. “Can we not touch everything?”
“We’re not touching everything,” Dustin argues. “We’re strategically observing.”
“You’re holding it.”
“That’s part of observing.”
El moves toward your desk, fingers brushing lightly over the surface, pausing on a notebook left half-open, but she doesn’t flip through it. Not that.
Even she seems to recognize there’s a line somewhere.
Eddie, meanwhile, drifts closer to your wall. He studies the posters more carefully now, head tilting slightly, eyes narrowing just a bit as something clicks into place.
“…She’s not just mean,” he says, almost absently.
Mike glances over. “What?”
Eddie gestures vaguely at the wall. “This stuff—this isn’t random. She’s got a whole thing going on. It’s like…” He trails off, searching for the word, then shrugs. “Curated chaos.”
Dustin snorts. “That’s not a thing.”
“It is now,” Eddie shoots back, though his attention’s already shifted again, scanning the room like he’s trying to piece together a person out of fragments.
There’s something quieter in him now. Less show, more interest.
He doesn’t say it out loud, doesn’t need to, but it’s there in the way he lingers, the way he notices things the others don’t, the way his gaze softens just slightly when it lands on something small, something personal.
On your nightstand. A folded piece of paper sticks out from under a book, worn at the edges like it’s been handled more than once, and Dustin, of course, zeroes in on it immediately.
“Ooh, what’s this—”
“Don’t,” Mike says quickly.
Too late. Dustin pulls it free, unfolding it with zero hesitation, eyes scanning over it before lighting up.
“No way.”
“What?” Mike asks, stepping closer despite himself.
Dustin turns it so they can see. Tickets. Two of them. Worn slightly at the corners, like they’ve been sitting there for a while, waiting.
“To a show,” Dustin says, unnecessarily.
Eddie steps in closer, eyes dropping to the print, and something in his expression shifts again, sharper this time, recognition sparking.
“…You’re kidding me,” he murmurs.
El tilts her head. “What is it?”
Eddie reaches out, not taking the tickets, just brushing his fingers lightly against the edge like he needs to confirm they’re real. “This is—”
He lets out a short, disbelieving laugh. “—The Misfits,” he finishes.
Dustin blinks. “Is that… good?”
Eddie looks at him like he just asked if oxygen is optional.
“Is that good? Henderson, that’s not just good, that’s—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head, still half smiling. “That’s not exactly mainstream around here, alright? That’s… specific.”
Mike frowns slightly. “So she likes them?”
Eddie exhales, glancing around the room again, like everything suddenly makes a little more sense. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, she does.”
Dustin’s grin creeps back in, slow and deliberate. “Okay. So. We use that.”
Mike hesitates. “Use it how?”
Dustin gestures with the tickets. “Conversation piece.”
Eddie doesn’t answer right away. He’s still looking at the tickets, at your room. At the pieces of you scattered around it like clues he didn’t expect to care about.
“…That’s not a terrible idea,” he admits finally, quieter than before.
Mike stares at him. “You’re actually considering this.”
Eddie glances at him, one corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “I told you. I like a challenge.”
But it’s not just that anymore.
“…Guess I’ve got my opening line.”
The bell above the door gives a soft, tired jingle when it opens, the kind that’s been rung a thousand times and stopped caring somewhere around the five hundredth. You don’t look up right away.
The record store is slow this time of day, the low hum of music drifting through the speakers, something scratchy and familiar playing from behind the counter as you flip through a stack of new arrivals, reorganizing them more out of habit than necessity.
“Afternoon,” you say flatly, still not looking.
“Yeah, I’m hoping it gets better from here.”
You freeze for half a second. Then slowly, you lift your head.
Eddie stands just inside the doorway, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, looking entirely too comfortable for someone who very much does not belong here.
Your eyes narrow instantly. “…You’ve got to be kidding me.”
He grins like that’s exactly the reaction he was hoping for. “Miss me?”
“No.”
“Cold,” he hums, stepping further inside, gaze drifting lazily over the shelves like he’s browsing. “I was in the neighborhood.”
“You weren’t.”
“Okay, no,” he concedes easily. “I wasn’t.”
You go back to what you were doing, dismissing him with the same efficiency you would anyone else you don’t care to deal with.
“Then leave.”
He doesn’t. Instead, he wanders closer to the counter, fingers brushing along the edge of a display, scanning the titles like he’s genuinely interested. Even though the slight tilt of his mouth says he’s enjoying this far more than he should.
“So,” he starts casually, like you’re in the middle of a normal conversation. “You got any Misfits vinyls in stock, or am I gonna have to take my business elsewhere?”
That stops you.
“…You like the Misfits?” you ask, tone edged with suspicion more than curiosity.
He catches it immediately, doesn’t flinch. Just shrugs one shoulder, like it’s no big deal.
“Yeah. Shocking, I know. Dude in a leather jacket listens to loud, obnoxious music. Real plot twist.”
You step closer, bracing your hands on the counter, gaze locking onto his like you’re trying to catch him in something.
“Name three songs.”
He blinks once. Then huffs a quiet laugh, dragging a hand through his hair. “Wow. Okay. Gatekeeping. Love that for you.”
“Name them,” you repeat, unmoved.
He studies you for a second, something amused flickering in his eyes, like he’s enjoying this far more than he should.
“…‘Last Caress,’ ‘Hybrid Moments,’ ‘Where Eagles Dare,’” he says easily, ticking them off on his fingers. “Want me to keep going or—?”
You hold his gaze a second longer. Then lean back slightly, crossing your arms.
“…Lucky guesses.”
“Ouch,” he says, though he’s smiling again, a little softer this time, like he’s pleased he got under your skin even a fraction. “You wound me.”
You turn, gesturing vaguely toward the back. “Third crate. Don’t touch anything you’re not buying.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He finds the crate easily, crouching down to flip through it, but he doesn’t speak right away this time.
But, after a moment: “Minor Threat, huh?”
You don’t turn around. “What about them?”
He glances up at you from where he’s crouched, one brow lifting. “Didn’t peg you for the straight-edge type.”
“I’m not.”
He hums, flipping to the next record. “Bad Brains.”
You go still. “…You’re just naming bands now?”
“Descendents,” he adds, like he didn’t hear you.
“How do you know that?” you ask, voice quieter now.
Eddie doesn’t answer right away.
He stands, dusting his hands off on his jeans, expression shifting just slightly, and meets your gaze.
“I pay attention,” he says simply.
You search his face, like you’re trying to find the angle, the trick, the punchline that hasn’t landed yet.
“…That’s creepy,” you decide finally.
He exhales a soft laugh, nodding like he’ll take that. “Yeah. Little bit.”
You shake your head, turning away again, but it’s not the same dismissal as before. There’s something else under it now, something you don’t quite like.
“You’re not getting a discount.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“So,” he tries again, a little lighter now, easing back into that easy charm like he never left it. “You work here often, or is this a special occasion thing?”
You don’t miss a beat. “I’m here every day.”
“Good,” he says.
That makes you look at him again. “…Why?”
He shrugs, picking a record from the crate, holding it up like that’s his whole answer.
“Makes it easier to come back.”
You stare at him longer this time. Trying to decide if he’s serious. Trying to decide if you care.
“…Buy something or leave,” you say finally, turning back toward the counter, but your voice isn’t quite as sharp as it was when he walked in.
Behind you, Eddie just smiles to himself, something thoughtful tucked behind it as he glances down at the vinyl in his hands.
Hook set, whether you realize it or not. The next day, the idea finds him again before he can talk himself out of it.
You’re at your locker when he spots you.
Same as yesterday. Same hallway, same noise, same carefully maintained distance people keep from you like it’s second nature.
You’re leaning slightly into the metal, spinning the dial with that absent, disinterested look like none of this matters, like none of them matter.
He watches you for a second, then pushes off the wall and heads over.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Eddie Munson calls lightly as he approaches, like this is already a routine between you. Like you didn’t shut him down less than twenty-four hours ago.
You don’t even look up. “Wrong person.”
He grins. “Debatable.”
You slam your locker shut, finally turning to face him, unimpressed as ever. “What do you want, Munson?”
“No hello?” he hums. “No, ‘how’ve you been, Eddie, light of my life, bane of my existence’?”
“I don’t have time for this.”
“Good,” he says easily. “This’ll be quick.”
That makes you pause, just slightly.
“There’s a party tonight,” he continues, casual, like it’s nothing, like he’s not watching your reaction a little too closely. “At Nancy Wheeler’s place. Parents are out of town, whole suburban rebellion thing, you know the drill.”
You blink once. “…And?”
“And,” he says, stepping a little closer, not enough to crowd you, just enough to keep your attention, “you should come.”
Then you laugh.
“I’d rather die.”
He winces theatrically. “Jesus. You always go straight to homicide, or is that just me?”
You shoulder your bag, already turning away. “Find someone else to bother.”
“I did,” he calls after you. “Didn’t take.”
That slows you down. You glance back, eyes narrowing. “…What.”
He shrugs, like it’s nothing, like this isn’t the entire point. “Figured I’d aim higher.”
You stare at him, and he holds it. For once, he doesn’t fill the silence with a joke.
“…I don’t think so,” you say finally.
He tilts his head, considering you, something softer slipping into his expression for half a second before the grin comes back.
“Alright,” he says.
You turn away again, done with it.
“Pick you up at eight.”
You stop.
“…I didn’t say yes.”
“You also didn’t say no,” he shoots back immediately.
You turn, ready to argue, but he’s already walking backward down the hall, hands up in surrender, grin wide and unbothered.
“Eight o’clock, sweetheart!” he calls. “Wear something scary!”
You watch him go. Annoyed... and something else you refuse to name.
That night, the cabin is quiet. Too quiet.
The kind of quiet that means something’s about to go wrong.
Eleven moves carefully, slow steps down the hallway, shoes in her hand, eyes flicking toward the living room like she expects Hopper to appear at any second.
She makes it halfway to the door.
“Where are you going?”
She freezes. Hopper stands in the doorway, arms crossed, already unimpressed.
“…Out,” she says.
“Out,” he repeats flatly. “At night. Without telling me.”
She hesitates, then lifts her chin slightly. “There is a party.”
“Oh, there is a party,” he echoes. “And you’re just gonna—what—sneak out and go to it?”
She doesn’t answer, which is answer enough.
Hopper shakes his head, already gearing up.
“No. Absolutely not. We talked about this—no dating, no parties, no—”
“She is going.”
Both of them turn.
You’re leaning against the hallway wall, arms crossed, already in something that looks like you might leave the house even if you haven’t admitted it yet.
Hopper frowns. “She is not—”
“I am,” El insists, stepping closer. “Because she is coming with me.”
You scoff immediately. “No, I’m not.”
El turns to you. And then, she does it: big eyes, slight tilt of her head.
That quiet, stubborn softness that somehow hits harder than any argument she could make. You stare at her.
“…No,” you repeat.
She doesn’t look away. “Please.”
You exhale sharply, dragging a hand over your face like this is physically painful for you.
“You don’t even know those people.”
“I know Mike.”
Hopper groans. “We are not doing this again—”
You glance at him, back at her, then at the door.
“…Fine,” you snap finally. “But if anything goes wrong, I’m blaming you.”
El’s face lights up just slightly. Victory.
Hopper points between the two of you. “No. No, no, no—hold on, I didn’t agree to this—”
Too late. There’s a knock at the door, and all three of you freeze.
You close your eyes briefly.
“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Hopper squints toward the door. “Who is that?”
Another knock. Louder this time. You push off the wall with a sigh, already heading for it.
“A mistake,” you mutter under your breath.
When you open it, there he is.
Eddie, leaning casually against the frame like he’s been there for a while, like this is perfectly normal, like showing up early to something you never agreed to is just part of his charm.
He looks you up and down once, quick. Then grins.
“…Eight o’clock felt a little late,” he says. “Figured I’d get a head start.”
You stare at him. Behind you, Hopper steps closer.
“…What the hell is this?” he asks.
Eddie straightens, instantly switching gears, hand coming up in an almost too-friendly wave. “Evening, Chief.”
You drag a hand down your face. “This,” you say flatly, “is exactly why I don’t go out.”
The drive is louder than it needs to be.
Not because of conversation, there isn’t much of that, but because Eddie keeps the music just a little too high, fingers tapping against the wheel, glancing at you every so often like he’s checking to see if you’re still there.
You sit with your elbow hooked out the window, gaze fixed on the blur of trees and streetlights, cigarette smoke trailing behind you, acting like he’s not there at all.
He doesn’t push it, not yet.
The house is already packed by the time you pull up.
Cars line the street, music spilling out through the walls, bass heavy enough to feel in your chest before you even make it to the front door.
El is out of the van the second it stops, practically sprinting toward the house like she’s been waiting for this all week.
“Hey—don’t—” you start, but she’s already gone.
Eddie watches her disappear inside, then looks at you, one brow lifting slightly, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth.
“…After you.”
You roll your eyes, brushing past him without a word, pushing the door open like you own the place, like you’re not even slightly out of your element.
