Eddie's gf

eddie's my boyfriend :)/24

[ozempicofficial]

[beasbrain]

Rosie

description: you know those men that say "i don't want kids?" yeah, this isn't one of them. this is about eddie munson willingly attending tea parties in a feather boa and considering it the highest honor of his life.

pairing: stepdad!eddie x singlemom!reader

tags: stepdad!eddie, no y/n, girldad!eddie, so much fluff your eyes will water and your teeth will fall out, domestic fluff, zero plot all vibes, he is in fact the father that stepped up, rosie is his everything, she calls him dad, baby dad ain't shit, yes he lets her paint his nails and do his hair, oh my god this is the cutest shit ever, eddie is so girl-dad coded

TW: slight angst, tooth rotting fluff

WC: 7.5k

A/N: requested by my dearest @bitterestwillow hope you enjoy queen <33 (soft girl-dad eddie is my apology after "I Told You Things"). this shit made my eyes water and my feet kick the entire time while writing. i know having a kid isn't everyones ff cup of tea but i promise, it's worth it. let me know what you guys think :) reblogs are always appreciated, friends <33

“Excuse me, sweetheart,” a voice from behind stops you mid-step. 

You look up from the sea of plumbing fixtures with a sigh already halfway out of your chest, one hand gripping the shopping cart while the other clutches a list that might as well have been written in another language. PVC elbows. Pipe thread tape. Half-inch coupler. 

Somewhere between watching a three-year-old full-time and trying to keep a roof over both your heads, you'd apparently become the designated handyman too.

You turn to find a man with long curls spilling over a faded Metallica shirt and a worn flannel rolled up to his elbows, exposing an array of tattoos.

He points toward the floor, "I think these are yours."

Your eyes immediately drop to the little cardboard box of screws that had apparently slipped from your arm, scattering across the concrete. Before you can bend down, he's already crouched, gathering them one by one.

"Oh my God, thank you," you mutter, already embarrassed. "Today's just... one of those days."

He stands, holding the box out to you. "Trust me, I have a lot of those."

Before you can answer, the tiny voice from your shopping cart pipes up.

"Mama forgot apples."

You look over at your daughter, whose legs are happily swinging from the front of the cart as if the world isn't actively trying to kick your ass.

"We're not at the grocery store, bug."

"I know."

"So..."

"I still wanted apples."

The man snorts, trying to hide it behind his hand, and you can't help smiling despite yourself. He glances at the collection of fittings in your cart before looking back at you.

"So... you remodeling your house or planning on flooding it?"

You hold up the wrinkled list. "My kitchen sink won't stop leaking."

He nods once. "And you got sent here with that list?"

"My landlord told me it'd be an 'easy fix.'"

His face immediately says everything. "Oh..."

"What?"

He scratches the back of his neck. "I mean... no offense to your landlord, but he's either lazy or doesn't know what he's talking about."

You laugh, genuinely this time. "Could be both."

"Probably both."

He steps beside your cart and gently picks up one of the connectors you'd grabbed. "You don't actually need this one."

"No?"

"Nope."

He swaps it for another. "And this thread tape is garbage."

"It is?"

"It's the cheapest stuff they make."

"I picked it because it was the cheapest stuff they make."

He smiles. "Fair enough."

For the next ten minutes, he walks beside you through the aisle, explaining everything in terms that actually make sense instead of sounding like a repair manual. He never talks down to you, never makes you feel stupid, just casually points things out with an easy patience that surprises you.

Your daughter has apparently decided he's the most fascinating person she's ever seen.

She leans over the cart. "Mister."

He looks over. "Yeah?"

"I like your hair."

He instinctively reaches up to touch it. "Thanks."

"You look like a lion."

You slap a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing.

He pauses for a second before grinning. "I've been called worse."

She nods thoughtfully. "I have a unicorn."

"That's awesome."

"It's pink."

"My favorite color."

Her eyes widen. "No way."

"Way."

She gasps dramatically and immediately begins digging through the pile of toys she'd somehow accumulated in the shopping cart.

You rub your forehead. "I'm so sorry."

"For what?"

"She adopts people."

He glances down at the little girl now proudly presenting him with a stuffed dinosaur that has clearly seen better days. "I'm being recruited?"

"I'm afraid so."

He accepts the dinosaur with complete seriousness. "An honor."

Your daughter beams. Mission accomplished.

After another few minutes, he places the final item into your cart. "There."

You stare at the contents. "So... this should actually fix it?"

"Should."

You hesitate, then smile sheepishly. "You don't happen to know how to install it too, right?"

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, and you immediately regret them.

"Oh my God, forget I said that."

He laughs. "No, actually..." He rubs the back of his neck. "I do."

"You do?"

"Spent enough years fixing my uncle's trailer. Not licensed or anything, but I know what I'm doing."

You study him for another second. "And what's the catch?"

"The catch?"

"Nobody just offers to fix a complete stranger's sink."

His eyebrows lift. "I wasn't exactly offering."

"No?"

"I was kind of waiting to see if you'd ask."

You laugh. "So now that I have?"

He pretends to think. "Hmm..."

Your daughter kicks her feet again. "Mama makes yummy grilled cheese."

He looks at her. "She does?"

She nods emphatically. "And tomato soup."

You cover your face. "Honey..."

She points at him. "He can come over."

He immediately raises both hands. "For the record, I support stranger danger."

"He doesn't look dangerous."

"I appreciate that very much."

She studies him another second. "You got nice eyes."

His ears actually turn pink. "Thank you."

Then she sticks out one tiny hand. "I'm Rosie."

He shakes it with complete sincerity. "I'm Eddie."

She smiles like she's known him forever.

You don't know what possesses you to trust him. Maybe it's the way he talks to your daughter like she's a real person instead of a nuisance. Maybe it's because he's spent the last fifteen minutes helping you without expecting anything in return.

Or maybe it's because, for the first time in what feels like years, someone looked at you and didn't see a burden. He just saw you. 

"So..." you say carefully. "If you're sure..."

He shrugs. "I'll fix your sink."

"And if it turns out to be a bigger problem?"

"Then I'll tell you honestly."

"And if you can't fix it?"

"We'll order pizza and pretend we never touched it."

A laugh slips out before you can stop it. "That's a terrible plan."

"It's worked for me before."

Rosie is already nodding enthusiastically. "I like pizza."

He leans closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "I think she's on my side."

You smile. "I think she’s usually on the opposite of mine."

Neither of you could've known then that the sink would be fixed in under twenty minutes. Or that he'd stay another three hours because Rosie insisted on showing him every stuffed animal she owned.

Or that he'd come back the next weekend because she'd proudly announced she wanted to show him her coloring book.

Or that months later she'd accidentally call him "Dad," clap both hands over her mouth in horror, and burst into tears because she thought she'd hurt his feelings.

And years after that, if anyone ever asked Eddie Munson when he met the love of his life, he'd grin and tell them it happened in the plumbing aisle because a stubborn little girl needed apples and her exhausted mother didn't know the difference between a pipe coupling and a garden hose.

2 years later…

By the time you pull into the driveway, your shoulders are aching from wrestling grocery bags in and out of the trunk, and your patience has been thoroughly tested by the woman in front of you at the checkout who insisted on writing a check in the year 1998.

You manage to hook three bags over one arm, another two over the other, and nudge the front door closed behind you with your hip.

The house is quiet for approximately three seconds, then you hear it: a tiny burst of giggling. Then another. Then Eddie's voice, dramatically lowered into what can only be described as a very serious royal accent.

"I'm terribly sorry, Your Majesty, but Sir Teddy Bear has informed me that the strawberry scones have been stolen by dragons."

Rosie's gasp is so loud you hear it from the foyer. "No!"

"I'm afraid so."

"The pink dragons or the green ones?"

"The pink ones."

She sighs dramatically. "They're always doing that."

You quietly set the grocery bags on the kitchen counter before peeking around the corner into the living room, and your heart almost physically stops.

The coffee table has been pushed against the wall, a floral blanket spread neatly across the rug with every stuffed animal Rosie owns arranged in a perfect little circle. Tiny plastic teacups are balanced precariously in front of each guest, alongside mismatched toy plates covered in invisible desserts.

And sitting right in the middle of it all...is Eddie. 

He's cross-legged on the floor, his long curls pulled into two horribly uneven pigtails secured with glittery pink scrunchies. Rosie has somehow convinced him to wear a feather boa, an oversized plastic pearl necklace, and a paper crown that's hanging halfway off his head.

He still has a black band tee and jeans on, of course. The tiara somehow makes it look even cooler.

Rosie notices you first. "Mama!"

She jumps up and nearly spills an imaginary cup of tea all over herself before sprinting toward you, wrapping herself around your legs.

"Eddie's having tea with us."

"I can see that."

She beams proudly. "He knows all the rules."

You glance over at him as he lifts the tiny plastic teacup with absolute dignity. "I've been informed that my pinky needs to stay out."

Rosie immediately corrects him. "It stays up."

"My apologies."

He raises it another inch. "Better?"

She nods approvingly. "Much."

You can't stop smiling. "What exactly am I looking at here?"

Rosie grabs your hand and starts dragging you toward the blanket. "We're princesses."

Eddie quietly adds, "I'm Princess Sparkles."

You bite your lip so hard it almost hurts. "Princess Sparkles?"

He nods solemnly. "I wasn't given a choice."

Rosie immediately spins around. "You picked that one."

He freezes. "...I was given a choice."

She points a tiny accusing finger at him. "You said it was the coolest one."

"It was."

"You said sparkles make everything better."

"They do."

"So you wanted it."

He looks over at you with complete resignation. "I have no defense."

Rosie climbs right back onto the blanket before patting the empty spot beside her. "Mama, sit."

You carefully lower yourself onto the floor, smoothing your jeans beneath you. Immediately, Rosie starts pouring from an empty plastic teapot into your equally empty cup.

"This one's raspberry."

You take a sip with complete seriousness. "Oh my goodness."

She smiles. "It's yummy."

"It's delicious."

Eddie clears his throat. "If I may..."

Rosie nods graciously. "You may."

He lifts his cup. "I detect notes of raspberry with... perhaps a hint of gasoline."

Rosie frowns. "No."

"No?"

"No gasoline."

"My mistake."

She leans over and whispers loudly enough for everyone to hear. "It's strawberries."

He nods in understanding. "Ah. An excellent vintage."

She looks unbelievably proud of herself.

The tea party continues for another twenty minutes, complete with imaginary cookies, a lengthy debate between Bunny and Mr. Dinosaur over proper table manners, and Rosie insisting everyone sing happy birthday to a stuffed giraffe whose birthday appears to have been invented on the spot.

Eventually, she crawls into Eddie's lap without thinking, settling there like it's the most natural place in the world. He absentmindedly smooths a hand over her hair while continuing an entirely serious conversation with the stuffed giraffe.

"And how old are you turning today?"

Rosie answers for it. "Six."

"Oh wow."

"But not really."

"Oh."

"It's pretend."

"Right."

"You're bad at pretending."

"I'm learning."

She reaches up and gently fixes one of his crooked pigtails. "There."

He smiles. "Thanks, sweetheart."

Your chest aches. Not because of anything dramatic. Not because of all the nights you sat awake wondering if Rosie would grow up wondering why she wasn't enough for someone to stay. It aches because she no longer wonders.

She has Eddie. The man currently accepting fake tea from a five-year-old with the same reverence most people reserve for expensive wine. The man wearing a plastic tiara without a single complaint. The man who never once made her feel like she wasn't his.

He catches your eye from across the blanket, so you smile at him softly. He smiles back.

Then Rosie reaches up and shoves another glittery necklace over his curls. "There."

He looks down. "What does this one make me?"

She grins so wide her cheeks puff out. "My daddy."

Silence settles over the room for just a heartbeat. Eddie doesn't hesitate; he just looks up at her with the gentlest expression you've ever seen and presses a kiss against the top of her head.

"My favorite title I've ever had."

Rosie simply nods like that was the obvious answer all along before returning to her tea.

By the time Rosie is tucked into bed, complete with three stuffed animals, one bedtime story, a glass of water she absolutely won't drink, and a solemn promise that you'll check for monsters under the bed even though she's well aware monsters don't exist, the house has settled into that quiet only late evenings seem capable of producing.

The dishwasher hums softly in the kitchen. The television is on low volume, neither of you really paying attention to whatever old movie is playing.

You've long since changed into one of Eddie's old shirts, sleeves swallowing your hands, and he's stretched out on the couch with his legs kicked over the coffee table, one arm lazily draped around your shoulders while the other balances a bottle of beer against his knee.

You're tucked comfortably against his side, your own beer untouched for the last fifteen minutes because somehow you've become completely distracted tracing absentminded circles against his forearm.

Neither of you says much; you never really have to. Comfortable silence had become one of your favorite languages together. After almost two years, it isn't awkward anymore; it's simply home.

Eddie presses a kiss against your temple before taking another sip of his beer. "Can I ask you something?"

You tilt your head up. "When have you ever waited for permission?"

He grins. "Fair."

He looks back toward the television for another moment before his expression softens. "You don't have to answer."

Your fingers stop moving.

"But..." He shrugs. "I realized the other day I don't actually know what happened."

You don't have to ask; you know exactly what he means.

He keeps his voice careful. "Rosie's dad."

For a second, all you do is stare at the condensation rolling down your bottle. It's funny. People assume single mothers talk about it all the time. In reality...you spend most of your life trying not to.

After a quiet moment, you let out a slow breath. "I was married."

You feel Eddie's arm tighten ever so slightly around your shoulders, but he doesn't interrupt.

"We got married young."

You smile faintly, though there's no humor in it. "I thought that was what you were supposed to do."

He stays quiet.

"So we got married, got an apartment together, talked about vacations we'd never actually take because money was always tight."

You laugh softly. "We used to argue over whose turn it was to buy toilet paper."

Eddie smiles. "The truly romantic stuff."

"The glamorous side of marriage."

Your smile fades. "When I found out I was pregnant... I was terrified."

You look down at your hands. "I remember sitting in the bathroom, staring at the test, thinking there had to be a mistake."

"And then?"

"And then I got excited."

Your voice comes out almost embarrassingly quiet. "I started making lists. I looked at baby names. I started clipping little nursery ideas out of magazines. I remember standing in the grocery store crying because I walked past baby socks."

A tiny laugh escapes you. "They were so little."

Eddie reaches over and quietly intertwines his fingers with yours, and you squeeze them.

"I couldn't wait to tell him."

You stare at the floor.

"He didn't cry. He didn't smile. He just looked at me."

The silence stretches.

"I remember asking him if he was okay. He just stood and told me he'd be back later."

You swallow. "He wasn't."

You blink a couple times before continuing. "He started coming home less. He worked late. He stopped touching me. Hell, he stopped looking at me."

Your voice remains remarkably calm. "I found lipstick on one of his shirts."

Eddie's jaw clenches.

"I asked him about it." You laugh quietly. "He told me I was hormonal."

"A month later, he asked for a divorce."

Eddie finally looks down at you. You don't look angry anymore; you just look tired.

"He actually used the words..." You smile bitterly. "'I think we've grown into different people.'"

He says nothing.

"So I signed." Your thumb rubs absentmindedly over the bottle label. "A week later he moved in with someone else."

"A girl barely old enough to drink." You let out another humorless little laugh. "My mother called it trading in for a younger model."

You look toward the ceiling. "I think she was trying to make me laugh."

"Did it?"

"A little."

Your eyes drift toward the hallway leading to Rosie's room.

"He never came to appointments. He wasn't there when she was born. He didn't call. He didn't write. He never met her."

Eddie's entire face has gone still. "He knows about her?"

You nod once. "He just... didn't want her."

The words hang in the room. Simple, matter-of-fact. Far crueler because of it.

You shrug one shoulder. "It took me a long time not to think there was something wrong with me."

Your voice cracks for the first time. "Then I worried there was something wrong with her."

Eddie turns immediately. "There isn't."

"I know that now."

"But at three in the morning with a newborn who won't stop crying and bills stacked on the counter..."

You smile through watery eyes. "You start asking yourself questions you know aren't true."

Without saying a word, Eddie reaches over and gently takes your beer from your hand before setting both bottles on the coffee table. Then he wraps both arms around you, like he's trying to hold every broken piece anyone else ever left behind.

You bury your face into his shirt, and he presses his cheek against your hair. After a minute, he quietly says, "Can I tell you something?"

You nod.

"The first day I met Rosie..."

You smile despite yourself. "The hardware store?"

"The hardware store."

He chuckles softly. "When she held out that stuffed dinosaur and told me his name was Mr. Pickles..."

You laugh through your sniffle. "It was Mr. Sprinkles."

"Oh." He grins. "See? I wasn't listening."

"You absolutely were."

"I wasn't."

"You were."

"I was busy because this tiny little person had just informed me that dinosaurs eat grilled cheese."

"They do."

"They absolutely do." He kisses your forehead. "I remember thinking..."

"...that if I ever got lucky enough to have a kid someday..." His voice lowers. "I hoped they'd look at me the way she did."

You close your eyes.

"And then I kept coming over." Another kiss against your temple. "And somewhere along the way..."

He shrugs against you. "...I stopped imagining some hypothetical kid."

"It was just Rosie."

You feel your throat tighten and he smiles into your hair. "I don't know the first thing about biology. I don't care whose eyes she has. I don't care whose nose she has. I don't care who signed what paper or what his last name was."

He gently tips your chin up until you're looking at him. "I've been hers since she handed me that beat-up stuffed dinosaur."

You can't stop the tears anymore, and he wipes one away with his thumb.

"And for the record..." His voice is impossibly soft. "The biggest idiot in Indiana walked away from you."

He gives you that crooked little grin that still makes your heart flutter after all this time. "Worked out pretty great for me, though."

You laugh, sniffling. "Yeah?"

"Oh, absolutely."

He starts counting on his fingers. "I got the prettiest girl I've ever met."

You roll your eyes. "Mm-hmm."

"I got a kid who thinks dinosaurs eat grilled cheese."

"They do."

"They absolutely do."

"And..." He leans over to steal a quick kiss. "I got invited to tea parties."

"A real privilege."

"The highest honor."

You smile into another kiss. Then he rests his forehead against yours and murmurs so quietly you're not sure he even meant to say it out loud.

"I didn't step up because someone else stepped out." His thumb brushes your cheek. "I stepped up because I fell in love with you."

"And somewhere along the way..." His smile softens into something almost impossibly gentle. "...I fell in love with her too."

You don't answer; you just lean into him until he's practically swallowing you whole with one of his hugs.

The familiar rumble of Eddie's van pulls into the driveway just as Rosie finishes painting approximately half of your thumbnail and almost all of your finger.

She leans back with a look of absolute pride. "There."

You hold your hand up to admire the aggressively uneven layer of bright pink polish coating your nail and cuticle alike. "It's beautiful, bug."

"I know."

She nods very matter-of-factly before dipping the tiny brush back into the bottle with all the confidence of a seasoned professional and absolutely none of the precision. The front door creaks open a second later.

"I'm home!" Eddie calls.

Rosie's head whips toward the foyer so quickly she nearly launches the polish across the living room. "Daddy!"

She abandons your half-finished manicure entirely and hops off the couch, bare feet slapping against the hardwood as she sprints toward him. You hear him laugh before you even see him.

"Whoa, whoa, easy there."

You round the corner just in time to see Rosie wrap herself around one of his legs. Eddie looks exactly like he always does after work at the shop.

His curls are tied back in a loose bun that's already halfway fallen out; there's grease smeared across his cheekbone and forearms, his old band shirt is stained with oil, and his jeans look like they've survived some kind of explosion underneath a car.

He crouches down anyway. "Hi, sweetheart."

She immediately wrinkles her nose. "You're dirty."

He looks down at himself. "...Little bit."

"A lot bit."

"Maybe a lot bit."

She reaches up and pokes a streak of grease on his arm with one tiny finger. "Ew."

He gasps dramatically. "Excuse me? This is artisan-grade mechanic seasoning."

"It looks yucky."

"It probably is."

He scoops her up anyway, careful to keep his hands away from her clothes as much as possible before carrying her over to where you're standing. His tired eyes immediately soften the second they land on you.

"Hi, pretty girl."

You smile. "Hi yourself."

He leans down, stopping just short of kissing you. "I'm gross."

"I noticed."

"You sure?"

You grab the front of his shirt and kiss him anyway, grease and all. When you pull away, he looks almost offended. "I literally smell like motor oil."

"And?"

"And you kissed me."

"I happen to like motor oil."

He grins. "Liar."

Rosie wedges herself between the two of you. "You both smell funny."

You snort. "Thanks, Rosie."

"You're welcome."

Eddie presses a quick kiss to the top of her head. "I'm gonna go shower before I contaminate the entire house."

She watches him head toward the hallway before suddenly remembering something incredibly important. "Wait!"

He turns. "Yeah?"

"I'm painting nails."

His eyebrows lift. "Are you now?"

She proudly holds up the tiny bottle. "And after Mommy's..."

She points directly at him. "...I'm doing yours."

He looks at you, and you very helpfully shrug. "I don't make the rules."

He presses a hand dramatically to his chest. "I've been selected?"

"You have."

He smiles at Rosie. "You got black?"

She blinks. "What?"

"Black nail polish."

She looks down into the little plastic basket of colors before digging through every bottle with increasing concern. "No..."

He sighs dramatically. "Of course."

She brightens. "I have sparkles."

He looks at you, and you bite your lip. He already knows he's doomed. "Well..."

He says carefully. "...dealer's choice."

Rosie gasps like she's just been entrusted with the nuclear launch codes. "Really?"

"Mhm."

She nods once with complete seriousness. "I know exactly what to do."

You exchange a look with Eddie. He mouths, Help. You smile sweetly. Absolutely not.

Twenty minutes later, he's freshly showered, hair still damp around his shoulders, wearing an old pair of gray sweatpants and one of your favorite oversized Sabbath shirts. He sits obediently on the living room floor while Rosie carefully arranges her entire nail polish collection around him. You curl up on the couch behind them, pretending to read while secretly watching everything.

Rosie picks up one bottle, sets it down. Another, sets it down. Then…she finds it. The brightest, loudest, most offensively glitter-infested neon purple imaginable. You physically have to cover your mouth.

Eddie eyes it suspiciously. "...That's the one?"

She nods enthusiastically. "It's princess purple."

"Oh."

"And sparkles."

"I see."

"And hearts."

"I can... also see that."

"And glitter."

"I definitely see that."

She beams. "It's pretty."

He looks at her, then at the bottle, then back at her. Without another word, he extends both hands. "Do your worst."

Rosie giggles so hard she almost falls over. For the next half hour, she paints with absolute artistic freedom. The polish ends up on his fingers, his knuckles. One suspicious streak somehow appears halfway up his thumb.

She pauses every few minutes to inspect her work before adding another layer. When she's finally done, she grabs both of his hands and holds them up proudly. "There."

Eddie examines them with complete sincerity. "...Rosie."

She waits expectantly. 

"I think these are the coolest nails I've ever had."

Her entire face lights up. "Really?"

"Oh yeah." He wiggles his fingers dramatically. "I've never looked more fabulous."

She immediately launches herself into his lap for a hug. He catches her without hesitation, wrapping one arm around her while being careful not to smudge his fresh manicure. You watch them from the couch, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.

Rosie pulls back just enough to admire his nails again. "I made you pretty."

He gently tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. "You always do, sweetheart."

She yawns a huge, sleepy little yawn, the kind that scrunches up her whole face. Eddie notices instantly.

"You getting tired?"

She shakes her head, then yawns again. "No."

"Mhm."

"I'm not." Another yawn.

He smiles knowingly. "Sure."

She curls herself against his chest anyway. Within maybe three minutes, she's completely asleep. Eddie looks over at you, careful not to move too much.

His hands are still decorated in violently purple glitter polish. His stepdaughter is slightly drooling on his shirt. His hair is still damp. He looks happier than you've ever seen another human being.

You quietly reach over and lace your fingers with his. He glances down, then back at you.

"So..." You whisper. "You gonna keep the nails for work tomorrow?"

He looks at his hands, looks at Rosie, looks back at you, and smiles. "Absolutely."

"You know the guys are gonna make fun of you."

He shrugs. "They can."

You raise an eyebrow. "They won't bother you?"

He looks down at the little girl asleep against his chest and gently kisses the top of her head.

"I'd let this kid paint my entire face green if it made her smile."

He glances back at his sparkly purple fingertips. "As far as I'm concerned..."

He wiggles them proudly. "...these are the coolest damn mechanic hands in Hawkins."

The house has long since gone quiet.

The dishes are done, the lights downstairs are off, and somewhere outside, rain taps softly against the bedroom window. The fan hums overhead, filling the room with the kind of gentle white noise that always seems to lull everyone to sleep.

Rosie had insisted on one extra story tonight. Then one extra hug. Then one extra glass of water. Then one extra kiss for Mr. Sprinkles. Then another for herself. If you give a mouse a cookie, or whatever they say. 

By the time you'd finally pulled her bedroom door closed, she'd already been halfway asleep.

Now you're curled beneath the blankets with your head resting on Eddie's chest, absentmindedly tracing lazy circles against his side while he combs his fingers through your hair. Neither of you is talking anymore, the exhaustion of the day settling comfortably over both of you.

His lips brush the top of your head. "You asleep?"

"Almost."

"Liar."

"Mhm."

"You drooled on my shirt."

"I absolutely did not."

"You absolutely did."

You smile into his chest. "I think you're making things up."

"I would never."

"You literally convinced Rosie last week there were raccoons that delivered pizza."

"There could be."

"There aren't."

"You don't know that."

You laugh quietly, the sound muffled against him. "I love you."

He doesn't even pause. "I love you more."

"You can't prove that."

"I can."

"How?"

"I made you grilled cheese with the crusts cut off yesterday."

"I didn't ask you to."

"You didn't have to."

You shake your head, smiling to yourself. You don't know how much time passes before a tiny knock sounds against the bedroom door. Three little taps, then another.

Then the knob slowly turns. The door opens only wide enough for a small face to peek through. Rosie's eyes are watery; her little bottom lip trembles when she spots the two of you.

"Mama?"

Your heart immediately softens. You sit up before she's even finished speaking. "What is it, bug?"

She clutches Mr. Sprinkles tighter against her chest. "I had a bad dream." Her voice is so quiet you almost don't hear it.

You hold your hand out. "C'mere."

She doesn't hesitate. Bare feet shuffle across the hardwood before she climbs onto the bed, crawling right between the two of you without so much as asking permission, as though she'd done it a hundred times before.

Maybe she has. You immediately pull the blankets over her little shoulders while Eddie scoots closer from the other side, making sure she's tucked safely between you.

Rosie simply curls into your side, one hand reaching across until it finds Eddie's sleeve. She hangs onto it tightly. You smooth her hair back from her forehead.

"Wanna tell us about it?" 

She shakes her head. "It was scary."

"I know."

"There was a loud noise."

You gently rub circles against her back. "But you're here now."

She nods once, then another sniffle. "You guys are here."

"We are."

"And we're not going anywhere."

She wiggles a little closer until she's practically glued to both of you at once. Eddie quietly reaches over and tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

"You know what's nice about bad dreams?"

She looks up at him with sleepy, curious eyes. "What?"

"They end."

She thinks about that. "They do?"

"They always do."

"And then you wake up."

She nods slowly. "I woke up."

"You did."

"And then I came here."

"You did."

"And now you're with us."

Rosie looks down at Mr. Sprinkles before whispering, "He got scared too."

Eddie leans over to inspect the stuffed dinosaur with complete seriousness. "He seems pretty brave to me."

"He was pretending."

"Oh."

"He didn't want me to be scared."

Eddie smiles softly. "I think he did a pretty good job."

Rosie considers that before giving the dinosaur a little kiss on the nose. After another quiet minute, she yawns. One of those enormous little yawns that seems far too big for someone so tiny.

You can't help smiling. "Tired?"

She immediately shakes her head, then yawns again. "No."

"Mhm."

"No."

She curls up even smaller anyway, one hand still tangled in your pajama sleeve now, the other resting against Eddie's arm.

You feel Eddie's hand find yours over the blankets, his fingers lacing through yours without a word. Rosie's eyes are already drifting closed. Just before she falls asleep, she mumbles something so quietly you almost miss it.

"I'm happy."

You glance across at Eddie, and he's already looking at her.

"What made you think of that, sweetheart?" he asks softly.

Her eyes never open. "I like when we're all together."

Your throat tightens instantly.

She nestles deeper beneath the blankets. "I like my home."

A few seconds later, she's asleep; completely, peacefully asleep.

You and Eddie don't move; you don't dare. He looks over at you in the darkness, and there's something in his expression that says everything words can't.

You reach over the little lump of blankets between you and rest your hand against his cheek. He turns just enough to press a kiss into your palm.

this shit actually made me ugly cry from pure content

taglist:

@lnnn1n @youngbrokefab @ludachrissy @sisteramycatherine @izzycstairs @britttzy267 @eddiemunsonsimpp @powerpuffedbjtch @sariahs-stuff @cciessuzi @lilyquinnmunson @julxsxx @kozume-ko @obsessed-eddie @doomdabss @leelei1980 @hexqueensupreme @ches-86 @plaidamoosette @bobiverses @meadows-of-asphodel @whitakerstorm @brrrainst3w @serendipdipity01 @hypersexytoptobottom @m-art000 @walleloveseve @camsmunson101 @flavorfullsteve @peachpuffs25 @micheledawn1975 @whitakerstorm @cciessuzi @blackqueenie-18 @ggdawgg @velvetdimond @enne02  @ludachrissy @izzycstairs

@abbysleftbicepp @britttzy267 @ssculker @eddiemunsonsimpp @powerpuffedbjtch

@lilyquinnmunson @this-issam @acrloved @foxygrll

[bittersweetlyblue]

— 𝜗𝜚 everything but mine

cw: toxic relationships, emotionally unhealthy dynamics, friends with benefits, mutual pining, jealousy, possessiveness, miscommunication, emotional manipulation, arguments, self-destructive behavior, substance use, alcohol consumption, violence/fighting, obsessive behavior, abandonment issues, codependency, hurt/no comfort (at times), angst with occasional fluff, slow burn, heavy emotional themes, rafe cameron being rafe cameron.

being topper thornton's sister had it's perks.

late night boat drives with a group of kooks while singing karaoke, invites to almost every party if you ever wanted a distraction and most people knew who you were.

but the best one? rafe cameron.

you'd first met him when you were twelve. topper, a year older than you, had bought him home.

for years to come, you remembered the day perfectly. you were sitting by your mom, watching some random youtube video with her, when suddenley topp walked in. with rafe.

he was the most handsome boy you had ever seen in your life. messy blond hair, soft blue eyes and sharpening features, you was sure you'd faint on the spot. you yourself had hair so messy to this date it couldn't even pass as aesthetic with braces so big it almost covered your teeth. and yet when you smiled at him, he grinned pioitely back, then to your mother, and you almost thought you had a heart attack.

however, being siblings to your brother, you understoood that topper only hung out with one type of people, exempt from his family: spoiled rich assholes, which as much as you hated it, rafe was apart of.

whenever the pair would spend some time at yours, all you would hear was brags about beating up kooks and shit about girls. almost most of it you didn’t care for or couldn’t bring yourself to, but you soon realised that topper and rafe were probably the worst pair to be around on Kildare because they were exactly the same person.

you couldn't remember exactly why you hated rafe. you both were young, but all you really remembered was a loud blond boy with a permanent scowl and an ego the size of figure eight.

and after that, he just looked perpetually ugly in her eyes. their first real interaction, which she didn't even remember, ended with her calling him stupid to which his response had been to throw a teenis ball at her head.

from then on, it was war. you stole his sunglasses, poured gatorade into the driver's seat of his golf car. he replaced your phone wallpaper with a photo of a rat.

and at every single damn family barbecue, every beach day, every birthday party, uoi shifted towards eachother like gravity and immediately started arguing.