The noise hits you all at once. Laughter, shouting, music too loud for the speakers it’s coming from, bodies moving through the space in a chaotic, overlapping rhythm. You head straight for the kitchen.
It’s instinct at this point, find the drinks, find something to do with your hands, something to anchor you in a room you already know you don’t want to be in. Eddie follows.
Not hovering exactly, but close enough that you’re aware of him, that steady presence at your side as you weave through people, ignoring the looks, the whispers, the way heads turn just a little too slowly as you pass.
It doesn’t take long. “Look who finally decided to show up.”
You don’t even have to turn to know the tone, but you do anyway.
A couple of guys leaning against the counter, red cups in hand, smirks already in place like they’ve been waiting for this exact moment.
“The shrew herself,” one of them adds, louder this time, making sure people nearby can hear.
“Bite me,” you say flatly, already reaching past them for a drink like they’re nothing.
“God,” Eddie murmurs, just low enough for you to hear, “you’re terrifying.”
You crack open the drink, not looking at him. “Then why are you still here?”
He shrugs, grabbing one for himself. “I’ve got a thing for danger.”
You take a sip, letting the noise of the party settle around you, and for a moment, neither of you says anything.
For Eddie, that’s new.
Instead, he just stands there, shoulder brushing yours when someone squeezes past, like he’s not entirely sure what to do with the space between you.
You glance up at him.
“Why did you want me to come, anyway?” you say, nodding toward the crowd. "What's in it for you?"
He looks down at you, like he didn’t expect the question. “What, I can’t invite someone to a party without ulterior motives?”
“You?” you say, arching a brow. “No.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, bringing the cup to his lips.
He takes a sip, pauses, then grimaces immediately. “…Yeah. Okay. That’s foul.”
You almost smile, and he catches it.
“Was that—” he leans in a little, eyes bright, voice dropping like he’s in on a secret, “—was that a smile?”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“Too late,” he says easily. “Already planning my future around it.”
You shake your head, but there’s something softer in your expression now. He watches you for a second longer than necessary, then shrugs, a little less guarded this time.
“And for the record,” he adds, quieter, “I didn’t come for the party.”
You glance at him. “No?”
“Nah.” A small, crooked smile tugs at his mouth. “I came for the part where you show up and pretend you don’t hate me for a couple hours.”
That does it. You smile fully, just a little. And he looks like he just won something.
Across the room, the party swells, louder, messier, people spilling into hallways, voices rising, music shifting tracks.
But Eddie sticks by your side.
The kitchen settles around you in waves, people rotating in and out, laughter rising and falling, and somehow, without you noticing exactly when it happened, you stop counting the seconds until you can leave. Eddie’s still there.
Leaning back against the counter now, one foot hooked behind the other, drink forgotten in his hand as he talks, like this is easy, like you’re easy, like the whole thing isn’t supposed to be an uphill battle.
“…and then Henderson swears the dice are cursed,” he’s saying, gesturing with his hands, animated in a way that should be annoying but isn’t, not really.
“Like, full conspiracy, thinks the entire campaign is rigged against him personally, which—honestly—not entirely wrong, but still.”
You glance at him, eyebrow lifting slightly. “You rig your own games?”
“Absolutely,” he says without hesitation. “I’m a tyrant. A menace. It’s in the job description.”
“That’s pathetic.”
He grins. “That’s leadership.”
You huff out a quiet breath, something that’s dangerously close to a laugh, and he catches it immediately, eyes lighting up like he’s just hit a milestone.
“There it is again,” he says, pointing at you. “I knew you had it in you.”
“Don’t push it.”
“Oh, I’m gonna push it,” he says easily. “That’s kind of my whole thing.”
You shake your head, taking another sip of your drink, but you don’t shut him down. He seems to clock that too, something softer settling into his expression for a second before he covers it with another smirk.
“So what,” he goes on, nudging your shoulder lightly with his own, testing the boundary. “You just sit around all day, scaring small children and rejecting perfectly charming invitations, or—”
“Children scare easily.”
“Yeah, I’m starting to see why.”
You glance at him again, like you’re trying to figure out what his angle is and coming up short.
“…You talk a lot,” you say.
“I’ve been told it’s one of my many endearing qualities.”
“It’s not.”
“Agree to disagree.”
There’s a pause. Then, before you can stop it, you laugh.
It slips out of you like you didn’t mean for it to, like it caught you off guard just as much as it does him.
Eddie goes quiet, like he doesn’t want to ruin it.
“Wow,” he says after a second, softer now, something genuine threading through the usual humor. “Okay. That— that was worth the price of admission.”
You roll your eyes immediately, the moment passing just as quickly as it came. “Don’t get sentimental on me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
But he’s still smiling. Not the loud, performative grin from earlier.
“Hey—” You both turn.
Nancy stands a few steps away, red cup in hand, looking pleasantly surprised, like she almost didn’t believe it when she heard you were here.
“Hi,” she says, a little breathless from weaving through the crowd. “I wasn’t sure you’d actually come.”
You shrug, already bracing for whatever comment’s coming next. “I didn’t plan on it.”
Nancy’s eyes flick briefly to Eddie, then back to you, something knowing in her expression that you immediately don’t trust.
“Well,” she says, smiling slightly, “I’m glad you did. It’s… nice to see you out of your shell.”
You stare at her. “I don’t have a shell.”
Eddie snorts into his drink.
Nancy laughs softly, unfazed. “You know what I mean.”
“I don’t.”
She just shakes her head, still smiling, like she’s decided not to push it, and takes a step back. “Just—have fun, okay?”
He glances at you, one brow lifting. “Out of your shell, huh.”
“Say one more word, and I’m leaving.”
He holds his hands up immediately. “Hey, hey—zip it. Noted.”
Then, quieter, “For what it’s worth,” he adds, nudging your shoulder again, gentler this time, “I think you’re doing great.”
You don’t respond. But you don’t pull away, either. And that’s enough for him.
The Hideout isn’t trying to impress anyone.
Dim lights, sticky floors, a stage that’s seen better decades, the low hum of a crowd that feels more like background noise than the main event.
It’s exactly the kind of place you’d expect Eddie to bring someone.
It’s not the kind of place you expected to like. And yet…
You’re sitting across from him in a cracked vinyl booth, one leg tucked under you, drink sweating in your hand as he tells stories.
Dumb ones, mostly, about Hellfire campaigns and arguments over rules and how Henderson once tried to “unionize the party,” whatever that means.
You don’t fully understand half of it, but you listen anyway.
“…and then he goes, ‘you can’t just kill my character because I questioned your authority,’” Eddie finishes, shaking his head, clearly still entertained by it. “And I’m like, ‘watch me.’”
You huff out a laugh, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Thank you,” he says, like it’s a compliment.
You take a sip of your drink, studying him over the rim of the glass, something quieter settling in your chest, something unfamiliar and a little unsettling. Because he’s not what you expected, not entirely.
He’s loud, yeah. Annoying. Persistent in a way that should get under your skin more than it does. But he’s also gentle, in strange, fleeting ways.
Like the way he slid into the booth first, so you wouldn’t have to squeeze past anyone. The way he asked what you wanted before ordering, like it mattered. The way he listens when you do speak, even if you only give him scraps.
It’s disarming. You don’t like that.
“…What,” he says suddenly, catching your gaze, one corner of his mouth lifting. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
You roll your eyes, looking away. “You’re imagining things.”
“Am I,” he hums, leaning forward just slightly, like he’s trying to catch your eye again. “Because I’m pretty sure that was a nice look.”
“Don’t push it.”
He grins, softer this time. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Then he reaches across the table, not touching you, just tapping his fingers lightly against the surface like he’s resisting the urge to close the distance.
“I’m glad you came,” he says.
Simple, no joke attached. You don’t answer right away.
“…Me too,” you admit, quieter.
His expression shifts, just a fraction, something warm flickering there before he looks away, like he needs a second to recover from it.
“Careful,” he says lightly. “You keep saying stuff like that, I’m gonna think you actually like me.”
You scoff. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.” But there’s no bite to it, not really.
You don’t realize how far you’ve let your guard down until you stand up to go to the bathroom and he doesn’t follow. You don’t expect him to, but you notice it anyway.
The hallway’s quieter, the music muffled, the buzz of the bar fading just enough that you can hear your own thoughts again, and for a second, you let yourself breathe.
This was a mistake; it has to be. You don’t do this. You don’t sit in booths and laugh at stupid stories and let people get close enough to matter.
And yet...You push the bathroom door open, splash water on your hands, stare at your reflection for a second longer than necessary, then head back out.
You hear it before you see them.
“…I’m just saying, man, you better get your cut.”
You slow, just slightly. Voices from around the corner, familiar in that distant way you recognize but don’t care enough to place.
“Yeah, seriously,” another one adds. “How much is Henderson even paying you for going out with Hopper’s daughter again?”
Your stomach drops, cold and sharp. You step around the corner, and there he is.
Eddie, leaning back against the wall, a couple of Hellfire guys clustered around him, laughing like it’s nothing, like it’s a joke that doesn’t have a target. Like it’s not you.
He doesn’t laugh, not really. But he doesn’t shut it down fast enough.
“…It’s not—” he starts. Too late.
They notice you, and the laughter dies. Eddie’s head snaps up. And the second his eyes meet yours, he knows.
“Hey—” he says, pushing off the wall immediately, something urgent in his tone now. “It’s not like that—”
You let out a short, hollow laugh. “Wow.”
He stops a few feet in front of you, hands half-raised like he’s approaching something fragile, something that might shatter if he moves too fast. “I can explain—”
“That’s rich,” you cut him off, voice low and sharp, eyes burning into him. “'Nothing in it for you', huh?”
“I was going to tell you,” he insists, stepping closer. “I just—”
“When,” you snap. “After you got paid? Or were you waiting on a bonus for sleeping with me?”
“It’s not about the money anymore,” he says quickly, shaking his head. “It hasn’t been for a while.”
You laugh again, harsher this time. “Oh, please.”
“I mean it,” he says, more forcefully now, frustration bleeding through. “Yeah, it started that way, I’m not gonna lie to you, but that’s not what this is now—”
“You expect me to believe that,” you cut in, stepping back, putting space between you like you need it to breathe. “You expect me to believe you suddenly just—what—like me?”
“Yes,” he says. No hesitation, no joke. It almost makes it worse.
You shake your head, backing up another step, something tight and ugly twisting in your chest that you refuse to name.
“God, you’re such an asshole,” you mutter.
“I didn’t mean for you to find out like this—”
“You didn’t mean for me to find out at all,” you correct.
You swallow hard, forcing your expression back into something colder, something safer, something that doesn’t let any of that hurt show through.
“Don’t follow me,” you say flatly.
Then you turn and walk out. Leaving him standing there, the noise of the bar rushing back in around him, the taste of something good turning bitter in his mouth before he even has time to process how badly he just screwed it up.
The next morning feels different.
Not in the way anyone else would notice, not in the noise or the routine or the way Hawkins High hums along like nothing ever really changes, but in the space around you.
You move through the hallway like you always do, head high, eyes forward, expression locked into something unreadable, but there’s an edge to it now, something sharper, like you’ve sealed something off and thrown away the key.
People still move out of your way; they always do. But this time, you don’t even register them.
Eddie is leaning against a row of lockers, mid-conversation with one of the Hellfire guys, but the second you round the corner, his attention shifts completely, like everything else drops out of focus.
He pushes off the wall without thinking. “Hey—”
You don’t slow.
“Hey,” he tries again, falling into step beside you, voice lower this time, less show, more real. “Can we just—”
“No.” Not even a glance.
He exhales, quick, frustrated, but keeps pace anyway.
“Just listen for a second, okay? I know you’re pissed, I get that, but I—”
“I’m not pissed,” you cut in, voice flat. You keep walking. “I just don’t care,” you finish.
He hovers there for a second, like he’s been physically pushed back, then jogs a step to catch up again, not ready to let it go.
“That’s not true,” he says, quieter now, almost like he’s trying not to spook you. “If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t be—”
“Don’t,” you snap, finally turning to face him, eyes sharp enough to cut. “Don’t tell me how I feel.”
He lifts his hands slightly, backing off just a fraction. “I’m not—”
“You lied,” you say simply.
“I didn’t lie about everything,” he pushes, something desperate creeping in now. “I meant what I said—”
“Which part?” you cut in. “The part where you asked me out, or the part where you cashed the check.”
A couple of people nearby slow down, sensing tension, but neither of you notices or cares.
Eddie swallows, jaw tightening. “It wasn’t like that.”
“It was exactly like that.”
You step back, putting space between you again, shutting it down before he can try to spin it into something softer.
“Find someone else to entertain you,” you say, voice cold. “I’m done.”
And this time, you walk away without stopping. Without looking back. Without giving him anything to hold onto.
He just stands there for a second, staring after you, something tight and frustrated and stuck settling in his chest.
“…Shit,” he mutters under his breath.
Eddie drops into the seat across from them harder than necessary.
Dustin startles. “Jesus—”
“She won’t talk to me,” Eddie says flatly.
Mike winces immediately. “Yeah. That tracks.”
Eddie drags a hand down his face. “No, like—won’t. Won’t even look at me. I tried this morning and she just—”
He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “It’s like I don’t exist.”
El looks up at that. “You hurt her.”
Eddie exhales, nodding once. “Yeah. I got that part.”
Mike leans forward, lowering his voice. “You shouldn’t have let it go on that long.”
“I didn’t let anything—” Eddie starts, then stops, because he knows how it sounds, because he knows they’re not wrong. “…Okay, yeah. I did. I know.”
Dustin folds his arms. “So what’s the plan now?”
Eddie lets out a humorless laugh. “That’s what I’m asking you.”
They all look at each other. No immediate answer. Which is… not encouraging.
“You apologize,” Mike says finally.
“I did.”
“No, like—actually apologize,” Dustin adds. “Not the whole ‘I’m sorry but also here’s why I’m still kind of right’ thing you do.”
“I didn’t do that,” Eddie argues.
“You definitely did that,” Mike says.
Eddie groans, dropping his head briefly into his hands. “Okay, fine, whatever, I’ll apologize better. Then what?”
El watches him for a second, quiet, thoughtful. “You tell the truth,” she says.
He looks up at her. “I did.”
She shakes her head slightly. “Not just about the money. About… everything.”
Eddie leans back in his seat, staring at the table like it might give him an answer he doesn’t already know.
“…She doesn’t believe me,” he admits, quieter now. “Even if I say it, she’s just gonna think it’s another lie.”
“Then don’t make it sound like one,” Dustin says.
Eddie snorts. “Helpful.”
“I’m serious,” Dustin insists. “You can’t just charm your way out of this one, man. That’s like—your whole thing. She’s not gonna buy it.”
Mike nods. “You need to… prove it.”
Eddie glances between them. “How.”
El speaks again. “Do something for her,” she says simply.
He frowns. “Like what.”
She shrugs, small, but certain. “Something she would know is real.”
Your room feels smaller than it usually does. Not physically, nothing’s changed.
Same half-made bed, same stack of books by the nightstand, same records leaning against the wall like you meant to put them away and never did.
But it’s quieter in a way that presses in on you, like the air’s heavier, like everything’s waiting for you to do something you’re not going to do.
You’re stretched out on your bed, a book open in your hands, eyes moving over the same paragraph for the third time without actually reading a word of it.
It’s stupid, all of it. You knew better. You always know better.
A knock breaks the silence. You don’t look up.
“Go away.”
A pause. Then, softer, “Please.”
You close your eyes briefly, irritation flickering up fast and familiar.
“I said go away, El.”
The handle rattles, and you hear her try it once. Twice. Then: a quiet click.
Your head snaps up just as the door pushes open. Anger hits first.
You sit up fast, book forgotten as you swing your legs over the side of the bed, already moving.
“I told you not to do that anymore,” you snap, voice rising as you step toward the door. “What part of that is confusing to you, you little—”
You stop. Because it’s not just Eleven standing there. She’s off to the side, watching.
And in the doorway, Eddie. The anger doesn’t disappear. If anything, it sharpens.
“What the hell is this,” you say, colder now, folding your arms like that’s enough to hold yourself together. “You recruiting now?”
El looks between the two of you.
“He wants to talk,” she says.
“I don’t.”
Eddie doesn’t move. Doesn’t try to push into the room, doesn’t lean, doesn’t grin. He just stands there, hands empty, like he’s not sure what he’s allowed to do.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I figured.”
You scoff, looking away. “Then what are you doing here.”
“I gave it back,” he says.
You glance at him. “…What.”
“The money,” he clarifies, swallowing once. “I gave it back to Henderson. All of it. Told him I’m out.”
You stare at him, searching. For the angle, the lie, the performance.
“…Why.”
He lets out a breath, dragging a hand briefly through his hair before dropping it again, like he doesn’t want to hide behind the motion.
“Because it’s not what I want,” he says.
You don’t react.
“Wasn’t at first,” he adds, honest in a way that almost makes you more irritated than if he’d tried to sugarcoat it. “I’m not gonna pretend it was. But somewhere in there, it stopped being about that.”
You shake your head slightly, a bitter laugh slipping out. “And I’m supposed to just believe that.”
“No,” he says immediately.
“I don’t expect you to believe anything I say,” he continues, voice steady, even if there’s something tight underneath it. “I just… needed to say it.”
El shifts slightly by the door, unsure, watching both of you like she’s waiting for something to break.
You look at Eddie again. No grin, no attitude, no bullshit.
“…You should’ve told me,” you say, quieter now, but no less sharp.
“I know.”
“Before.”
“I know.”
“You let me sit there,” you continue, stepping a little closer, not soft, in your anger now, “and actually think you—” You cut yourself off, jaw tightening.
He doesn’t fill the space.
“That part wasn’t fake,” he says instead, softer.
You laugh, but it’s weaker this time. “That’s convenient.”
“I liked you,” he says. “I like you. That didn’t start with the money and it didn’t end when I gave it back.”
You shake your head again, but there’s less certainty in it now, less bite.
“You’re such an idiot,” you mutter.
“Yeah,” he says, a little breath of a laugh slipping through. “Been hearing that a lot lately.”
“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” he adds.
Your eyes flick back up to his.
“I’m not asking you to go out with me again,” he continues. “Or even talk to me after this.”
“I just didn’t want you thinking it was all fake,” he finishes. “Because it wasn’t.”
You don’t move, and you don’t respond.
Just stand there, caught somewhere between the version of him you decided on and the one standing in front of you now.
Behind him, El watches, quiet, hopeful in a way she’s trying not to show.
You exhale slowly, dragging a hand over your face.
“…You’re still an asshole,” you say finally.
He nods. “Yeah.”
“And you showed up to my house uninvited.”
He glances at El. “…Yeah.”
“And she broke into my room.”
“She did.”
You look at him for another second. Then, “…But you gave the money back.”
It’s not a question. He shakes his head.
“Didn’t feel right keeping it.”
“…That was stupid,” you decide.
A corner of his mouth lifts slightly. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you say, softer now, something shifting under the surface whether you like it or not. “You could’ve at least kept it.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “Thought about it.”
“…You still owe me a real date,” you say.
His head tilts, like he’s not entirely sure he heard you right. “…I do?”
You roll your eyes immediately, looking away like you already regret it. “Don’t make it weird.”
A slow, careful smile spreads across his face. Not big. Not cocky. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
You cross your arms again, trying to regain some control over the situation. “And if you screw it up again, I’m not giving you another chance.”
“Fair.”
“And you’re not picking me up early this time.”
He nods, serious. “Eight o’clock.”
“Eight o’clock,” you confirm.
Behind him, El’s face brightens just slightly, relief slipping through before she quickly tries to hide it. You catch it anyway.
“Get out,” you tell her flatly. She doesn’t argue this time. Just turns and disappears down the hallway.
You look back at Eddie. He lingers in the doorway for a second longer, like he’s making sure this is real, like you didn’t just shut the door on him again.
“…I’ll see you at eight,” he says. You don’t answer, but you don’t tell him to leave, either. And when he finally does, the room doesn’t feel quite as small.
You stare at your closet like it personally offended you. Nothing looks right. Everything looks like you, which is the problem.
You tug a shirt off a hanger, hold it up, hesitate, toss it onto your bed with a quiet huff.
Your reflection stares back at you from the mirror across the room, arms crossed, expression already halfway to annoyed, like you’re judging yourself for even trying.
It’s just a date. A real date.
You roll your eyes at the thought, dragging a hand through your hair before turning back to the mess you’ve made.
After a second, you pull something else out. Simpler. Still you, just… softer around the edges. Something that doesn’t scream don’t talk to me quite as loudly.
You hesitate, then change anyway. When you step back in front of the mirror, you don’t smile. But you don’t hate it either.
“…Shut up,” you mutter to your reflection, grabbing your jacket.
The knock comes right at eight.
You freeze for half a second in the hallway, like your body needs to catch up with the fact that this is actually happening. Then you force yourself forward, pushing past it before you can overthink your way out of the entire night.
Hopper gets to the door first.
“Stay,” he says over his shoulder, already reaching for the handle like you’re a dog he doesn’t trust to bolt.
You scowl but don’t argue, lingering just behind him as he opens the door.
Eddie's standing on the porch like he’s been there for a while, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, posture just a little straighter than usual, like he’s aware of exactly whose house he’s standing in.
“Evening, Chief,” he says, lifting a hand in a small wave.
Hopper eyes him up and down.
“I know you,” he says.
Eddie nods once. “Yeah. Munson.”
“I knew your dad,” Hopper adds, like that explains everything.
Eddie winces slightly. “That can’t be good.”
Hopper’s mouth twitches, not quite a smile. “Depends on the day.”
Then Hopper steps out onto the porch, pulling the door halfway closed behind him so you’re left just inside, listening whether you want to or not.
You lean slightly, just enough to catch it.
“You’re taking her out,” Hopper says, voice lower now.
“Yes, sir.”
Hopper studies him for another second, something shifting in his expression. Like he knows the reputation, but he’s also seen enough of the kid underneath it to not write him off completely.
“I don’t care what people say about you,” Hopper continues, steady. “I care how you treat her.”
Eddie nods immediately. “Fair.”
“If she asks, you bring her home. No questions.”
“Of course.”
“And if she looks even a little unhappy—”
“I won’t let that happen,” Eddie cuts in.
That pauses Hopper, just for a second. He looks at him again, sharper this time, like he’s trying to decide if that confidence is arrogance or something else.
“…Alright,” he says finally.
He steps back, pushing the door open again. “Don’t make me regret it.”
Eddie gives a small nod. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
You’re already there when he steps back inside.
Leaning against the wall like you haven’t been eavesdropping, like you didn’t hear a single word of that. Eddie looks at you and stops, just for a second.
His eyes flick over you, quick but not careless, taking in the change, the effort, the fact that you showed up to this night differently than before.
Something soft crosses his face.
“…Wow,” he says quietly.
You immediately cross your arms. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t even say anything.”
“You were about to.”
He huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. “You look nice.”
You roll your eyes, pushing past him toward the door. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The drive is different this time.
“…So,” you say after a while, glancing at him. “Where are we going.”
He glances over, a hint of a grin tugging at his mouth. “You’ll see.”
“I hate surprises.”
“I figured.”
“Then why—”
“Because this one’s good,” he cuts in, softer this time.
You study him for a second, then look back out the window.
“…It better be.”
The venue isn’t in Hawkins. Small, a little rundown, lights buzzing faintly above the entrance, a line already forming outside, people packed close, voices loud, energy crackling in the air.
You step out of the van and stop, recognition hitting instantly.
“…No way.”
Eddie leans against the door, watching your reaction, something almost nervous flickering behind the usual confidence.
“Yeah,” he says. “Thought you might like it.”
You look at the sign again. At the crowd. At him.
“…Descendents?”
He nods once. “Figured I’d start strong.”
“You got tickets.”
“Had to pull some strings,” he admits. “Almost sold my soul, but, you know. Worth it.”
You huff out a quiet laugh, shaking your head slightly as something warm settles in your chest before you can stop it.
“…You’re unbelievable,” you say.
“Yeah,” he grins. “Been told.”
“…Thank you,” you add, quieter.
That hits him in a different way; you can see it. The way he stills for just a second before nodding, like he doesn’t trust himself to make a joke out of it this time.
“Yeah,” he says. “Course.”
He pushes off the van, stepping closer, not crowding you, just enough to fall into step beside you as the two of you move toward the line together.
The crowd spills out of the venue in loose waves, people shouting over each other, laughing, reliving moments that already feel bigger than they probably were.
You step out with them, breath catching slightly as the quiet starts to settle back in.
“…Okay,” you admit, pushing your hair back from your face, still a little flushed from the heat inside. “That was—”
You stop, like you don’t want to give it to him.
Eddie watches you, already grinning, hands shoved into his jacket pockets like he knows exactly where this is going.
“Go on,” he says. “Finish the sentence.”
You narrow your eyes at him. “Don’t ruin it.”
“I’m not ruining anything, I’m encouraging honesty.”
You scoff, starting down the sidewalk, and he falls into step beside you immediately, like he always does now, like there’s no question about it.
“…It was good,” you say finally, quieter this time, like it costs you something.
His grin widens. “Good?”
“Don’t push it.”
“I’m just saying, I expected at least a ‘life-changing experience’ or a tearful confession—”
“I said don’t push it.”
He laughs, softer this time, not trying to get a rise out of you, just simply enjoying it.
“Alright, alright,” he concedes, nudging your shoulder lightly as you walk. “But for the record, I think I deserve more credit here.”
“For what,” you ask, glancing at him.
“For broadening your horizons,” he says easily.
You blink at him. “You took me to a band I already like.”
“Yeah,” he nods. “But I picked the right band.”
You roll your eyes, but there’s no bite to it.
“…They were better live,” you admit after a second.
That catches him.