"you're annoying."

"you're ugly."

"your face bothers me."

"that doesn't even make sense."

"because you're stupid."

you hated how cocky and arrogant he was and you could tell he hated how you never backed down.

as you got older, the fights also only got worse. at thirteen, you punched him in the shoulder hard enough that it left a bruise. at fourteen, he laughed when you threatened him and got a bloody nose for it. fifteen, you got into a sceraming match so bad topper physically had to stand between you while he dragged you away.

everyone assumed that eventually you two would grow out of it. but you didn't.

hating rafe felt like routine. normal, because if you walked into a room and rafe wasnt there to ruin your mood, something felt off. you never noticed it happening, how the insults got softer and the arguments lasted longer because neither of you two wanted to walk away first.

admitting that would've been worse than admitting defeat. neither of you two had ever lost a fight. and especially not to each other.

the first time it happened, it was a mistake.

that's what you called it: a mistake, an accident and a lapse in judgement. something that definetly, absoloutely, could never happen again.

it happened after a party, where you'd been avoiding him all night and he'd spent the entire night pretending not to notice which would've worked better if you didn't hear kiara telling you that he'd been looking for you every five minutes.

by midnight, you was already irritated, and by two you both were standing outside, drunk and exhausted, throwing insults at each other just as they had been like since they were kids.

"you're insufferable."

"you've literally said that every week since we were twelve."

"because you keep proving me right."

"and you keep talking."

you rolled your eyes, and he grinned. irritated once again, you snapped, "what?"

"nothing."

"then stop fucking staring."

"make me."

that was the worst thing he could've said, and the worst thing you could've heard, becaus eten seconds later, you was kissing him.

or maybe he kissed you. neither of you had ever agreed on that part.

all you knew that one second you were fighting and the next you was walking him into an empty guest room. you remembered how he tasted too much like alcholo, but something about kissing him was so addictive you didn't stop. both of your hands were everywhere and you very distinctly remember thinking this would've been eleven year old you's dream before rafe turned into such a spectacular asshole.

but afterwards was the real disaster. rafe sat on the edge of the bed, trying to catch his breath while you stared at the ceiling, the feeling of his lips on yours still present.

you could tell he, too, realised that you had just crossed a line neither of you could uncross. so naturally, "this was a mistake."

"obviously."

"never happening again."

"yeah." there was a pause. "good."

"good."

you guys didn't even make it two weeks. so after that, it became a secret one. a stupid one, the kind everyone probably knew about (the one where you ignored topper's knowing looks) except them. you'd spend the day arguing, and the end tangled together at night, laying against his chest and listening to his heartbear while his hands ran through your hair, breath heavy on your temple. you'd tell each other it meant nothing, then get jealous over things you supposedly didn't care about.

none of that even meant to happen. friends with benefits had rules, atleast thats what topp told you. feelings weren't part of the deal at all.

you've always been good at leaving first. you can tell it's one of the few things rafe hates about you: you never slam doors, never make scenes and never, ever beg people to stay.

you just go, quietly, acting like they never mattered enough for a goodbye.

but the worst part about this whole thing is that you know rafe knows you better than anyone. he's the same boy who met you at eleven, before all your guards were up, so he know that it's a lie. he knows you care too much, knows every careless shrug and slightly-forced laugh is calculated which is probably why this whole situation is way more complicated than it should be.

"you leaving already?" his voice follows you across the room, and yet you don't turn around, hiding your face in the darkness as you nod. "it's barely midnight."

you grab the bag from the counter. "and?"

silence. you can feel him staring, imagine the expression on his face. "you've been weird all week."

you laugh coldly. you can't help it. "that's rich coming from you."

when you finally glance over, he's leaning against the kitchen island, jaw tight and gorgeous eyes fixed on you. and for just a second, even if you're so dizzy from the way he fucked you, he looks nervous. it's so strange its almost laughable: rafe cameron never looks nervous. it almost makes something twist painfully inside your chest.

"did i do something?"

you nearly laugh, again. that's the funny and heartbreaking part: he genuinely doesn't know, has no idea, that you spent years teaching him exactly how much he could take from you that now you're surprised he keeps taking. "no." lie.

"then what's wrong?"

everything. nothing, in between. the fact that you probably know more about him than his own mother. which, given, isn't probably that difficult, but still.

he calls you when he's drunk. he calls you when he's sober. you can identify his fottsteps without looking and he looks for you in every room and yet this all supposedly "means anything".

if it meant what you so desperately wanted it to mean, he would've said so by now.

years, it's been fucking years. years of almosts, years of pretending, and you are so tired. "nothing's wrong, rafe."

there's silence until he sighs, voice dropping, "hey." you hate whenever he does that.

"don't act like you care."

his forehead creases, before it disappears, all smoothened out. "there it is."

you blink. "what?"

"i was wondering when we'd get to this."

"the fuck are you on about?"

"you know, the part where you pretend you're above all this."

the words taste sour in your mouth: "i'm not pretending anything."

"right." he nods mockingly, the same way he always does when he's angry. "because you've always been a fucking saint, haven't you?" there it is: rafe, holding that metaphorical fucking knife, twisting it exactly where he knows it'll hurt. "go ahead, baby. tell me how terrible i am. tell me how i'm the bad guy and you've never wanted this."

"that's not what i'm saying."

"then what are you saying?" his voice breaks, just slightly. "i'm getting real tired of you acting like i'm the only one here. you think i don't care, don't you?" when you're silent, he laughs bitterly, "that's fucking insane."

hope sparks, stupidly, like a slight ember. for one second you think: finally. finally, finally, he's going to say it.

but then you see that fucking expression on your face, and you just know. he isn't. of course he isn't. he's rafe cameron, golden boy of kildare. instead, he just shakes his head and looks away. "if i didn't care, you wouldn't still be here."

your chest caves in. that's all he has, all he's ever offering and ever will be. not love, committment or a future, everything that your whole friendgroup has told you you deserve. just access, proximity, just enough to keep you around but never safe nor loved. "okay."

"i didn't mean —"

"yeah." your voice is flat and empty. "don't worry, i know exactly what you meant."

he looks fucking terrified and you know he knows he's just confirmed every fear you've ever had. that no matter how much he wants you, he'll never actually choose you. and no matter how much you love him, you're finally starting to choose yourself.

"don't do this." it's almost pathetic, the way he says it.

"do what?"

he gives you a knowing look. "leave."

who's he kidding. you do anyways.

the next time you see him, you two are in another party because you only ever really see him then.

"who's that?"

you don't evne look up from your phone, "who's who?"

rafe leans back against the couch, arm stretching across the cushions behind you. you have to duck your head so he doesn't see your jaw clench: never touching, only when other people are around, but close enough to remind everyone he could if he wanted to. "that guy."

you glance towards the kitchen, where some random guy from the party is talking to sarah. you shrug, "i don't know."

"bullshit."

you finally look at him, already exasperated. "what?"

"he was staring at you."

you stare for a second, then laugh. actually laugh, because it's so stupid that you don't know how else to react. but you immediately regret it, because something in rafe's face shifts. "what's funny?"

"nothing."

"clearly it's sometjing."

you shake your head, looking back at your phone, because if you don't, he'll see the smile, and if he sees the smile, he'll get worse. "you're jealous."

"of him?" there's genuine offence in his voice.

you bite the inside of your cheek. "see? that's exactly what i mean."

"the fuck does that mean?"

you stand. mostly because you're smart enough to know where this conversation goes and you're not interested nor energtic tonight. "nothing, rafe."

he grabs your wrist before you can walk, just enough to stop you. "don't start whatever game this is."

"i'm literally standing here, babe."

"exactly."

"don't get all possessive over me."

his jaw flexes, "possessive?"

"you know, that thing where you act like im yours?"

he quickly lets go of your wrist. "i don't act like you're mine."

you hum, which is somehow worse than arguing, because now it sounds like you don't care, which rafe hates. "okay."

"okay?"

"mhm."

he stares, waiting, and you don't give him anything.

you know exactly what you're doing. you know exactly how much it bothers himL the same way he knows exactly how much it bothers you when he disappears for days and then walks back into your life like nothing happened.

the same way he knows you'll answer every single phone call. the same way he knows you'll always make room for him. "you're being weird."

"you say that every week." you deadpann.

"because you are."

"maybe you're just observant."

"and maybe you're just annoying."

"there he is."

the corner of his mouth twitches, "there who is?"

"the rafe i know."

for a second he looks guilty, and you don't like it. "what?" you prompt.

he blinks back, "what?"

"that look."

"i don't know what you're talking about."

you know every version of his face, and that one was bad. you just stare at him and he scoffs, looks away.

conversation over, just like that, and everyone else goes back to talking, laughing, living.

something between you cracked then, you could tell. not enough to really mean anything, but just enough that you spend the rest of the night thinking about it, and enough that rafe spends the rest of the night watching you from across the room, every single time you aren't looking.

you don't think about it. you don't think about the way he left without saying goodbye, because that would imply you care, and you don't. obviously.

except that three days later, you're still thinking about it, which is exactly why you're annoyed when your phone lights up. rafe.

you stare at the screen, which rings thrice before stopping. a second later another call comes through, and you roll your eyes before declining it immediately.

silence, the calm before the storm, before your phone buzzes.

rafe: answer the phone

you snort.

you: no

the typing bubble appears immediately.

rafe: where are you?

you: weird question

rafe: where are you?

you: why?

the typing buble appears appears, disappears, then appears again. nothing. you stare at the screen, frowning. that's strange, because rafe never shuts up once he starts.

your phone buzzes again, except this time it's not him, it's topper. you answer immediately: "what?"

"where are you?"

"you sit up slightly. "why does everyone suddenley want my location?"

"answer the damn question, y/n."

"home." something cold settles in your stomach. "topper. what happened?"

"nothing happened."

silence. then: "rafe got arrested."

for a second, you think you heard him wrong. "what?"

"he's fine."

what bullshit. nobody says he's fine unless things are very not much fine. you stand so fast your chair nearly tips over. "what happened?"

"i don't know everything."

"topper thornton."

"i'm serious." a pause, then: "fine, i just know there was some fight."

of course there was. it's rafe. there's always a fight. you're used to it by now, but something about this feels different. you odn't know why, it just does. "where is he?"

"y/n."

"topper —"

"y/n thornton. don't go down there. seriously."

"bye."

"don't you dare hang up on me."

you hang up anyways, grabbing your keys. your heart is beating too fast, because he's fine.

please.

your phone bzuzes just as you're about to slide into your car. a text, from kelce, which is weird enough on it's own because you and him aren't exactly friends.

kelce: where are you?

you: home

kelce: don't come to tannyhil.

your eyebrows pull together.

you: wasn't planning on it

kelce: i'm serious. he's losing his fucking mind

you: what happened

kelce: i dont know. just don't come over

unfortunatetly for him, that is exactly what guarantees you will. twenty minutes later, you're pulling into the driveway, house lit up with cars everywhere, music blasting from somewher inside. a pary, of course, except something feels off. people are standing outside, and the second you step out of your car, every single head turns.

what the hell?

you start toward the house, while someone mutters something and another person laughs nervously. you ignore all of it, until you hear your name. stopping, you turn around.

two girls are standing near the porch. one immediately looks away.

"what?" you bark.

the girl hesitates, winces, "you seriously don't know?"

"know what?"

when they dont reply, you push past them, straight through the front door. standing in th emiddle of the room, surrounded by half of the island, is rafe.

and he's staring right at you. not even relieved, or guilty, like he's been waiting.

and that's when you see her, standing beside him. close enough to touch, wearing one of his hoodies.

your hoodie. the one you left in his truck three weeks ago.

© BITTERSWEETLYBLUE. do not copy, translate, edit my work then claim it as your own, attempt to plagarise or repost it on any other website nor feed into AI. you will be blocked.

AN: this series is going to be MESSY, also PLEASE comment on your thoughts taglist: @heathandrewstarkey , @corallandtragedy3 , @awrad2 , @filthyrafe , @bonjourjiminie , @dopepeacedestiny , @unicornyogakween , @eerilyjaggedconstruct , @heartsforvenus , @skkeletonns , @bonni-98 , @ljh22 , @shmd-nora , @harrrrystylesslut , @angel06babysworld , @rosiecherie , @loveislikeathunder , @shewants7 , @ssugartalkin , @kurtcobaintbh , @ana09hb , @be0m9yu, @octoberbxby , @joelmillrenthusiast , @drewsbby , @sex-the1975 , @rafesbunnygirl , @yogurts-things , @justacloverrr , @mar7vamp , @miaisboredd , @selfcontollover07 , @russianscream , @maddiefuckingperez , @mimimeowxzs , @77uchiha77 , @iamtheraine , @applespider0 , @wildflowerwildfire1201 , @drewstarkeyswife-7 , @faye7winter , @crystallinene , @bronsonmeydiluver , @notvickyyy ,@rcamerons

[beasbrain]

Wishbone

this is chapter 2, click here for series masterlist

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, 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: 6.1k

A/N: here's the long awaited part two!!! i have started to rewatch the Scream franchise and...i have IDEASSSS BRO UGH. stay tuned ;) reblogs are always appreciated<3 much love muah muah enjoyyyyyyy

In true Robin fashion, she sends about fifteen emojis before responding again:

You stare at the message, then sit up immediately, resting your back against the headboard.

Your stomach twists reading those messages. Which is so annoying, right? You've known Eddie for all of twenty-four hours, and suddenly you feel jealous of someone else who shows interest.

You dramatically throw your head back and open up the looming message from Chrissy. Fuck it.

Oh.

You stare at the smiley face like it personally offended you. Because, it sort of did.

You sigh and shut your phone off for a second, because what the absolute fuck is going on?

Then, another buzz snaps your attention back from whatever spiral was about to follow. It's not Robin or Chrissy this time, but Eddie.

And for some odd fucked up reason, it makes your chest sting.

Naturally, you immediately screenshot it and send it straight to Robin.

You pause and stare between the conversations: Chrissy's sweet little smiley face, Eddie being jealous in real time, and Robin just blatantly stating the unfortunate obvious.

Then, slowly, a dangerous grin spreads across your face. Because two can play this game.

You leave Chrissy on read, which in this day and age is practically a physical slap across the face. Then you respond to Eddie's blatant test to see whether you and Steve are a thing.

Then, immediately after:

The next morning, you did exactly that. Picking out what you could only describe as your "outfit of mass destruction" and posting it on your story for good measure:

The second Eddie sees you step out onto your front porch, he forgets how breathing works…like, genuinely. One hand still hangs out the driver’s-side window of the van, cigarette between his fingers, while the other tightens around the steering wheel hard enough that his rings creak faintly against the leather.

Because Jesus Christ, you knew what you were doing with that outfit. The worst part? The really worst part? Is that you notice immediately.

Your mouth twitches as you walk down the driveway slowly, sunglasses perched on your nose despite the early hour. Eddie watches the way your boots hit the pavement like he’s witnessing a religious experience. By the time you reach the passenger side, he still hasn’t said anything.

You open the door, sliding into the seat beside him casually.

“Good morning.”

Nothing.

Then finally, “…You’re evil.”

You laugh immediately, shutting the van door behind you. “That bad?”

Eddie turns toward you fully now, looking deeply offended by your entire existence. “Sweetheart, I almost hit a mailbox pulling up here.”

“That sounds like a personal problem.”

“You can’t dress like that at seven in the morning.”

“You survived.”

“Barely.”

A grin spreads across your face as you reach over, plucking the cigarette from between his fingers for a drag without asking. Eddie watches you do it with an expression that’s dangerously close to lovesick.

“Oh, you know exactly what you’re doing to me,” he mutters.

You hand the cigarette back slowly. “Maybe.”

Eddie stares at you for another second before finally pulling away from the curb with a dramatic sigh. “This is gonna be the longest school day of my life.”

The ride to Hawkins High is unfairly comfortable. The radio plays low through the speakers while morning sunlight spills across the dashboard, catching on the silver rings wrapped around Eddie’s fingers as he drums them against the wheel absentmindedly.

And he keeps looking at you. At red lights, at stop signs, every five seconds, like he physically cannot help himself. Finally, you glance over. “You know, staring at the road is generally encouraged.”

“I am looking at the road.”

“You almost rear-ended that truck.”

“It was worth it.”

You snort softly, shaking your head as you crack the window slightly.

Cold morning air rushes through the van instantly, carrying the smell of smoke and leather and Eddie’s cologne with it. God, what a dangerous combination. 

Eddie catches you shivering slightly and immediately reaches over without thinking, tugging the sleeve of your jacket higher over your shoulder, where it had slipped down. The gesture’s so casual it almost catches you off guard.

“You cold?”

“A little.”

He hums thoughtfully before turning the heat up another notch. “There. Princess treatment.”

“That what this is?”

“Obviously.”

You glance over at him again. “You do this with all the girls you drive to school?”

Eddie grins lazily. “Only the ones making me lose my mind before first period.”

Unfortunately for you, that line lands exactly as he intended. By the time the van pulls into the Hawkins High parking lot, your stomach’s already warm from laughing too much.

And Eddie’s completely gone for you, that part’s obvious now. He parks crooked because he’s too busy looking at you while backing in, which immediately earns him a laugh.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter. “Do you actually know how to drive?”

“Not anymore.”

Before you can answer, Eddie suddenly reaches across the center console, and your breath catches slightly. But he just tugs your sunglasses down your nose enough to properly look at your eyes.

“…Yeah,” he says quietly, almost to himself. “I’m fucked.”

Then he smirks again immediately after, like he didn’t just say something devastatingly sincere. “Cigarette?”

Outside, the morning air smells again like wet pavement and gasoline. Students flood the parking lot in loud groups while Eddie leans against the side of his van beside you, lighting a cigarette between his lips first before turning toward you automatically.

He cups the lighter against the wind for you without even asking, and the flame flickers gold between you, your eyes lifting to his through the smoke. And Eddie visibly swallows.

“Oh, you’re trying to kill me today,” he murmurs.

You inhale slowly before answering. “You’re being dramatic again.”

“Hon, I haven’t even STARTED being dramatic.”

Before you can recover from the choice of nickname, voices call out across the parking lot.

“Well, well, WELL.” Robin.

You glance over just in time to see her and Steve walking toward the van together, both immediately clocking the situation in front of them. Specifically:

Eddie standing way too close to you

your cigarette between your fingers

his lighter still in his hand

and his arm casually sliding around your waist, the second Steve approaches

Subtle. Very subtle.

Steve notices instantly and starts grinning like an asshole. “Oh, he’s feeling possessive now,” Robin says delightedly.

Eddie flips her off without removing his arm from around you. “Good morning to you, too.”

Steve stops beside the van, looking slowly between the two of you. “Wow. So this is why Munson looked like he was gonna throw up during homeroom yesterday.”

“I did not—”

Robin bursts out laughing immediately.

You glance up at Eddie innocently. “Rough morning?”

“Don’t start.”

But he’s smiling when he says it, which gets even worse when you reach over and fix the collar of his jacket absentmindedly.

Because now Eddie looks like he might actually die. Robin notices, Steve notices, hell, half the parking lot probably notices.

And somewhere across the parking lot? Chrissy Cunningham absolutely notices, too.

By the time you and Eddie make it inside Hawkins High, people are staring, not subtly, either.

Which honestly makes sense considering Eddie Munson has his arm wrapped around your waist, and the two of you are very obviously existing in your own little world while weaving through the hallway crowd.

Eddie pretends not to notice the attention, mostly because if he acknowledges it, he might start acting smug about it.

“You know,” you say casually as the two of you walk down the hallway, “people are looking at us like we committed a crime.”

“We probably did.” Eddie shrugs. “Pretty sure this school hates attractive people.”

You snort softly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet,” he says, glancing down at you with a lazy grin, “you keep hanging around me.”

Unfortunately? Also true.

His thumb keeps tracing absentminded little patterns against your side as you walk, and every single time he does it, your stomach flips in the most annoying way imaginable.

The worst part is he seems completely unaware he’s doing it…or maybe very aware, hard to tell with Eddie.

As you turn the corner toward the arts hallway, you notice people whispering almost immediately. Eddie notices that part and immediately pulls you a little closer against his side.

“You’re doing that on purpose now,” you murmur.

“Doing what?”

You look pointedly at the arm around your waist, and Eddie looks down like he somehow forgot it was there.

“Oh, this?” he asks innocently. “Thought you liked princess treatment.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling again, which absolutely destroys him a little. By the time you reach your classroom door, Eddie’s already dreading leaving. Which is insane, he’s known you for like two days.

You stop outside the classroom while students file in around you loudly. 

Eddie leans casually against the wall beside the door, cigarette-free for once but still smelling faintly like smoke and cold air. His curls are slightly messy from the drive over, cheeks pink from the morning chill.

Cute. Dangerously cute, at that. 

“You gonna survive first period without me?” you ask lightly.

Eddie sighs dramatically. “Honestly? No.”

“You’re clingy.”

“You made me this way.”

A laugh slips out of you before you can stop it, and Eddie immediately softens hearing it. God. He’s so gone.

“Alright,” you say eventually, adjusting the strap of your bag higher onto your shoulder. “I should probably go before our fans start a rumor we eloped.”

“That already happened yesterday, actually.”

You snort again, shaking your head. Then, before you can overthink it, you step a little closer. Your hand slides briefly against the front of his jacket as you lean up and press a quick kiss against his cheek.

Soft, fast, and warm enough to completely short-circuit his nervous system. Then you pull back as if nothing happened.

“I’ll see you later, Munson.”

And just like that, you disappear into the classroom, leaving Eddie standing there in the hallway. Frozen, absolutely fucking frozen. His brain completely flatlines for a solid five seconds.

A sophomore accidentally shoulder-checks him, trying to get into class. Eddie doesn’t even react, because all he can think about is that you kissed him. On the cheek. In public. Voluntarily.

“Oh my God,” he whispers to himself.

Then immediately drags both hands down his face, trying to get it together before he embarrasses himself. Too late, fucker.

Because Gareth appears at the end of the hallway at the exact wrong moment and spots Eddie standing there looking visibly shell-shocked.

“…Why do you look like you just saw God?”

Eddie turns slowly, still stunned, still pink-cheeked, and still feeling the ghost of your lipstick against his skin. “She kissed me.”

Gareth blinks once. “What?”

“She kissed me.”

“…On the mouth?”

“No.” Eddie pauses dramatically. “Worse.”

“Huh?”

Eddie points weakly toward his cheek as if it explains everything. “Here.”

Gareth stares at him for a long moment before immediately bursting into laughter so loud that people turn around. “Oh, you are DOWN BAD.”

Fifth period passes painfully slow. Mostly because Hawkins High apparently operates entirely on gossip, and everybody has already noticed you showed up with Eddie that morning.

You catch people looking at you in the halls, whispering during class. One girl literally asks if you and Eddie are dating while you’re grabbing books from your locker. Which is insane considering it’s been, like, forty-eight hours.

By the time your teacher finally lets the class out for a bathroom break halfway through the period, you’re already irritated. The fluorescent lights inside the girls' bathroom buzz overhead as you shove the door open, immediately greeted by the smell of hairspray and cheap perfume.

Two girls linger by the mirrors, gossiping quietly, but they scatter a minute later, leaving you alone at the sinks. Finally.

You lean against the counter, reapplying lip gloss absentmindedly while your mind drifts back to this morning. Eddie’s arm around your waist, the look on his face after you kissed his cheek, the way he’d stared at you like—

The bathroom door swings open again, and you glance up automatically through the mirror. And there she is.

Chrissy Cunningham.

Pretty pink sweater, perfect blonde curls, glossy lips, and a sweet smile are already in place the second your eyes meet in the reflection.

“Oh my God,” she says brightly. “Hi.”

Your stomach tightens immediately because there’s nothing technically wrong with her tone. But, still. You cap your lip gloss slowly. “Hey.”

Chrissy walks over to the sink beside yours, setting her little makeup bag down carefully. Everything about her feels soft, polished, and intentional. Very different from you, which somehow annoys you that much more.

“I feel like I haven’t properly introduced myself yet,” she says while washing her hands delicately. “Robin talks about you constantly.”

You lean lightly against the counter. “Hopefully good things.”

Chrissy laughs softly. “Mostly about how pretty you are.”

There’s a tiny pause after that, just enough to feel loaded. You glance at her through the mirror. “Mostly?”

Her smile widens slightly. “You know Robin.” Of course, even her smile is cute. 

Chrissy pulls a lip gloss from her bag next, applying it carefully while looking at you through the mirror instead of directly at you. “So,” she says casually, “you and Eddie seem close already.”

There it is. You shrug one shoulder like you haven’t spent all day thinking about him. “Guess so.”

“Mhm.” The sound is light, not quite judgmental enough to call out. You hate that.

Chrissy finally turns toward you fully now, leaning against the counter beside you. “He likes you.”

Straight to the point, interesting. You raise an eyebrow slightly. “Did he tell you that?”

“No,” she says quickly, almost laughing. “Eddie’s terrible at admitting things.”

The familiarity in her voice scratches at something unpleasant in your chest. Like she knows him well, too well. You busy yourself fixing the sleeve of your jacket. “You seem pretty confident about it.”

Chrissy tilts her head slightly, studying you for a second too long. “I’ve known Eddie a long time.” And there it is again. It’s not mean or rude, but just enough emphasis to feel territorial.

You smile back anyway. “That so?”

“Mhm.” Chrissy’s tone stays airy and sweet. “People usually think he’s flirting with everyone, but he’s actually kinda picky.”

Your jaw tightens faintly because what exactly is that supposed to mean? Chrissy notices the shift immediately and smiles more sweetly.

“Oh my God,” she says suddenly. “Wait, I didn’t mean that in a bad way.” Liar.

“You’re really pretty together, actually.”

Together. Interesting choice of words. You stare at her for a second, trying to decide if she’s intentionally messing with you or if this is just how she talks. The worst part? You genuinely can’t tell.

Then Chrissy reaches for her bag again, slinging it over her shoulder before heading toward the door. But right before she leaves, she pauses and glances back at you.

“Just don’t break his heart, okay?”

Then she smiles one last time and disappears out the bathroom door before you can even respond, leaving you standing there alone under the fluorescent lights. Annoyed, confused, and suddenly very aware that this whole thing with Eddie might not be as simple as you thought.

By the end of the school day, Eddie’s practically vibrating with anticipation, which is embarrassing.

But in his defense, you’d been on his mind literally all day. Ever since this morning, honestly. Ever since you kissed his cheek and walked away, looking all smug while he internally combusted in the hallway.

So yeah, he’s waiting outside your last period class ten minutes early. Leaning against the lockers with one boot hooked against the wall, twirling his van keys around his finger while students pass by.

And the second he sees you walk out of the classroom, his face lights up automatically. 

“There she is,” he says immediately. “My favorite—” Then he stops, because something’s off.

You don’t smile the same way you usually do when you see him, and don’t immediately drift toward him either. You just adjust your bag higher on your shoulder and lean beside him casually. 

“…Hey,” he says, a little slower this time.

“Hey.”

Yeah. Definitely something wrong. Still, he tries anyway. “So, good news. I survived the school day.”

“Congratulations.”

“…Wow.”

You start walking down the hallway, and Eddie falls into step beside you automatically, watching you carefully now. Usually by now you’re teasing him, laughing at something, looking at him. Now? Nothing.

“You alright?” he asks after a minute.

“Mhm.”

“That sounded fake.”

You shrug.

Eddie’s brows pull together slightly. “Okay, now I know something’s wrong.”

“There’s nothing wrong.”

“Sweetheart,” he says lightly, “you haven’t insulted me once in like… three minutes.”

That almost gets a smile out of you, heavy on almost. And that’s what really tips him off. Eddie reaches for your wrist gently, stopping you near the side exit doors, where the hallway’s quieter now.

“Hey,” he says, softer. “What happened?”

You look at him finally, those stupidly adorable brown eyes already searching your face like he’s trying to solve you. Which makes this even more annoying, because he looks genuinely confused.

You cross your arms lightly. “What’s going on with you and Chrissy?”

Eddie blinks once. “…What?”

“Chrissy.”

His expression somehow gets even more confused. “Chrissy Cunningham?”

“No, Chrissy fucking Teigen, Eddie.”

That finally earns a startled laugh out of him. “Okay, alright— Jesus.”

But you’re still looking at him expectantly, not joking.

Eddie’s smile fades slightly. “Wait. What about her?”

You hesitate for half a second before deciding absolutely not, you are not gonna sound jealous right now. So instead, you shrug like it’s casual.

“She talked to me today.”

Eddie nods slowly. “Okay…”

“In the bathroom.”

“…Okay?”

“And she was being weird.”

That makes him snort softly. “Chrissy’s always kinda weird.”

You narrow your eyes immediately. “You know what I mean.”

Eddie studies your face for another second before realization slowly starts creeping in. “…Wait.”

His eyebrows lift. “Oh, my God.”

You immediately hate the grin starting to form on his face. “No,” you warn.

“You’re jealous.”

“I am NOT jealous.”

“You are SO jealous.”

You scoff loudly, starting to walk again immediately, but Eddie follows beside you, grinning like an idiot now. “That’s actually adorable.”

“Eddie.”

“You thought me and Chrissy— sweetheart, no.”

The pet name lands annoyingly hard, yet you keep your expression flat anyway. “She seems to think there’s a ‘me and Chrissy.’”

That wipes the grin off his face slightly. “…What’d she say?”

You shrug again, looking ahead instead of at him. “Just weird stuff. Talking about how long she’s known you. Saying you get nervous around people you like.” You glance over finally. “Which, apparently, she knows from experience.”

Eddie groans immediately, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh, my God.”

“So there is something.”

“No!” he says quickly. “Jesus Christ, no.”

You raise an eyebrow. Eddie exhales hard before stepping in front of you, suddenly near the parking lot doors, forcing you to stop walking.

“Okay,” he says. “Look at me for a second.”

You do, reluctantly.

“Chrissy and I are friends.”

“Mhm.”