“Yeah?” he asks, a little surprised.
You nod slightly. “Yeah.”
He huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Alright, I’ll give you that one.”
You glance at him again, brow lifting. “You didn’t think they were good?”
“I thought they were fine,” he says carefully. “Like, solid. Respectable.”
You scoff. “Respectable.”
“Hey, I’ve got a reputation to maintain,” he shoots back. “Can’t just go around admitting I enjoyed something that much.”
You bump your shoulder into his, a little harder this time. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah,” he grins. “But you’re still here.”
You don’t respond. But you don’t move away, either.
There’s a moment as you walk, the noise of the crowd fading behind you, replaced by the quiet stretch of road, the hum of distant cars, the lingering echo of music in your chest.
And then, his arm comes up. Slow. Careful.
Not like he expects it, not like he’s claiming anything, just resting across your shoulders, light enough that you could shrug it off if you wanted to.
You feel it immediately; the warmth, the weight. You tense, just for a second. He feels it too and starts to pull back.
“Sorry, I didn’t—”
But you don’t move away. You don’t shrug him off. Instead, you pull his hand around the rest of the way.
You lean into him just slightly, your shoulder fitting more comfortably under his arm like it makes sense there.
Like it’s allowed. He goes quiet.
“…You’re quiet,” he says after a moment, softer now.
“So are you.”
“Yeah, well,” he glances down at you briefly, something warm in his expression, “I don’t want to mess this up.”
You huff out a small laugh, shaking your head. “You’ve already done that once.”
“Yeah,” he admits. “Trying not to make it a pattern.”
“…You’re doing alright so far,” you say. It’s quiet, almost lost to the night. But he hears it.
“I’ll take that,” he says.
You glance up at him for a second, catching the way he’s looking ahead, not at you, like he’s giving you space even now.
The van comes into view at the end of the lot, headlights dim, the night settling in around it like a quiet pause between moments.
Neither of you rushes toward it. Neither of you breaks the space between you.
And as you walk, side by side, his arm still draped over your shoulders, your weight just barely leaning into him; it doesn't feel fake. It doesn't feel forced. Just easy in a way you're a little scared to name.
The ride home feels softer than the one there.
The windows are cracked just enough to let the night air in, cool against your skin, the kind that keeps you awake in a way that’s not exhausting.
The music is lower this time, something steady humming through the speakers while the road stretches out in long, quiet lines ahead of you.
You’ve got your elbow hooked out the window again.
He’s got one hand on the wheel, the other tapping lightly against his thigh, like he’s still half in the rhythm of the show.
“…So,” he says after a while, glancing over at you. “Be honest.”
You don’t look at him. “I am always honest.”
He snorts. “That’s terrifying, but not what I meant.”
You finally turn your head, brow lifting. “What did you mean.”
“Scale of one to ten,” he says. “How good was it.”
You consider it for a second, dragging it out just to annoy him.
“…Seven.”
He scoffs immediately. “Seven?”
“Don’t get greedy.”
“That was at least an eight,” he argues. “Minimum.”
“Seven,” you repeat.
He shakes his head, like he’s deeply disappointed. “Unbelievable. I pour my heart and soul into planning the perfect night—”
“You bought tickets,” you cut in.
“—and this is the thanks I get,” he finishes anyway.
You roll your eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at your mouth again, one you don’t bother hiding this time.
“…Okay,” you say after a second. “Eight.”
He glances at you, quick. “Yeah?”
“Don’t make me take it back.”
“I’m just saying,” he grins, settling back into his seat a little, “I might be good at this.”
“At what.”
“Dating you.”
You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “You’ve had one successful outing. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
“One and a half,” he corrects. “You didn’t hate the first one until the whole… you know.” He gestures vaguely.
You exhale through your nose. “Don’t ruin the moment.”
“Right. Sorry.” He nods once. “Moment preserved.”
“…You’re not as bad as I thought you were,” you admit.
It slips out before you can stop it. The car goes quiet. He looks at you, like he’s trying to decide if you’re messing with him.
“…Wow,” he says softly. “High praise.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late,” he murmurs.
You turn back toward the window, but your shoulder brushes his arm for a second when the car shifts, and neither of you pulls away right away.
By the time you pull up to the cabin, the night’s settled in fully.
He cuts the engine, the sudden silence almost too loud after everything else, and for a second, neither of you moves.
“…Home sweet home,” he says lightly.
“Don’t say that.”
“What, you don’t like it?”
“It’s weird.”
He huffs a small laugh. “Noted.”
You reach for the door. He’s already out of the van by the time you step onto the gravel, circling around without thinking, falling into step beside you like it’s automatic now.
The walk to the door is short, too short. You notice that, annoyingly.
Neither of you says much, the quiet stretching out again, not uncomfortable, just full of something neither of you is naming.
You stop at the door, turn. He’s already looking at you.
For once, he doesn’t have a line ready. Just that same careful, steady look he’s had all night, like he’s trying not to mess this up.
“…I had a good time,” he says.
You nod once. “Yeah.”
“…Eight,” you add.
His mouth twitches. “I’ll take it.”
You should go inside, you know that. You always know when to end things. Clean. Simple. No room for anything to get complicated.
But instead, you step forward. He barely has time to register it before your hand catches lightly on his jacket, pulling him just enough, and you kiss him.
It’s quick, but not hesitant. Not soft enough to be mistaken for anything else.
You pull back just as fast, like you’ve already decided that’s all he’s getting, like if you linger, you might rethink it.
He stares at you. Completely caught off guard.
“…Wow,” he breathes.
You roll your eyes immediately, stepping back toward the door.
“Don’t make it weird.”
“I’m not—” he starts, then stops, because he is a little stunned, because that definitely wasn’t what he expected.
You reach for the handle, pause, then glance back at him over your shoulder.
“…Goodnight, Munson.”
A slow, slightly dazed smile spreads across his face.
“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah. Goodnight.”
You disappear inside before he can say anything else.
And for a second, he just stands there on the porch, staring at the door like it might open again. Like, he didn’t just imagine that.
Then he lets out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, dragging a hand through his hair as he turns back toward the van.
“…Eight,” he mutters to himself, still smiling.
AGHAHGDHHS okay here it is. i hope you all enjoyed :3
description: he’ll get on his knees for you behind closed doors, call you his queen like it’s the only truth that matters. but at school? you’re just another cheerleader he rolls his eyes at, and you’ve had enough of being his secret.
pairing: eddie x you (fem!reader)
tags: eddie x you, no y/n, weekend lover energy, angst, hurt/comfort, secret relationship, dom!eddie smut, public denial private devotion, possessive!eddie, soft!eddie, "my queen", (all behind closed doors, of course)
TW: NSFW (18+) minors do NOT interact!!!!, PiV, unprotected, pet name
WC:7.9k
A/N: requested by @pierrotandsam i hope i did your request justice!! thank you all for your continued support, I LOVE YOU RAHHHHHH!! reblogs are always appreciated <33 enjoyyyyyuhhhhh
The first time you notice it, it almost feels like a mistake. Because the night before, Eddie had you pinned against the thin wall of his trailer, palms warm at your waist, voice low and reverent like he was saying something sacred.
“C’mere,” he murmured, pulling you closer like you belonged there, like you’d always belonged there. “My queen shouldn’t have to ask.”
He said it so easily, like it was fact. Like it was truth. Like you were something worth kneeling for.
And then, school comes. Fluorescent lights. Lockers slamming. The stale, over-perfumed air of Hawkins High School presses in on you from all sides.
You see him before he sees you. Or—no, that’s not right. He does see you.
You catch it, just for a second. His eyes flick up, lock with yours, and then slide right past you like you’re just another body in the hallway.
Like you’re nothing.
Your stomach drops so fast it makes you dizzy. But maybe it’s just a thing. A one-off, a weird morning, Eddie being Eddie.
Right?
You try again at lunch.
He’s at his usual table, boots kicked out, Hellfire Club crowding around him, loud and messy and unapologetic. He’s mid-rant about something; D&D, probably, hands moving like he’s conducting his own chaos.
You hover for half a second, just long enough to be seen. He notices you this time, you know he does. There’s that flicker of recognition again.
Something softer underneath it, something that belongs to you and you alone. And then it’s gone.
“Jesus,” he scoffs loudly, leaning back in his chair like you’re part of the scenery he’s criticizing. “The pom-pom parade’s getting more annoying every day.”
Laughter. Not yours, never yours. Your face burns, but you don’t stop walking. Years of practiced composure keep your spine straight, your expression neutral, your steps steady.
Like it doesn’t matter. Like he doesn’t matter. But it does. It really fucking does.
Because that night? That night he opens the trailer door before you even knock. Like he’s been waiting, like he always is.
“There you are,” he breathes, and it’s different now; soft, relieved, and almost desperate.
His hands are on you instantly, pulling you inside, the door slamming shut behind you like it’s sealing something sacred off from the rest of the world.
His forehead presses to yours, curls brushing your cheeks, his voice dropping into something quiet and worshipful.
“They don’t get to look at you like I do,” he murmurs. “They don’t get to have you.”
Your hands find his jacket, clutching tight.
“Then why do you act like you don’t even see me?” you ask, and it comes out smaller than you mean it to.
That pauses him. His grip tightens, and his jaw sets just a little.
“It’s different there,” he says finally. “That place? It’s a joke. A performance. I’m not playing their game.”
Your laugh is sharp, but quiet.
“But you are,” you say. “You just don’t realize it.”
Instead of pulling away, he leans in closer, always closer. Like, proximity can fix what distance breaks.
“You think I don’t mean it?” he murmurs, thumb brushing your cheek like you’re something fragile. “In here? With you?”
You don’t answer, because that’s not the problem.
He presses a kiss to your temple. Your cheek. Your mouth. Soft, reverent, careful like he’s trying to convince you through touch instead of words.
“You’re mine,” he whispers against your lips. “My queen. That doesn’t change just because we step outside.”
But it does.
Because tomorrow morning you’ll be back under those lights, and he’ll look through you again like you’re nothing but everything he claims to hate.
You wake up earlier than you ever do. Not because you have to, but because you want to.
The room is still dim, the kind of soft gray light that makes everything feel slower, like the world hasn’t fully decided to start yet.
You lie there for a second, staring at the ceiling, Eddie’s voice from last night looping in your head in a way that’s equal parts comforting and infuriating.
“My queen.”
Your jaw tightens.
“Yeah,” you murmur to yourself, pushing the blankets off. “Okay.”
If he wants to act like you don’t exist out there, fine. You’re not going to beg for attention. But you’re also not going to pretend you don’t care what he sees.
The closet takes longer than it should.
You pass over your usual outfits, the safe ones. The ones that fit neatly into the version of you everyone already understands. Pleated skirts, clean lines, soft colors that make people smile at you in the hallways.
Not today.
Your fingers land on a pair of ripped jeans you barely wear. They’re not extreme, not enough to raise eyebrows, but different enough that it feels like you’re stepping just slightly outside the lines.
You pull them on. A top next. Fitted, but not loud. It sits just right against your waist, the kind of thing you don’t usually reach for unless you’re trying to feel something.
You hesitate, then grab your Converse. That part makes you pause the longest, because it’s not random.
You remember him, sprawled across his mattress, tapping the side of your shoe once, absentminded, like it was a thought he didn’t mean to say out loud.
“Way better than those preppy things you wear,” he’d said. “More you.”
You didn’t ask what that meant.
Your hair is the last thing. Usually it’s styled, controlled. Pulled back into something intentional. Today, you let it fall. Loose, soft, and slightly imperfect; exactly how his hands always leave it.
You catch your reflection in the mirror, and for a second, you don’t move. It’s still you, just a version that feels a little closer to the one he sees when it’s just the two of you.
The halls of Hawkins High School are louder than usual. Or maybe you’re just more aware of it.
Every step feels deliberate, like you’re walking into something instead of just through it. You can feel the difference in how people look at you, subtle shifts, double takes that don’t quite linger long enough to mean anything.
You don’t look for him right away; you don’t want to. But your eyes betray you eventually, flicking toward the far end of the hall, and there he is.
Leaning against the lockers like he owns the place he claims to hate, Dustin beside him mid-sentence, animated as ever. Eddie’s not really listening, not fully.
His attention drifts, lazy and unfocused, until it lands on you and stops. It’s small, so small you almost miss it, but you don’t.
His eyes take you in like they always do when it’s just the two of you. Not just looking, but seeing.
The jeans. The shoes. Your hair. You watch the recognition hit. The quiet, almost involuntary flicker of something softer. Something that belongs to last night.
Your heart stutters, just once. And then it’s gone.
He straightens slightly, like he caught himself doing something he shouldn’t.
“Dude,” Dustin is saying, still talking, completely unaware. “I’m telling you, if we just—”
Eddie cuts him off with a short laugh, louder than it needs to be.
“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, pushing off the lockers as the two of them start walking right toward you.
Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him.
You look anyway. For half a second, your eyes meet again, and this time, he rolls his. It’s exaggerated.
“Unbelievable,” he says, not even lowering his voice as he passes you, shoulder brushing just barely against yours. “It’s like they all share the same brain cell. New costume, same act.”
Dustin snorts beside him, quick and thoughtless. “Right? It’s like—”
Their voices fade as they keep walking. You don’t turn around. You don’t stop. You just keep going, steps steady, posture perfect, like nothing just shifted inside your chest.
Because you know that look he gave you before the eye roll. You know it wasn’t real, but it still stings more than it should.
The trailer door swings open before your knuckles even finish their second tap. Eddie doesn’t say hello. He doesn’t need to. His hand closes around your wrist, and he yanks you inside, the door slamming shut hard enough to rattle the walls.
The second the latch clicks, he’s on you; mouth crashing into yours like he’s been starving for the taste of you all day.
“Fuck, there she is,” he growls against your lips, walking you backward until your shoulders hit the flimsy kitchen counter.
His hands are everywhere at once, sliding under your shirt, palming your waist like he needs to remind himself you’re real. “My queen. My fucking queen.”
You barely get a breath before he’s kissing down your jaw, your throat, teeth grazing the spot that always makes your knees weak.
He drops to his knees right there on the worn linoleum like it’s the most natural thing in the world, hands sliding down your thighs, reverence in every touch.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, pressing his face against the front of those ripped jeans, inhaling like your scent is oxygen. “You walked around school looking like this for me, didn’t you?”
His fingers trace the frayed rips at your knees, then higher, thumbs pressing into the soft skin of your inner thighs. “Every single person who looked at you today wanted you. And none of them gets to have you. Only me.”
A soft, needy sound escapes you as he mouths over the denim, hot breath soaking through.
He looks up at you from the floor; dark eyes, glassy with want, curls wild, that cocky public mask completely gone. Here, he’s only yours.
“I saw you in the hall,” he confesses, voice low and rough as he pops the button on your jeans. “Nearly lost my goddamn mind. Jesus Christ, princess… you looked like sin. Like you’d let me ruin you right there against the lockers if I asked.” He drags the zipper down slowly, eyes locked on yours. “So perfect.”
He tugs your jeans and panties down in one motion, helping you step out of them.
Then he leans in and kisses you right at the apex of your thighs, soft at first, almost chaste, before his tongue parts you with a hungry groan.
“Eddie—” Your hand flies to his hair, gripping tight.
He hums against your cunt, the vibration shooting straight up your spine. “Taste so fucking good, like you were made for my fucking mouth.”
His hands grip your ass, pulling you closer as he devours you—long, filthy strokes of his tongue, sucking your clit like he’s trying to pull every sound out of you.
“Nobody else gets this. Nobody else gets to hear you moan like that. Just me.”
Your legs start to shake. He notices immediately, rising just enough to lift you onto the counter, spreading your thighs wide so he can bury his face again.
Two fingers push inside you without warning, curling just right, and your head falls back against the cabinet with a thud.
“That’s it,” he praises between licks, voice muffled and worshipful. “Ride my face, baby. Use me. You looked so goddamn pretty today.”
He pumps his fingers faster, tongue flicking relentlessly against your clit. “Come for me. Let me taste how much you need this.”
The orgasm hits you hard—white-hot and overwhelming. You cry out his name, thighs clamping around his head as he works you through it, groaning like your pleasure is the best thing he’s ever tasted.
He doesn’t stop until you’re trembling and oversensitive, only then pulling back with a slick shine on his chin and a dazed, adoring smile.
He stands, kissing you deep so you can taste yourself on his tongue, hands already working his belt open.
“Bedroom?” he asks, voice wrecked.
You shake your head, pulling him closer by his shirt. “Here. Now.”
Eddie laughs, low and delighted, lifting you off the counter and turning you around so your chest presses against the cool surface. He kicks your legs apart, lining himself up.
“Good girl,” he breathes against your ear as he pushes in, thick, slow, perfect. “Always so wet for me.” He bottoms out with a broken moan, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “Only I get to know how you fall apart. Only I get to call you mine.”
Then he starts moving, deep, possessive thrusts that make the trailer creak, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks no one else will ever see.
Every snap of his hips is deliberate, like he’s trying to press the truth of you into your bones. The angle has you gasping, chest pressed tight to the counter, his mouth hot against the back of your neck.
“Fuck, listen to you,” he groans, voice wrecked. “All those pretty little sounds just for me. You take me so well, princess. Like your body was made for this cock.” He angles his hips and hits that spot that makes your vision spark white. “That’s it, right there.”
Your fingers scrabble for purchase on the countertop as the pleasure coils tighter. Eddie doesn’t let up. He reaches around to rub tight circles over your clit, mouth never leaving your skin; kissing, biting, whispering filthy praise between every thrust.
“Come on, baby. Come on my cock. Want to feel you fall apart while I’m still buried inside you.” His voice drops lower, almost reverent. “You looked so fucking good today. Drives me crazy knowing they all saw you and still don’t know you’re dripping for me every night.”
The words tip you over the edge. You cry out, clenching hard around him as the orgasm crashes through you.
Eddie curses, hips stuttering, and follows right after, burying himself deep with a guttural moan, spilling inside you while he holds you.
For a long moment, the only sounds are your ragged breathing and the distant hum of the fridge. Then he’s gently pulling out, turning you around, and kissing you slow and deep, like he’s sealing every word he just said into your mouth.
Later, you’re tangled in his bed, sheets twisted around your bare legs. Eddie’s sprawled on his back, one arm hooked around your waist, pulling you half on top of him.
His fingers trace lazy patterns up and down your spine, curls splayed across the pillow, eyes half-lidded and soft in the low lamplight. He looks peaceful and content, like the rest of the world doesn’t exist.
You try to match it. You press a kiss to his chest, right over the tattoo there, and murmur, “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”
He chuckles, the sound rumbling under your cheek. “Only for you, sweetheart. My queen deserves to be worshipped properly.”
His hand slides down to squeeze your ass possessively. “Especially after walking around school looking like a goddamn wet dream in those jeans.”
You smile against his skin, even as something tightens in your chest. You trace one of his scars with your fingertip, keeping your voice light. “Yeah… it was fun seeing you try not to stare.”
It comes out casual. Playful, even. Like you’re totally fine with it. Like the memory of him rolling his eyes in the hallway doesn’t still sting.
Eddie hums, clearly buying it, and presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Had to. Can’t have the sheep thinking I’ve gone soft. But trust me, the second I got you through that door…”
He trails off with a low groan, rolling you both so you’re underneath him again, caging you in with his arms. His eyes are warm, adoring. “Best part of my whole shitty day.”
You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging gently like you always do when you want him closer.
“I know. It’s okay.”
But it’s not, not really.
Because even now, wrapped up in him, warm and safe and wanted, you can already picture tomorrow: fluorescent lights, slammed lockers, the way his gaze will slide right past you again like you’re nothing.
Like this, his mouth on your skin, his voice calling you his queen, the way he fucks you like you’re sacred, doesn’t exist the second you step outside this trailer.
You bury your face in his neck so he won’t see the way your eyes sting. He holds you tighter, completely unaware, murmuring more soft praises into your hair until his breathing evens out.
You stay awake a little longer, listening to his heartbeat, your mind slipping off, wondering how much longer you can keep pretending it doesn’t hurt.
Game days always feel louder.
By the time you step into Hawkins High School, the whole place is buzzing; hallways packed tighter, voices higher, everything charged with that restless, anticipatory energy that comes before a Friday night game.
And you? You’re back in uniform. It fits like it always does. Clean lines, bright colors, everything about it is designed to be seen. It’s the version of you everyone recognizes, and the version he pretends to hate.
You catch a few looks as you move through the halls, smiles from teammates, nods from people who only acknowledge you on days like this.
Lunch is worse. It’s crowded, loud, suffocating, and you don’t even mean to look for him this time, you really don’t, but your eyes still drift. And there he is.
Boots up on the bench, leaning back like he owns his corner of the cafeteria, Hellfire Club gathered around him in their usual chaos.
He’s mid-story, hands moving, voice animated, until a group of cheerleaders passes by the table. Until you pass by. His gaze flicks over, just once. You feel it; you always do.
And then, “Man,” he says, loud enough for his whole table to hear, leaning forward with a smirk that feels practiced. “They really roll out in those uniforms like it’s some kind of holy procession or something.”
A couple of the guys laugh. Someone mutters something about pom-poms. Eddie shakes his head, scoffing, like the whole thing is beneath him. Like you’re beneath him.
Your grip tightens around your tray, and you don’t look over again. You don’t give him that. But the words stick anyway.
“Holy procession.”
You almost want to laugh. Because if anyone treats something like religion, it’s him.
Practice is worse in a quieter way.
The field stretches out under a dull sky, the air crisp, biting just enough to keep you alert. The rest of the team moves through warm-ups, chatter echoing across the track as your coach calls out instructions.
Eventually, they’re sent out to start running drills.
“Track. Let’s go,” someone calls.
You hesitate.
“Be right there,” you say, already stepping back toward the building before anyone can question it.
No one does, they’re too busy. You’re grateful for that.
The halls are quieter now, most people already filtering out toward the field, the distant echo of the marching band bleeding faintly through the walls.
Your footsteps feel louder than they should as you head toward the locker room, heart still a little off from everything earlier.
You just need a second, just a minute to breathe. The door creaks when you push it open.
Dark, mostly. The overhead lights are off, only a soft strip of yellow from one corner casting long shadows between the rows of lockers. It’s empty, or at least, it looks empty.
You don’t think twice. You step in, letting the door fall shut behind you, already reaching up to adjust your hair, your uniform. And then, hands.
They catch your waist from behind, pulling you back into a solid chest before you can even gasp properly.
“Missed me that bad?” his voice murmurs low against your ear.
Your breath stutters. Of course, of course it’s him.
“Eddie—” you start, but it comes out more like a breath than a protest.
His grip tightens just slightly, not rough—never rough—but insistent, like he already knows you’re not going to pull away.
“You didn't stop by at the end of the day,” Eddie mutters, nose brushing along the side of your neck, his voice softer now, edged with something almost accusing. “Had me thinking you were avoiding me.”
A quiet, disbelieving laugh slips out of you. “Maybe I was.”
That makes him pause, only for a second. Then his hands slide up, slow and certain, like he’s relearning you by touch alone, thumbs grazing over the sides of your uniform.
“Yeah?” he murmurs. “Didn’t seem like it last night.”
There it is, that tone. The one he always uses when it’s just the two of you. Like the rest of the world peels away, and he gets to be this version of himself again. Yours.
Your eyes close for a second despite yourself.
“That was last night,” you say quietly.
He doesn’t answer that. Instead, he turns you slightly in his arms, enough to get a better look at you, his gaze dropping, lingering in a way that feels almost reverent again.
“God,” he exhales, softer now. “You look—”
He doesn’t finish it, he doesn’t have to. His hand comes up, brushing a loose strand of your hair back, fingers catching just briefly like he doesn’t want to let go.
“My queen,” he adds under his breath, like it belongs here. Your chest tightens.
“You have a funny way of showing that,” you murmur.
He frowns, just slightly, like he doesn’t like the tone, like he doesn’t understand why this isn’t enough.
“Why do you keep doing that?” he asks, quieter now. “Dragging that shit in here.”
“Because it matters.”
You don’t raise your voice, you don’t pull away. But you don’t melt into him either. And he notices, you can tell he does.
So he does what he always does when something feels too real: he leans in and closes the distance.
His lips brush your neck, slow, lingering, and intentional in a way that makes your breath hitch despite everything.
“Let me make it up to you,” he murmurs against your skin.
Your hands hover at his chest, unsure. Because this? This is the part you want, and the part that hurts.
His grip tightens slightly at your waist, like he’s anchoring you there with him, like nothing outside this room exists. For a moment, you let yourself lean into it, just a little. Just enough to remember what it feels like when he’s not pretending.
By the time you make it back to the field, the lights are on. The game energy has fully taken over now, music blaring, people crowding into the stands, everything loud and overwhelming and public.
You rejoin your team near the track, slipping back into place as if nothing happened.
“Hey—oh my god, finally,” one of the girls says, grabbing your arm lightly. “Coach was about to send someone in for you.”
“Sorry,” you say automatically. “I just needed—”
She cuts you off, eyes suddenly narrowing. Not suspicious, but excited.
“Wait,” she says, leaning closer. “Hold on, turn your head.”
Your stomach drops. You don’t move.
“Wait, no—stop—” you start, but she’s already gently tilting your chin, just enough.
“Oh my god.” Her face lights up instantly. Pure delight.
“Shut up,” she whispers, grinning. “You have a hickey.”
Heat floods your entire body. “It’s not—” you try, but your voice falters.
“Finally,” she laughs softly, squeezing your arm. “I was starting to think you just weren’t interested in anyone. This is so good.”
“Good," you echo.
“You deserve to be happy,” she adds, softer now, genuinely warm. “Like, actually happy.”
Your throat tightens. Because to her, this is simple. Sweet. Normal.