“That’s it.”

“She doesn’t act like that’s it.”

Eddie sighs. “Chrissy flirts with literally everyone.”

“And you?”

“What about me?”

“Don’t you flirt with ‘literally everyone’?”

Eddie stares at you for a second, then his expression softens completely.

“No,” he says quietly. “Just you.”

And unfortunately? That does something violent to your stomach. Because he sounds sincere. 

Eddie steps a little closer then, eyes searching yours carefully. “Did you seriously think I was spending all day following you around and staring at you because I’m secretly in love with Chrissy Cunningham?”

You cross your arms tighter anyway. “Maybe.”

“Sweetheart.” He laughs softly now. “I barely noticed Chrissy today.”

That shouldn’t make you as happy as it does, so you try to look away before he notices. Too late.

“Oh, there she is,” Eddie murmurs teasingly. “There’s my girl again.”

“I’m not your girl.”

His grin comes back instantly. “Sure you aren’t.”

The drive home starts soft again, which honestly feels worse after the whole Chrissy conversation. Because now every little thing Eddie does feels more intentional somehow.

The late afternoon sun spills gold through the windshield while music hums low through the van speakers, your legs stretched across the bench seat slightly as Eddie drives one-handed through Hawkins.

And his other hand? Resting warm against your thigh, like it naturally belongs there. At first, it’s casual, barely there. Then his thumb starts moving absentmindedly against your jeans whenever he talks, tracing slow little patterns that make it impossible to focus on literally anything else.

You glance down at his hand once.

“What?” he asks, mouth twitching.

“Nothing.”

“That looked like a lie.”

You turn toward the window again to hide your smile. “You’re cocky today.”

“Today?” Eddie laughs softly. “Baby, I’ve been cocky.”

The nickname hits harder now after the hallway conversation, especially because his voice sounds quieter this time, more affectionate than teasing.

The van stops at a red light, and Eddie glances over at you again, curls falling into his face slightly. “…You busy tonight?”

Your eyes flick toward him. “Depends.”

“On?”

“How good your offer is.”

Eddie grins immediately. “Jesus Christ, you make me work for it.”

“Always.”

The light turns green again, but he keeps glancing over every few seconds anyway. Then finally:

“Go out with me tonight.” You blink once.

The confidence in his tone disappears just enough at the edges for you to notice he’s actually nervous about asking.

“Like… a date?” you ask casually.

Eddie scoffs. “No, sweetheart. I just like to ask all girls to stare at me lovingly over greasy diner food.”

You laugh quietly before looking back out the windshield, mostly so he doesn’t see the smile you’re trying to hide.

“And what if I say no?”

“Then I throw myself into traffic.”

“You are so dramatic!”

“You like it.”

Unfortunately, yes. Yes, you do. 

His hand squeezes your thigh once, gently. “C’mon,” he says, softer. “Lemme take you out.”

The warmth in his voice ruins you a little, so you sigh dramatically like this is a burden. “Fine.”

Eddie goes still beside you. “…Fine?”

You shrug innocently. “I guess you can take me on a date.”

His grin spreads slowly. “Holy shit.”

“Relax.”

You roll your eyes affectionately. “Don’t make it weird.”

“Have we met?”

Then suddenly, his dashboard lights up, your eyes automatically flicking downward.

Incoming call: Chrissy C

Your stomach drops immediately, and the smile falls off his face almost instantly. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

But it’s already too late. Because all the warm softness from five seconds ago immediately twists into something sharp and unpleasant in your chest.

You look away toward the window, and Eddie declines the call immediately.

“She probably just needs notes or something,” he says quickly.

“Sure she does.”

“Seriously.”

Another buzz, this time a voicemail notification. You laugh once under your breath, and it’s definitely not a happy laugh.

Eddie glances over at you again. “Hey.”

“It’s fine.”

“That definitely means it’s not fine.”

You shrug one shoulder, suddenly very interested in the passing trees outside your window. “You can answer if you want.”

“I don’t want to.”

“But you usually do?”

Eddie exhales sharply through his nose. “Jesus Christ.”

God, you hate how jealous you sound. Absolutely hate it. Especially because you barely even have a right to be jealous yet.

The van goes quieter for a second after that. Then Eddie suddenly pulls into the empty parking lot beside Lovers Lake instead of continuing toward town.

Your brows pull together. “What are you doing?”

He parks crookedly before turning toward you fully. “I’m fixing this before you spend the rest of the night pissed at me.”

You stare at him.

Eddie’s expression softens almost immediately. “Sweetheart,” he says gently, “I asked you on a date like thirty seconds ago.”

“So?”

“So why would I do that if I wanted Chrissy?”

Your jaw tightens faintly. “Maybe you want both.”

Eddie looks genuinely horrified by that. “No,” he says instantly. “Absolutely not.”

You finally look at him fully then. And unfortunately? He looks sincere again. Completely and utterly sincere.

Eddie reaches over carefully, fingers brushing your chin lightly until your eyes meet his properly.

“I like you,” he says simply. “Like… really fucking obviously.”

Your stomach flips.

“And Chrissy knows that now,” he continues. “Which is probably why she’s acting weird.”

You blink slightly. “…What?”

Eddie leans back against the seat with a sigh. “Chrissy and I have always kinda flirted, okay? But nothing has ever happened.” He looks back at you carefully. “And now suddenly I can’t shut up about you, so yeah, she’s probably irritated.”

That shouldn’t make you feel better, but it absolutely does.

You look down at your lap for a second before muttering, “Still annoying.”

Eddie laughs softly. “Yeah. It is.”

Then his fingers hook gently beneath your chin again.

“Don’t get all mad at me now,” he murmurs. “I kinda like when you’re mean, but I’d rather you just kiss me instead.”

Your stomach flips violently. God, he’s smooth. You narrow your eyes slightly anyway, mostly so he doesn’t notice how affected you are. “You think you’re very charming.”

“I know I am.” Cocky asshole.

Still, you lean forward anyway and kiss him. Not the cheek this time.

His breath catches instantly the second your lips touch his. It’s soft at first. Tentative for maybe half a second before Eddie’s hand slides firmly against your waist, pulling you closer across the bench seat like he physically cannot help himself.

And suddenly the kiss gets warmer, the kind that leaves your stomach floating somewhere near your ribs. Eddie kisses like he talks: confident at first, then devastating once he realizes you’re kissing him back just as hard.

By the time you pull away, his curls are messier than before, and he looks genuinely dazed. Like you just hit him over the head with a shovel.

“…Oh,” he says faintly.

You laugh softly despite yourself.

Eddie stares at you for another second before dragging a hand down his face dramatically. “Jesus Christ.”

“You alright there, Munson?”

“No,” he says honestly. “Not even remotely.”

That earns another laugh out of you. And God, that sound absolutely kills him. You settle back into your seat again, trying to regain some composure while Eddie continues staring at you like he’s seeing the physical embodiment of religion.

Then finally: “You should take me home.”

Eddie blinks once. “…What?”

You grin slightly. “I have this date that I need to get ready for.”

His jaw actually drops. “Oh, you are evil.”

“You’ll survive.”

“Debatable.”

Still muttering dramatically under his breath, Eddie starts the van again and pulls back onto the road. But now his hand definitely doesn't leave your thigh the entire drive home.

The second you get into your bedroom, you kick your shoes off, grab the phone beside your vanity mirror, and click on FaceTime.

Robin answers first, immediately.

And immediately screams. “OH, MY GOD.”

You wince, holding the phone farther away. “Jesus Christ.”

“No, absolutely not.” Robin’s face fills the screen while she points accusingly. “You kissed him.”

Your eyebrows lift. “How do you know that already?”

“Because Eddie just called Gareth and apparently sounded like he got drafted into war.”

You burst out laughing before another face suddenly appears beside Robin’s. Vicky.

“Oh, this is serious,” Vicky says immediately. “She called for backup.”

“You’re both dramatic.”

“Says the girl currently glowing,” Robin shoots back.

You roll your eyes, already digging through your closet. “I need outfit help.”

Both girls gasp loudly at the same time. Vicky clutches her chest theatrically. “She’s in deep.”

“I’m literally going to a diner.”

“With Eddie,” Robin emphasizes.

“…Unfortunately.”

Robin narrows her eyes. “You like him.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Liar,” both girls say instantly.

You ignore them, holding up two different tops toward the camera instead. “Okay. Focus. Which one says ‘I’m casually hot and definitely not trying too hard’?”

Robin immediately points. “Black.”

Vicky points the other direction. “Absolutely not. Red.”

“Thank you,” you tell Vicky.

“BOOOO,” Robin yells. “You can’t trust her; she supports chaos.”

“Exactly,” Vicky says proudly.

You laugh under your breath, tossing clothes onto your bed while the two of them continue arguing loudly through the phone.

Your bedroom smells faintly like vanilla candles and hairspray now, golden evening light spilling through the curtains while you drag eyeliner carefully across your lash line.

“So wait,” Vicky says from the phone screen, “start over. Exactly what did Chrissy say?”

You lean back slightly, screwing the cap back onto your eyeliner. “That’s the thing. It wasn’t technically mean.”

Robin groans immediately. “Those are the WORST girls.”

“I’m serious!” you insist. “She was all sweet and smiley the entire time.”

“Which somehow makes it more threatening,” Vicky says wisely.

“THANK you.”

Robin points aggressively through the screen. “See, I told you. Chrissy weaponizes kindness.”

You snort softly, reaching for your mascara. “That sounds insane.”

“Because it IS insane,” Robin says. “But she does it anyway.”

You shake your head, thinking back to the bathroom again.

Chrissy’s perfect curls, the sweet smile, the way she kept saying Eddie’s name as if it belonged to her. Your stomach twists again, annoyingly.

“She kept bringing up how long she’s known him,” you mutter while fixing your mascara carefully. “Like every sentence was secretly a threat.”

Vicky gasps dramatically. “Ohhhh, someone's jealous.”

Robin nods instantly. “Yeah, that’s territorial behavior.”

“She literally told me not to break his heart.”

Both girls go silent. Then: “Oh, that’s psycho,” Robin says immediately.

“RIGHT?” you exclaim.

Vicky leans closer to the camera. “No, because that’s actually so manipulative.”

“And Eddie acts like nothing’s going on!”

Robin scoffs. “Because Eddie’s dumb.”

“Hey,” you say automatically.

Robin freezes. Slowly grins.

“…Oh my God.”

“What?”

“You defended him.”

You immediately point your mascara wand threateningly at the screen. “Do not start.”

Vicky’s already giggling. “No, Robin’s right. You defended him instinctively.”

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did,” Robin says. “Also the fact you’re doing a full post-crisis debrief while getting ready for a date with him is making me insane.”

You look back at your reflection quickly, pretending to focus on blending your makeup instead of how warm your face suddenly feels.

“It’s not a crisis.”

“You got jealous.”

“I got suspicious.”

“Jealous,” both girls say together.

You groan loudly, throwing your beauty blender onto the vanity dramatically. “Fine. Maybe a little.”

Robin actually clutches her chest. “OH this is huge.”

“She kissed him today too,” Vicky says casually.

Robin whips toward the camera so fast she nearly falls off-screen. “WAIT. ON THE MOUTH?”

You immediately laugh. “Jesus Christ, Vicky.”

“What?” she says innocently. “That’s relevant information.”

Robin looks deeply betrayed. “And you DIDN’T LEAD WITH THAT?”

“It was one kiss.”

“One kiss?” Robin repeats hysterically. “You’ve known this man for like three days!”

“Sometimes when it’s right, it’s right,” Vicky says sagely.

“You are not helping.”

Robin’s eyes narrow suddenly. “Wait.”

You immediately recognize that tone. “What?”

“She saw you kiss him this morning.”

You blink once. “Who?”

“Chrissy.” Oh...OH. Your stomach drops slightly as realization settles in.

Because Chrissy absolutely had been standing near the front office when you kissed Eddie’s cheek goodbye.

Robin watches your expression change and immediately points again. “THAT’S why she cornered you in the bathroom.”

Vicky gasps dramatically. “This is becoming a soap opera.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, even though you’re starting to think they might be right.

Robin leans closer to the screen again. “Okay but important question.”

“What?”

“Are we trying to make her jealous tonight?”

You blink. “…What?”

“She started psychological warfare first,” Robin says matter-of-factly. “We retaliate.”

Vicky nods solemnly beside her. “Correct.”

“You two are terrible influences.”

“And yet,” Robin says smugly, “you called us.”

Your mascara’s barely dry by the time your phone buzzes beside you. Robin’s still mid-rant about “counteracting blonde warfare” when you glance down at the screen, and immediately smile.

“Oh my God,” she says flatly. “That’s him.”

You try, failing miserably, to hide the grin tugging at your mouth as you unlock the phone.

Vicky makes a wounded noise. “That’s disgusting actually.”

“You want him soooo bad,” Robin says, pointing at the screen while you laugh quietly under your breath.

“I hate both of you.”

“Mhm,” Robin says knowingly. “Go see your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“You kissed him twice in one day.”

Your face heats immediately. “Goodbye.”

Robin cackles as you end the FaceTime before either of them can say anything worse.

Outside, the evening air’s cooler now, soft summer dusk settling over the neighborhood while headlights glow warmly at the end of your driveway. Eddie’s van.

And there he is, leaning against the driver’s side door with a cigarette between his lips, leather jacket thrown over a black band tee, curls messy like he’s been dragging his hands through them impatiently.

Then he looks up and stops breathing again, visibly.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” he mutters to himself.

You shut the front door behind you slowly, pretending not to notice the way his eyes drag over you immediately. From your boots, to your outfit, to your lips, the exact lips he kissed earlier.

His cigarette hangs forgotten between his fingers now as you walk closer.

“Well?” you ask innocently. “You surviving?”

Eddie laughs once under his breath, sounding slightly tortured. “No, sweetheart. Not even a little.”

You stop in front of him, tilting your head slightly. “You’re staring again.”

“Can you blame me?”

The low warmth in his voice hits straight to your stomach. Eddie reaches out before he can stop himself, fingertips hooking lightly through one of your belt loops just to tug you a tiny bit closer.

“You look…” He exhales sharply through his nose. “Jesus Christ.”

You grin. “That good?”

“That dangerous,” he corrects. 

His hand lingers at your waist for another second before he leans down slightly, lowering his voice. “Tell me you didn’t dress like this just to ruin my life.”

You look up at him through your lashes innocently. “Maybe a little.”

Eddie actually groans. “Oh, you think you’re funny.”

“I think you like it.”

His eyes flick down to your mouth instantly. For a second, it genuinely looks like he’s debating kissing you right there in the driveway. Instead, Eddie pulls back just enough to open the passenger door for you dramatically.

“C’mon,” he says, still grinning slightly. “Before I start acting less like a gentleman, and more like a dog in heat.”

A couple of hours later, Eddie decides he’s officially obsessed with hearing you talk. That’s the conclusion he comes to while sitting across from you in the diner booth, elbow hooked over the table while he watches you animatedly complain about your old school.

Apparently, according to you, everyone there was “painfully boring”, the art department sucked, and your ex-boyfriend once tried to tell you The Smiths were “too depressing.”

Which made Eddie nearly choke on his fries. “He said what?” Eddie laughs, genuinely horrified.

You steal one of his onion rings casually. “Exactly what you just heard.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says dramatically, clutching his chest. “I’m so sorry you went through that.”

“You’re making fun of me.”

“No,” Eddie grins. “I’m judging him.”

The diner’s mostly empty this late, neon lights glowing pinkish-red against the windows while old rock music hums softly from somewhere near the kitchen. And honestly? It’s easy with him. Way too damn easy.

Conversation never really stops. One topic bleeds into another naturally: music, old school, embarrassing childhood stories, favorite movies, tattoos Eddie wants but definitely can’t afford.

At one point, you laugh so hard that soda nearly comes out of your nose. Eddie looks devastatingly pleased with himself afterward.

“Yeah,” he says smugly. “That one got you.”

“You’re annoying.”

“Sure, I am.”

By the time you leave the diner, the air outside’s colder, nighttime settling fully over Hawkins while the parking lot glows under flickering street lamps.

Now you’re sitting together on the curb beside Eddie’s van, sharing a cigarette. Well, mostly sharing because Eddie keeps stealing it back every few seconds.

“You know,” you say, exhaling smoke toward the sky, “you’re kinda clingy for someone trying to act mysterious.”

Eddie scoffs beside you. “I gave up the mysterious thing once you started looking at me like that.”

You glance over. “Like what?”

“Like you wanna kiss me again.”

Your stomach flips immediately. Cocky asshole.

You bump your shoulder lightly against his. “Maybe I do.”

Eddie goes suspiciously quiet after that, which is strange. Normally, he’d have something smooth ready instantly. Instead, when you look over, he’s just staring at you again.

The streetlight catches against the silver rings on his fingers, curls falling messily into his face, while smoke curls lazily around both of you.

And your makeup’s slightly smudged now. Lips shiny from your milkshake earlier, laugh lingering faintly in your expression. Eddie’s completely gone for you. You notice him reaching for something a second too late.

“Wait—”

Flash.

Your eyes widen immediately as Eddie lowers his phone, grinning like a little shit.

“Eddie!”

“What?” he laughs. “You looked pretty.”

Your face heats instantly. “Delete it.”

“Can’t. Technology. You know what they say about the internet and all.”

You groan loudly while Eddie keeps laughing beside you, already typing away. 

“No, seriously,” you say. “That probably looks terrible.”

“Sweetheart.” Eddie looks at you like you’ve said something genuinely stupid. “You could probably survive a natural disaster and still look hot.”

You raise your eyebrows as he’s smirking at his phone, looking oh-so-pleased with himself when he drops it by his side. 

“What?”

“Nothin’,” he replies, but that smirk tells you everything you need to know. You snatch his phone, and it’s already opened on Instagram. Your stomach actually flips because Eddie posted the picture.

You look soft, like someone he adores and enjoys taking candid pictures of.

And over the top of the story, Eddie typed:

Your face heats violently.

“Oh my God.”

Eddie looks entirely too pleased with himself. “Too much?”

“You’re insane.”

“And yet,” he says, leaning closer beside you with a grin, “you’re smiling.”

“You are never beating the obsessed allegations,” you mutter softly.

Eddie grins against the cigarette between his lips. “I don’t particularly want to.”

You shake your head, but you’re smiling too hard for the insult to land properly.

“See?” he says quietly. “There it is again.”

“What?”

“That smile.”

God. You look over at him finally, and suddenly, he’s closer than before.

Close enough to smell smoke and leather and diner coffee still lingering on him, close enough to see the tiny freckle beneath his eye, close enough that his gaze flicks down toward your mouth for maybe half a second too long. Then back up again.

Your breath catches slightly.

“You keep looking at me like that,” he murmurs softly, “and I’m gonna do something irresponsible.”

You tilt your head slightly. “Like what?”

That cocky little grin returns immediately, then disappears again just as fast when you lean closer first this time, and kiss him.

The cigarette gets abandoned somewhere beside him instantly as Eddie’s hand slides against your jaw, pulling you closer with a quiet noise low in his throat like he’s wanted to do this all night.

The kiss turns warm embarrassingly fast. Slow at first, then smiling, then downright hungry. By the time you pull away, Eddie looks genuinely wrecked again. Lips pink, hair even messier somehow, eyes heavy-lidded while he stares at you like he’s trying to recover from psychic damage.

“…You are so bad for me,” he says softly.

You laugh quietly before settling against his shoulder, still warm from the kiss.

Eddie immediately wraps an arm around you automatically, pulling you closer against his side while the two of you sit there beneath the buzzing parking lot lights.

His phone still rests in your hand while the story continues collecting reactions every few seconds.

rockin.robin replied to your story: OH HES GONEEEEE

hair-ington replied to your story: Munson’s cooked.

You snort softly against Eddie’s shoulder while scrolling.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing.” You grin. “Your friends are making fun of you.”

“They’re jealous.”

“Of what?”

“You.”

The sincerity in his voice almost catches you off guard. Before you can respond, Eddie’s phone buzzes beside him.

He glances down absentmindedly, still holding you close with one arm while unlocking the screen, and immediately goes still. You feel it happen, that tiny shift in his body. Your eyes flick downward automatically.

chrissy.cunningham replied to your story.

And before either of you can say anything, another notification appears.

chrissy.cunningham: is that her jacket or yours?

WELLLLLLL SHIT.

hope you all enjoyed!!! missed writing SO MUCH AH xoxoxo

requests are coming out soon! i have two more to finish and then i'll start replying/doing more etc.

taglist is open:))

taglist:

@lilshaely @kennedy-brooke @fangirlll2000 @lananabanana42 @velvetdimond @naomiiily @frostywinterstrawberry @bonnieprincess @mdurdenpitt @f-remastered @snoopypisces @am0iur @livvy0390 @aprincess-orjustme

@bitterestwillow@kozume-ko, @obsessed-eddie, @doomdabss, @julxsxx, @leelei1980@hexqueensupreme @ches-86 @plaidamoosette @bobiverses@meadows-of-asphodel @whitakerstorm @dreamerjj @sariahs-stuff @brrrainst3w @serendipdipity01 @hypersexytoptobottom @m-art000 @sisteramycatherine @walleloveseve @camsmunson101 @flavorfullstevepeachpuffs25 @abirdinthehouse @m-art000 @micheledawn1975 @whitakerstorm @cciessuzi @blackqueenie-18 @ggdawgg @velvetdimond

[sandyfics]

Byers Doesn’t Know

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

I can’t believe he’s so trusting While I’m right behind you thrusting

Summary: Jonathan had been emotionally distant for months, pining after another girl while you sat there helplessly. Fortunately, Byers isn’t the only one who wants you, and he’ll never have to know.

4.8k words

Contains: TW: cheating (emotional and physical), p in v smut, fingering, allusions to oral (fem receiving), guilt, angst, happy(ish) ending.

…

The first time Eddie Munson kissed you, Jonathan Byers was thirty feet away buying popcorn.

Which honestly should’ve made you stop.

Instead, it made your pulse race harder.

The Hawkins Theater buzzed with noise around you; sticky floors, neon lights, kids shouting near the arcade machines, but all you could focus on was Eddie leaning lazily against the hallway wall beside you, cigarette smoke still clinging faintly to his jacket.

“You’re staring,” he murmured.

“I’m not.”

“You totally are.”

You rolled your eyes, but he grinned anyway, smug and impossible.

Jonathan had dragged you there with Nancy and Steve after one of their “investigating weird shit” days. Except Jonathan barely spoke to you anymore during those outings. He and Nancy walked ahead together whispering constantly, heads bent close enough to touch, and Steve fought for his own girlfriends attention like a kicked puppy.

You noticed everything.

The way Jonathan looked at Nancy when she wasn’t paying attention.

The inside jokes you weren’t part of.

How he always seemed more awake around her. Meanwhile, you’d become background noise.

A girlfriend in title only.

So maybe that was why you kept finding excuses to talk to Eddie lately.

Because Eddie looked at you directly. Like he was interested, like he noticed when you entered a room, and maybe you were angry enough to let that matter too much.

“You wanna know something?” Eddie asked quietly.

“What?”

“You keep looking at them like you’re trying not to set something on fire.”

You followed his gaze automatically.

Jonathan was laughing softly at something Nancy said. That ache returned immediately.

Sharp. Familiar. Humiliating.

“I think he’s cheating on me,” you admitted before you could stop yourself.

Eddie’s expression shifted.

Not joking anymore.

“You know that for sure?”

“No.” You swallowed. “But I think he wants to.”

The words tasted awful out loud.

Eddie stared at Jonathan for another second before muttering, “He’s an idiot.”

You laughed weakly. “You don’t even know me.”

“Don’t have to.”

And God, maybe you were lonelier than you realized, because that almost hurt worse.

…

After that, Eddie started appearing everywhere.

Leaning against your locker after class, sliding into the seat beside you during lunch, waiting outside the arcade while you pretended not to notice him immediately.

At first you thought he was messing with you.

Most people in Hawkins treated Eddie like trouble wrapped in denim and chains.

But Eddie looked at you like he understood something ugly sitting inside your chest.

And the worst part?

You understood him too.

“You know Byers is gonna kill me eventually, right?” Eddie asked one afternoon while walking you home.

“You’re assuming he’d notice.”

The bitterness slipped out before you could stop it.

Eddie glanced sideways at you carefully.

“Huh.”

“Sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize.” His voice softened. “I just… don’t think you should talk about yourself like you’re invisible.”

You looked away immediately.

Because lately, invisible was exactly how you felt.

…

The sneaking around started accidentally.

At least that’s what you told yourself.

A ride home after Hellfire ran late. A cigarette shared behind the school gym.

Long conversations in the trailer park while music played softly from Eddie’s room and Wayne slept down the hall.

You kept saying it wasn’t serious. Nothing you’d done with Eddie was physical.

You kept saying Jonathan already emotionally left first anyway.

But guilt still crawled beneath your skin every time Jonathan kissed your forehead distractedly before running off to meet Nancy again.

Because despite everything, Jonathan still trusted you.

And you were starting to hate yourself for breaking that trust even while your heart broke too.

…

One night after a party, everything finally snapped.

You found Jonathan and Nancy alone in the kitchen talking quietly while everyone else crowded the living room.

Nancy’s hand rested on his arm.

Jonathan looked at her the way people looked at stars.

Your stomach twisted painfully. Neither of them noticed you standing there. That somehow hurt most.

You left without saying goodbye.

And twenty minutes later Eddie’s van pulled up beside you while you walked home alone down the dark road.

“Jesus Christ,” he said through the open window. “You look miserable.”

“Thanks.”

“Get in.”

You should’ve said no.

Instead you climbed inside.

The van smelled like gasoline, old leather, and Eddie’s cologne. Music played softly through blown-out speakers while rain started tapping against the windshield overhead.

Neither of you spoke for a while.

Then finally Eddie said quietly, “You love him that much?”

Your throat tightened.

“Yeah.”

“And he still makes you feel like that?”

You stared out the window. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

“Hey.” Eddie’s voice sharpened instantly. “Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Blame yourself because some guy can’t figure his own shit out.”

You laughed bitterly. “Easy for you to say.”

“No, actually, it’s pretty easy in general.” Eddie leaned back against the seat. “If I had a girlfriend who looked at me the way you look at Jonathan, I wouldn’t even know other girls existed.”

That shouldn’t have affected you as much as it did, but after months of feeling unwanted, Eddie’s attention felt dangerously comforting.

The silence between you shifted.

He noticed it too. You could tell by the way his breathing changed slightly.

“You should go home,” he murmured.

Probably.

Instead you kissed him.

It happened fast. Messy. Impulsive.

The second your hand touched his face, Eddie made this startled sound against your mouth like he genuinely hadn’t expected it.

Then suddenly his hands were in your hair and he was kissing you back hard enough to make your heartbeat stumble.

It felt wrong. It felt reckless.

It felt unbelievably good.

Teeth clashing together, knocking against each other with soft taps. His tongue wet, massaging over your own.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you breathing hard, reality crashed back immediately.

“Oh my God,” you whispered.

Eddie stared at you wide-eyed for half a second before laughing softly in disbelief.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s about the reaction I was expecting.”

Guilt flooded your chest instantly.

Jonathan.

Jonathan, who still held your hand.

Jonathan, who still said he loved you even if it sounded distracted now.

Jonathan, who might actually be innocent while you were here kissing Eddie Munson in the front seat of a van.

“I’m a terrible person,” you said quietly.

Eddie’s expression softened immediately.

“No,” he said. “You’re hurt.”

“That doesn’t make this okay.”

“No,” he admitted. “Probably not.”

Rain hammered harder against the roof.

Inside the van, everything felt small and overheated and impossible to undo now.

Eddie looked at you carefully.

“You wanna know the really messed up part?”

“What?”

“He doesn’t have to know.”

You laughed weakly despite yourself.

Then Eddie started grinning too.

And suddenly both of you were laughing quietly in the middle of this awful complicated mess because honestly, what else were you supposed to do?

…

By December, sneaking around with Eddie Munson had stopped feeling shocking.

That was probably the worst part.

At first, every secret meeting had made your stomach twist with guilt so sharp you thought you might actually confess just to make it stop.

Now it felt normal.

Dangerously normal.

You’d tell Jonathan you were studying with a friend, then end up tangled in blankets in Eddie’s trailer while Black Sabbath played low through his speakers, your legs thrown over his shoulders in a deep mating press, taking you in a way Jonathan could never quite do for you.

You’d sit beside Jonathan in class the next morning while Eddie burned holes into the back of your chair from two rows over, grinning to himself because nobody else knew where you’d been the night before.

Nobody knew.

Not Nancy.

Not Steve.

Not even Robin, and she somehow knew everything.

Especially not Jonathan.

And honestly?

After a while, you stopped feeling as bad about that as you probably should have.

Because Jonathan still looked at Nancy like she hung the moon.

He still disappeared for hours with her chasing supernatural disasters while you sat at home pretending not to notice.

Half the time he barely touched you anymore unless you initiated it first.

Meanwhile Eddie looked at you like he couldn’t help himself.

Like every room improved the second you walked into it.

It became addictive.

…

Eddie hovered over you on the mattress, curls falling into his face while his hand stayed planted beside your head, trapping you between him and the tangled blankets in a way that made your pulse feel unsteady.

One thigh rested over his broad shoulder, the other wrapped around his hips. His body forced your thighs open, body trembling with uncontrollable need.

His fingers settled deep inside, scissoring them slowly, letting the burning stretch take over.

The closeness alone was enough to make your thoughts blur a little, the smell of cigarette smoke still clinging faintly to his hair, the cold rings brushing your skin whenever he moved, the way he looked at you like he found this entire situation unbelievable in the best possible way.

Months ago, you used to leave the trailer feeling guilty.

Now you just never wanted to leave at all.

Eddie tilted his head slightly, watching your expression shift.

“There’s that look again.”

“What look?”

“The one where you remember you snuck around with me for months.”

You groaned immediately. “You are never letting that go.”

“Absolutely not.” His grin widened. “You know how insane that was from my perspective?”

“Oh, here we go.”

“No, seriously.” Eddie laughed quietly. “You’d walk into Hellfire meetings holding Jonathan Byers’ hand, then show up at my trailer three hours later looking at me like that.”

Your face burned instantly.

“Like what?”

“Like you wanted to climb me like a tree.”

You shoved his shoulder hard enough to make him laugh louder.

“You’re unbelievable. You are inside of me right now, this couldn’t wait?”

“And yet,” Eddie said smugly, leaning closer again, “still your favorite bad decision.”

The space between you disappeared again after that.

Not rushed.

Not careless.

Just magnetic.

Your hands slid up into his hair while Eddie buried his face briefly against your neck with a groan dramatic enough to make you laugh softly.

“Don’t laugh,” he muttered.

“You’re so dramatic.”

“You made me wait months, sweetheart. I earned dramatic.”

You rolled your eyes again, but your heartbeat stumbled anyway when he looked back at you.

Because teasing aside, Eddie still had this dangerous habit of looking at you too sincerely when things got quiet.

Like underneath all the jokes and flirting, he still couldn’t fully believe you chose him.

His fingers quickly became replaced with something bigger. He sheathed himself all the way in, not satisfied until his pelvic bone ground against yours.

His thumb brushed lightly along your jaw.

“You know what I think?” he asked softly.

“What?”

“I think part of you liked that I noticed you.”

The teasing tone was gone now, replaced by pure confidence and a little bit of power. That made it harder to answer.

You swallowed, because he was right.

Jonathan used to notice you once.

Then somewhere along the line, you became something familiar. Expected. Easy to overlook.

But Eddie noticed everything.

When you were upset.

When you were pretending not to be.

When you walked into a room.

When you looked at him too long.

Even now, his attention felt intense enough to make your chest ache a little.

“You looked at me like I mattered,” you admitted through strangled breaths.

Eddie’s expression changed instantly at that.

Softer, amost angry on your behalf.

“You do matter.”

The words hit harder than they should have, and he drilled in deeper with a brutal force. For a second neither of you moved, Eddie holding you there, letting you feel him pulsing inside of you.

Rain rattled against the windows.

The trailer creaked softly around you.

And Eddie just stayed there close enough that you could feel his breathing, looking at you with an intensity that made everything else feel very far away.

Then his grin returned slightly.

“Still think Byers was blind, by the way.”

You laughed despite yourself.

“There’s the ego again.”

“Massive ego,” Eddie agreed proudly before leaning down to kiss your forehead this time, slower and gentler than before. “Can’t help it. I won.”

The pace picked up again, a conversation far too deep for an act meant to be completely casual melting into pleasurable moans and deep grunts.

The mattress creaked, filling the small room with an unavoidable heat.

…

“Your boyfriend’s gonna figure this out eventually,” Eddie said one night.

You were sprawled across his mattress while cigarette smoke curled lazily toward the trailer ceiling. Outside, rain hammered softly against the windows, wet marks adorning your skin where clothes hid the evidence.

Eddie sat beside you tuning his guitar absentmindedly.

“He hasn’t so far.”

You didn’t even bother to put your shirt back on, perfectly comfortable laying spread in only your underwear.

“That’s because Byers is too busy staring at Wheeler.”

The words should’ve hurt more, instead you just rolled your eyes.

“That obvious, huh?”

“To literally everyone except him.”

You laughed quietly. Months ago that conversation would’ve made your chest ache, now mostly it just exhausted you.

Eddie noticed immediately.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Liar.”

You looked over at him.

The dim light softened the sharp edges of his face. His rings glinted silver as his fingers moved over the guitar strings lazily. The same fingers that had been knuckle deep inside of you just moments before, completely drenched with the arousal he pulled from my core mixed with the slick saliva from his messy mouth.

His dirty mouth becoming something softer after, always carrying a simple conversation, and somewhere along the line, Eddie had become easy to be around.

Too easy.

“You know what’s weird?” you murmured.

“What?”

“I thought I’d feel guiltier than this.”

Eddie stopped playing.

The room went quiet except for the rain.

“Do you wanna?”

You considered it honestly.

Then shrugged.

“Not really.”

That should’ve sounded horrible.

Maybe it was horrible.

But after months of being ignored, overlooked, and quietly replaced emotionally, your guilt had slowly burned itself out.

Jonathan still technically belonged to you, but his heart didn’t. Maybe it hadn’t for a long time.

Eddie set the guitar aside carefully.

“You ever gonna break up with him?”

The question hung heavy between you. You stared at the ceiling.

“I don’t know.”

“Bullshit.”

You frowned at him. “Excuse me?”

“You know.” Eddie leaned back against the wall behind the bed. “You just don’t wanna be the bad guy.”

That hit too directly.

Because maybe he was right.

If Jonathan officially left you for Nancy, then at least your heartbreak could stay clean.

Simple.

But this?

Sneaking around with Eddie for months while pretending everything was fine?

That made you complicated too.

Messy.

Selfish.

Eddie watched your expression carefully.

Then quieter, “I’m not judging you, sweetheart.”

“You should.”

“Nah.” He gave a crooked smile. “I like complicated girls.”

You snorted despite yourself.

“Your standards are concerning.”

“Very.”

The tension eased after that.

It always did with Eddie.

He had this irritating ability to make terrible situations feel lighter without pretending they weren’t terrible.

That was part of why you kept coming back.

With Jonathan, loving him had started feeling lonely.

With Eddie, even silence felt full.

…

The secrecy became routine.

Thursday nights at the trailer park.

Quick hidden conversations after Hellfire meetings.

Eddie’s hand brushing yours under tables while Jonathan sat three feet away completely oblivious.

Honestly, that part started becoming thrilling too.

Not because you wanted to hurt Jonathan.

But because for once, somebody was choosing you in secret instead of choosing someone else right in front of you.

“You’re staring again,” Eddie murmured one afternoon in the school parking lot.

You blinked. “At what?”

“Me.”

“I am not.”

He grinned immediately. “You totally are.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And yet here you are.”

You shoved his shoulder lightly, trying not to smile.

Eddie caught your wrist before you could pull away.

The touch lingered.

Your pulse skipped instantly.

God.

That still happened every time.

Eddie’s expression softened just slightly as he looked at you.

Not joking now.

Not flirting.

Just… looking.

“You know,” he said quietly, “you laugh more now.”

Something about that made your chest tighten unexpectedly.

Because he was right.

You did.

Even with all the lying and sneaking around and emotional disaster of your life, you laughed more with Eddie than you had in months with Jonathan.

Maybe that should’ve told you everything already.

…

The closest Jonathan ever came to figuring it out happened in January.

The three of you were at Family Video helping Steve reorganize tapes while Robin complained loudly from behind the counter.

Jonathan reached for your hand absentmindedly while talking to Nancy.

You froze immediately.

Because Eddie was standing across the store watching.

For one horrible second guilt came rushing back hard enough to make you nauseous.

Jonathan squeezed your hand lightly without even looking at you.

Automatic.

Distracted.

Like habit.

Then Nancy said something and his attention snapped right back toward her.

Your chest went cold.

Across the room, Eddie saw it too.

The hurt.

The realization.

Jonathan let go of your hand a second later without noticing your expression at all.

But Eddie noticed.

Of course he did.

Later that night, you showed up at the trailer without calling first.

Eddie opened the door already smirking. “Miss me?”

Instead of answering, you kissed him immediately.

Hard enough to shut him up.

Eddie stumbled backward laughing against your mouth. “Whoa, okay—”

“You were right.”

“That narrows absolutely nothing down.”

“About Jonathan.”

Eddie’s grin faded slightly.

You looked away.

“He doesn’t love me anymore.”

The words hurt less now.

Mostly because you’d already mourned the relationship while still inside it.

Eddie’s face softened.

Slowly, carefully, he reached up and brushed hair away from your face.

“You deserve somebody who actually sees you,” he said quietly.

And maybe that should’ve scared you more than it did.

And maybe it did.

After that night, something shifted, not between you and Eddie, that had already shifted months ago. No, the change happened inside you.

Because Eddie’s words kept echoing in your head every time Jonathan forgot to call. Every time he canceled plans because Nancy “needed help.” Every time you caught yourself sitting silently beside your own boyfriend feeling lonelier than when you were actually alone.

You deserve somebody who actually sees you.

The problem was, Eddie did see you.

Too much, maybe.

And lately that was starting to scare you.

…

“You’re distracted,” Jonathan said one afternoon.

You nearly laughed out loud at the irony.

The two of you sat together in the Byers living room while Will and Joyce argued softly in the kitchen. A movie played on the television, forgotten background noise neither of you were really watching.

Jonathan had barely spoken to you for twenty minutes.

Now suddenly he noticed something was wrong.

“I’m fine,” you answered automatically.

He studied you for a second like he wanted to believe that.

Then Nancy called the house phone, and just like that, his attention vanished again. You watched him smile at the sound of her voice.

Watched him lean forward unconsciously like hearing Nancy Wheeler speak required his full concentration.

Something inside you finally went numb.

Not broken.

Not shattered.

Just… done.

You stood quietly, grabbing your jacket.

Jonathan looked up distractedly. “You leaving?”

“Yeah.”

“You okay?”

There it was again, that guilty little crease between his eyebrows, like part of him already knew he was losing you.

You almost wanted him to fight for it anyway.

Instead he just looked tired.

And suddenly you couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked at you the way Eddie did.

“I’ll call you later,” Jonathan said.

You both knew he probably wouldn’t.

…

Eddie was waiting outside some building on the outskirts of town when you arrived.

Leaning against the brick wall, cigarette glowing between his fingers, leather jacket damp from the cold.

The second he saw your face, his expression changed.

“What happened?”

You crossed your arms tightly. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

You looked away.

Eddie sighed softly, flicking the cigarette onto the pavement before stepping closer.

“He with Wheeler again?”

You hated how easily he guessed. You hated even more that you nodded.

For a moment Eddie didn’t say anything.

Then quieter, “C’mere.”

The words were so gentle they nearly undid you. You let him pull you against his chest without protest.

His arms wrapped around you instantly — warm, solid, familiar now.

You remembered when touching Eddie used to feel dangerous, now it felt like relief.

“You know what’s really messed up?” you mumbled against his jacket.

“What?”

“I don’t even feel sad anymore.”

Eddie’s hand slowed against your back.

That got his attention.

“I just…” You swallowed hard. “I think I stopped missing him before we even ended.”

The confession sat heavy between you both, because neither of you had said it out loud yet.

Not really.

You and Jonathan were still technically together.

But it felt more like a memory than a relationship now.

Eddie tilted his head down slightly, trying to catch your eyes.

“You gonna tell him?”

“Eventually.”

“Eventually,” Eddie repeated skeptically.

“I know.”

He studied you carefully.

“You’re afraid.”

“Obviously.”

“Of hurting him?”

You hesitated.

Then whispered, “Of him not caring.”

That made Eddie visibly flinch.

His jaw tightened immediately like the idea genuinely upset him.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “He really did a number on you, huh?”

You tried laughing it off.

It came out shaky instead.

…

The next few weeks became unbearable in a different way.

Not because of Jonathan.

Because of Eddie.

Because somewhere along the line, the rules between you had gotten blurry.

This was supposed to be casual. Revenge, maybe. A distraction. Something reckless to numb the ache Jonathan left behind.

Except Eddie started memorizing things about you.

Your favorite songs.

How you took your coffee.

Which movies made you cry even when you pretended they didn’t.

And worse?

You memorized things too.

The exact sound of his laugh when he was genuinely surprised, the way he got quieter when he was tired, how he always handed you the last bite of whatever he was eating without even thinking about it.

It stopped feeling temporary.

That was the problem.

…

“You’re staring again,” Eddie said one night from across the trailer.

You blinked. “Shut up.”

He grinned lazily from the couch. “Nah, seriously. It’s getting weird now.”

“You’re literally wearing a Dio shirt and leather pants indoors.”

“And?”

“And you look ridiculous.”

“Yet deeply attractive.”

You rolled your eyes.

But Eddie caught the tiny smile anyway.

He always did.

The trailer felt warm despite the snow outside. Music played softly from Eddie’s cassette player while Wayne worked the late shift.

You sat cross-legged on the floor flipping through one of Eddie’s campaign notebooks absentmindedly.

Then you found it.

A sketch.

Messy pencil lines of your face tucked between pages of monster designs and campaign notes.

Your chest tightened instantly.

“Eddie.”

“Hmm?”

“You drew me?”

His expression changed the second he realized what you found.

For once in his life, Eddie Munson looked caught off guard.

“Uh.”

You stared at him. “When?”

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Couple weeks ago.”

“A couple— Eddie.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

But his face had gone slightly red.

Which somehow made it worse.

You looked back down at the drawing.

The detail startled you.

He’d drawn you carefully.

Like he’d spent time on it.

Like you mattered enough to study.

Something dangerous twisted low in your stomach.

“This,” you said quietly, “doesn’t really feel casual anymore.”

The room went still.

Eddie looked at you for a long moment without joking this time.

Then finally:

“No,” he admitted softly. “Guess it doesn’t.”

The silence after Eddie admitted it stretched painfully long.

Outside, wind rattled weakly against the trailer windows. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once before everything went quiet again.

You stared down at the sketch in your hands.

Eddie stared at you.

Neither of you seemed to know what happened next, because feelings complicated things.

Feelings turned this from something reckless and temporary into something capable of hurting people.

And maybe the worst part was realizing you didn’t want it to stop anyway.

“You should’ve told me,” you said softly.

Eddie let out a short laugh. “Oh yeah, because that conversation would’ve gone great.”

You looked up.

“I mean it.”

His expression shifted immediately at your tone.

“I know.” He leaned back against the couch cushions, running a hand through his hair. “I just… didn’t think you wanted this to be serious.”

You opened your mouth. Then closed it again, because months ago he would’ve been right. Months ago Eddie had been escape. A distraction. A way to feel wanted while Jonathan slowly drifted toward Nancy.

But now?

Now Eddie was the person you looked for first in crowded rooms.

The person you wanted to tell things to. The person who noticed when you were upset before you even spoke.

And that terrified you a little.

“You know what the really pathetic part is?” you murmured.

Eddie frowned slightly. “What?”

“I think I started falling for you while I was still trying to convince myself I loved Jonathan.”

The confession hung heavily between you both.

Eddie looked stunned for half a second.

Then something softer settled into his expression.

Not smugness.

Not victory.

Just tenderness so genuine it made your chest ache.

“Sweetheart,” he said quietly, “there is literally nothing pathetic about choosing someone who actually makes you happy.”

Your throat tightened immediately.

God.

Jonathan used to make you feel like this once.

Seen.

Important.

But somewhere along the line, loving Jonathan had started feeling like waiting outside a locked door hoping someone might eventually let you in again.

With Eddie, the door had always been open.

You just hadn’t realized how badly you needed that.

…

The breakup finally happened three days later.

Not dramatic.

Not explosive.

Honestly, that almost made it sadder.

Jonathan stood beside you outside the school parking lot, shoulders tense against the cold while students passed around you pretending not to eavesdrop.

You’d rehearsed this conversation all night.

None of the words sounded right anymore.

“I think we both know this isn’t working,” you said quietly.

Jonathan looked down immediately.

That told you everything.

No confusion.

No shock.

Just resignation.

Like some part of him had been expecting this too.

“Yeah,” he admitted after a moment.

The simplicity of it hurt more than yelling would’ve.

You crossed your arms tightly.

“I didn’t want us to end like this.”

Jonathan nodded slowly. “Me neither.”

But neither of you knew how to fix it anymore.

Maybe you never really could’ve.

You studied his face carefully, searching for the devastation you’d imagined for months.

It wasn’t there.

He looked sad.

Guilty, maybe.

But relieved too.

And strangely enough?

So did you.

After a long silence, Jonathan finally said quietly, “Is there someone else?”

Your heart stopped.

For one horrible second, you thought he somehow knew.

You thought about Eddie waiting for you at the trailer later tonight.

About hidden kisses and secret smiles and months of lying.

About the few times he’d have you half heartedly, and all you could think about while he shoved your face into the mattress was how much deeper Eddie could reach. Then, when it became more the physicality, how much sweeter Eddie would talk to you.

Your stomach twisted.

But Jonathan looked tired more than suspicious.

And suddenly you realized something awful:

He was asking because he hoped there had been someone else, because then maybe this wouldn’t entirely be his fault either.

You swallowed hard.

“No,” you lied.

Jonathan closed his eyes briefly.

Then nodded.

“Okay.”

That was it.

No screaming.

No accusations.

Just two people quietly acknowledging they’d already lost each other a long time ago.

When Jonathan finally walked away, you expected heartbreak.

Instead you mostly felt empty.

And underneath that emptiness:

Relief.

…

Eddie answered the trailer door already smiling.

“You’re late.”

You stared at him silently for a second.

His smile faded immediately.

“What happened?”

“It’s over.”

The words came out smaller than you expected.

For a moment Eddie just looked at you.

Carefully.

Like he was trying to figure out whether to comfort you or celebrate.

Then finally he asked softly, “You okay?”

And somehow that question broke you more than the breakup itself.

Because Jonathan hadn’t asked.

Not really.

But Eddie always did.

You laughed shakily, wiping suddenly burning eyes before tears could actually fall.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I think I am.”

Eddie stepped aside quietly to let you in.

The trailer felt warm compared to the freezing air outside. Music hummed softly from the radio while a half-finished campaign map sat spread across the table.

Normal.

Comfortable.

Homey in a way you hadn’t expected it to become.

You set your bag down slowly.

Then Eddie reached for your hand.

Not rushed.

Not secretive.

Just open.

Like he wasn’t afraid anymore.

Your chest tightened painfully at the difference.

“You know,” Eddie murmured, thumb brushing lightly across your knuckles, “this means I can finally flirt with you in public now.”

You laughed through the lingering ache in your chest.

“That’s your first thought?”

“Absolutely.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet,” he grinned softly, pulling you closer, “you still picked me.”

This time, when he kissed you, there was no guilt left hiding underneath it.

[beasbrain]

The Cue

description: you’re Nancy Wheeler’s twin sister, and you couldn’t be more different. while she’s wrapped up in late-night “study sessions” with Steve Harrington, you’re escaping out the window with a book, a cigarette, and zero interest in third-wheeling. the plan is simple: disappear for a few hours. that is, until Eddie finds you first.

pairing: eddie x you (fem!reader)

tags: eddie x fem!reader, no y/n, strangers to lovers, twin sister of nancy, late night meet cute, fluff but like make it silly-goofy, secretly soft eddie (only for you, duh), smart but chaotic, sneaking out, steve sneaking in (constantly), sexual tension go brrrr, flirty banter, eddie making up excuses to talk to you, mike wheeler is suffering, chaos siblings, clumsy smut

TW: NSFW (18+) minors do NOT interact!!, PiV, unprotected (i'm sorry im a raw sex girlie, SUE me), smoking, alcohol, excessive hickeys

WC: 10.2k

A/N: I AM SO FUCKING OBSESSED WITH THIS CONCEPT OKAY?!?!?! me plotting how & when to make a series of everything I write because I fall in love with the characters & dynamics. sorry! not! sorry! reblogs are always appreciated <3!! let me know how you all like this one:)

You and Nancy sit on your respective beds, her voice filling the room while you try, desperately, to focus on reading The Feminine Mystique for the Advanced Lit paper due on Monday. 

“Ohhh my god—”

“Oh. my. GOD. Nance, seriously? You can have this conversation literally anywhere else.”

She pauses, lowering the phone and covering it with her palm. “And you can read anywhere else.”

You huff a loud, dramatic breath before lifting the book back to your face, desperately trying to cover the loudest eye roll you’ve ever done. 

She carries on gossiping, giggling about Steve and his impending rise to Varsity basketball captain. That is, if Billy Hargrove doesn’t bulldoze his way into it first. Not that you care about Hawkins High’s sacred basketball throne.

You exhale another long sigh and place the book down in your lap, seconds away from giving her another comment, before a tap at your window stills both of you. 

Both of your heads snap to see Steve, arms resting on the outside of the sill, cheeky grin plastered across his face. 

“I’ll uh—I’ll call you later,” Nancy says before placing the phone in the holster, giddily walking over to the window. 

“Steve!” she hisses, though there’s no real threat behind it. “You can’t be here, what if my parents—”

“Isn’t Ted already asleep? And isn’t it your mom’s Friday night bubblebath and chardonnay routine?” 

She giggles, glancing over her shoulder at you. You sigh, already standing to grab your jacket from the back of the door and your shoes from the closet.

“You sure you don’t mind?” She asks, as if it really makes a difference. Either way, you suffer.

If you say “yes, Nancy, as a matter of fact, I do mind,” she will pout the second he leaves, and you have to listen to her bitching and moaning about how she misses him. 

And if you say “No Nancy, it’s okay!” you’ll have to sit through Steve and her pawing at each other while you’re “not paying attention.” 

Either way, all signs point to a graceful exit, going to the one place you always find solace in: the town park.

Specifically, the town park after dark. No kids, no noise, just you, your book, and a cigarette with your name on it. Perfect bliss; quiet, dark, and entirely yours.

You wave in Steve and exchange places with him, waving a final dramatic gesture before you scale down the trellis. 

The grass is still a little damp from the afternoon rain, soaking faintly through the soles of your sneakers as you cut across the park. 

Hawkins at night always feels like something softer, like the whole town is holding its breath instead of buzzing the way it does in daylight. You prefer it this way.

You find your usual bench tucked beneath the old oak, the one far enough from the streetlamps that it feels almost private, but not so hidden that it’s unsettling.

Your bag drops beside you with a soft thud, and you settle in, pulling your book back out like you never left it. The Feminine Mystique falls open easily, spine already bending to your will from overuse. 

You smooth a hand over the page, but before you start reading, you reach into your jacket pocket, pulling out a cigarette and your lighter.

A practiced flick, a small flame, and the quiet inhale.

You let the smoke sit in your lungs for a second before exhaling slowly, watching it curl into the night air. It feels like exhaling everything else, too. 

Nancy’s voice, Steve’s stupid grin, the constant feeling of being just slightly out of place in your own house.

From your bag, you pull the small flask, unscrewing the cap with a faint metallic click.

Cheap wine, stolen from the back of your mom's not-so-secret "secret stash" in the back of the kitchen cabinet. You take a quick sip, nose scrunching slightly at the bite, then settle back against the bench.

Book in one hand. A cigarette in the other. Flask resting against your thigh. Perfect.

You actually managed to get through a paragraph this time before—

“Well, shit.”

Your head lifts immediately, eyes narrowing just slightly as you turn toward the voice. He’s leaning against the tree like he’s been there the whole time.

Or like he just appeared.

Leather jacket. Chains catching what little light there is. That messy halo of curls that somehow looks intentional even when it definitely isn’t. And his eyes, wide for a split second, like he didn’t expect to actually see you.

Eddie pushes himself off the tree slowly, hands coming up like he’s been caught doing something he probably shouldn’t be.

“Didn’t mean to—uh,” he gestures vaguely between you, the bench, the cigarette, the whole scene. “Interrupt your… whole vibe you’ve got going on here.”

You stare at him for a second, then another.

Because, yeah, you know him. Everyone knows him. The freak, the drug dealer, the guy parents warn their kids about, like he’s some kind of urban legend. Hellfire Club. Lunch table speeches. The whole thing.

But up close? He’s different. And annoyingly attractive.

You take another slow drag from your cigarette, eyes still on him as you exhale.

“Were you just lurking in the shadows, or is that a new hobby you’re trying out?”

There’s a flicker of something like surprise across his face. Then a grin, crooked and immediate.

“Hey, I prefer the term mysteriously existing,” he says, stepping a little closer but still keeping his distance, like there’s an invisible line he’s not sure he’s allowed to cross. “Lurking sounds way creepier.”

“Debatable.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I didn’t think anyone else came out here this late,” he admits, glancing around the empty park before looking back at you.

“Usually just me and my incredibly profound thoughts about, you know, life. And stuff.”

“‘And stuff’, sounds deep,” you deadpan.

“Thank you, I work very hard on my intellectual image.”

Your lips twitch despite yourself.

His eyes flick down briefly, to the book in your hand, the cigarette, the flask, and then back up to your face.

“…You’re Wheeler’s sister.” It’s not a question.

You raise a brow. “Observant.”

He winces, just a little. “Yeah, that came out way less cool than it sounded in my head.”

“You had a cool version of that?”

“Oh, absolutely. Smooth. Mysterious. Possibly British.”

That pulls a small laugh out of you, quicker than you expect. His expression softens at the sound, like he’s quietly relieved.

“I, uh—I’ve seen you around,” he adds, more careful now. “You’re not… like, Nancy.”

You tilt your head slightly. “That obvious?”

He shrugs, a little sheepish. “Not in a bad way. Just—different. You don’t look like you’d survive a pep rally without committing a felony.”

“Bold of you to assume I haven’t.”

That earns you a full laugh this time, loud enough it echoes faintly through the empty park.

“Jesus,” he mutters, grinning. “Okay. Didn’t expect that.”

“Yeah?” you say, taking another sip from your flask, then holding it up slightly. “What did you expect?”

He hesitates, like actually hesitates. Like he’s weighing whether he should say it.

“Honestly?” he says finally, softer now. “I thought you’d be more like Nancy. You are Wheelers, after all.”

You glance away for a second, watching the smoke drift instead of looking at him.

“Funny,” you murmur. “I’ve spent most of my life feeling like the extra Wheeler.”

When you look back at him, something in his expression has changed again.

“Well,” he says, after a beat, shifting his weight as he gestures toward the empty space beside you on the bench, “for what it’s worth… I think the extra Wheeler is way more interesting.”

You hold his gaze for a second longer than necessary. Then you tilt your head slightly toward the empty space beside you.

“Sit,” you say simply.

There’s a flicker of surprise across Eddie’s face, like he wasn’t entirely convinced you’d invite him at all. But he recovers quickly, pushing off the tree and making his way over.

Careful, though; always a little careful. Like he’s still expecting you to change your mind halfway through.

He drops onto the bench, leaving just enough space between you to be polite. You take another drag from your cigarette, then glance at him from the corner of your eye.

“May I?” he asks, nodding toward it. Polite, unexpectedly so.

You raise a brow, studying him for half a second before handing it over without a word.

He takes it carefully, like it’s something more valuable than it is, bringing it to his lips and inhaling. When he exhales, the smoke curls around him, catching in the low light like something almost cinematic.

“Didn’t peg you as the sharing type,” he says, glancing over.

“I’m full of surprises.”

“I’m starting to see that.”

You take a sip from your flask, letting the silence sit comfortably for a moment before…

“I thought you’d be mean,” you admit, eyes forward.

He chokes on a quiet laugh, turning toward you. “Mean?”

“And scary,” you add, finally looking at him. “You know. Cult leader. Devil worship. Sacrificial rituals behind the gym.”

“Ah, yeah, Wednesdays at five,” he nods seriously. “You just missed it.”

Your lips twitch.

“But no,” you continue, softer now, “people talk.”

He shrugs, passing the cigarette back to you.

“People love to talk,” he says. “Usually about shit they don’t understand.”

You take it from him, bringing it back to your lips.

“I thought you were mean too,” he adds after a beat.

That makes you pause. “Me?”

He nods, a little sheepish but not backing down. “Yeah. Thought you’d be one of those—” he gestures vaguely, searching for the word, “intimidating, untouchable types.”

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head.

“Untouchable,” you repeat, like the word tastes strange.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that,” he says quickly, grinning. “You’ve got the whole thing going on. The hair, the attitude, the—” he motions toward your book, “—mysterious intellectual vibe.”

“Mysterious intellectual vibe,” you echo. “That’s new.”

“I’m workshopping it.”

You glance at him, immediately starting to see beyond the facade. The way he talks with his hands.

The way his eyes flick to you and then away, like he’s trying not to stare too long. The way he’s trying, even when he pretends not to.

“And here I thought you’d be something terrifying,” you say lightly.

“Oh, I am,” he shoots back immediately. “Just not, like… evil terrifying. More… misunderstood terrifying.”

“Tragic,” you murmur.

“Deeply.”

He leans back against the bench, one arm draped along the backrest behind you, not quite touching, but close enough that you feel it.

“You read that stuff for fun?” he asks, nodding toward your book again.

“For a paper,” you say. “But I don’t hate it.”

“Yeah?” he hums. “What’s it about?”

You glance down at the worn cover, then back at him.

“Women being miserable in their perfectly curated suburban lives.”

He snorts. “Sounds familiar.”

You raise a brow. “Oh?”

He gestures vaguely toward the direction of your house. “Big houses, nice lawns, picket fences… everyone pretending they’re not losing their minds.”

You smile, slow and knowing. Your knee shifts just slightly, brushing his for a split second before settling again. Neither of you moves away.

After a moment, he tilts his head toward you, studying you in that not-subtle way of his.

“So,” Eddie starts, voice light, “what’re you doing out here, anyway?”

You hum softly, like you have to think about it, even though you don’t.

“Escaping,” you say, taking a small sip from your flask. “Mrs. Perfect and Mr. Perfect are busy ‘studying’ for chemistry.”

He lets out a quiet snort, already catching on.

“Right,” he nods. “Studying. Very academic of them.”

“Extremely,” you deadpan. “I’m sure there are flashcards involved.”

He grins at that, shaking his head.

“Didn’t he fail chemistry?” he asks, glancing at you.

You turn your head slowly, eyes narrowing just a touch. “Didn’t you?”

His hand flies to his chest like you’ve just mortally wounded him.

“Wow,” he breathes, dramatically offended. “Okay. First of all—rude.”

“Second of all?” you prompt.

“Second of all, I didn’t fail,” he insists. “I simply have a complicated relationship with the American education system.”

“Mhm.”

“It’s mutual,” he adds. “They don’t understand me, I don’t understand them. Very tragic.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head as you look back out toward the empty park.

“Sounds like you just didn’t do the work.”

“Wow,” he repeats, pointing at you now. “You’re really coming for me tonight.”

“You started it.”

“I asked a simple question!”

“And got a simple answer.”

He huffs out a laugh, leaning back again, that crooked smile tugging at his lips.

“You know,” he says, glancing over at you, “you’re actually a lot meaner than your sister.”

“Good.”

That catches him off guard for a split second, then his grin widens.

“Yeah,” he says, a little quieter now. “Yeah, I think I like that.”

You glance at him, just briefly, before looking away again, but there’s a hint of something warmer sitting in your expression now.

Just the two of you, sitting a little closer than before, the space between you shrinking without either of you really acknowledging it.

“You always ditch them like that?” he asks after a moment.

“Pretty much,” you shrug. “I’ve learned my lesson.”

“Which is?”

“That I’m not sticking around to be the accidental third wheel in someone else’s soft-core, soft-porn romance.”

He chokes on a laugh at that, actually coughing a little. “Jesus, okay—yeah, that’s fair.”

You smirk slightly, bringing the flask back to your lips. “Figured you’d understand.”

“Oh, I definitely understand,” he says. “I’ve spent most of high school watching people make terrible decisions in dimly lit rooms.”

“Observation or participation?”

He grins, all teeth this time. “Observation,” he says. “Mostly.”

“Mostly,” you repeat, skeptical.

“Hey,” he lifts his hands in surrender, “I’m a gentleman.”

“Debatable.”

“Wow,” he says again, but he’s laughing now, shaking his head. “You really had me pegged all wrong, huh?”

You glance at him, eyes flicking over his face, the way his hair falls, the way he’s still half-guarded even when he’s joking.

“Maybe,” you admit. Then, softer, “Or maybe I just never actually looked.”

He doesn’t joke this time. Just watches you for a second longer than usual, something a little more thoughtful settling in.

“Well,” he says, after a beat, voice quieter but still warm, “kinda glad you are now.”

“You know,” he says, glancing at you with that crooked grin, “for someone who ditched a perfectly good ‘study session,’ you seem pretty content out here.”