You force a small smile.
“Yeah,” you say, even though it doesn’t feel true. “Something like that.”
She beams, completely satisfied, already turning back toward the rest of the team.
And you just stand there for a second. The noise of the crowd swelling around you. The mark on your skin is still warm, proof of something that only exists in the dark.
Something no one, not even the person who gave it to you, would ever admit to in the light.
The game ends in a blur of noise; cheering, music. The sharp echo of the band still ringing in your ears as people spill out of the stands, bodies moving in every direction, voices overlapping until it all becomes one steady hum.
You go through the motions. Smile when you’re supposed to. Clap when everyone else does. Stay just long enough that no one questions it.
And then you leave. The parking lot is quieter on the far side, tucked away from the main rush.
Stadium lights cast everything in this hazy glow, long shadows stretching across the pavement as you make your way to your car. You just want to go home.
You barely make it to the driver’s side before you hear it.
“Hey—hey, wait.”
You freeze, and you don’t turn right away. You don’t give him that immediately.
But you hear his footsteps, quick, uneven, like he almost slipped past you tonight and is trying to catch up before you disappear completely.
“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath as he gets closer, glancing over his shoulder like he’s checking for witnesses. “You walk fast.”
Eddie looks different out here. Not softer, just restless.
His eyes flick around the lot again, shoulders tight, like even being near you out in the open is something he has to manage carefully.
That’s what does it.
“What?” he says, noticing the look on your face, trying to play it off with a crooked grin. “No ‘hi, Eddie’? I come all the way out here—”
“Why are you looking around like that?”
It cuts him off, clean. He blinks.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Your voice isn’t loud, but it’s not soft anymore either. His expression shifts, something defensive creeping in almost immediately.
“I’m not—”
“You are,” you say. “Like you’re gonna get caught doing something wrong.”
He huffs out a short laugh, running a hand through his hair like this is all ridiculous.
“Okay, and? What, you want me to roll out a red carpet in the middle of the parking lot?” he jokes, stepping a little closer. “Make a big announcement? ‘Hey everyone, look who I—’”
“I don’t want to be your secret anymore.”
For a second, he just stares at you, like he’s waiting for the punchline.
“You’re joking,” he says.
You don’t answer, and that’s when it clicks. The grin fades, something sharper takes its place.
“You’re serious?” he asks, voice flattening.
“Yes.”
It’s simple, honest…and apparently, completely unacceptable. He scoffs, stepping back like you just said something offensive.
“Are you kidding me right now?” he mutters. “This is what this is about? After everything?”
“After everything?” you repeat. “You act like I don’t exist. You talk about me like I’m—like I’m a joke.”
“Oh, come on,” he snaps, the edge in his voice coming out fast now. “Don’t act like you don’t know what that place is. It’s high school. It’s bullshit. None of it’s real.”
“It’s real to me.”
“Well, it shouldn’t be.”
You swallow, shaking your head slightly.
“You don’t get to decide that.”
He laughs again, but there’s nothing amused about it now.
“Right. Because what, you want me to suddenly start hanging around your little cheerleader squad?” he says, gesturing vaguely toward the field. “You want me to play nice with the same people who wouldn’t piss on me if I was on fire?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s exactly what you’re implying.”
“No,” you push back, frustration finally breaking through. “I’m saying I don’t want to feel like something you’re ashamed of.”
His expression hardens, jaw tightening like he’s been cornered.
“I’m not ashamed of you,” he says, but there’s something off about it now. “I’m just not stupid.”
Your stomach drops. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’m not about to screw myself over because you suddenly decided you need a public fucking announcement,” he snaps. “You think your friends are gonna be cool with this? You think your precious little image survives that?”
You stare at him. Because that wasn’t about protecting you, that was about protecting him.
“You don’t even hear yourself,” you say quietly.
“Oh, I hear myself just fine.”
“Do you?”
Because you don’t think he does. You don’t think he realizes what he’s actually saying.
Or, maybe he does.
“Look,” he says, running a hand over his face, clearly irritated now. “If this is gonna turn into some dramatic thing, I’m not doing it. I told you what this is.”
“What it is?” you repeat.
“Yeah,” he says, like it’s obvious. “Something real. Something that’s ours. Not for everyone else to pick apart.”
“Then why does it only exist when no one else is looking?”
“Because that’s the only place it works,” he says.
That’s the thing you can’t unhear. You nod slowly, even though it feels like something inside you is caving in.
“Okay,” you say. Just that.
He frowns slightly, like he wasn’t expecting you to give in that easily.
“Okay?” he repeats.
“Yeah.”
You open your car door. “I get it.”
“Wait—” he starts, but there’s no real urgency behind it. Not enough.
Not like there should be. You pause just long enough to look at him one last time.
“I don’t want that,” you say. “Not like this.”
Something flickers across his face, too fast to hold onto.
“Then that’s your problem,” he mutters.
And that? That’s the final cut. You don’t say anything else. You just get in the car, slam the door, and leave.
Monday feels colder. Not literally, just the kind of cold that settles under your skin, the kind that comes from deciding something and sticking to it.
You don’t wake up early this time. You don’t overthink your outfit. You don’t stand in front of the mirror trying to see yourself the way he does.
The halls of Hawkins High School are the same as always: loud, crowded, and predictable. But you’re different in them now.
There’s no hesitation in your steps. No scanning the room without meaning to. No quiet, traitorous hope that maybe today he’ll look at you differently.
You don’t look for him at all. And somehow, that’s exactly why you feel it. That awareness, like someone’s eyes are on you.
You know who it is before you even confirm it.
You don’t give in right away. You keep walking, steady, focused, refusing to let your head turn.
But it lingers, that feeling of being watched. Eventually, your eyes flick; just barely, just enough to catch it in your periphery.
Eddie, leaning against the lockers like always. But he’s not talking, not really. Dustin is mid-sentence beside him, hands moving, voice animated…and Eddie’s not listening.
He’s watching you. Not casually, not like before. There’s no smirk. No eye roll, no performance.
You don’t slow down, and you don’t give him anything. You just keep walking like he’s part of the wall behind him. And for the first time, it throws him off.
You can feel it even without looking back.
Lunch is worse for him, but better for you. Because you sit with your friends, laugh when something’s funny, respond when spoken to, and fall into your usual rhythm like nothing is missing.
Like he isn’t missing.
And that? That’s new.
From across the cafeteria, Eddie notices it immediately. You’re not glancing over, not even once.
Not hovering at the edges of his awareness. Not giving him that half-second of attention he’s gotten so used to taking for granted. It shouldn’t bother him, it really shouldn’t.
This is what he wanted, right? Separation. Control. No complications. So why does it feel like something’s off?
“Dude, are you even listening?” Dustin asks, snapping his fingers once in front of his face.
Eddie blinks, dragging his gaze away from you like he got caught doing something he shouldn’t.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “I’m listening.”
“You’re not,” Dustin says flatly.
Eddie shrugs it off, leaning back in his seat, trying to force himself back into the conversation, back into the version of himself that makes sense here.
But his eyes keep drifting against his will, back to you.
You laugh at something one of your teammates says, head tipping back slightly, hair falling the way he always liked it, and something in his chest tightens.
Because you look…fine. Better than fine, actually. Like you’re not waiting for anything. Like you’re not missing anything. Like you’re not missing him.
And that doesn’t sit right, not at all.
You feel it again, that stare. You try to ignore it, you really, really do. But something in you—something stubborn, something tired—finally snaps.
You look up across the room, right at him. And when your eyes meet, there’s no softness. No hesitation. No flicker of last night, or the night before, or any of it.
Just a look: sharp, cold, and cutting.
The kind that says more than words ever could. Because it’s not angry in the way he expected. It’s not loud or emotional; it’s final.
Like you’ve already decided something he hasn’t caught up to yet.
You don’t hold eye contact, and you don’t give him time to recover. You just look away, like he doesn’t matter. Like, he’s not even worth the energy it takes to stay mad.
That’s when it really sinks in.
He fucked up.
And he doesn’t know how to handle that, not even a little.
He waits longer than he should; that’s the first mistake. Not days, but just enough time to convince himself it isn’t urgent, that you’ll come around, that you always do.
Except you don’t.
Your house looks the same as always. Warm lights on, quiet street, the kind of place that feels stable in a way his life never has.
Eddie sits in his van for a minute, then another. Hands tight on the steering wheel, jaw clenched, running through what he’s going to say and hating every version of it.
Because none of it sounds like him. None of it sounds right.
But leaving feels worse, so he gets out.
The knock on your door comes later than you expect. You almost don’t answer it, but something in you already knows. So you open the door anyway, and there he is.
Standing on your porch like he doesn’t belong there, like he knows it.
“Hey,” he says finally.
You don’t return it.
“Why are you here?”
“I—” he starts, then stops, running a hand through his hair. “Can we talk?”
You hesitate for a second. Then you step outside, pulling the door mostly shut behind you like you’re not inviting him in.
“Talk,” you say.
He nods, like he expected that.
“Look,” he starts, pacing once like he needs the movement, like standing still makes it worse. “About the other night—”
“Which part?” you cut in. “The part where you said it only works if no one knows about me, or the part where you said it’s my problem?”
He exhales sharply, nodding like he’s bracing himself.
“Yeah. That,” he mutters. “That was—” He huffs out a breath. “That was shitty. I know that.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he adds quickly.
“You said it like that.”
“I know.”
“And you meant it enough to say it.”
That corners him.
“I panicked,” he admits, quieter now. “You said you didn’t want to be a secret and I—” He shakes his head. “I don’t know. I got defensive. I said shit I shouldn’t have.”
Your arms cross over your chest.
“And the way you act at school?” you ask. “Was that panic too?”
He flinches.
“No,” he says. “That’s just… how I deal with that place.”
“So humiliating me is how you deal with it?”
“I’m not trying to humiliate you—”
“But you are.” Your voice cracks just slightly.
“You think I don’t notice?” you continue, quieter now but sharper. “The comments, the eye rolls, the way you act like I’m everything you hate? You think that just… doesn’t matter because you call me your ‘queen’ and act like you care when no one’s around?”
His chest tightens at that.
Because hearing it out loud makes it sound exactly what it actually is.
“Yeah,” he mutters, almost to himself. “That sounds bad.”
“It is bad, Eddie.”
“I didn’t think—” he starts.
“I know,” you cut in. “That’s the problem.”
“I thought what we had was enough,” he says, softer now. “Just us. Away from all that shit.”
“It’s not,” you say. “Because I have to go back there every day and pretend you don’t matter. Pretend I don’t matter to you.”
“You do matter to me,” he insists, stepping closer again.
“Not in a way that counts.”
That stops him fully. Because he knows what you mean, and he doesn’t have a way around it.
“I don’t want something that only exists when it’s hidden,” you continue, your voice quieter now but steadier. “I don’t want to be something you tuck away when it’s inconvenient.”
“You’re not—”
“I am.”
Silence again. This time, he doesn’t try to fill it. Instead, he's looking at you like he’s finally seeing the full weight of what he did.
And it’s not pretty.
“I can fix it,” he says finally, a little desperate now. “I can— I don’t know, I’ll—”
“What?” you ask. “What are you going to do, Eddie?”
He opens his mouth and nothing comes out. Because he doesn’t know, not really. Not in a way that feels solid enough to promise.
Your shoulders drop slightly, like something in you just settles.
“Yeah,” you say quietly.
That one word feels like a conclusion, not a question.
“I’m sorry,” he says again, softer now. Real this time. “I really am.”
“I believe you.”
And for a split second, something like relief flickers across his face.
“I don’t want to be,” you admit, your voice finally wavering. “But I can’t do this. Not like that.”
He runs a hand over his face, frustrated now, pacing again like he’s trying to outrun the feeling.
“Jesus,” he mutters. “You’re really gonna walk away from this?”
You shake your head slightly. “I’m walking away from how you treat me.”
“Can I… fix it?” he asks eventually, quieter now.
“You’d have to change how you show up for me,” you say softly. “Not just when it’s easy. Not just when no one’s looking.”
He nods, quick. Almost too quick. “I can do that.”
“Maybe,” you say.
“Then prove it,” you add, stepping back toward your door.
He stands there for a second, like he wants to say more. Like he should say more.
But nothing he has right now is enough. So he nods once, and lets you go inside.
Eddie doesn’t sleep, not really.
He tries. God, he tries: flipping over in his bed, staring at the ceiling, running every word you said back through his head like maybe if he hears it enough times, it’ll change.
It doesn’t, it just sits there, and not in a way that counts.
By the time the sky starts to lighten, he’s already up. Already dressed, already out the door before he can second-guess himself.
The bell above the door jingles softly when he pushes into the small café you mentioned once—offhand, like it didn’t matter, like it was just a passing detail. It wasn’t.
He remembers the way you said it; the little smile you didn’t mean to show.
“Iced coffee there is actually good,” you’d said. “And they have these chocolate croissants that are insane.”
So he stands there now, awkward as hell, hands shoved in his jacket pockets while he waits his turn like he doesn’t quite belong in a place like this.