“Perfectly good is generous,” you murmur. “I’m sure they’re doing very rigorous academic work.”

“Yeah,” he nods. “Real hands-on learning.”

You snort softly, shaking your head. “Jealous?” you tease.

“Of Harrington?” he scoffs. “Please. I’ve got way better hair.”

You turn, eyeing him deliberately, letting your gaze drag just enough to make your point.

“…Debatable.”

He freezes for half a second, then laughs under his breath.

“Wow. You wound me.”

“I’m just saying,” you shrug lightly, lips twitching. “The competition’s stiff.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” he says, leaning in just slightly, voice dropping like it’s suddenly just for you. “But I’ve got my strengths.”

Your stomach does something annoying at that.

“Yeah?” you say, lifting a brow.

“Yeah.” He doesn’t elaborate.

You take another sip from your flask, then pause. Tilt it again, nothing. You frown slightly, giving it a little shake like that’s going to magically fix the situation.

“Jesus,” you mutter, squinting into it. “I think I’m drunk.”

You tip it upside down for emphasis; empty, completely.

Eddie watches this unfold, trying very hard not to laugh.

“Yeah,” he says carefully, “I was gonna say, you’ve been hitting that thing like it personally offended you.”

You glance at him, unimpressed. “It did.”

“Of course it did.”

You huff, leaning back again, head tipping slightly toward the sky. The world doesn’t spin, exactly, but it’s looser. You’re also more aware of him next to you in a way that’s hard to ignore.

“C’mon,” he says after a second, gentler now. “I’ll walk you home.”

You turn your head toward him, narrowing your eyes just slightly. “I can walk.”

“I’m sure you can,” he says easily. “But you might end up in, like, Illinois.”

“Tempting.”

“Yeah, but I feel like your sister would hunt me down, and I’m trying to avoid that whole situation.”

“Fine.”

He stands with you immediately, like he was already planning to.

The walk is quiet at first. Your shoulder brushes his once, then again. Halfway down the block, you shiver slightly, the night air finally cutting through.

Without a word, he shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders before you can argue.

It’s warm. Smells faintly like smoke and something distinctly him. You pull it a little tighter around yourself, glancing up at him.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

You walk a little closer after that.

When you reach your house, the lights are low, the whole place quiet in that heavy, late-night way. You hesitate on the lawn for half a second.

“Guess this is me,” you say.

“Guess it is.”

Neither of you moves right away.

“I’ll see you around?” he asks, trying for casual and almost pulling it off.

You look at him, almost astonished at the soft porch light catching in his hair, in his eyes.

“Yeah,” you say. “You will.”

That’s enough for him. He steps back, giving you just enough space to climb back up the trellis, watching until you make it to the window safely.

Inside, it’s dim, quiet. You land softly on the floor, slipping your shoes off immediately. And then—You freeze. Because there they are.

Nancy and Steve, asleep.

You stare at them for a long, unimpressed moment. Nancy curled up against him, Steve half-sprawled like he owned the place.

You blink once, twice. Then you walk over and smack his leg, hard enough to wake him.

“Hey,” you whisper sharply. “Romeo.”

He jolts awake, blinking up at you in confusion. “Jesus—what—?”

“Get out.”

He squints at you, still half-asleep. “What?”

“You heard me,” you say, already moving to pull your jacket off. “Out.”

Nancy stirs beside him, mumbling something incoherent. You glance at her, your expression softening for just a second, then back to Steve.

“Go home,” you tell him, quieter now but no less firm. “Before my dad wakes up and kills you.”

He groans, pushing himself up carefully, trying not to wake Nancy fully.

“Okay, okay,” he mutters. “Hostile environment…”

“Extremely.”

He shoots you a look, but there’s no real bite behind it as he climbs back out the window. You wait until he’s gone before turning back.

Nancy shifts again, pulling the blanket closer. You sigh softly, grabbing it and tugging it up properly around her shoulders.

You stand there for a second, watching her. Then shake your head, muttering under your breath as you grab your things.

“Unbelievable.” But there’s no real heat in it, just habit. And maybe, somewhere underneath it, care.

Monday mornings at Hawkins High always feel louder than they should.

Lockers slam. Someone’s laughing too hard down the hall. The fluorescent lights hum overhead like they’ve got something against you personally. It’s all a little too much, a little too bright, a little too on.

You lean against the row of lockers, shoulder pressed beside Nancy’s as she twists the dial on hers, already mid-conversation with Steve.

“I’m just saying,” Steve is going on, running a hand through his hair like he’s in a shampoo commercial, “if Coach sees the way I’ve been playing lately, captain is basically a done deal.”

Nancy hums, halfway listening, pulling out a notebook. “Unless Billy—”

“—is overrated,” Steve cuts in quickly. “Thank you, Nance, glad you agree.” She gives him a look.

You hum faintly, not really listening, flipping open your book more for something to do than anything else.

“Hey, Wheeler.”

Your stomach drops just slightly, and you look up. Eddie stands a few feet away, trying for casual and only half pulling it off.

His eyes find yours immediately, like they knew exactly where to look.

You straighten just a little. “Munson.”

He nods once, stepping closer, hand coming out of his jacket pocket.

“You, uh… forgot something on Friday,” he says, holding it out.

A ring, one hundred percent one of his. A small smile forms as you look between his face and the ring. You don’t hesitate.

“Right,” you say, like it makes perfect sense, reaching out and taking it from him. “I was wondering where that went.”

There’s the smallest flicker of surprise in his eyes, then he’s grinning.

“Yeah?” he says, playing along instantly. “Figured you might miss it.”

“Sentimental value,” you shrug, slipping it onto your finger like it belongs there. “Can’t just lose things like this.” Your fingers brush his for a second longer than necessary.

Steve is staring. Nancy is staring. Eddie notices.

“Good thing I found it, then,” he says, voice dipping just slightly, something more intentional in it now.

“Good thing,” you echo.

There’s a beat where neither of you looks away. Then he leans back just a fraction, like he’s remembering where he is.

“I’ll, uh, see you around,” he adds, a little softer.

You nod, maybe a little too quickly. “Yeah,” you say. “See you.”

He lingers for half a second longer, then turns, disappearing back into the hallway like he was never there. Except he very much was.

The second he’s out of earshot, “Okay,” Steve says slowly. “What was that?”

You open your book again like nothing happened. “Nothing.”

Nancy doesn’t say anything right away, which is how you know it’s bad.

“…You’re blushing.”

You freeze. “I’m not—”

“You are,” she says, turning fully toward you now, eyes narrowed in disbelief. “Oh, my god.”

“I am not blushing.”

“Your face is totally red.”

“It’s warm in here.”

“It is not warm in here.”

Steve leans in, squinting at you like he’s inspecting evidence. “…You are kind of red.”

You snap your book shut, shooting them both a look. “Can you both relax?”

Nancy crosses her arms, clearly not letting this go. “Since when are you and Eddie Munson—”

“We’re not,” you cut in quickly.

She raises a brow. “Is that not his ring?”

You glance down at your hand. Right. The ring.

“It’s mine,” you say.

Nancy stares at you. Then lets out a short, incredulous laugh.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not—”

“You’re so lying.”

Steve, for once, looks entertained instead of confused. You groan, dragging a hand over your face.

“It’s not a thing.”

“Mhmm.”

“It’s not.”

Nancy just smiles, slow and knowing in a way that makes your stomach twist. “Sure,” she says lightly. “Whatever you say.”

You look back down at your book, trying very hard to focus on the words in front of you.  But all you can think about is the way he looked at you. And the fact that, yeah, you were definitely blushing.

By the end of the day, you feel like this day has wrung you out. The halls are quieter now, lockers hanging open, scraps of conversation echoing as people trickle out. 

You lean against your car in the parking lot, keys dangling from your fingers, watching the last of the crowd filter out like you’re waiting for something. Or someone.

You don’t let yourself think too hard about that part.

“Hey.”

You glance over to see Nancy jogging up to you, bag slung over her shoulder, hair slightly windblown like she’s been rushing.

“Hey.”

She slows when she reaches you, giving you a look, that look, that she’s been giving you all day.

You sigh immediately. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t even say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

She smiles, just a little too pleased with herself.

“Anyway,” she says, shifting her bag, “I’m going with Steve. We have… somewhere to be.”

You stare at her for a second. “Somewhere,” you repeat flatly.

“Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting anything,” you shrug. “I’m just deeply intrigued by this mysterious commitment you both seem to have.”

She rolls her eyes, nudging your arm. “Very funny.”

“Thank you.”

“Can you drive Mike home?”

You blink. “From where?”

“Hellfire.”

You let out a slow breath, already knowing where this is going. “Of course he’s at Hellfire.”

“He needs a ride,” she says, like that explains everything. “And Mom thinks I’m taking him home.”

You turn your head slowly, narrowing your eyes at her. “So you’re not taking him.”

She winces, just slightly. “I would,” she says quickly, “but Steve and I—”

“—have somewhere to be,” you finish for her.

“Exactly.” 

You stare at her, and she smiles. You sigh, long and dramatic, pushing yourself off the car.

“Fine.”

“Thank you,” she says immediately, relief washing over her face.

“You owe me.”

“I know.”

“And if Mom asks, I drove him.”

“Obviously.”

“Hey, Nance?”

She turns back.

“Try actually studying this time.”

She scoffs, cheeks pinkening just slightly. “Shut up.”

You grin, walking towards the school. “Have fun.”

She shakes her head, but she’s smiling as she heads off, already spotting Steve walking towards his car. 

The drama wing is quieter than the rest of the school, tucked far enough away that the noise fades into something distant and dull.

You’re stretched out across one of the benches in the hallway, legs dangling off the side, book resting against your chest.

One arm hangs lazily over your stomach, the other holding your place on the page as you read. Or pretend to read, rather. 

The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, and every now and then, you catch the rise and fall of voices behind the closed drama room doors. Dice clatter. Someone shouts. A chorus of groans follows.

Eventually, the door bursts open.

Noise floods the hallway all at once as a cluster of boys spills out, mid-argument, mid-laugh, mid-everything. Backpacks slung over shoulders, voices overlapping, the energy loud and chaotic in a way that feels entirely contained to them.

“—I’m telling you, that was a terrible move—”

“It was strategic!”

“It got us killed!”

Your eyes don’t lift from the page. Not right away.

“…Holy shit.”

The voice is quieter than the rest. Closer. Your lips twitch faintly as a shadow falls over you.

You don’t move. Don’t look. Not until—

“What are you doing out here, Wheeler?” comes that familiar voice, hovering somewhere just above you.

You tilt your head back slightly, and there he is.

Eddie is leaning over you, hands braced on the bench on either side of your shoulders, curls falling forward just enough to frame his face as he looks down at you.

Upside down, and way too close for it to be casual. Your heart does something annoying. You close your book slowly, using it to nudge lightly against his chest.

“Waiting for my brother,” you say.

His brow lifts. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You always wait like this?” he asks, glancing down at the way you’re sprawled across the bench.

“Comfortably?”

“Dramatically.”

You hum, considering. “Depends who I’m trying to impress.”

A grin pulls at his mouth, slow and crooked. “Well,” he says, leaning just a fraction closer, “it’s working.”

Your breath catches, just for a second. Then you recover, lifting a brow. “Good.”

Behind him, the rest of the group has mostly filtered out, except for one very familiar voice.

“…Oh my god.”

Mike is standing a few feet away, staring at the two of you like he’s just witnessed something deeply disturbing.

“What are you doing here?” he demands.

You don’t break eye contact with Eddie. “Picking you up.”

Mike makes a face. “Why are you—” he gestures vaguely between the two of you, “—like that?”

Eddie glances back over his shoulder, then down at you again, clearly amused.

“Like what?” he asks innocently.

“Like that,” Mike repeats, horrified. “Can you not—like—hover over my sister?”

You finally sit up a little, just enough to ease the situation, not that you really want to.

“Relax, Mike.”

“I am relaxed,” he says immediately. “I just don’t like this. It’s like, gross.”

Eddie straightens, but he doesn’t step far. Still close, still in your space in a way that feels intentional now.

“Your sister’s cool,” he says, like that’s supposed to help.

Mike groans. “Great. Awesome. That makes it worse.”

You snort softly, slipping your book back into your bag as you stand. “Ready to go?” you ask him.

“Yes,” he says quickly. “Right now. Immediately.”

You glance back at Eddie, just for a second. He’s already looking at you, naturally. 

“I’ll see you around,” he says, a little quieter now.

You tilt your head, a small smile pulling at your lips.

“Yeah,” you reply. “You will.”

Mike makes another deeply pained noise behind you. “Can we please go?”

You roll your eyes, wrapping your arm around his shoulder as you head down the hall. 

The house is quiet in that familiar, late-night way. Floorboards creak if you step in the wrong spot. The hallway light hums faintly. Somewhere downstairs, the TV is still on low, your dad having inevitably fallen asleep in his chair.

You’re in bed: book open, lamp on, and not reading a single word. Because your attention keeps drifting to the window. You don’t know why you’re expecting anything. You just are.

A soft tap finally comes, barely there, like whoever’s outside isn’t entirely sure they should be. Your head lifts immediately. You sit up, already moving toward the window, pushing the curtain aside, and then you blink.

Because it’s not who you expected.

Steve is perched outside your window like he owns the place, one arm braced on the sill, looking far too comfortable for someone breaking in.

He grins the second he sees you. “Hey.”

You just stare at him. “…You’ve got the wrong Wheeler.”

He laughs quietly. “Yeah, I know. Nancy said to come around back, but the window was closer.”

“Shocking,” you deadpan. “Truly.”

He glances past you into the room. “Is she awake?”

You jerk your thumb toward the hallway. “Bathroom.”

“Perfect.”

He starts to climb in, and then another voice cuts in from below.

“…You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Both of you freeze. You lean out slightly, looking down, and there he is.

Eddie, halfway hidden in the shadows near the base of the trellis, looks up with a mix of disbelief and something that looks a lot like irritation.

Steve squints down at him. “…Munson?”

Eddie gestures vaguely upward. “Yeah. Hi. Didn’t realize there was, like, a schedule.”

You press your lips together, fighting the urge to laugh.

Steve, meanwhile, straightens slightly, fully committing to the bit.

“Occupied,” he says, nodding toward the window like he’s guarding it.

Eddie blinks. “Occupied,” he repeats flatly.

“Occupied,” Steve confirms.

Eddie lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Wow. Okay. That’s—yeah. That’s great.”

You lean further out the window now, resting your elbows on the sill.

“You gonna stand down there all night, or…?”

His eyes flick up to you immediately, expression shifting the second he sees you.

“Depends,” he says. “You planning on making this a double booking situation?”

Steve scoffs. “Absolutely not.”

You roll your eyes, pushing yourself back from the window. “Hold on.”

Steve looks at you. “What are you—”

“Don’t fall,” you say dryly, already heading for your door.

You slip into the hallway, quiet and quick, knocking once on the bathroom door.

Nancy’s voice comes through, muffled. “What?”

“Your boyfriend’s here,” you hiss.

“Just let him in!”

“Gladly.”

You head back, swinging your window open wider. “Alright, Romeo,” you say, gesturing Steve inside. “You’re clear for entry.”

He grins, climbing in as he’s done a hundred times before.

“Much appreciated.”

You glance out the window again, and Eddie’s still there. You hold his gaze for a second, then tilt your head, just slightly. Meet me.

His mouth quirks immediately, like he gets it without you saying a word.

You slip out of your room, quieter this time, grabbing your jacket on the way and easing down the stairs. The back door clicks softly behind you as you step out into the night.

He’s already there when you round the corner of the house, leaning against his van.

“Didn’t realize I had competition,” he says as you approach.

“Relax,” you reply. “He’s here for Nancy.”

“Yeah, I figured,” he mutters. “Still rude.”

You laugh softly, pulling your jacket tighter around you. “What were you even doing here?”

He shrugs. “Drove by. Thought I’d see if the mysterious, intellectual, ring-stealing Wheeler was around.”

You smirk slightly. “Lucky you.”

“Very,” he says, pushing off the van and stepping closer.

“Wanna get outta here?” he asks.

You glance back at the house once, lights low, everything quiet, then back at him.

“…Yeah.”

His grin spreads, quick and bright. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

That’s all it takes. He moves around to the passenger side, pulling the door open for you like it’s second nature.

You climb in, settling onto the worn seat, the familiar smell of smoke and leather wrapping around you again.

“Where to?” you ask.

He glances over at you as he starts the engine. “My place,” he says. “If you’re not too scared.”

You lean back, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I think I’ll survive.”

Eddie’s van crunches to a stop in front of his place, engine ticking as it cools. You don’t move right away, and neither does he.

Then he glances over, a small grin pulling at his mouth. “Home sweet home.”

You look out the window, taking it in. “Cute,” you say lightly.

He snorts. “Wow. Brutal.”

“I mean it,” you add, pushing the door open. “It has character.”

“Yeah,” he mutters, climbing out on his side. “That’s what people say when they’re trying to be nice.”

You round the front of the van, bumping the door shut with your hip. “I’m always nice.”

“Liar.” You smile.

Inside, his room is exactly what you expected, and not, all at once.

Dim lighting, a clutter of tapes and records, a guitar leaned against the wall, posters layered over each other like they’ve been there forever. It smells faintly like smoke, like him.

“Make yourself at home,” he says, tossing his keys down somewhere without looking.

You do, dropping onto his bed like you’ve been here before, shrugging off his jacket but not moving it too far from you.

He notices, and there’s a moment where he just… looks at you. Then he shakes himself out of it, moving toward the small table, rummaging around before pulling out a joint and a lighter.

He glances back over his shoulder. “You smoke?”

You lift a brow. “You’ve seen me smoke.”

“Yeah, cigarettes,” he says, holding it up. “This is different.”

You tilt your head, considering for half a second before, “Depends,” you say. “You offering?”

His grin comes back immediately. “Always.”

He crosses the space between you, dropping down onto the bed beside you. Not too close, but definitely closer than before. Close enough that your knees almost brush.

He lights it, takes the first drag, then passes it over. Your fingers brush again. It seems to be becoming a pattern.

You bring it to your lips, inhaling slowly, the smoke harsher, heavier than what you’re used to. You cough a little on the exhale, turning your head away slightly.

He laughs softly. “Easy, Wheeler.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, though there’s no bite to it, handing it back.

“I warned you.”

“You did not.”

“I implied.”

“Poorly.”

He grins, taking another drag. The room settles into something slower after that, quieter. You lean back onto his bed, head tipping slightly as you watch him from the side.

“What?” he asks, catching you.

“Nothing.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re just…” You trail off, like you’re not sure you want to say it.

“Just what?”

You shrug, lips twitching. “Not what I expected.”

“Yeah?” he says, echoing you from earlier, a little softer now.

“Yeah.”

He studies you for a second, then leans back too, mirroring you without realizing it. “Can I ask you something?” he says.

“Depends.”

“Are you and Nancy, like…” he gestures vaguely between his own face, “identical twins?”

You choke. Actually choke this time, coughing hard as the smoke catches in your throat.

“Oh my—are you serious?” you manage between coughs.

He’s already laughing, hand coming up instinctively like he might help, then stopping himself.

“What? It’s a valid question!”

“It’s not,” you insist, wiping under your eye. “Have you seen us?”

“I have!” he says defensively. “You look similar!”

“Barely!”

“Okay, not identical identical,” he amends quickly. “But like close enough that I had to check.”

You shake your head, laughing despite yourself. “God, no. We’re just twins.”

“Fraternal,” he says, nodding like he’s learned something important.

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you, I try.”

“You’re definitely the cooler one,” he adds.

You glance at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t let her hear you say that.”

“Oh, I absolutely won’t,” he says. “I value my life.”

You laugh again, softer this time, the sound lingering between you. The joint passes back and forth, slower now. Your shoulders brush, then stay. Neither of you moves away.

At some point, your hand ends up resting on the space of the mattress between you, and his is already there. Fingers close enough to touch, but not quite. 

“You know,” he says quietly, eyes flicking down to your hand, then back up, “you’re not what I expected either.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His voice has changed.

You turn toward him fully now, closer than before, without really deciding to be.

“What did you expect?” you ask.

He hesitates, not in a joking way, but in a real way.

“Like… I shouldn’t even bother.”

That does something to you; something warm and a little dangerous. You shift just slightly closer, your knee brushing his, staying there.

“Maybe you should’ve,” you say, just as quietly. His breath catches; you can see it. Hell, you can feel it.

The space between you shrinks without either of you naming it. His eyes flick to your lips, then back up. Like he’s asking. Like he’s not sure.

But you don’t pull away. You don’t say anything. You just stay, gaze meeting his. That’s all the permission he needs. He leans in slowly, giving you time to stop him. You don’t.

The kiss is soft at first, careful. Like he’s still half convinced you might disappear if he moves too fast.

Your hand lifts without thinking, brushing against his jaw, steadying him as you kiss him back, just as gentle, just as unsure for a split second.

Then less unsure, then not unsure at all. His hand finds your waist, light, grounding. The room feels smaller, warmer. Everything else fades out a little.

When you pull back, it’s not far. Foreheads almost touching, breath still uneven.

“…Not scary,” you murmur.

He huffs a soft laugh, eyes still on yours. “Told you.”

You smile, just barely. “Maybe I was wrong about you.”

“Maybe,” he says, just as softly. But he doesn’t move away, and neither do you. Instead, he lifts your chin and brings your lips to his again.

The kiss lingers, softer than you expected, but it quickly turns deeper. Eddie’s hand stays at your waist, fingers pressing in like he’s grounding himself.

You shift closer on the bed, one leg sliding over his, and the old mattress groans loudly under you both. He laughs against your mouth, the sound low and rough.

“Fuckin’ bed,” he mutters, not pulling away. “Always cockblocking me.”

You snort, nipping at his bottom lip. “Then shut up and do something about it.”

His eyes darken. “Bossy. I like it.”

Clothes come off in that messy, uncoordinated way that makes everything feel more real.

Your shirt catches on your earring; Eddie curses under his breath and helps untangle it, nearly elbowing you in the face in the process. 

When you tug his Hellfire shirt over his head, his hair gets caught in the collar, and he has to shake it free like a wet dog.

You both end up laughing quietly, but the laughter dies fast when your hands slide over his bare chest, tracing the tattoos on his chest and the line of hair disappearing into his jeans.

Eddie pushes you back onto the pillows, mouth trailing hot and wet down your neck. He’s not gentle exactly, he sucks a mark just below your collarbone that’ll definitely be there tomorrow. 

But there’s a hesitation in the way his hands move, like he’s still half-waiting for you to tell him to fuck off.

When he finally gets your jeans and underwear down, they snag around one ankle. He yanks a little too hard, and you nearly knee him in the shoulder.

“Shit—sorry,” he mumbles, tossing them somewhere toward the floor.

He settles between your thighs, broad shoulders spreading you open. For a second, he just looks, pupils blown, then glances up at you with that signature smirk. “You good?”

You nod, breath already uneven. “Yeah. Just… don’t overthink it.”

He huffs a laugh. “Me? Overthink? Never.”

Then his mouth is on you.

The first lick is experimental, a little too broad, but when your hips twitch, and you let out a shaky breath, he figures it out quickly.

He gets messier and more eager, tongue dragging through your folds, circling your clit with sloppy enthusiasm. 

One hand grips your thigh hard enough to leave marks, the other presses flat on your stomach, holding you down when you start to squirm.

Every time you moan, he hums against you like he’s proud of himself, the vibration shooting straight through your core.

“Shit, you taste good,” he mumbles, pulling back just enough to speak, lips brushing your folds. “Thinking about me often?”

You tug his hair, hips rolling against his face. “Nope,” but the breathy moan you just exhaled gives you away instantly. 

Eddie chuckles darkly, the sound muffled against your pussy. “Liar. You’re soaked. I can feel how bad you want it.”

He licks a slow stripe up your center, then sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue flicking in tight circles that make your back arch off the bed.

You’re panting now, one hand fisted in his messy curls, the other twisted in the sheets.

He slides two fingers into you without warning, curling them just right, and the sudden stretch pulls a louder moan from your throat.

“That’s it,” he groans, voice rough. “Make those pretty sounds for me.”

He picks up the pace, fingers thrusting deep and steady while his mouth works your clit relentlessly.

He’s completely lost in it, groaning and cursing softly against your skin like eating you out is the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

You can feel yourself getting close, thighs starting to tremble around his head. Every time your hips jerk, he presses you down harder, refusing to let you escape the overwhelming pleasure.

“Eddie—” you gasp, voice breaking.

He pulls back just enough to look up at you, eyes dark and mouth slick. His fingers keep moving, slow and deep, dragging it out on purpose. “Yeah? You close already? Let me taste you, sweetheart.”

The filthy words in that smug voice push you right to the edge. You nod frantically, tugging his hair harder.

“Then do it,” he says, voice dropping lower. “Come for me.”

He dives back in, sucking your clit hard while his fingers curl against that perfect spot inside you. The orgasm hits you hard: thighs clamping around his head, back bowing off the bed as you moan his name, hips grinding against his face. 

Eddie doesn’t stop, licking you through every pulse and aftershock, groaning like he’s the one coming.

Only when you start twitching and weakly pushing at his head does he finally ease off, kissing the inside of your thigh softly before crawling back up your body. 

His mouth finds yours in a messy, desperate kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. He’s rock hard against your thigh, still trapped in his jeans, grinding down once without thinking.

“Fuck,” he breathes against your lips, voice hoarse. “You’re dangerous.”

You reach between you, palming him through the denim, and he hisses, hips jerking into your touch. “Then take these off already, or I’m doing it for you.”

Eddie laughs, low and ragged, sitting back on his knees to fumble with his belt. His cock springs free, flushed dark and leaking at the tip. He strokes himself once, eyes locked on you with that hungry, slightly dazed look.

He leans back over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other guiding himself between your legs. The head of his cock nudges hot and blunt against your entrance, and he pauses, breathing hard, forehead pressed to yours.

“You sure?” he asks, voice rough but surprisingly gentle underneath the usual bravado. “We can stop if—”

You wrap your legs around his waist and pull him closer. “I said take them off, not talk me out of it. Fuck me already, Eddie.”

That’s all the permission he needs. He pushes in slowly, both of you groaning at the stretch. He’s not small, and you’re still sensitive from coming, body shaking under him.

He pushes in slowly, both of you groaning at the stretch. He’s thick, and you’re still sensitive—he rocks his hips in shallow little thrusts until he’s fully seated, hips flush against yours. For a moment, he just stays there, panting against your neck.

“Shit… you feel incredible,” he mutters.

Then he starts moving, slow, deep rolls of his hips at first, like he’s savoring it. The old bed creaks with every thrust, but he quickly finds a steady rhythm, pulling almost all the way out before sinking back in. 

He lasts longer than you expected, changing pace whenever he feels himself getting too close, slowing down, grinding deep, sometimes just holding still inside you while he kisses your neck and catches his breath.

One hand slides between you, thumb rubbing messy circles over your clit. His mouth stays on your skin, sucking marks along your collarbone and the top of your breast, murmuring rough, broken praise between kisses.

“Taking me so fucking well… look at you,” he groans, hips snapping harder for a moment before he forces himself to slow again. “You’re gonna kill me, Wheeler.”

You come again with his thumb on your clit and his cock dragging perfectly inside you, clenching tight around him.

Eddie curses, hips stuttering, but he doesn’t let himself go yet. He fucks you through it, slower now, drawing it out until your breathing evens.

Only when you’re boneless and trembling does he finally let go. His thrusts deepen, a little erratic, his grip tightening on your hip.

“Fuck—gonna come,” he warns, voice strained. You hum in approval, locking your lips around his neck to send him over the edge.

He thrusts deep a few more times and comes with a low, guttural groan, hips pressed tight against yours as he spills into you, pulsing hot and deep.

He rides it out with lazy little rocks until he finally collapses half on top of you, both of you slick with sweat and breathing hard.

For a long moment, there’s just the sound of your breathing.

Eddie eventually lifts his head, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, and gives you a lazy, satisfied grin.

He presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, then shifts so he’s not crushing you, though he stays buried inside you for a little longer, like he doesn’t want to pull out yet.

His eyes drift over your neck and chest, and his expression shifts, something between smug and sheepish.

“Shit…” he mutters, thumb gently brushing over one of the darker marks he left on your collarbone.

 “I, uh… got a little carried away with the hickies. Sorry about that.” He winces, but there’s a soft laugh in his voice. “You’re gonna look like you got attacked by a vampire. Nancy’s gonna kill me if she sees these.”

You snort, still catching your breath, and run your fingers through his messy curls. “You didn’t exactly hold back.”

“I know, I know.” He leans in and kisses the worst of the marks gently, almost apologetically, then rests his forehead against yours. 

“They look kinda hot on you, though. Like… property of Eddie Munson or something.”

He pauses, realizing how that sounded, and his cheeks flush a little. “Okay, that was fucking stupid. Ignore me, please.”

You laugh softly, the sound warm between you, and tug him down for a slow, lazy kiss. He melts into it immediately, one hand cupping your face like you’re something precious.

When you pull back, you smirk. “You’re such a dork.” 

For a while, neither of you says anything. The air in the trailer is warm, heavy, quiet except for the sound of your breathing slowly evening out.

Eddie shifts slightly, careful this time, easing his weight so he’s not crushing you, but he doesn’t go far.

Doesn’t want to. He stays close, really close, one arm draped loosely over your waist like it just belongs there now.

Your fingers are still tangled in his hair, lazily combing through the damp curls at the nape of his neck.

He lets out a soft breath at that, eyes fluttering shut for a second like he didn’t realize how much he needed it.

“…You trying to put me to sleep?” he mumbles.

“Maybe,” you murmur back. “You seem like you could use it.”

“Rude,” he says automatically, but there’s no bite to it. “I was performing.”

You huff out a quiet laugh, thumb brushing over his cheek. “Yeah, Munson. Stellar performance.”

“Thank you,” he says, voice a little smug now. “I aim to please.”

You roll your eyes, but your hand doesn’t leave him. He tilts his head slightly, looking up at you properly now, softer than before.

“You okay?” he asks, quieter.

You nod, just as softly. “Yeah.”

There’s a moment where he just studies your face, like he’s making sure you mean it. Then his expression shifts again, lighter this time, a crooked smile pulling at his mouth.

“Good,” he says. “Would’ve hated for my big moment to be a total disaster.”

“Your big moment?” you echo.

“Yeah,” he nods seriously. “Gonna go down in Hawkins history.”

“Oh, absolutely,” you deadpan. “I’m sure there’ll be a plaque.”

“Hey,” he points at you lazily, “you’re laughing. That means I did something right.”

You are laughing. You shift slightly, tucking yourself a little closer into him without thinking. Your leg hooks loosely over his, your head finding a spot against his shoulder that feels easy.

He stills for half a second, then relaxes into it. Like he’s trying not to make a big deal out of the fact that you chose to fuck him and stay.

His fingers trace slow, absent patterns along your side, not pushing, not rushing anything. 

“You always like this after?” he asks after a minute, voice quieter again.

“Like what?”

“Cute. Cozy. No ‘tude?”

You glance up at him. There’s a hint of something real under that question. You shrug slightly, fingers still playing with his hair.

“Depends who I’m with.”

That earns you a small smile. “Guess I’m lucky, then.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late.”

You both fall quiet again. Eventually, you let out a soft breath and sit up, stretching slightly as reality starts to creep back in.

“I should go,” you say, glancing toward the clock like you already know it’s late.

Eddie groans quietly, flopping back against the mattress.

“Or,” he offers, “you could not do that.”

“Tempting,” you admit, sliding off the bed to gather your clothes. “But I’d like to survive the rest of the week.”

“Fair.”

He props himself up on his elbows, watching you as you get dressed, not even trying to hide it.

“Eyes up here.”

“No promises.”

“Eddie.”

He grins, completely unashamed. “Worth a shot.”

You shake your head, but you’re smiling. By the time you’re ready, he’s pulled on his jeans, grabbing his jacket again like it’s second nature.

“I’ll take you,” he says.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

The ride back is quieter than before, but not in a bad way. Your hand rests between the seats, and at some point, his fingers brush yours, then they stay.

When he pulls up outside your house, the engine idles for a second longer than necessary.

“You good?” he asks again.

You nod. “Yeah.”

“I’ll see you around?”

You glance at him, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“Yeah,” you say. “You will.”

You open the door, then pause, shooting him one last look, debating your actions. Then, you tilt your head back, landing a soft kiss on his cheek.

He turns his head down to face you, stunned, then that usual smirk grows once more. 

“Yeah, I’m definitely seeing you again.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Inside, the room is not quiet. You barely close the window before Nancy’s voice cuts through your soul.

“Oh, my god, finally.”

You freeze and slowly turn.

Nancy’s sitting up in bed, wide awake. And Steve is right beside her, looking way too present for someone who was definitely supposed to leave hours ago.

You stare at them. They stare at you.

“…Hi,” you say.

Nancy’s eyes narrow immediately. “You were gone for a while.”

You sink a little, then immediately point at Steve, “Yeah, and he’s supposed to be gone. It’s 1 a.m!”

“You just got back,” she retorts.

“I live here. He does not.”

Steve leans forward, squinting at you. “…Whoa.”

You blink. “What?”

He points. “Your neck.”

Your hand flies up instinctively. Nancy’s eyes follow the movement, and then widen.

“Oh my god,” she breathes. “Are those—”

“No,” you say immediately.

“They are,” Steve cuts in, already grinning.

“They are not.”

“They are so hickeys,” he says, delighted.

Nancy scrambles off the bed, grabbing your arm and pulling you toward the mirror. “Let me see—”

“Nancy—”

“Oh my god,” she laughs, covering her mouth. “You’re covered!”

“I am not covered.”

“You absolutely are,” Steve calls from behind you. “Munson really went for it, huh?”

You whip around. “Shut up.”

He holds his hands up, still grinning. “Hey, I’m just saying, respect.”

Nancy is still staring at you like she’s just unlocked the biggest secret in Hawkins.

“You and Eddie Munson?” she says, half shocked, half impressed. “You’re the one blushing earlier and now this—”

“I was not blushing.”

“You were.”

“You’re deflecting,” Steve adds helpfully.

You groan, dragging your hands down your face. “Can you both not do this right now?”

“Nope,” Nancy says immediately.

“Absolutely not,” Steve agrees.

You look between them, already exhausted. “…I hate both of you.”

Nancy just smiles. “Yeah,” she says lightly. “But you had fun.”

You pause, just for a second, and that’s all they need.

“Oh my god,” Steve says. “She did.”

“I’m going to bed,” you announce, already moving to shove him toward the window.

“Hey—hey!” Steve protests, laughing.

“Out,” you snap, pointing. “Now.”

Nancy is still smiling as she climbs under the covers. “This is not over.”

“It is for tonight.”

Steve pauses halfway out, shooting you one last grin.

“Munson, huh? Didn’t see that coming.”

“Goodnight, Steve.”

Morning comes too fast. You’re awake before the alarm. Not because you want to be, but because your brain won’t shut the fuck up.

You’re flat on your back, staring at the ceiling, one arm tucked behind your head, the other resting over your stomach like you’re trying to physically hold yourself still. It doesn’t work, by the way.

Because every time you close your eyes, it’s him.

The way he looked at you. The way he laughed. The way his hands felt, the way his voice dropped when he got quiet, the way his face looked between your thighs…It’s annoying. Deeply.

You groan softly, dragging a hand over your face.

“You’re thinking so loud right now.”

Your head turns. Nancy is propped up on her elbow, watching you like she’s been awake for a while.

“You can’t hear thinking,” you mutter.

“I can when it’s this dramatic.”

You roll your eyes, staring back up at the ceiling. “Go back to sleep.”

“No,” she says simply. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing’s going on.”

“Mhmm.”

Silence stretches for exactly three seconds.

“…It’s Eddie.”

You immediately regret saying it.

Nancy’s face lights up. “I knew it.”

“You didn’t know it.”

“I absolutely knew it.”

You turn your head, narrowing your eyes at her. “You didn’t know anything.”

“You were blushing at your locker.”

“I was not—”

“You had hickeys.” You freeze.

She raises a brow. “…Continue.”

“Shut up.” You say, but there’s no real bite to it. 

“Okay, okay,” she says, still grinning. “So what? You hooked up. That doesn’t mean you have to—”

“It’s not just that,” you cut in, quieter now.

That makes her pause. “…Then what is it?”

You hesitate, picking at a loose thread on your blanket. “I don’t know,” you admit finally. “He’s just not what I expected.”

Nancy softens, just a little. “Different?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

You exhale, frustrated with yourself.

“He’s not trying to impress anyone. He’s not pretending. He just is.” You shake your head slightly. “And it’s… kind of hot. But, I dunno. You know what people say about him."

Then Nancy smiles. “Then go for it.”

You blink at her. “What?”

“Go for it,” she repeats. “He obviously likes you.”

You scoff automatically. “You don’t know that.”

She just looks at you.

“You don’t bring someone home, give them your jacket, and then show up at their locker with a fake excuse to talk to them if you don’t like them. And, the hickeys are like, a dead giveaway.” 

You hesitate. “…Okay, yeah. Maybe.”

“Maybe,” she echoes.

“Fine,” you sigh. “He does.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

You don’t answer because you don’t have one.

Nancy nudges your leg with her foot. “You don’t have to marry him,” she says, softer now. “Just… try.”

You sit with that. Long enough that it starts to feel like a decision instead of a suggestion. Then you swing your legs over the side of the bed.

Nancy’s brows lift immediately. “…What are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” you say, already standing. “Something impulsive.”

“That checks out.”

You move to your side of the closet, pulling it open and immediately frowning.

“Why do I have nothing to wear?”

Nancy snorts. “You have everything to wear.”

“I have nothing appropriate.”

“For what?” she asks.

You pause. “…I don’t know yet.”

She gets up, walking over and pushing past you to start flipping through your clothes.

“Okay, not that,” she mutters. “Definitely not that. Oh—wait—this.”

She pulls something out and holds it up. You eye it.

“…Really?”

“Yes, really,” she says. “It’s still you, just… slightly less chaotic.”

“I’m not chaotic.”

“You’re curated chaos.”

“Same thing.”

“Not even close.”

You take it anyway. You get dressed faster than you want to admit, checking yourself in the mirror once, then again, adjusting something small that didn’t need adjusting.

Nancy watches the whole thing. “You’re nervous,” she says.

“I’m not nervous.”

“You’ve fixed your hair four times.”

“I always fix my hair.”

“You’re doing it again.”

“…Stop looking at me.”

She smiles, stepping closer. “For what it’s worth,” she says, softer now, “he’d be an idiot not to like you.”

“…Thanks.”

She nods once. “Go!”

You grab your jacket and leave before you can overthink it. The drive feels shorter than it should. Or maybe you’re just not paying attention.

Before you know it, you’re pulling up to the trailer, engine idling as you stare at the door.

You could leave. You could absolutely just turn around and pretend this never happened, but you don’t. You exhale, pushing the car door open and stepping out before you can change your mind.

The gravel crunches under your shoes as you walk up, each step louder than the last. You knock once, twice.

A pause, then the door swings open, and there he is.

Eddie, hair a mess, shirt halfway on like he just dragged it over his head, eyes still heavy with sleep, and then he sees you. And freezes.

“…Wheeler?”

You don’t give yourself time to think. You tilt your head slightly, a small, confident smile pulling at your lips.

“Come on, Munson,” you say.

His brows knit together, still catching up. “What?”

“You’re taking me on a date.”

IM SO OBSESSED WITH THIS OKAY!?!? IM SORRY HELLO???

anyways....let me know if you want more, yk me and how I love making everything into a series LMAO

beasbuggies:

@bitterestwillow, @kozume-ko, @obsessed-eddie, @doomdabss, @julxsxx, @leelei1980@hexqueensupreme @ches-86 @plaidamoosette @bobiverses @meadows-of-asphodel @whitakerstorm @dreamerjj @sariahs-stuff

[rafesteddy]

Swearing Off Frat Boys… “𝓎𝑒𝒶𝒽? 𝒽𝑜𝓌’𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝑔𝑜𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝓈𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉?”

frat!rafe x sorority!reader

c/w .ᐟ.ᐟ language, pet names, reader was in a situationship with jj, toxic frat!jj, rafe’s a d1 yearner, choking, shower oral (m. receiving), first-time protected p in v, jealousy, possessiveness, praise + exhibitionism

5,039 words

You catch yourself smiling at your phone and immediately roll over, pressing your face into your pillow like that is going to erase it. Your cheeks are warm, and you hate it.

You did not want to do this. You wanted a minute to be by yourself and reset, not get pulled into something else the second things ended.

The worst part is that it’s working. He’s charming you without even trying, and you can feel it happening in real time, which only makes you more annoyed with yourself.

You pause for a second, reading his message again, because he is not even trying to hide it. He’s being direct about what he wants, and somehow that feels more comforting than anything else.

You’ve always had a thing for Rafe Cameron, even when you tried to ignore it. JJ never treated this like it was something real, and now you know why. He was hooking up with one of your sorority sisters the entire time and still acting like you were supposed to be okay with it.

It is nice to finally feel wanted, especially by Rafe.

The knock barely lands before you’re flinging the door open, breathless and excited. Your pulse jumps the second you see him—the man flushed and grinning, his hand still lifted mid-knock.

You don’t even say hello. Grabbing the front of his shirt instead, you drag him to your lips. Rafe’s big arms wrap around you in one smooth motion as he lifts you clean off your feet. Your legs hook around his waist as his mouth crashes into yours, stealing your breath as you kiss him for the very first time—riding high off the feeling that you’ve been waiting for this exact moment longer than you ever let yourself admit.

The kiss is messy and deep, all tongue and heat, breathless laughter whispering in the spaces between as he carries you inside, kicking the door shut behind him with his heel.

“Fuck,” he murmurs as he breaks the kiss, reaching for breath, his voice low and thick.

He turns and presses your back against the wall, his body settling against yours with a heavy weight that makes your breath catch as your spine meets it. His mouth drags along your jaw before finding your lips again, teasing you with a kiss before drawing back ever so slightly, leaving you chasing his lips.

“You sure?” He whispers.

“I need it,” you breathe back, the words coming out soft and breathless against his mouth. “I need you.”

He takes his turn smiling into the kiss, sending chills down your spine, cocky and stunned all at once. He dips in again, kissing you slower this time, deep enough to make your head spin and everything else fall away.

“Need it, huh?” He mumbles. “Need what?”

“You,” you breathe. He lets out a low laugh against your skin before he sets you to your feet, your body still pinned against the wall, his rough hand cupping your cheek as the other holds you close, kissing you again.

“Still need that shower?” He murmurs into the kiss.

“Mhmm,” you answer softly. “Do you?”

“You kiddin’ me?” He says as his hand wraps around your waist, the other gripping your ass, pulling you off the floor, into his arms again.

Your head swims as you kiss your way to the bathroom; your body melting into him, legs wrapping around his waist. Light spills in from the bedroom, leaving the bathroom half-lit.

He sets you down on the edge of the countertop, the cool top sending shivers up your spine as your upper thighs press on top of it. Rafe presses in closer, widening your thighs, looking down at the slight space between you—the soft fabric of your shorts shifting just enough to give him a teasing glimpse underneath.

He shakes off his jacket, his clothes falling with a thud to the floor. Your hands skate around his waist while your tongue sweeps along his, your fingers curling into the hem of his shirt as you pull him closer.

He tugs the shirt over his head in one smooth motion, already leaning back toward you, chain swinging between you. You hum a satisfied sound against your kiss; your fingers tracing down every dip and line of his cut abs, sliding lower, teasing the skin just under his waistband, leaving him yanking at his belt for more.

His pants drop to the floor, the belt clattering as your hands reach for him. Your fingers rake up into his hair, pulling him back into another kiss, deeper this time, and the two of you move toward the shower.

Rafe pushes open the glass shower door, twisting the knob, sending water hissing out of the head, pattering onto the floor. His cock presses heavy against his briefs, long and thick, his tip weeping against the thin fabric.

His hands move over your body, dragging up your thighs, bunching the material in his fists, before drifting up your back. He smiles as he brushes the satin straps off your shoulders.

He exhales as your set falls off your body, leaving you in next to nothing—lace hugging the swells of your breasts, his thumbs quickly hooking and snapping your panties teasingly against your hips.

“Look at you, huh?” He murmurs, smiling when your arms wrap around his neck. He tilts down, kissing you as the steam starts to rise around you, the heavy heat and moisture clinging to your skin and his.

He tugs at your panties—caught on the discarded clothes on the floor, his greedy hands pinching the clasp of your bra, undoing that as well.

There’s a split second where he just looks at you like he can’t believe you’re actually standing there letting him this close. “You fuckin’ kidding me?” He mutters hungrily under his breath, helping you hastily as you reach for the band of his boxers, pulling them down his strong thighs.

You look down, the two of you watching as your fingers curl around his long, thick dick. The ridges of his abs cut more as you stroke, letting his messy tip brush against your warm skin, dangerously close to your clit—close enough that he could scoop you up and take what he wants, but you can tell he’s holding back.

“Stop teasin’ me,” he mumbles, through the thick air between you, the corners of his lips curving into a smile, contrasting his dark words.

His hand wraps around the back of your neck, pulling you toward the shower and into his lips as you stumble past the glass. You gasp when the water hits your skin, whimper into his mouth when he backs you into the tile.

“You gotta stop me,” he mutters, his voice rough and deep.

His breath catches the moment your hand moves between you again; fingers closing around him as you smile.

“Goddamn,” he moans, the sound echoing around you before his forehead drops, resting against yours.

“Let me make you feel good, Rafe,” you whisper, unable to see his lips for how close you are but you can hear how his breathing quickens, the hold on your body tightening.

“Anything—Do anything you want to me,” he breathes as your lips kiss down his neck, brushing over his collarbone, his chain cool against your lips as your hands follow the water down his body.

It hits you all at once, somewhere between your hands on him and the heat of the water—how easy this feels, how right, like you skipped all the parts that were supposed to be complicated and landed exactly where you wanted to be.

You follow the line of his stomach, your tongue tracing lightly over his skin as you sink to your knees in front of him. Water wicks off your lashes when you look up at him.

“Fuck…” He murmurs; head tipping back against the tile as the water runs through his hair and down over his broad shoulders.

You look up at him through the rising steam, watching as his jaw tightens the moment your hands settle on his thighs, nails tracing over his skin, his body going tense when your mouth hovers close enough for him to feel your breath.

You press a slow kiss to one hip and then the other, his hands flexing uselessly at his sides while he watches you. And you just know if you were his, he’d be putting you right where he needs you—just a fantasy for another night.

“You’re really gonna do this?” He asks needily, words trailing off when you press a kiss on his tip, swirling your tongue around the fat head of his cock. His hips twitch forward before he can stop them, one of his hands coming to rest at the back of your head, holding you there, urging you forward as his eyes roll back.

You hum softly around him as your hand moves over him, the sounds of his pleasure running straight through you, and you haven't even taken more than the tip. His head lolls back against the bathroom wall while his hips push forward at a steady pace, getting deeper and deeper as your tongue toys with him.

“Oh my God,” he breathes, dragging a hand over his face like he’s trying to pull himself together. “Fuck, baby, I…”

You let out a quiet laugh against him as the words die on his tongue the moment you start to suck, the warmth of your mouth making him shudder as your hand keeps stroking.

“You feel unreal,” he says quietly, his voice rough around the edges. “So good—so fucking good.”

The muscles in his thick thighs tremble as you gag on him, water sliding down your back, the tears that had started to pool on your waterline and roll down your cheeks, catching the off warm water as it bounces off his tan skin.

“Shit,” he rasps as his mouth falls open in pleasure, water dripping off his bottom lip, one hand holding your head, the other gripping the shower bar for support. “What are you doing to me, baby…”

“Tell me to stop,” you tease softly. “I will.”

“Stop?” He breathes as your lips wrap around him again, sucking and sliding along his thick dick. “Fuck, don’t—don’t fucking stop.” His jaw tightens; eyes hooded as he looks down at you, a slow, dangerous smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

He starts to move his hips, slow and shallow at first, his rhythm growing steadier with each stroke, watching your mouth take him in. You moan around him, and the sound all but tipping him over the edge.

“Ohhh fuck, there it is,” he groans, letting his hips shift again, this time with a little more force as your hands drift back. Your fingers claw into his thighs, urging him to use you. “You like that?” He asks, his voice dropping low. “You like when I use you like this, huh?”

His movements stay fluid as the steam thickens around you, his chain swaying with each measured rock of his hips.

“Look at me,” he mutters.

Your nails dig into the back of his legs as they tremble, his cock swelling on your tongue.

“Jesus, baby…” He moans as his head thumps back against the tile and his jaw tightens. “I—I’m gonna cum.” His voice breaks, bouncing off the shower walls. “Wh-What… Fuck. What do you want me to do with it?”

Your eyes never leave him as you take him deep, your tongue tracing the underside of his cock, and that is all it takes. A strangled moan tears out of him as his hands fly to your head, holding you in place.

His muscles pull tight as he spills into your mouth, his abs contracting; thighs shaking, head dropping forward.

He looks down at you through half-lidded eyes, watching you take everything he gives you, lip tucking between his teeth when you suck just a little longer, overstimulation leaving his fingers curling in your wet hair.

The breathless laugh that leaves his throat is everything; satisfied, smug, and thankful all in the same breath, like he’s just waiting to wake up.

His hold loosens, cock sliding out of your spit-slicked lips. You shiver as his hands slide over your ribs, drawing you closer. Hot water pours down your body and his—his breathing still heavy as his eyes search yours.

“Thank you,” he mumbles against your mouth as his muscles tremble around you, that same hung-smile painted on his lips.

“Of course,” you whisper, kissing him tenderly. You can feel his lips twitch against yours, like he wants to ask you something, he just doesn't know how far he can take this. “Rafe…”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he hums, his words buzzing against your lips as his hand comes up to cradle your cheek.

“How far?”

“How far what, sweetheart?” He asks, and you laugh like he wasn’t hoping to guide you right where you ended as your fingers trace down his spine.

“How far did you want to take this?” You ask.

“As far as you let me,” he answers easily. “Told you, you were gonna have to stop me—”

“I don't wanna stop,” you breathe into your kiss.

“That’s not really an answer, pretty,” he mumbles, grabbing a fistful of hair, using his hold to guide you to his lips. “You won’t hurt my feelings. Hell, I got good hands.” His rough fingers slide between your thighs, pressing against your pussy, making you gasp against his lips. “M’really good at eating pussy,” he mumbles, swallowing the little sounds that slip your lips as he starts to circle his fingers on top, the words low and shameless. “Swear to God.”

“Rafe…” You breathe as you pull away, just enough. “Fuck me.”

“Holy shit,” he mutters against your mouth, the words thick with satisfaction and a smugness he does not bother hiding. “That’s what you want, huh?”

“You gonna make me wait?” You whisper against his lips.

“Fuck me… No. No—hell no.” He stumbles over his words as you question him, ragged and eager. “You’re not waiting for shit from me—you sure?” The rush of water stops in an instant, Rafe quickly taking you back in his arms before he can get another word out.

Your arms wrap around his neck, and your legs around his waist as he steps out with you; your fingers scratching up into his damp hair as he licks his lips, his eyes locked on yours through the sliver of space in between.

“Condom?” He asks.

“By the sink,” you whisper.

You kiss all the way to the sink, messy and impatient, his feet slapping wet against the floor as he walks. One hand braces under your thighs while the other taps blindly across the counter for a condom, fingers finally finding the foil packet; letting out a quiet groan of relief against your mouth.

You giggle against his lips and he smiles against yours, slowing his pace just enough to walk into the bedroom, the two of you still soaking wet. Too desperate to think about drying off, just desperate for what comes next. “Fuck,” he groans softly. “I cannot wait to fuck you—” Knock. Knock.

Your head snaps toward the door, stomach sinking as everything suddenly goes quiet.

“Probably just one of the girls,” you whisper, even though your better judgment tells you it’s not true.

Knock. Knock. Knock. A fist pounds against the wood on the other side of the door as Rafe’s lips meet your neck, licking and sucking down on your pulse point like your word was good as gold.

“Rafe—”

“S’fine,” he stops you, kissing up to your ear. “Just one of the girls—”

“Open… the goddamn door,” you hear JJ’s voice on the other side making chills fall down your spine, the water on your hot skin suddenly feeling cold.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Rafe mutters as your heart starts to race again for a completely different reason entirely.

“Shh,” you plead, searching for his eyes, making a silent plea for his temper not to get the better of him—for him to tell Maybank to ‘fuck off’ and stir the pot like you know he loves to do. The utterance leaves your lips as you slide down from his arms, moving toward the door on unsteady legs, water dripping off your naked body onto the floor.

Rafe follows close behind you without thinking about it, his palm resting on your hip possessively. You hold your breath nervously as you near the door, a wave of nerves crashing over you the second you hear him mumbling.

“Rafe…” You whisper, looking back over your shoulder, finding him with not one care in the world—his entire focus lost in you. He knows it’s JJ. He knew it the second the first knock landed but he also knows there's nothing his frat brother can do about it.

The backs of your legs brush his as he steps in close behind you, his stiff cock brushing snug between your thighs; the condom bit between his teeth, as his eyes trace from your ass, following the sway of your back, up to your lips.

He lets out this quiet, almost disbelieving breath, like this has been playing out in his head for so long he’s still catching up to the fact that it’s actually happening.

His fingers tighten as he guides you back, arching your spine, pressing your ass into him more. Knock. Knock. JJ’s fist lands against the threshold again, making you gasp. “—Hey, baby?” JJ calls from the other side and your eyes widen on Rafe’s.

“Baby? Who the fuck’s callin’ you baby, huh?” Rafe asks through the corner of his mouth, warm and casual, reaching up to pinch the edge of the condom wrapper before he tears it nice and slow.

“Open the fucking door,” JJ mutters as Rafe spits the wrapper to the floor, shaking his head.

“You want me to stop?” Rafe asks as he draws back his hips and lowers the condom. “Tell me to stop and I will—”

“I’m not gonna ask again, alright? Open the fucking door,” JJ snarls but you're already turning around, your back pressed against it, taking the condom off Rafe’s hands.

“Don’t stop,” you whisper, making Rafe suck in a sharp breath as you press it against the tip of his cock, rolling it on with your eyes locked on his. He grabs your hips, turning you fast, your hands landing against the door with a thud.

“Sweetheart?” JJ voice breaks at the sound.

“Go—” That’s all you manage before Rafe pushes into you in one slow, steady stroke. A strangled sound catches in your throat and your hand flies back, grabbing his wrist where it locks tight around your hip while your other hand clamps over your mouth.

“Go?” He snaps from the hallway. “One fucking word. That’s all I get?”

“—Yeah, that's all he fuckin’ gets,” Rafe murmurs softly against your skin as he steps in, his lips finding your ear, cock buried inside you, his voice low and satisfied. “Pussy’s so damn good. Fuck me.”

Your head falls back against him at the way he stretches you wide, his big hand locks around your neck, drifting higher, making your hands fall away, turning your face so your lips find his.

“Just—Just leave,” your words breathe out against Rafe’s lips. He rocks back, making you whimper, his lips pressing against yours to swallow your sounds as he pushes back in again.

“I know he’s in there,” JJ seethes. “Cleo saw him walkin’ inside. He thinks he’s slick.” His fist bangs against the door again, making it rattle on the frame. “Open the fucking door, Cameron.”

“Want me to say somethin’ or do you want to keep going?” Rafe asks again, smiling against your lips as you breathe out, “keep going,” hearing just how wet he has you, the sounds of your pleasure filling your room.

“I’m not leaving until he comes out.”

You gasp when Rafe pulls away without warning, your whole body tightening at the sudden loss, until he turns you around in one easy motion and lifts you. He steps twice, pressing your back against the wood door. His tongue runs along his bottom lip with his eyes locked on yours.

“You know how good it would feel to pound you into this door right now?” He whispers as he adjusts, lifting you just enough to find your entrance, your eyes softening on him when he lets gravity do the work, your body sinking down on his cock with you held in his arms taking all of it. “So pretty taking my dick,” he whispers, burying himself in your neck, being careful as he thrusts up into you but you know it has to be making some sound on the other side.

“You’re being irrational—” Bang.

You cut off JJ’s words, letting your fist slam against the door this time, making both men stop for a moment. “You can leave or listen, JJ. Honestly I don’t give a shit—”

“Listen? Listen are you fucking kidding me?” JJ spits as Rafe chuckles just under his breath at your words and JJ’s reaction, unable to keep it in any longer. “You do anything with Cameron and we’re done!”

“Well shit… Who’s gonna tell him?” Rafe mutters, just loud enough for you to hear—just loud enough that it might carry through the wood like he hopes it does. And it does.

“Fuck you, Rafe. I’ll fucking kill you,” JJ snaps.

“Leave, Maybank,” Rafe hums, like it’s an afterthought—like he’s knee deep in better things to do. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“Talkin’ shit behind a locked door like a fucking pussy… very Rafe of you, Rafe.”

“Maybe it would be good for him to hear, hmm?” Rafe asks, throwing his hips up hard and final, leaving your fingers clawing into his skin and his name whimpering past your lips. “Shh…” Rafe teases you as he dives in for a kiss, harder this time, drawing you off the wall and toward the bed.

He lays you back on the mattress, his broad hands spreading your thighs as his mouth drags over your chest. Rafe only laughs, low and rough, not the least bit concerned as JJ continues his tantrum and threats outside.

Rafe leans over you, fists curling around the backs of your thighs as he presses them up toward your chest. “Be good and hold ‘em,” he breathes before his cock slides through your folds, slick and warm, teasing you as his eyes drink you in.

“Rafe,” you whine, pleading sweetly for more.

He shakes his head and smiles, lost somewhere on cloud nine. “Sure this is okay?” He asks like you weren't just begging for him, smacking his tip against your clit making your hips lift off the mattress.

“Yes, fuck.” Your breath catches, lips parting as he traces your slit, falling open completely as a soft sound slips past your lips as he pushes in, stretching you wide and full, your shaky hands resting gently on his hips when you take him all.

He lowers your legs gently and tilts in to kiss you, deep and unhurried, his rough hands sliding around your hips to draw you closer before he draws back, thrusting into you again.

Your hands lift to cradle his face mewling into his mouth when he thrust deeper, finding that place inside you that makes your mind shut off.

He groans into your kiss as your pussy tightens around him, his forehead comes to rest against yours—his breath warm and uneven against your lips.

And then, it's just you. The heat between your bodies, the pressure between your thighs, the pleasure climbing with your heartbeat, higher by the second.

Rafe’s hand slides down your thighs as he shifts his weight, and before you can quite catch your breath he rolls, turning the two of you in one smooth motion, guiding you over until you are straddling him.

You let out a soft laugh of surprise as you settle on top, your hands landing instinctively against the solid plane of his chest. His hair’s damp and pushed back from his forehead, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady pulls of air as his chain glitters around his throat.

“Jesus,” he murmurs, his voice rough with awe. “Look so good on top of me, you know that?”

You shift your weight and he groans low in his throat, his hands tightening on your hips as you circle them.

“That’s it,” he breathes, his hands guiding you gently. “Easy, baby. Just like that.”

Your nails dig into his chest as you begin to move, slow and steady at first, your body finding its rhythm while his muscles tense beneath your palms, his mouth falling open.

“Fuck,” he exhales. “You move like you were made for me.”

Your hands drift a little higher, thumb resting the hollow of his throat with your hands wrapping and squeezing just enough to make his eyes roll back in his skull.

“Holy—Holy shit. Tight… Tighter,” he moans as you ride him, your hips finding a deeper rhythm, and his eyes fluttering open just enough to find yours, fighting to stay open like he doesn’t want to miss a second of it.

“Rafe, I—” You start but he can already feel the way your body squeezes around him and your thighs tremble, grabbing for you, switching positions before sinking into you again.

Your fingers twist into the sheets as he grips you by your hips, drilling into you again and again until your back arches, and your pussy gushes, cumming around his while he does everything he can do to keep his pace, but it feels too fucking good.

Your body softens slightly as his dick throbs inside you, filling the condom with his head thrown back and his muscles cut tight to keep himself as deep as he can go.

“Holy shit,” he says softly, a quiet kind of disbelief in his voice breaking with pleasure. “You got no idea how—” His words drift away as he draws in a deep, needed breath, blowing it out with a satisfied smile. “You got no idea how long I wanted that.”

“Yeah?” You giggle, feeling your entire body warm when he looks at you like he means every word—like he’d say more if he could get it out.

He leans down and presses a slow kiss to your mouth, tender and deep as his rough thumb traces your cheek. “How was that?” He asks, quiet now, a smile pulling against your lips.

“Amazing.” Your voice is small but honest when your lips brush against his. “I’ve never cum like that before.”

He pulls away just enough to make sure he heard what he thought he heard, exhaling a short, breathy laugh and drops his head to your neck.

“Baby,” he murmurs. “Why the fuck would you tell me that?” His head turns, lips finding your neck, pressing his mouth to your skin as your fingers drift into his hair. “It’s gonna kill me not to bring that shit up.”

“Don’t.”

He groans again, pained and dramatic as ever. “How the fuck am I supposed to keep that to myself?”

“Please tell me you didn’t actually plan to bring that up.”

“I mean…” He mumbles, already picturing it. You pull him out of the fantasy, tugging playfully at his hair. “Please tell me you faked it with him.”

You hesitate for half a second before glancing away, lips twitching. “Rafe, c’mon,” you sigh, unable to answer—too bitter to lie.