“Uh—yeah,” he says when it’s his turn, clearing his throat. “Can I get… two iced coffees. And—” he hesitates, then adds, “those chocolate croissant things?”
The girl behind the counter nods, already moving. “Anything else?”
He pauses. Then, quieter, “Yeah. Can you, uh… make one of the coffees extra sweet?”
Because that’s how you take it, he remembers that too.
The flowers feel like overkill, he knows that. Standing outside a small shop with a bouquet in his hands, he almost laughs at himself.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “You’re really doing this.”
But he doesn’t leave them. He doesn’t put them back. Because if he’s going to do this, he’s going to do it right.
By the time he gets to Hawkins High School, the halls are already filling. And for once, Eddie doesn’t hang back. He doesn’t slip into the background. He doesn’t wait until no one’s looking.
He walks in like he’s got somewhere to be, mostly because he does.
You’re at your locker when you hear it.
“Move—sorry—excuse me—yeah, my bad—”
That voice.
Your stomach flips before you can stop it. And when you finally turn, you almost don’t process it. Because it doesn’t make sense, not at first.
Eddie is standing right there. In the middle of the hallway, in full view of everyone.
Holding: coffee, a paper bag, and a bouquet of flowers that look wildly out of place in his hands. Your brain stalls.
“Hi,” he says. Simple, like this isn’t the most insane thing he’s ever done. Like he didn’t just shatter every rule he’s been following since this started.
The hallway is quiet in that subtle way; people pretending not to stare while very obviously staring.
You blink.
“…what are you doing?” you ask, because it’s the only thing your brain can come up with.
He huffs out a small, nervous laugh.
“Trying not to screw this up again,” he says honestly.
And then, he steps closer. Not hesitant, not checking who’s watching.
Just walking straight up to you like this is the most natural thing in the world.
“I, uh—” he starts, holding out one of the iced coffees. “Extra sweet. Like you like it.”
Your hand moves before your brain catches up, taking it from him automatically.
“You remembered,” you say quietly.
He nods.
“Yeah. Turns out I remember a lot of things I should’ve been paying attention to sooner.”
Your throat tightens. Before you can respond, he holds out the paper bag.
“And these,” he adds. “Chocolate croissants. Or… croissant. I don’t know. I got two in case I said it wrong.”
A couple of people nearby actually laugh softly at that. You don’t even notice; you’re still staring at him.
Because this isn’t him. Or maybe it is, just a version you’ve never been allowed to see out here.
“And—” he exhales, then holds out the flowers, suddenly a little less confident. “These felt like a good idea at the time.”
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.
“They’re… a lot,” you admit.
“Yeah,” he says immediately. “I figured. But I already bought them, so...”
There are still people watching. And for a split second, you expect him to fold. To pull back or make a joke to ruin it, but he doesn’t.
Instead, he shifts the flowers into one hand and reaches for you with the other; gentle, careful, and very much public.
His fingers lace with yours like it’s the easiest thing in the world, like it’s something he’s always been allowed to do.
“Hi,” he says again, softer this time, like the first one didn’t cover it.
Your heart stutters.
“Hi,” you echo.
He studies your face for a second, searching, checking, making sure he hasn’t misread anything.
“I meant what I said,” he adds quietly. “About fixing it. About showing up.”
You glance down at your joined hands, then back at him.
“You’re… definitely showing up,” you say.
He huffs out a small laugh.
“Yeah, well. Figured if I was gonna do it, I shouldn’t half-ass it.”
“You called me your queen,” you say, a little teasing now, a little testing. “You gonna say that out here too?”
A couple of people nearby go very still. This is the moment, the one that would’ve broken him before.
Eddie doesn’t even hesitate. He leans in just slightly, close enough that his voice drops, but not so quiet that it disappears.
“Yeah,” he says, eyes locked on yours. “That doesn’t change just because people are watching.”
Your breath catches. The hallway doesn’t matter, the people don’t matter, the whispers don’t matter.
Because for the first time, he’s not treating what you are like as something that only survives in the dark.
He’s choosing you. Right here, in the light. And it’s not perfect.
It’s a little messy, a little awkward, very Eddie, but it’s real.
Had to make a hurt/comfort comeback after Doll Parts, sorry!? i have a double-header coming tonight, keep your eyes peeled 👀
Ok I know we’re in a very angsty sad time of princess au (and this can be angsty sad time too) but I think it’d be really cute for princess reader to have some traditions from home. Like James of course knows of some niche thing they do but he does it a little off and she’s shy but eventually corrects it and it’s cute and sappy or maybe sad bc like traditions but she can’t go home. That vibe if you get it! Not a super request but just like an idea for the au!!
a/n: Please do not misconstrue my participation in the marauders fandom as support of JKR. If you’re new here and want to participate in the fandom, I encourage you to do so without participating in anything that would provide financial gain to her or her transphobic agendas
poly!marauders x princess!reader ♡ 2k words
Bright light filters through your lashes. They’re heavy, the thick blanket of sleep not relinquishing you just yet. It’s not usual for you to sleep in late enough that the sun gets so high. Worry creeps in at the edges of your consciousness.
“There she is.” A hand pets your hair, and the worry dispels without a fuss. You know you’re safe. “Madam Pomphrey? She’s waking up.”
“How can you tell?” another voice asks.
“Her eyes are twitching.”
“Is that good? What if she’s dream—oh.” You finally manage to lift your heavy lids, your bleary vision focussing on Sirius. He drops to a crouch by your bed as his voice drops to a murmur. “Hi.”
“Hi,” you say back to him. Or try to say. Your voice comes out hoarse, barely there.
The hand on your head strokes your hair consolingly. You trace it back to Remus, who tells you, “Your throat might hurt. It’s normal, don’t worry.”
You try to clear your throat. It feels ravaged, torn and raw. “What happened?”
“Madam Pomfrey can tell you more about it,” he assures you.
“Who?”
Remus points behind you with his chin. You turn to find a plump older woman approaching your bedside. She’s wearing scrubs and has a pleasant, sympathetic face.
“Hello, Your Highness,” she says, sitting down beside you on the bed. “I’m sorry we’ve had to meet under these circumstances. Though, in my line of work, I hardly ever meet people another way.”
She flashes a kind smile. You return it on instinct. “It’s nice to meet you,” you say.
The woman—Madam Pomfrey—pats your hand. “Your throat is sore because we had to put a long tube with a camera down your throat, to see what was causing your stomach pain. Are you in pain now?”
You hesitate. “Not really.”
“Not as much as earlier?”
“No.”
“It would have been nice to know you were in any pain, earlier,” Sirius pipes up.
You glance at him, expecting an unimpressed glare, maybe one of his signature arched brows, but Sirius only looks concerned. Remus sends him a scolding look.
“You fainted,” Madam Pomfrey tells you gently, “and Sirius brought you to me. Do you remember waking up?”
You blink at her. “No…”
“That’s alright,” she assures you. “We had to sedate you to look in your stomach, which can sometimes cause short term memory loss. It’s perfectly normal not to remember.”
“Okay.” Your voice smalls. You repress the urge to draw your legs in on yourself like a child. How could so much happen while you were unaware? How could you wake up, and not know it?
“It really wasn’t as invasive as it sounds,” Remus promises, his tone soothing. “It’s just a small tube. You were only sedated so that you would be comfortable.”
You nod, still wary. Sirius is watching you closely, with a troubled expression. “What?” you ask him.
He hesitates. “You really don’t remember being awake?”
You shake your head. “What did I do?” God, if after everything you’ve done to keep your feelings to yourself, you told Sirius something mortifying you can’t even remember…
He must sense the direction of your thoughts. Sirius’ gaze softens. “Nothing, sweetheart. Nothing awful, you just…you were sick, and it was scary. I’m surprised you don’t remember.”
Sirius being so gentle with you alarms you more than anything so far. You stare at him, wide-eyed, and he only presses his lips into a sorry smile. You’re at a loss.
“I was sick?”
“After stomach pain, vomiting can be another indicator of stomach ulcers,” Madam Pomfrey hurries to tell you. “It looks frightening, but it’s nothing that isn’t fixable. And you shouldn’t need to worry about that happening again.”
“Ulcers?” you echo her.
Madam Pomfrey smiles compassionately. “Let me start from the beginning. You’ve been under a fair bit of stress lately, haven’t you?”
Your lips part, but you don’t know what to say. You look at Remus, then Sirius. “I…”
Sirius gives a quiet, forced laugh. “I’d think twice before trying to say you’re fine again,” he advises. “We’re not likely to believe you.”
Embarrassment pricks at your skin as you force your gaze back to Madam Pomfrey. “I suppose so. A little.”
The older woman nods. “Sometimes, severe psychological stress can have adverse effects on the body. In your case, an increase in stomach acid contributed to the development of a stress ulcer, which is what’s been making your stomach hurt and what made you faint.” Madam Pomfrey’s eyes flicker to Sirius, something you can’t read passing between them. “You’re lucky that you were with someone when that happened. It could have been dangerous if the ulcer continued to progress without treatment.”
You look at Sirius. “Thanks,” you say, sheepish.
He laughs again, a real one. “Yeah, babe, anytime.”
“Well, hopefully there isn’t another occurrence,” Remus chimes in, his hand coming back to your head fretfully.
“No,” Madam Pomfrey agrees. “I’m leaving you with some medicine. Take it every day before breakfast until it runs out, and you should be good as new.”
“Thank you,” you tell her sincerely, relieved you don’t have to do anything more serious.
“Oh, hey!” Another voice comes from the doorway, and you look over to see James bringing in a tray. “You’re awake!” He quickens his pace, causing Remus to tsk when he nearly spills whatever he’s carrying. “Why didn’t anyone come and get me?”
“She’s only just woken up,” says Remus.
“Angel, I feel so bad that—” James seems to realize he’s spilling, and he hisses through his teeth, rebalancing the tray. “—we’ve stressed you out so badly your organs shut down—”
“Not what happened,” Remus cuts in.
“Please don’t be sorry,” you tell him. “It hasn’t been that bad, I just—”
“I think I’ll leave you all to talk.” Madam Pomfrey stands. She reaches across you, pinching Remus’ cheek, and you watch in joyous astonishment as he flushes and smiles bashfully. “Look after each other. And you,” she says to you, “your medicine is on the nightstand, and stay away from acids for the time being.”
“Yes ma’am.” James salutes her. “After this last meal, of course.”
Madam Pomfrey huffs a laugh and goes. Sirius elbows James in the side. “You’re a disgrace.”
“Don’t make me spill,” James complains.
“You’ve already done a fair bit of that.” Remus’ chiding isn’t as effective when his cheeks are still tinged pink. The fondness curling up the edges of his tone doesn’t help either. “Why don’t you give it to her before you slosh the whole thing into her lap?”
James makes an indignant sound, but he’s very, very careful as he sets the tray down in front of you. “Right,” he says, “well. You don’t have to eat anything if you’re not hungry, but Poppy—er, Madam Pomphrey—said that maybe this one time acid was okay, so…”
You look down at the meal in front of you. A fair amount of it has sloshed over the sides of the bowl, it’s true, but you’re surprised you didn’t recognize it instantly by smell. It’s a traditional Pelerian soup, tomato-enriched broth with garlic and herbs, complete with tiny stelline pasta stars. You look up at James.
“Where did you learn about this?”
“I had it, once,” he says, “when we were visiting Peleria. I asked Marlene if she thought she could recreate it.”
Your eyes smart. “Thank you,” you whisper.
“Hey,” Sirius chides, still so very gentle with you. You bow your head so they can’t see your chin and its humiliating wobble.
“Oh, lovely.” James sits across from you on your bed, his hand finding one of your ankles through the covers. He rubs it bracingly. “Don’t cry. I wouldn’t have brought it if I thought you’d cry.”
You shake your head and breathe until you’re sure your voice will hold together. “No, it’s nice. I love it.”
“Do you grow basil in Peleria?” Remus wonders, eyeing the basil garnishing your soup.
You laugh weakly. It helps, bolstering you enough to pick up your head and wipe your face. “No. But it’s a nice touch,” you add for James.
He frowns. “I knew something was off. That was all Marlene, so you know.”
You laugh again, and a long-held tightness in your chest rattles looser. You’d almost begun to forget it was there. You pick up the spoon, taking a bite.
“It’s really good,” you tell James sincerely. “You all should have some.”
“No, it’s for you,” James insists.
“I can’t just eat in front of you.”
“Marlene made plenty. We’ll have some later, and if it makes you feel better, we can eat it in front of you then to make it even.”
You smile between bites. “That would help.”
“I really am sorry,” says Sirius. His gray eyes gone solemn. “I know I’ve said it already, but I want you to understand how much I mean it.”
There’s a sentiment you can relate to. “It’s okay,” you tell him.
Sirius shakes his head, growing frustrated. For the first time, you wonder if it’s not directed at you. “It’s not. I wasn’t trying to hurt you, but it’s—that’s just it. I wasn’t thinking about whether I did hurt you, and I’m sorry.”
“I think we’ve all had some role in that,” Remus murmurs.
A violent desperation to fix rises up in you. “That’s not true. You’ve all been really nice to me, and I’ve only made things confusing for you.”
James’ smile is heartbreakingly hollow. “I think things were always going to be confusing, lovely. That’s not your fault.”
“It’s not your fault, either.”
“Things haven’t been easy for you here,” says Remus, patient and even. Reasonable. “You’ve been so stressed that your body took it out on you in a drastic way, and whatever you might say to make us feel better” —He gives you a knowing look when you open your mouth to protest— “we certainly didn’t help.”
You rub your lips together, unable to deny it. After a moment, you look up at Sirius.
“I’m sorry for shouting at you,” you say.
His lips quirk. “You call that shouting?”
You give him your best attempt at an apologetic smile. It must be a fair enough attempt, because Sirius reaches onto the bed for your hand. He squeezes your fingers, his look tender.
“I earned it,” he tells you.
“And I’m sorry I kissed you,” you say to James.
His eyebrows fly up. “Kissed me? I kissed you.”
“Right, but I kissed you…worse.”
James laughs, the sound tinged with bemusement. “I’m sorry?”
You shrink in on yourself a bit. James leans forward as if to counter it.
“Lovely, honestly,” he says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. The kiss…I mean, you kissed me back, I thought, but everything else was me.”
Your eyes dart to Remus. You feel like it might be a bad idea to talk about this in front of James’ partners, but it has to be said. “I didn’t think so.”
“Does it matter?” Sirius asks.
Your head snaps to him. So do James’ and Remus’. You think that of all the things he could have said, that was the least expected.
Sirius is frowning, but not at you. Once again, he looks like his upset is directed inward. “Whoever kissed who, you both obviously meant it. We all have some unresolved shit to figure out.”
Remus hums. “Whoever kissed whom.”
“Right, whom.” Sirius’ eyes roll. “You’re a twat.”
Remus’ lips curve, but he doesn’t defend himself against the elbow Sirius sticks in his side. His harmless jab has loosened the other boy up the way he meant for it to. “We all do?” he asks, softly.
“Maybe.”
James’ face lights up. “You mean it?”
“You really need triple confirmation? I said I’m still figuring it out, James.”
“Um, sorry,” you say, hesitant to break into what appears to be a special moment between the three boys, “what are we figuring out?”
James’ eyes are practically sparkling behind his glasses. “Right, after the kiss, we were all talking, and—oh.” His smile drops abruptly.
Sirius frowns. “What now?”
“No, it’s just—I’m worried about your ulcer,” James confesses to you. “Things are about to get even more confusing.”
Summary: Eddie Munson has become an Urban Legend: the Devil of Hawkins. You are new to town, but can’t seem to believe the rumors about the man that lives in the trailer across the street. Based on the song of the same title by Molly Frances.
Contains: agoraphobic!Eddie, shy!reader, rumors of Eddie being a serial killer, mentions of anxiety and panic, difficult relationship with father figures, discussions of emotional neglect and abuse
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6
You avoided Eddie for a couple days, which honestly wasn’t saying a lot. You were comforted knowing that he wouldn’t be missing your presence, that he would be blissfully unaware that you were actively trying to steer clear.
You would get over the shame and embarrassment of the conversation he had witnessed with your father. It would take some time, but the burning in your cheeks would fade away and become a distant memory in the back of your mind. But for now, you sat with the humiliation.
There were plenty of things that you had been running from when you decided to move to Hawkins. None too terrible, but each thing conglomerating into a big ball of suffering that you needed to leave behind. Your father was the nucleus of that ache, the driving force behind how terrible you were at building a lasting relationship and how you valued yourself.
It wasn’t hard to see that you had been avoiding his contact on purpose. The days you had gone without talking to him felt so freeing, like you were finally an adult and able to dictate your own future. When you started to feel the guilt of leaving your parents in the dark, you would conspire to call home when you knew he would be out of the house, just to have a short pleasant conversation with your mother. She may have enabled his control over you, but when it was just the two of you, it felt much more calm.
You knew your mother must have been trying to contact you in the past few weeks, but you were busy enjoying the connections you were slowly making in town. Picking up the phone felt like giving up a portion of the control you were gaining over your life.
You should have known that call would have been from home, should have known better than to let Eddie answer it. You should have known that letting him in would have its consequences, but you still desperately wanted to. You were more concerned for his well being than your own. All you had to do was get over the shame you felt so you could face him again. Shame over an incident that he would never have belittled you for. He would have insisted that your father was demeaning you enough.
You were quick to answer incoming calls after the incident though, trying to ensure you didn’t poke the bear any further. But you were sure to call home each afternoon anyway, so none of the calls coming your way were from your angry father as you feared.
On Wednesday, you received a call about an hour before you had to go into work. It was about an hour later than you had been calling home, you were finding it difficult to muster the courage that day. So you were sure it was going to be one of your parents, and you were sure you were going to be late to work if you wanted to properly deal with the emotions the conversation would cause.
“Hello,” you spoke as confidently as you could, but it came up short.
“Not sounding too chipper today.”
You breathed an audible sigh of relief as the tension left your body.
“Steve, hey, what's up?” You asked, tone already improving. He sounded teasing at first, but he let it go immediately.
“I just wanted to extend an invitation for Friday night. We’re going to have a couple drinks at Nancy and Robin’s place.”
“Oh, that’s very sweet of you, but I… Let me know next time, yeah?”
“Ok,” he hesitated for a moment, sensing the sudden return of the tension in your voice, “Are you sure? I swear the invite is coming from all of us. We had a great time hanging out with you last Friday.”
“That’s really sweet. Next time, I promise.”
“You got it,” he replied before hanging up, disappointment not well masked.
It was a sweet gesture, and for the first time in forever, you trusted that the invitation was genuine and not out of obligation. You just weren’t ready to face anyone yet. You would have been correct in your assumption that Eddie wasn’t going to be attending either, but you just couldn’t chance it yet.
Friday was the first rainy day you had experienced in Hawkins. You grew up only a couple hours away, so the weather was nothing new to you. You found it much more beautiful here though. Maybe it was just a pure appreciation for the life you were trying to build here, but you would trade every sunny day back home for just one rainy day in Hawkins.
You took your time going out to your car to drive to work. The trees down the road were beautiful on any given day, but placing them in front of a dark angry sky was quite possibly the prettiest nature scene you had ever seen. You stared down the road as you made your way down the steps, and stopped to look directly up at the sky as it began to come down even harder. You giggled as you looked down to avoid any more water hitting your face.
Eddie was crowded under the small awning attached to the front of his trailer, and he watched as you smiled and made your way slowly over to your car. He didn’t notice how much he had missed you the past few days until he finally saw you. He had the urge to stop you before you drove off. So he put out his cigarette before he pulled his jacket around him, impossibly tighter, and ducked his head down to brave his way through the rain.
“Hey,” he called from the edge of his yard. He sensed something in your expression when you heard his voice, but you quickly smiled at him and nearly skipped across the road to meet him where he stood.
“Hey, what’s up,” you smiled, mood unable to be soured. You hated to admit that seeing him had scared you for a millisecond, purely because you were afraid he would bring up the conversation that you still weren’t ready to address. But as the rain soaked his hair you couldn’t help but feel the fear wash away.
When you approached him, he realized that he didn’t actually have anything to say, so he had to be quick on his feet.
“Uh, just wanted to say I hope you have fun tonight.”
“Like at work?” You asked, smirking at the absurdity of the situation.
“No, aren’t you going to Nancy and Robin’s tonight?”
“Oh, uhm, no,” you admitted, mood finally beginning to lower.
He furrowed his brow at you, but before he could speak, a loud thunder rolled over the trailer park. He looked up to the sky with worry before looking back down to see the wonder written plainly on your face.
“Wanna come in for a second?”
“I have to get to work.”
“Just a second,” he plead, and you weren’t one to say no to those puppy dog eyes.
He led you inside his trailer, and you saw it in the light for the first time. It was much less foreboding than it had been the other night, warm light from the lamp in the corner washing over every surface in the main room. Neither of you stepped far inside, lingering near the front door as the sound of the rain pelting over the roof rang through the entire trailer.
“Why aren’t you going tonight,” he asked after a moment of shaking off the rain.
“I just wasn’t feeling up for it,” you excused like a child who had been caught doing something naughty.
“But you had so much fun with them last week.”
“It’s not like I’m never going to see them again,” you laughed to brush it off, “I told Steve I’d go next time for sure. I just… needed a minute.”
You began to fidget with your own hands, no longer able to look him in the eye.
“Hey,” he spoke gently, something you still found strange coming from him. In an act even stranger than his tone, he brought a hand up to your chin, lifting it to look up at him. You looked up at him with wide eyes, equally filled with guilt as they were with surprise.
“Does this have anything to do with that phone call with your dad the other day,” he asked, the perfect mix of stern and tender.
Your face fell with the question, and you slowly turned away from him, pushing his hand away in the process.
“I told you I didn’t want to talk about that.” Your cheeks burned as the blood rushed to them, you did your best to hide the embarrassment.
“I know, but -”
“I really need to get to work. I don’t want to be late again.”
“Y/n-”
“Please Eddie,” you finally looked up at him and took a second to take in your appearance. There was no pain or fear written on your face, just pure discomfort. He still felt terrible for making you feel this way, but he was relieved to see it may not have been as bad as he thought.
“Right, it’s a sore subject, I’m sorry. I just… I don’t want you to push anyone away because you think you don’t deserve their friendship.” He spoke low, but self assured.
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
“Then why aren’t you going tonight? Because last time I checked, you seemed pretty damn excited that they liked you.”
“Because,” you paused, bracing yourself and hoping he wouldn’t take what you were about to say wrong, “I knew there was a chance you’d be there and I wasn’t ready to have this conversion.”
You spoke quietly but he heard every word. When he took a second to respond, you assumed the worst. The last thing you had ever wanted Eddie Munson to feel was that you didn’t want him around. He felt that from the rest of the world, he didn’t need it from you too. You opened your mouth to apologize, to beg for forgiveness and understanding, but he cut you off before you could.
“When I was little my mom died. It was just me and the old man for… a long time. He wasn’t a good father by a long shot. And it sucked because-”
“Eddie, you don’t have to do this.”
“I want to,” he paused and held insistent eye contact before he continued.
“Until the later end of high school, I thought that I couldn’t have had it that bad. He never really yelled, never hit me, but I just felt miserable every time he was around. His presence was suffocating, but I was lucky because he would disappear for months at a time. I never knew if he was in jail or just on a bender with his buddies. But the second he would come back home I felt like I was 10 years old all over again. Didn’t matter how old I got.”
You both paused, and Eddie finally looked away before taking a step back from you. He realized that he had been mere inches from you for that entire speech, so he gave you some room to breathe before he continued.
“I started staying with my Uncle Wayne before my first senior year,” he took a second to see if you would question his distinction on which senior year, as usually a person only had one, “I expected to feel the exact same way. I mean he’s an old grump, it only made sense. But I finally felt like I could breathe around him. And the more time I spent with him, the more I realized that… that I shouldn’t have had to feel that way for all those years.”
He considered taking another step towards you again, but settled on craning his neck so he could look you in the eye again, stealing your graze from the ground.
“I’m not trying to tell you how to feel about your dad, or make any accusations against him. I just… really need you to know that you deserve better. And if you need someone who understands, even if you don’t want to talk about it, I’m right here.”
You stood still, processing his words for a moment, and before you could think about what you were doing, you crashed into his chest. You wrapped your arms tightly around him, and it startled him for a second. But as quickly as you had embraced him, he returned the squeeze. When he heard the first small sniffle, he raised one hand to hold your head against him, combing a couple fingers through your hair reassuringly.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered against him.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he paused the movement of his fingers for a moment as he spoke, and he punctuated his sentence with a light kiss on the top of your head. He did it without thinking, and though it made both of your hearts flutter, neither of you acknowledged it.
“I was being serious though,” you backed away from him and wiped the few stray tears that had found their ways down your cheeks, “I really do need to get to work.”
“Right, don’t want you to be late,” he smiled, but you could tell he didn’t quite want you to leave yet. That warmed your heart, but you didn’t want to address it, lest you scare him off like a frightened deer.
You tried to smile a goodbye at him, you even began to open the front door, but he stopped you.
“I’m actually having Wayne over for dinner on Sunday. Would you want to come over?”
“Your uncle?”
“Yeah. He, uhm, he’s actually been wanting to meet you. I may or may not have mentioned my new neighbor to him. And the fact that you aren’t hunting me down with a pitchfork,” he laughed nervously, worried he was saying too much.
“Is he nice?”
“He’ll be on his best behavior,” he winked at you, and you couldn’t help but giggle.
“Ok, fine.”
“Cool,” he smiled down at you, “I think you’ll really like him.”
“If he’s anything like you I’m sure I will,” you smiled back, “Ok, I really have to go Eddie. I’ll see you Sunday?”