“You’re shittin’ me?”

He pulls back to look at you and your features sharpen, threatening him with a look. “That stays between us.”

“Us?” He asks as he closes the space between your lips, kissing you softly.

“Us,” you whisper. “I’m not rushing into anything, Rafe.”

“Nah. No,” he breathes into your kiss as it gets a little deeper, his hand coming up to cradle your head. “I’m not—I mean… I wouldn’t want to pressure you into being mine or anything—”

“You’re so convincing,” you giggle against his lips and he sighs. “Haven’t even taken me on our date yet—”

“Shit’s planned though. Tomorrow. Tomorrow night, you and me?”

“I swore off frat guys though,” you mumble.

“Mmm,” he hums. “How’s that workin’ out for you, sweetheart?”

“Fuck you,” you giggle, smacking him playfully before he squeezes you tight.

“Fuck me, huh?” He teases, the warmth of his words ghosting against your jaw. “At least let me pull out first, yeah?”

“You’re so annoying,” you laugh.

“Yeah?” He grins. “You told me to come over… good luck getting rid of me now.”

“I did,” you whisper. “But, yeah… tomorrow.”

The corner of his lips curl into a smile as he hears exactly what he wanted to hear. “You won’t regret it. I promise.”

Everything in the room starts to settle, the party at the frat house next door still raging, the steady bass of the music thumping. But, Rafe’s still here, he hasn’t left, completely content with you in his arms.

He pulls out slowly, stepping out of the room, coming back in with a warm, wet towel and no plans to leave, and you can’t help but smile. He looks down at you, waiting for an invitation to step back in, breathing out a sigh of relief when you draw back the covers.

The towel moves between your legs, running up the inside of your thighs. His lips twitch at the corner again, like it’s killing him not to say everything he’s ever wanted to say to you.

“Rafe?” You giggle under your breath, watching a rosy blush bloom on his cheeks.

“Yeah, pretty,” he mumbles under his breath.

“Just say it,” you sigh.

“I, uh—I probably shouldn’t walk out there right now.”

You roll your eyes and snort out a laugh, snuggling into your bed a little more as he lays his head down on the pillow next to you, his big hand resting on your thigh. “Why not?”

“Well,” he says, like he is thinking it through moving a little closer, “JJ’s out there somewhere, isn’t he?”

Your eyebrow arches as another laugh bubbles past your lips, Rafe no stranger to a fight or two, or five. “Rafe—“

“Guy sounded pretty pissed.”

“Thought you didn’t give a shit,” you remind him.

He looks back at you, eyes warm and amused before his big arm tightens around you just a little, drawing you closer against his chest.

“But staying,” he adds quietly, his mouth brushing your forehead, “seems like the safer option.”

“Mhmm,” you murmur.

“Don’t make me leave,” he pleads softly, joking but not entirely. His finger draws under your chin, tilting your lips toward his, waiting for an answer he can feel before it even leaves your lips.

“Stay.”

🛁🫧 tag list on my pinned post 🩵 @rafesthroatbaby @hockeygirlyyyy @karlydiary @drewstarkeyswife-7 @ornellastreet @cokewithcameron @loserboysandlithium @buckybarnessweetheart @torturedpoetism @slut-4-rafey @americanboz0 @taliescapes @rcameronlova1 @slxttfadustin @cdiaz18 @tangledinmyfeelings @harrrrystylesslut @rafecamlovr @st8rkey @obsessedwrafe @my-name-is-baby @dollforafe @fiercetigerpoison @seulbeomie @pillowprincess4him @moondustbaby @celestialreid @premiumshitt @gigislover08 @lilithblackkk @babygoddam @harringtonsbowgirl @yesimeasyy @angelicameron @ashleyytatum @stace-041193 @rafesbabygirlx @lhhlver @raf3cam3r0n @rafesbuzzcutseason @jscasmth @bunnyx2 @virgilsgurl @diasnohibng @ariieeesworld @ilovehughbiggs @wisewarriorlycanthrope @willowpains @esmerai-artemis @simp4f1 @jejdidsj

[glossiercheek]

── INTRODUCING... boxer!rafe ʚïɞ

boxer!rafe who loves you endlessly. You’re all he has in this lifetime. You’re the only person he could confide in after his mother and father left him and after breaking contact with his sisters. He has to make it count this time with you; he can’t fuck it up.

boxer!rafe who, with his last savings, is able to afford a small flat on the cheaper side of town for you two to live in. Power outages and gas leaks are common in your building. But neither of you care. Being with each other through thick and thin is more important. The only way to bring in some money is to do the only thing he’s good at— boxing. Competing.

boxer!rafe who looks like he could kill you, but is actually a sweetheart. Looks snarky, but lights up when you are near. He doesn’t even try to hide it, how much he loves you, making it known how important you are to him. After his father died, he stopped believing in that toxic masculinity shit and just let himself be the lovesick lover boy he’s supposed to be for his girl.

boxer!rafe who calls you the sweetest names. No sentence goes unsaid without a “baby” at the end. His personal favourites are baby, princess or sunshine. He particularly loves to call you any variation of baby: my baby, sweet baby, baby girl. And you feel so strongly about those names, too. If he, once in a blue moon, skips over the pet name, you immediately think he’s cross with you. You’re dramatic like that.

boxer!rafe who is always dressed in black hoodies, loose jeans or specifically when he’s training— track pants. Wears a cheap silver digital Casio watch, has a crooked nose from taking one too many punches, and you always think he looks so hot when he comes home from training, all battered and worn out, breathing heavy. It does something to you.

boxer!rafe and you still don’t have a dining table. Most of the time, you two eat cheap instant noodles or other simple meals on the kitchen floor, backs resting against the half-warm radiator to keep warm, silently enjoying each other’s presence or telling each other about your day. Most of your inside jokes stem from all the moments you two have shared on the kitchen floor. At this point, eating dinner on the kitchen floor has become a habit, a tradition, you’re not willing to let go of. Yet.

when you have a bad day, boxer!rafe has a bad day. And he always tries to cheer you up. He knows he isn’t able to console you with materialistic things as much as he would like, but now he’s found other ways to comfort you: simply holding you, kissing your tears away and loves to run his fingers over your scalp to calm you down until your breathing evens.

boxer!rafe who loves to kiss your fingers and knuckles. He loves laying in bed, lights dim and low, tangling your hand in his. Loves bringing your hand to his mouth and bite playfully at your fingertips, or the palm of your hand to make you smile after you’ve had a hard day. Or when you two walk outside, he never fails to bring the back of your hand to his lips to press a soft kiss to it like it’s second nature.

boxer!rafe who, when he does have the money to do so, loves paying for your girly self-care stuff: your nails, brows, facials, lashes. Thinks it’s more a treat to himself than to you when he pays for you to get your nails done. Loves seeing the little R on your design, which leads to Rafe kissing your fingers and hands even more. Obviously loves it most when you lightly scrape your new nails over his chest.

boxer!rafe who sends you to college with his first cash prize. He knows you’ve given up college to be with him, and he feels like you’re constantly giving, giving, giving, and giving. He wants to prove to you that you’re his priority. Now, and in the future. Constantly dotes on you when you have exams and assignments coming up, helps you study and cram for exams when you’re stressed.

boxer!rafe who is covered in small, meaningful tattoos. They’re scattered all over his arms. And somehow, they’re all centred around you. He has your name tattooed in a cursive font on his right arm, right under the crook of his elbow, so that he sees your name stare back at him when he draws up his arms in his boxing stance. He also has the symbol of your star sign on the side of his wrist, which he kisses every time before a fight or every time he does something important and needs to know you’re with him every step of the way.

His other tattoos are sillier, like a packet of Indomie noodles somewhere on his arm, symbolising your late nights sitting on your kitchen floor. A little sun because he calls you “sunshine”, or a dainty tiara because of the “princess” name. The official date you two got together in roman numbers, but also silly doodles you made whilst being on the phone with one of your girl friends result in Rafe being covered in butterflies and spirals. He’s told you numerous times he’d let you stick and poke him, too.

boxer!rafe who lets you cut his hair. It seems like a silly idea at first, cutting someone's hair in the bathroom with no prior experience. But Rafe tells you over and over again he doesn't trust anyone with a pair of scissors more than you. After a night full of gasps and “oh my god did I hurt you”’s he ends up with a buzzed head, and you swear he’s never looked better.

boxer!rafe who loves to see you in black tank tops when he comes back home from training. It’s the ultimate sight of comfort: you, standing behind the stove while you’re preparing dinner. He can’t keep his hands to himself, hands immediately flying to your waist while he peppers quick pecks all over your neck as you squeal. Bonus points if you’re also wearing his track pants that are way too loose, so you have to fold them over a couple of times. There is an unspoken comfort where you can just steal his clothes without asking. He just thinks you look so good, so beautiful, so his.

boxer!rafe who hates when the rich pricks at the country club — the place you work at — flirt with you. Sometimes, when you work late shifts, he picks you up and notices how all those preppy, rich boys give you the glad eye when you finally clock out. They know you’re taken too, telling you don’t need that “broke boy who has nothing to offer you”. You shut them down by full on making out with Rafe in front of them.

boxer!rafe who forgets his training supplies at home on purpose. This results in him shooting you a quick text saying, “my baby, could you bring me my hand tape? Forgot it at home. It’s on the coffee table”. And you always come over to the gym, without a doubt. He loves to show you off to his friends, when you enter the place with a demure smile on your face. “Such a pretty thing, isn’t she?” He mutters to Kelce when you spot him, hand wrap in hand. “Can’t believe she’s mine.”

Also isn’t afraid to be casually affectionate with you in public. As soon as you’ve handed him the tape, he passes you a cheeky smile, playfully tapping your ass to send you off. “Rafe—!” you almost shriek, to which he replies, “y’know I cant help it, princess.” While shoving his hands in the pockets of his track pants, eyes glued on your retreating figure.

boxer!rafe who loves how you smell. His nose is always pressed to the side of your neck, breathing you in. You always giggle and say it tickles, to which Rafe just shrugs. "Y’r just so sweet, could eat y’up." He murmurs as he jokingly nips at the soft, plush skin of your neck, eliciting excited squeals from you.

boxer!rafe who sometimes he takes you with him to the gym. He works out while you’re on your laptop, working on your college courses on one of the floormats. It’s a simple way of spending time together whilst also working on your own stuff. Most of the time you don’t even talk, except for when Rafe hands you one of his bidons or water bottles, telling you to keep hydrated.

boxer!rafe who secretly loves to be babied. Especially when he's injured after a fight. He loves how you take over this caretaking role: you push him onto the sofa under strict orders to not get up. You're exaggeratedly telling him he's so strong and tough and how he's the scariest fighter of them all while caressing his bruised face. He knows you're sarcastic about it sometimes, but a part of him likes when you stroke his ego a little too much.

boxer!rafe who sends you the most heartfelt letters when he’s out on training camp. He doesn’t have his phone with him for weeks, and he can feel himself go insane without you, slowly but surely. He pours his heart out in those letters, but sometimes they can get raunchy too. In one sentence he’s talking about how he misses your goodnight kisses and how he can’t sleep properly without you, and in the other he’s suddenly all about how you’re not going to be able to walk when he gets back.

boxer!rafe who always jokingly — gently — pulls at your ponytail. He just loves to tease you, annoy you in general. Asking you “what’cha dooooiiinggg” in a high-pitched, girly voice when you’re obviously doing something important or something that requires focus. One deadly look from you and he knows he needs to cut that shit out, though.

boxer!rafe who is a groveller. He’s never mad at you, even if you sometimes think he is. He’s not. But when you are mad at him, giving him the silent treatment or straight up yelling at him, he’s just the one who takes it on the chin: hearing you out, profusely apologising, promising it’ll never happen again, telling you repeatedly that “it’s my fault, I know princess. I’m so sorry. It’s my fault.” He just can't bear to lose you.

boxer!rafe who, all in all, loves you so much: he’s willing to move mountains to make his girl happy.

── MOODBOARD

a/n: holy cringe. anyway, my mum also always buzzes my dad’s hair so i think that’s really cute cuz that little headcanon reminds me of my parents <3 also won’t be updating for a bit cuz i gotta lock in, exam season is coming up!

[kosmogrl]

[weepinglucy-deactivated20260329]

꒰ when facing the things we turn away from series ꒱ part one ⭑ part two ⭑ part three ⭑ part four

⤿ bug receives a message from her past that has rafe feeling some type of way. hinting at sexual acts, teasing. 0.8k words. ⌞frat boy!rafe x bug!reader⌝

it’s your last week on campus before summer break and you were excited to say the least. you’ll miss your friends and cozy apartment, your favorite coffee shop in town, and the peaceful park where you spend many hours studying. hell, you’d even slightly miss rafe and the frat. but a bigger part of you longed to be home.

between finally being able to see your parents again and basking in the small town feel after spending so many months in a larger city, it was comforting to say the least, and your mind whirled with the possibilities of what you would do first upon your arrival.

you’d most likely reconcile with your childhood best friend who was also coming home for part of the break, finding it hard to stay in touch previously with everything going on in your lives. a deep dive of all the intimate details from freshman year of college was looooong overdue.

a warm feeling spreads at the thought, and you’re pulled back to the present as you hum along to the song sounding through the speakers of your phone. rafe is still sprawled lazily across your bed, thumbs mindlessly scrolling on his phone as you pack. 

it’s then that a message notification pings, but you ignore it for now—making a mental note to follow up with whoever it was after your packings complete. 

a second and third message gains the attention of rafe however, “who the hell's blowing you up?” 

you shrug, picking through the clothes in your closet, "i wouldn't call three messages blowing me up but—“

“funny,” he mumbles, left arm extending to reach your phone that’s charging on the nightstand. 

he pauses the music, ignoring your protests in the process, "252 area code?" he states more to himself than anything, fingers quick to unlock the device.

that piques your interest, stepping closer to the bed, "that’s from back home."

he already has the message open by the time you lean over his shoulder, knee sinking into the mattress. a moment passes, and then another as you process the words, dots connecting in your brain.

"oh my fucking god,” you whisper at the same time rafe speaks, "what the fuck is this shit?"

you reach for your phone but rafe is quick to pull away, standing to tower over you, phone tucked into his shoulder almost defensively. there’s a certain look in his eyes that you can’t quite decipher, tone almost accusatory, “who’s trying to link with you?” 

"rafe," you say, hand once more reaching for your phone but missing, fingers falling down his chest, “you’re being crazy.”

he scoffs at that while creating more distance between the two of you, eyes flicking down to read the words over again. you stand on your tip toes to do the same out of habit, even if the texts were still flashing in your mind. 

they’re from your ex boyfriend. high school sweetheart turned heart break in a matter of weeks. he was your first everything, and the best boyfriend you could’ve possibly asked for—until he wasn’t. until he was recruited to a big party college for football and changed immediately after graduation. 

it was a nasty breakup. one filled with many weeks of tears and hours spent hesitantly throwing away any and all memories you shared with him. he had a half assed excuse about the distance and the struggles that came with it. about not wanting to affect his football career or your studies, how it just wouldn’t work the way you hoped. any bullshit reason that he could come up with to justify the discovery of his tinder profile. 

“not that it matters, but it’s nothing,” you try again, falling back on your heels with an expectant look.

rafe dismisses you, “right ‘cause this screams nothing, bug.” 

you give up on trying to get your phone back with a huff, not wanting to entertain this little game for any longer—knowing that it would be of no use, there was never any ‘winning’ with rafe, “it is nothing. i don’t have anything to do with him anymore, don’t know why he’s texting me.” 

he hums absentmindedly, voice sounding with no emotion, “you sleep with him?”

you hesitate, feeling uneasy with the conversation at hand. it was a little awkward, and more importantly, irrelevant. rafe wasn’t your boyfriend, and your past history was none of his business. so you shrug, trying to keep the tension light, “here and there.”

you’re expecting him to fire back with some sort of joke by poking fun at your past dating history. instead, there’s none of that. just a simple nod and a sharp sniffle before his feet shuffle closer to you, “whatever, don’t care,” a pause, then, “how ‘bout y’show me what he’s so desperate for, huh bug?”

you want to protest his teasing and mood swings—you really do. but he’s already stepping into your space, hands reaching for the waistband of your shorts, and how could you ever say no to that?

weepinglucy™

more works here

note for future reference! they attend the university of north carolina in raleigh. when back home, bug lives three hours away near the camden area. rafe lives four hours away near duck. camden and duck are about two hours away from each other!

[morninglesss]

Some of us are still here.

[kosmogrl]

[lovvupiid]

Vodka and Sea Salt

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Maybank! Reader, Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: JJ Maybank's defiant little sister and Rafe Cameron are bitter enemies- constant barbs, loaded stares, and simmering tension from bonfires to Midsummers. One stormy night, Rafe finds her bruised and walking alone. He drives her away, they share vodka at a secluded boat ramp, hate ignites into raw, possessive passion.

Warnings: Smut, Porn with Plot, Mentions of abuse, Angst, possibly wordy not my best writing, JUST oral, maybe a cheeky pt 2 incoming!!

Word Count: 3.8k

Part two:

https://www.tumblr.com/lovvupiid/807663167188647936/vodka-and-sea-salt-2?source=share

A/N: Love me some Drew Starkey, especially as Rafe Cameron! He's finnnneeeee and im really missing OBX currently so i have fallen into a Rafe Cameron trap

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She and Rafe Cameron never got along. He was too much, too insane, too egotistical, and too stuck up… He was the one person she swore she wouldn’t even think of.

The first time he really clocks her is at a bonfire, months back, when she’s laughing too loud, barefoot in the sand, JJ’s little sister with a beer bottle in her hand and a boy leaning too close. Rafe watches from the other side of the fire, eyes narrowing.

“Careful,” he says when she passes him, not even looking at her. “Girls like you get the wrong idea.”

She stops. Turns. Smiles. “About what?” she asks. “That you matter?”

His jaw tightens. “Watch your mouth.”

“You first.”

From then on, it’s constant. At a party on Figure Eight, he bumps her shoulder hard enough to slosh her drink.

“Oops,” he says flatly.

She looks down at the spill, then back up at him. “That your version of flirting?”

He laughs. Sharp, humourless. “You wish.”

She leans in anyway. “You think about me a lot for someone who hates Pogues.”

“Trust me,” he mutters, stepping closer than necessary. “I don’t think about you at all.”

She doesn’t believe him. Neither does he.

She makes it worse on purpose. She flirts openly. With Kooks, mostly. Lets them touch her waist, her arm, her back. She catches Rafe watching once, twice noticing the way his hand tightens around his cup, the way he turns away like he’s disgusted with himself.

“Problem?” she asks when she sees him for the fifth time, catching him staring.

He scoffs. “Just wondering if you ever shut up.”

“Only when I’m bored.”

“Must be exhausting,” he says.

“Yeah,” she replies. “For you.”

Then Midsummers happens.

She wasn’t going to go. She swears she wasn’t, not even meant to be there… But her brother’s and John B’s stupid plan must go on.

So, Kiara shows up with a dress draped over her arm, eyes bright. “Just try it on,” she says. “Please.”

It’s soft. Light. Not Pogue-coded at all. When she steps out, Kiara just stares. “Oh my god,” she breathes. “You’re actually unfair.”

She feels wrong wearing it. Too fake. Too breakable. She wears it anyway.

Rafe sees her the second she walks onto the lawn.

He freezes just for a beat, before his face resets into that familiar smirk. But his eyes linger, dragging slowly, like he’s cataloguing every detail against his will. From the cinch of her waist to how the slit of that stupid, pink dress shows off her leg.

Later, voices rise. Security moves in. JJ’s arguing somewhere behind her when Rafe calls out. “Maybank.”

JJ turns. Rafe doesn’t look at him. He looks at her. “Didn’t think you’d clean up like that,” he says. “Guess Kiara worked a miracle.”

She scowls. “Didn’t think you’d say that out loud.”

Rafe’s mouth curves, sharp. “Still a Pogue.”

She shrugs. “Still staring.”

Security pulls JJ away. The music swells back up. The moment should end there. She leaves first. All the Pogues running off the lawn, Pope leaving Mr. Heyward alone, Kiara leaving her parents who shook their heads, all watching the teens make a Pogue-centric exit as always, laughing despite the situation knowing at least John B got the clues he needed.

After that, whatever they had turns mean. He snaps quicker. She doesn’t soften. At another bonfire, he tells her to get lost just because. She tells him he’s obsessed. He tells her she’s annoying. She tells him he keeps showing up.

At the Boneyard one night, he blocks her path. “Stay away from me,” he says.

“You first,” she replies.

“You think this is funny?”

“I think you hate that I don’t care.”

Silence stretches. Hostile. Heavy.

“You don’t know who you’re dealing with,” he says.

She looks at him, unimpressed. “Then stop standing so close.”

He doesn’t move.

That’s when she realizes this isn’t just teasing. It isn’t harmless. It isn’t clean.

It’s built from too many looks held too long, too many arguments that don’t end, too much attention disguised as contempt.

And whatever this thing is between her and Rafe Cameron born out of bonfires, parties, and a dress she shouldn’t have worn and  it’s already bigger than either of them wants to admit.

Rafe Cameron isn’t looking for her. It’s late, the kind of night where the road blurs and his thoughts won’t shut up. He’s driving too fast, window cracked, radio off. Figure Eight behind him, Cut ahead — a mistake he realizes too late.

He slows when he sees movement on the side of the road.

At first, he thinks it’s nothing. A shadow. A drunk tourist. Then the headlights catch bare legs, those damn jean shorts, sun-kissed skin under the glare.

He brakes hard.

She’s walking like she’s done this before. Arms tight around herself, head down, hair a mess. A white tank top clings to her, thin enough that the bikini straps show underneath. Her feet are dirty. Her shoulder is red with fingerprints, maybe something darker along her arm.

Rafe swears under his breath.

He knows that walk. He’s seen JJ do it before, a one-off. But he knows exactly why people leave their houses at night and keep moving like if they stop, something worse will catch up.

He pulls over anyway. Engine still running.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he mutters, more to himself than her.

She doesn’t look at the car. She just keeps walking.

Rafe leans out the window. “Hey.”

Nothing.

“Hey,” he says louder. “Maybank.”

She stops. Slowly, she turns. The headlights make her squint. When she recognizes the car, her face hardens instantly.

“Of course. Look, Rafe-”

Rafe exhales through his nose, cutting her off. “What are you doing out here?”

“Walking,” she says. “You done?”

He opens the door, steps out. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“So?” She shrugs, sharp and careless. It pulls the fabric across her shoulder, and she flinches before she can stop herself.

Rafe notices. His jaw tightens. “Did he touch you?” he asks. He’s seen the bruises on both hers and JJ’s bodies before, bad at hiding or maybe he stared too hard.

Her eyes flash. “Don’t.”

“Answer the question.”

“You don’t get to ask me that.”

“Yeah,” he snaps, “I do when you’re bleeding on the side of the road.”

She laughs once, bitterly. “And to think you care so much?”

He steps closer. “I think you’re not making it home like this.”

“I always do.”

“Not tonight.”

She stares at him. Long. Hostile. Tired.

“Go back to Figure Eight,” she says. “This isn’t your problem.”

Rafe scoffs. “Everything’s my problem lately.”

He looks her over again, slower now. The tank top. The shaking hands. The way she’s standing like she’s braced for another hit even though no one’s there. And that red hue emerging across her neck.

“You walking to the Chateau?” he asks.

She doesn’t answer.

He nods once. “Get in the car.”

“No.”

“That wasn’t a suggestion.”

She steps back. “I’m not getting in your car.”

Rafe’s voice drops. “You want Luke to come find you instead?”

Her face goes still. That’s the wrong thing to say. He knows it the second it leaves his mouth.

She swallows. “Screw you.”

“Probably,” he says, not backing off. “But you’re still getting in.”

Silence stretches between them. The road is empty. Crickets loud. Her chest rises and falls too fast.

Finally, she moves. Not toward the car — just closer to him, so close she can smell that ridiculously expensive cologne on his body.

“If you tell anyone,” she says quietly, “I’ll never forgive you.”

Rafe meets her eyes. For once, there’s no smirk.

“I don’t talk,” he says. “You know that.”

She hesitates. Then she opens the passenger door and gets in.

Rafe drives.

Neither of them speaks.

But the hate between them feels different now  heavier, tangled with something neither wants to name.

Neither of them spoke. But the hate between her and Rafe felt different now — heavier, tangled with something neither wanted to name. Rafe didn’t ask where she wanted to go. He just drove. The road curved away from the Cut, trees pressing in on both sides, headlights cutting narrow tunnels through the dark. She sat rigid in the passenger seat, arms crossed, staring straight ahead like if she didn’t look at him, this wasn’t happening.

“You shaking?” he asked after a minute.

“I’m cold,” she said.

He reached down, cranked the air off without looking at her. The silence settled again.

After a while, she realized where they were heading.

“You’re not taking me home,” she said.

“No,” he replied. “I figured.”

“Where, then?”

Rafe exhaled. “The old boat ramp. Past the marsh. No one goes there at night.”

She huffed a laugh. “That’s reassuring… totally not going to murder me.”

“You want to get out?” he asked, already slowing.

She didn’t answer.

The boat ramp was empty when he pulled in. Just dark water, wooden planks, and the faint smell of salt and rot. He killed the engine. The quiet was loud.

She undid her seatbelt first.

“You good?” he asked.

She ignored him, opening the door and getting out. She sat on the hood, arms wrapped around her knees. Rafe leaned against the driver’s side, far enough away to pretend he wasn’t hovering. The moon caught the bruising along her arm now that the headlights were gone. He noticed.

“Does JJ know?” he asked.

“What do you think?”

“Figures.”

She glared at him. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not,” he said. “I’m just asking.”

“Well, don’t.”

Another pause. Then, unexpectedly, she spoke.

“You got anything to drink?”

Rafe raised a brow. “You serious?”

“Dead.”

“This is your idea of coping?”

She shrugged. “Walking didn’t work tonight.”

He considered her for a second, jaw tight. Then he reached into the backseat and pulled out a half-full bottle cheap vodka, label peeling.

She raised an eyebrow. “Classy. Very kook-ish.”

“Didn’t invite you,” he said, twisting the cap off.

He took a pull first. Long. Controlled. Then held it out to her.

She hesitated just long enough for him to notice.

“What,” he asked. “Scared?”

She snatched it. “Shut up.”

The vodka burned going down. She coughed, eyes watering, but didn’t hand it back right away. She took another sip. Smaller.

Rafe watched her like he was waiting for her to bolt.

“You’re bad at this,” he said.

“I didn’t ask for tips.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

She passed the bottle back. He drank again, longer this time. When he handed it back, their fingers brushed. Neither reacted. That almost made it worse.

Minutes passed. The edge dulled. Her shoulders dropped a fraction.

“This is a terrible idea,” Rafe said.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “That’s why it’s working.”

He let out a short laugh before he could stop himself. It surprised both of them.

She glanced at him. “Did you just laugh?”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“You’re less annoying drunk,” she said.

“You’re still annoying,” he fired back, “just quieter.”

She smiled not sweet, not kind. Dangerous. The kind that had gotten her into trouble long before tonight.

“Careful, Cameron,” she said. “Hate looks weird on you when you’re worried.”

His expression shifted. Hardened.

“I’m not worried.”

“Sure,” she said, taking another sip. “That’s why you stopped.”

Silence stretched again, thicker now. The bottle passed back and forth, slow and deliberate, like neither wanted to be the one to end the night. Whatever this was the hate, the tension, the alcohol, it was sitting between them now. Charged. Waiting. And neither left.

The bottle passed back and forth, each sip dulling the edges of her anger just enough to make words easier, smirks sharper, glances heavier. The air smelled like salt and pine and vodka, and even the moonlight seemed too bright against her skin.

“You think you’re so funny,” she said, voice lower now, quieter, almost teasing.

“I am,” he replied, leaning a little closer, hands tucked in his pockets like he was pretending not to notice how close she was.

She lifted her chin, daring. “Funny and annoying. Couldn’t pick one?”

He snorted. “You’re the same way.”

She laughed, short and sharp, the sound bouncing off the water. He moved closer, not on purpose, not like he planned it just drawn.

“You’re not supposed to care,” she murmured, arms hugging her knees, “but you do. Admit it.”

“Not true,” he said, jaw tight. But he didn’t move away.

She shifted on the hood, letting her knees fall open slightly, leaning toward him. “Cameron, you’re a shit liar,” she said, clearly amused.

His hands clenched at his sides, fingers curling and uncurling. “I said I don’t care.”

“Then stop staring,” she teased, voice low, almost a challenge.

He didn’t. And that’s the thing he didn’t look away.

The distance between them shrank, almost imperceptibly at first. One moment, she was sitting on the hood, pretending to look at the water. The next, he leaned over the hood, close enough that she could feel the heat from his body, smell the faint cologne and leather and salt from the air.

“Aren’t you getting a bit close?... Move,” she whispered.

“Not moving,” he muttered, voice rougher now.

Her heart hammered. She hated him for this. For making it impossible to hate him completely. For making her skin burn just from being near him.

She lifted her chin again, eyes locked on his, those doe eyes provoking him. And he leaned down.

The first touch was accidental a brush of his hand against hers as he reached for balance on the hood. The second was deliberate, sly in that Rafe Cameron-sort-of way, and suddenly their faces were inches apart.

Their lips almost touched.

“You’re impossible,” she breathed.

He smirked, teeth grazing her bottom lip. “Takes one to know one.”

And then he kisses her.

It’s sharp, almost angry, like every insult you ever threw at him is wrapped up in it. Her hands come up on his chest, pulling, testing, and he presses harder. Everything she’s hated about him the arrogance, the teasing, the way he gets under her skin, the fact he’s a murderer and tried to kill Sarah…maybe it is all forgotten right now in the kiss.

She breaks apart for air, foreheads pressed together.

“You’re insane,” she says, heart pounding, voice harsh and broken.

“Yeah,” he says, lips twitching into a smirk. “But you like it.”

she shoves him back enough to breathe. “Don’t,” you warn. “Not here. Not like this.”

“Not like this?” he echoes, still too close, hand brushing your jaw. “You’ve been walking around, teasing me for months, daring me. Don’t tell me this isn’t what you wanted too.”

She swallows hard, her eyes betraying her as she leaned in again “You’re a dick”

That got a chuckle out of him as he went in for a kiss again, now between her legs as he moved in front of her, his hands settling down on her hips, tightly gripping, claiming, possessive.

His hands moving up and down slowly, as he deepens the kiss, her hands clutching that worn-out navy-blue shirt. His fingertips dancing around that skimpy tank top of hers… “God, you have no idea what you do to me” He mutters against her lips as she pulled him even closer.

Things escalate quickly, her hands tugging at his shirt as he fumbles with the zipper of her shorts, quickly pulling it down then forcing their lips to part, looking down at her with nothing but pure lust and admiration.

“You sure about this, Princess?” The nickname being almost mockingly as it escapes his mouth.

inner “You always talk this much?” Huffing, impatience coming off her in waves.

He chuckles, looking at her pulling her shorts off completely, her lilac panties being the only barrier between her core and his face, as he lowers himself down to be at level with her thigh.

He softly bit the inside of her thigh, earning a soft gasp from her parted lips, causing the corners of his mouth to twitch as his smirk widened.

Those damn blue eyes, looking back up at him as his fingers pulled her panties aside slowly, teasingly, daring her to try stop the noises or the heat rising to her cheeks.

“Rafe…” is all she could manage, her throat having gone dry at the mere sight of him between her legs, the thought of herself being all at his mercy being a bigger turn on than excepted.

One finger, slowly coming up to trade around her wetness, her legs spreading further on instinct for him and him alone.

“You’re so goddamn wet” Smugness dripping from his mouth as his eyes flickered from her warmth to her face, before leaning in and before leaning in and dragging his tongue flat against her, slow and deliberate, tasting every inch like he’d been starving for it.

She gasped sharp, involuntary her fingers flying to his hair, gripping hard enough to hurt. “Fuck- Rafe-”

He hummed against her, the vibration ripping another sound from her throat. One hand pinned her thigh wider, rough palm sliding up to hold her open while the other gripped her hip, keeping her exactly where he wanted. No escaping. No pretending this wasn’t happening.

His tongue circled her clit once, teasing, then flicked- quick, mean- drawing her hips off the hood in a jerk. He pulled back just enough to look up at her through dark lashes, lips glistening, smirk filthy.

“Still think I talk too much?” he rasped, voice wrecked already.

She tried to glare, but it melted into something desperate when he sucked her clit between his lips, hard. Her head fell back against the windshield with a soft thud, thighs trembling around his head.

“Shut- shut up,” she managed, but it came out broken, breathy. Her hips rolled instinctively, chasing his mouth.

He laughed low against her- dark, satisfied before diving back in. Two fingers slid inside her without warning, curling just right, pumping slow while his tongue worked relentless circles. The stretch burned sweet, and she clenched around him on instinct, drawing a groan from deep in his chest.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, pulling back to watch his fingers disappear into her, slick and shining. “Look at you. Taking it like you were made for it.”

“Rafe-” Her voice cracked on his name, half warning, half plea.

He didn’t let up. Fingers crooked deeper, thumb pressing firm on her clit now while his mouth returned sucking, licking, devouring. Her back arched, one hand scrabbling at the hood for purchase, the other yanking his hair harder, holding him there like she’d kill him if he stopped.

The coil in her stomach tightened fast too fast. Years of tension, every barbed word and loaded stare, every time she’d caught him watching her like he wanted to ruin her, it all snapped into this.

“I’m-” she choked out, thighs shaking violently. “Rafe, I’m gonna-”

“Do it,” he growled against her. “Come on my tongue, princess. Let me feel it.”

That did it.

She shattered loud, unfiltered, hips bucking against his face as waves crashed through her. He didn’t stop, didn’t slow kept licking her through it, drawing it out until she was whimpering, oversensitive, trying to push his head away and pull him closer at the same time.

When she finally collapsed back against the hood, chest heaving, he rose slowly. Wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes blown black with lust, looking every bit the predator who’d just won.

She stared up at him, dazed, lips parted, cheeks flushed. For once, she didn’t have a comeback ready.

He leaned over her again, caging her with his arms on either side of her head. His erection strained hard against his shorts, pressing insistently against her still-throbbing core through the thin fabric.

“You good?” he asked, voice rough, but there was something softer underneath like he actually needed to hear it.

She swallowed, nodded once. Then, because she couldn’t help herself “You’re still a dick.”

He smirked, but it didn’t reach the usual cruelty. “Yeah. And you just came all over my face because of it.”

She huffed a weak laugh, shoving at his chest half-heartedly. He caught her wrist, brought it to his mouth, pressed a surprisingly gentle kiss to the inside right over the fading bruise from earlier.

The gesture hit her harder than anything else tonight.

“Don’t,” she whispered, but she didn’t pull away.

He held her gaze. “I’m not telling anyone. Not about this. Not about the bruises. Not about why you were walking alone.”

She searched his face looking for the lie, the angle, the way he always twisted things. But all she saw was him raw, unguarded, still hard against her but waiting.

“Why?” she asked quietly.

Rafe exhaled, forehead dropping to rest against hers. “Because I’m tired of pretending, I don’t give a shit.”

The words hung heavy between them.

She didn’t know what to say to that. So she didn’t say anything. Just tilted her head and kissed him slow this time, tasting herself on his tongue, tasting the vodka and salt and something dangerously close to surrender.

He groaned into her mouth, hands sliding under her tank top, palms rough against her ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. She arched into him, legs wrapping loosely around his waist, pulling him flush.

When they broke apart again, both breathing hard, he rested his forehead against hers once more.

“Not here,” he said, echoing her earlier words but this time it wasn’t rejection. It was promise. “Not on a fucking hood like animals.”

She raised a brow, lips curving. “Thought you liked it dirty, Cameron.”

“I do,” he admitted, voice low. “But you deserve better than a quick fuck on the side of the road after the night you’ve had.”

Her chest tightened unexpected, unwelcome. She shoved it down.

“Then where?”

He hesitated. Just a second. Then: “My place. No one’s home. Sarahs with your brother and the rest of them doing whatever dumb shit they’re up to.”

She should say no. Should demand he drive her to the Chateau, drop her off, pretend this never happened.

Instead, she whispered, “Okay.”

Rafe stilled like he hadn’t expected her to agree.

Then he kissed her again harder, claiming before helping her off the hood. He steadied her when her legs wobbled as she pulled her shorts back up, handed her the forgotten vodka bottle like some twisted peace offering.

She took a swig, passed it back.

He capped it, tossed it in the back seat, then opened the passenger door for her gentlemanly in a way that felt wrong and right at the same time.

As he slid behind the wheel and started the engine, the silence wasn’t hostile anymore.

It was loaded.

Full of what came next.

And neither of them pretended otherwise.

[dearwalker]

But daddy I love him!

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Hopper!reader Word Count: 4.7k

Description: There’s two clear rules in your house. No boys while dad isn’t home and ALWAYS keep the door open three inches. Tonight Hopper’s out late and you decide to break both, until he’s banging at your door as Eddie trips over his own clothes trying to get out alive.

Tags/Warnings: smut, fem!hopper reader (adopted), secret established relationship, both adults, eddie being absolutely whipped, hot make out, having to be quiet, piv sex, hickeys, getting caught doing it, eddie running for his life with the help of El, talks about consent and suggestive comments.

Note: I recently watched ST3 and seeing Hopper get so riled up with Mike made me think he’d absolutely lose it if his daughter dated someone like Eddie!! Enjoy this fun sexy piece, and happy Joseph day to those who celebrate 🫶🏼

masterlist | archive

Dad’s not home yet. 

Still, you’re trying to be quiet. God knows you really are, for the sake of your half sister in the bedroom next door…but the boy on top of you makes it a very hard task. 

“Baby you’re all that I want, when you’re lying here in my arms

I’m finding it hard to believe…we’re in heaven…”

The melody coming from your stereo muffles the sounds coming from your lips, every time Eddie leans in to kiss you again and again and again. His legs press the mattress between your parted thighs, tattooed arms caging you in as he hovers over you. Your clothes are still on, but with the way his knee keeps brushing against your shorts in that particular spot, it’s not gonna be for long. 

“Isn't too hard to see…we're in Heaven…”

With Eddie all over you, you’re indeed in heaven. 

You giggle against his mouth when he bumps his nose into yours for like the hundredth time. You’re not sure how long it’s been since he climbed up your window, only that your lips are swollen already. He kisses you again anyway. Then your cheek, then the other cheek, then your jaw and then lower. 

His lips trail down your neck in wet, lazy kisses. His hand slides beneath your shirt to pinch your waist playfully, cold rings making you gasp. 

“Eddie...” you whisper, melting under his weight. 

He smiles without looking up. God, you can feel his teeth dragging slowly over your skin, before he finds the perfect spot and starts sucking like the little devil he is. 

Your fingers run through his curls, torn between scolding him and letting him mark you all over. Thankfully, your survival instinct kicks in, and you tug his head slightly back. 

“No hickeys this time, Munson,” you warn, but your breath gives away how much you were enjoying it. 

How much you actually want it. Damn it. 

Eddie notices, of course he does, his lips release your sensitive skin only to look at you, grinning. “Mmm…I don’t know. Can’t promise anything, sweetheart.”

“Eddie–“

“Shhh, pretty girl,” he hushes you, diving into your collarbone again. “I’m trying to savor this moment before your dad throws me in federal prison…”

You giggle against his hair. “He will if he sees your teeth on my neck, Eds.” 

“It’s that so?” He teases, more focused on choosing his next spot to attack. 

The way his lips wrap around your skin feels so good you forget how to keep protesting. Your fingers twist in his curls, your back arching up into him and the way his mouth claims you. 

You just pray your father stays away wherever he is for longer. The only reason why you’re doing it here instead of Eddie’s trailer like usual, is because Wayne had the night off today and wanted to have one of his buddies over for beers. 

To be fair you didn’t plan to hide your relationship from Hopper at the start. But he’s always been a little psycho when it comes to “boys” around you. Now, with an even younger daughter it’s worse. He hates Mike for even breathing close to El. Not to mention he also has access to one too many guns, and with the way the town already sees Eddie, it’s just…better this way. Better to stifle your uneven breathing as your boyfriend takes you to heaven right in your bed. 

“Just–just keep it where my dad can’t see them, baby,” you pant, breathing becoming a hard task at this point. 

He lifts his head with a dramatic gasp, that shit eating grin forming on his face again with a mischievous glint in those huge brown eyes. 

“I knew you were a freak just like me,” he says proudly, shaking his head. “Freaks in love, what a beautiful thing,” he sighs dreamily, making you snort so hard you have to cover your mouth. 

“Oh my God Eddie, shut up!” You slap his shoulder weakly, making him snort back, drowning the sound in the crook of your neck. 

“Mmm yeah, I can put my mouth to better use…” 

The next sound that comes out of your mouth is involuntary. But it’s not your fault when Eddie knows exactly what to do to drag sweet moans out of you.

“You’re gonna…you’re gonna get me killed–fuck,” you moan again when Eddie sucks harder to leave his desired mark on your shoulder. His head shoots up with a devious smile at your barely contained sounds. 

“Would you keep it quiet, sweetheart? you don’t wanna alert the little witch…” he chuckles, shifting his weight above you a little too fast, the movement making the headboard tap against the wall.

You both freeze. 

“Fuck,” Eddie curses with wide eyes. “You think she heard that?” 

You lift on your elbows and tilt your head to listen for any shuffle outside the door, but all you can hear is the soft music still playing in your room. You shrug when you look back at Eddie.

“I don't think so.”

Eddie exhales, before amusement takes over again. “Do you think she even knows what it means?” 

“She hangs out with Max all the time, Eddie. Yes, I think she’d know what it means,” you deadpan. 

The statement makes him blink at you in surprise a few times, but it’s not long before both of you burst into “quiet” laughter. You place a hand over Eddie’s mouth, his head shaking against your palm from how he tries to hold it in. 

“Stop–stop it!” you whisper-shout, barely keeping your own laughter in. “She’s gonna know you’re here!”

“Too late.”

The little deadpan voice coming from the other side of the door makes you both go still. Your heads whip toward the locked door.

“I know he’s in there. And I know what you’re doing,” she continues. 

You close your eyes with a grimace, sighing in frustration. “El, you do not know what we’re doing.”

The girl doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes I do. Max told me when you sound like that it’s because you’re having s–”

“Don’t finish that sentence!” You scramble, attempting to sit up and almost bumping Eddie in the process, since he’s too busy caught between amusement and fear to even move. 

“I’m telling him,” she says. 

“NO!” You and Eddie yell in unison, both scrambling to get off of each other, knocking over your little bedside lamp in the process. 

“Shit!” 

“She’s bluffing, right? Please tell me she’s bluffing? We weren’t even doing anything…yet” Eddie whispers, pacing next to your bed. 

“I don’t know!” you hiss, fixing your shirt and your hair before racing to the door. “She’s weird now, she has an attitude and all. For all I know she could do exactly as she says.”

“Great. Perfect. This is exactly how I thought my night was gonna end. Not inside you–oh no. Blackmailed by a fourteen year old and then shot by your father. Tell Wayne I love him–”

“Shut up!!” You snort, gesturing with a finger to your lips. “El, please,” you beg, cracking the door open just enough to see her unimpressed little face. “Please don’t tell dad.”

She crosses her arms, narrowing her eyes. She moves her head past you to see Eddie standing by your window, waving awkwardly at her. She remembers seeing you and him sucking each other's faces off a few days ago before you shut the door on her face. 

“El?” You ask, moving your body to block her gaze on Eddie. 

She seems to think about it for a moment, but you weren’t born yesterday, you know the look on her face and you know exactly why she’s there. 

“Okay. But you have to cover for me and Mike next time.” 

There it is. You stare at her in silence, then you whip around to Eddie, curls wild, pupils blown and holding in his laughter. “Is this kid fucking serious?”

Eddie just raises his eyebrows in amusement. “Like sister like…half-sister?” He chuckles. “Being a freak runs in the family, I see.” 

You flip him off before you turn back to her. 

“Fine. Deal. I better not get grounded or I swear you’re going down with me,” you say. El just nods and turns to walk away. “And put some music on! You don’t wanna hear….anything.”

“The happy screaming?” She asks, right before scrambling to her room with a giggle when your eyes go wide. 

Her door shuts, and seconds later Madonna starts blasting from her stereo at full volume. 

“Jesus Christ, this girl,” you mutter, shaking your head before shutting your door. 

Click. 

You turn back to Eddie–and you both lose it. He throws himself dramatically on the bed, laughing into your pillows. You’re laughing too as you crawl on top of him, placing your hands on his chest with a grin. 

“Now, where were we?” You tease, leaning down to kiss him again. 

But he flips you over, making you giggle against his neck, and the music is just loud enough to cover the squeaking of the bed, the shushing and the soft little gasps when clothes begin to fall off. 

You don’t hear the car pulling in the driveway. You don’t hear the front door open or the heavy footsteps following. 

All you hear is Eddie, breathing hard on your ear, muttering curses and things like “You’re so fucking tight, baby–shit,” with every sweet drag of his cock across your slick walls. Your fingers dip into his bare shoulders, and your head tilts back against the pillow with barely contained moans as he hits every spot he has to hit. 

“Eds…Eddie…” you choke out, completely drunk on the way his balls slap your ass every time he bottoms out. “R-right there…please”

“Right there sweetheart?” He coos with a chuckle, dragging out only to slam back again in a hard thrust, hitting that spot again. “How does that feel, huh?” 

You gasp, back arching, eyes rolling back. “S–so big…so good Eds…shit…”

“Shh, shh, you’re okay angel–fuck you’re perfect,” he whispers, leaning back to hook his arm under your legs to lift your ass, then placing a pillow right under your pelvis. He snaps his hips harder, deeper, trying to make you cum because he knows damn well he won’t last much longer with the way your pussy clenches around him. 

The change of angle makes a loud moan escape your lips, making Eddie bring his ringed hand over your mouth with a grin. 

God, how he loves the way you come undone under him. 

If it was up to him, he’d let you be as loud as you want. Lord knows when he fucks you hard in his trailer the whole park knows when you come. On the other hand, nothing compares to drilling you into your own mattress. Seeing the way you shake trying to muffle your moans while he makes love to you in secret.  

The sheer thrill of it. 

And as if it wasn’t enough, with one hand still covering your mouth, Eddie brings the other to play with your swollen clit. The overwhelming feeling is enough to make you cry out under his palm, feeling that pressure on your belly building quicker and quicker. He’s too focused on the way your juices start to drip down your cute bedsheets under him, that he doesn’t hear anything happening outside that room either. 

Jim Hopper enters his household with slumped shoulders and dragged footsteps after a tiring day. But he doesn’t have much time to feel miserable about how shitty work was, when he realizes none of his girls are on sight. 

Which always means trouble. 

His eyes land on El’s door first. Loud music blasts behind it, the same way it does when Mike is sucking her face off and doing god knows what with his hands. He stomps over there with no hesitation, slamming the door open. 

“How many times have I told you–”

He stops dead in his tracks when he finds El alone, laying on the floor as she flips through a comic, music still at full volume coming from her stereo. 

“I–hey kid,” he says softer, clearing his throat when he realizes there’s no male threat in that room. “Why’s the music so loud?” 

“New mixtape. She said I could play it as loud as I wanted.” 

“She?”

“Sister,” she smiles. 

That weird little smile makes him narrow his eyes, “What did your sister do?” He asks, because he wasn’t born yesterday either. He already raised a teenager. 

“N-nothing!” She says, maybe a little too quickly. 

That’s when he hears a bump on the wall coming from your room.

“I swear to god–” he rolls his eyes with an exhausted sigh, already walking to your door, ignoring the way El trails behind him with wide eyes. 

“Wait–” she scrambles trying to stall him, but he’s already pressing his ear to your door. 

And Jesus Christ, he did not need to hear any of that. His daughter’s panting and some dude’s groans muffled by music. His hand flies to the doorknob, rattling it violently. 

“Young lady, you better open this goddamn door right now!!”

The booming voice makes you both stop. 

“Shit!” you yelp, somehow pushing Eddie off, grabbing whatever you can find from the floor to get dressed. 

“Who’s in there???” Hopper keeps rattling the doorknob with one hand, the other banging the door loudly. “El, open this door!”

“No!” 

Eddie’s panicking. He’s hopping around, shoving his dick–condom and all–into his jeans, looking around for his shirt and trying to put on his shoes at the same time. 

“He’s gonna kill me,” he hisses. All that confidence he had fucking you into next week now reduced to sheer human fear. “He’s actually gonna murder me. I’m gonna die too young.”

You ignore his dramatic monologue. 

“Did you park far?” you whisper, tripping over your bra as you try to hide it under the bed. “Eddie, he can't see your van–”

“Yes yes I did–but I’m not worried about that! I’m worried about getting shot in the dick!”

BANG BANG BANG.

“Open right now or I swear to god I’ll break it down!!” 

“Coming!” You yell back. 

“Not yet,” Eddie snorts, he fucking snorts like he’s not about to be executed by the town’s sheriff. 

You turn to him, mouth open in disbelief. He realizes his mistake when you stomp toward him and dig a finger into his bare chest. 

“Do you appreciate your life?” You ask, he just nods frantically. “Then you need to get out of here, dumbass, now!!” 

You shove him toward the windowsill, he clumsily puts one leg over the frame, when you spot his shirt on the floor. You quickly pick it up and hand it to him. 

“What if I want you to keep it? As a token of our love.”

If your dad doesn’t kill him right now you’re the one who’s going to do it. 

“Eddie–GET OUT NOW!”

“Okay, okay, fleeing the scene–”

But just as he’s about to swing his other leg over the frame, the door slams over with a harsh thud as Hopper almost breaks it off its hinges. 

“MUNSON?” 

He freezes. You freeze. Eddie freezes.

Hopper’s eyes go from Eddie mid escape, still clutching his shirt over his tattooed chest, to the pillow you’ve put between the bed frame and the wall, to your messy hair and the very fresh hickey stamped on your shoulder. 

“…Hi, dad,” you say breathlessly, smiling awkwardly. 

“Heyyyy, Mr. Hopper–I mean Sir uh…Iwasjustleaving!” 

Eddie tries to jump outside the window, but it only takes your fuming dad a few strides to storm across the room and grab him by the ear before he can. 

“Ow ow ow–” Eddie yelps loudly, feet tripping over each other as he gets dragged out of your room.

“Dad!!” you shout, trailing after them. “Stop it! you’re gonna rip it off–“

“That’s not the only thing I’m ripping off!” He snaps, turning to El. “And you, turn off that music right now!” 

El, for once does as she’s told, the only sounds left in the house are everyone’s heavy breathing and Eddie’s little whines. She watches from her doorway with wide eyes, horrified as her dad hauls your shirtless boyfriend into the living room and finally releases him with a shove. Eddie stumbles back, holding his ear with one hand, the other still clutching his shirt for dear life. 

Hopper turns to you, “Eddie Munson? Seriously?” 

You try to look apologetic. It comes out more like a nervous laugh because you’re embarrassed as hell and don’t know how else to react. 

“Oh, so you think this is funny?”

“Dad, I–”

“No, don't ‘Dad’ me!” he starts pacing, dragging his hand down his face because it physically pains him to be alive in this moment. “I decided to take in two girls. Two. I’ve set clear rules in this house. And now one’s blowing out her eardrums to cover for the other while she sneaks in boys to hookup with while I’m gone.”

Heat travels to your face. But it’s not from embarrassment anymore. It’s anger. Anger that simmers quietly. 

“I just wanna say,” Eddie chimes in nervously, holding his hands up as if he’s surrendering to an arrest, “this wasn’t just a hookup thing, Sir. I care about her. A lot actually, I only mean well.”

Hopper laughs bitterly, crossing his arms and nodding condescendingly like it’s the funniest thing he’s heard. 

“Well? You only mean well, right–and what exactly is ‘well’ about sneaking into my house, locking yourself in my daughter’s room, and doing that??” he closes the distance between you, gesturing at the hickey. 

“Okay, fair, but–” 

“Were you even using protection?”

“Dad!!” you groan, moving in front of Eddie. “We’re being safe! And I’m not sneaking in boys plural. It’s just Eddie. My–my boyfriend.”

“Oh yeah? Boyfriend? Well you’re grounded.” 

You gasp. “What? That’s so unfair!” 

“You’re grounded until you introduce him like a proper lady, not while he’s still trying to shimmy into his jeans behind a locked door!”

You glare at him with your arms crossed. Your hair’s still a mess, the hickey is still very much hickeying, and he looks like he’s not backing down no matter if you start stomping your feet on the ground like a child. 

He brushes past you and turns his attention to Eddie, grabbing him by the collar until his untied sneakers lift off the ground. 

“S–Sir?” Eddie yelps. 

“You mark her again like that and you’re dead. Understood?”

Eddie nods frantically. “Understood, S–sir–absolutely!! Message received!! I love life. Biiig fan of living, actually. I’ll, uh–show myself out?” Eddie blurts out, hands flailing around him in an attempt to stabilize himself in the vulnerable position, but Hopper doesn’t put him back down. 

“I’m not done with you yet, Munson.”

You groan again, covering your face with your hands.  “God–I hate you.”

Before he can say you’re grounded for life, something falls in the kitchen. The noise makes him spin around, giving you just enough time to snap your head up and lock eyes with Eddie. 

You mouth RUN.

And oh boy, he bolts. He slips himself from your dad’s embrace and sprints like hell out the front door, wild curls bouncing in the wind, laughing like a madman who just escaped the guillotine. 

“SEE YOU LATER, MY LOVE!!” he yells at the top of his lungs, skipping the steps of the front porch. 

Hopper whirls around. “Son of a bitch–Come back here!”

He storms after him, but the couch has already been moved a few inches to make him trip, face nearly eating the floor. It’s not a surprise when you both turn around and see the blood coming out of El’s nose. 

“Damn it, El!”

You smile, running to the open door, just in time to see Eddie leap over the perimeter set for Eleven’s safety, almost losing a shoe, and keep running for his life. 

You can’t help it. You stifle a laugh with the palm of your hand. 

Behind you, Hopper’s face is red, looking at both of you in disbelief. He walks over to you, slamming the front door shut. 

“You’re both grounded forever.” Before you can whine, he’s already spitting more words. “When I said you two needed to be more like sisters, I didn’t mean this!”

“Yeah, and what exactly did you mean?” You spit back. 

“I don’t know, bonding, talking–painting your nails and going to the mall! Not conspiring to deceive me while your boyfriend sucks your neck like a lunatic!”

“Oh my god, Dad! Would you stop bringing it up?” You roll your eyes in annoyance. “El go to your room,” you say. 

She doesn’t need to hear more of this. 

He huffs, muttering to himself as Eleven locks herself in her room. “Now this–this is what I get. This is what I get for trying to raise women. Lying little degenerates, the both of you. Should’ve left you where I found you…”

This time you huff, walking past him to go back to your room. “Maybe then we could have boyfriends in peace,” you sneer, before slamming your door shut. 

He curses, and bangs on your door one more time, “You’re still grounded! And you better take a shower, I can smell the weed from here!”

You sigh. Sat on the edge of your bed wrapped in only a towel over damp skin, still thinking about the way you were wrapped in Eddie just an hour ago. 

Your eyes land on his forgotten jacket, crumpled on the corner of your room. You smile, walking over to it to pick it up and bring it close to you to take in the scent. 

Leather, the cologne you gave him for his birthday and…weed? Who knows. It smells like him. Your safe place. You bury your face in it like a total sap, but the click of your door’s lock coming off startles you. 

“Jesus, El!” you yelp, spinning around with the jacket clutched to your chest. “Just because you can open doors with your mind doesn’t mean you should!”

She stands there, with a cute little expression that makes you forget about being mad at her.

You sigh. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to snap, come here.” 

You sit down on the edge of your bed again and pat the spot beside you. She sits next to you quietly, tucking her legs under herself. 

“Listen uh–I’m sorry you had to hear all that. Me and Dad. And I’m sorry you got grounded for helping me…I’m sure he’ll forget about it in a few days.”

She shrugs, knowing that won't exactly stop her from seeing Mike either way. 

“He…doesn’t like boys.”

You both snort at the same time.

“That’s true. I think he’s convinced we should just join a convent,” you chuckle. 

El tilts her head in confusion, ready to ask what a convent is but something else catches her attention. Her eyes land on the mark on your shoulder.

“Did Eddie do that to hurt you?”

The question knocks the air out of your chest. 

“What? No! No, no, no–God, no,” you blurt out, fiddling nervously with the jacket on your lap. “That was…um, that was consensual.”

“Consensual?”

“Yeah…it means both people want something to happen. Like, really want it. It has to come from both sides. Always.”

She processes the information quietly, and you know a million more questions are rattling inside her head. You take a deep breath. She eventually needs to learn about this anyway. 

“Look, if you ever don’t like something, if something makes you feel uncomfortable, or weird, or confused, you say no. And when you say no, that’s it. It stops. Doesn’t matter who it is. Doesn’t matter what they want. I need you to understand that.” 

She nods, still a bit hesitant. 

“I’m sure Max has already told you way more than I ever could.” You laugh, shaking your head. That gets the ghost of a smile out of her as she keeps listening. “But just…remember this, okay? Whatever you do, whenever you do it, make sure it comes from love. From feeling safe. From being comfortable with each other. Not because someone told you to, or because you’re scared, or confused. Only when it feels right.”

She nods, still taking it all in. Then, in barely a whisper, she asks, “Does…Eddie make you feel safe?”

You smile. It’s inevitable. Just the mention of his name makes your heart flutter with that overwhelming feeling of knowing you’ve made him home. 

“Yeah, yeah he does,” you breathe. 

She smiles back, leaning her head on your arm. 

You wait until it’s late, with El back in her room and Hopper too busy snoring loudly behind the curtain of his room, before you tiptoe to the living room. You glance around to confirm you’re alone, before reaching for the phone on the wall and dialing Eddie’s trailer number like you’ve done millions of times before. 

You stretch the cord until you’re in your room again, shutting the door slowly before sinking down against it with the receiver pressed to your ear. It rings a few times, when you finally hear his voice on the other side of the line. 

“Munson Residence, who am I speaking with?” He says in an over exaggerated posh tone, knowing damn well you’re the only one who calls at this hour. 

“Hi, Eds,” you chuckle. 

He gasps dramatically. “Sweetheart? Love of my life? You survived??” 

You roll your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “Barely. I got a lot of shit for…today,” you sigh, twisting the cord between your fingers. 

“M’sorry baby, didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”

“It’s alright,” you say quickly. “Apparently I’m grounded for life. He’s just–he got really pissed. Like ‘boarding up my windows’ pissed. I’m afraid he might actually do it this time...”

Eddie whistles low. “Wow. Love that for us.” 

“Yup. And…I also had to give El the talk–or something like the talk.”

“No–” He gasps, “you gave the talk? To El?? Oh my god. Did she ask about the hickey?” 

“She thought you were hurting me,” you snort, shaking your head even if he can’t see you. 

“Jesus Christ,” he laughs into the phone, loudly. “Did you tell her it’s because I’m hopelessly in love with you?” 

“Eddie…” you have to cover your mouth to stifle your own laughter, as your cheeks go hot from his words. “That’s not exactly what I told her.” 

“So what was it? The bees and the birds? Safe sex? Consent? Oooh you gotta tell her about that, sweetheart. I know she’s young and all but there’s a lot of jerks out there and she should–”

“I told her you make me feel safe, Eds,” you cut him off, the line going quiet as he processes the words. A small, nervous laugh escapes your lips before you continue. “I told her consent is all about really wanting something to happen. And it should come from love, from…feeling safe. Like it does with you.” 

The next sound you hear on the line can only be described as a thump. No words, just a soft thump on…drywall? 

“…Eddie?” 

“Sorry sweetheart–had to bang my head on the wall to make sure I wasn’t dreaming,” he says, and God you can feel his stupid smile through the phone. “Your dad didn’t get me today but you sure almost killed me with that.” 

You blink a few times before giggling into the phone. “You’re such a goddamn dork, oh my god!”

“Yeah, well. You still love me though, right?” 

“Unfortunately,” you tease. 

He laughs. “Good. Then we’ll just be fine.” 

“Yeah, assuming we do get to see each other again,” you sigh. 

“Ohh, talking about that,” his voice gets lower, he’s probably got a hand around the transmitter as he whispers into the phone. “Wayne’s taking a double shift tomorrow. He’ll be gone the whole day.”

“…Okay?” You say slowly, but you’re already pressing your legs together from anticipation. 

“Trailer will be all ours, sweetheart,” he drawls. “All day and aaall night. And I can get you home before your daddy even wakes up...” 

You bite your lip. “Eddie Munson, are you telling me you want me to sneak off my house to spend the night at yours?”

He hums nonchalantly. “Uhum. Even got your favorite ice cream in the fridge and some whipped cream. If you get lucky I’ll let you lick the whipped cream off my d–”

“Jesus Eddie!” You cover your mouth to stifle another fit of laughter. 

God, you never got bored with this man. 

“You’re insatiable. Did you know that?” You pretend to scold, but your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. 

“Oh I know, angel. But so are you. A freak just like me, remember? That’s why tomorrow you’re gonna climb out that window like a good girl and let me fuck you on my bed. You know you can be as loud as you want here.” 

You curse internally. But fuck yes you are letting him do just that. And hell yeah, you will be as loud as you want. 

Thank you so much for reading!! Feedback is always appreciated 🫶🏼

[mrsbarnesblog]

˖˚⊹ safe and sound

➤ summary: after a hellish two weeks of work, Rafe finally drags himself home past midnight, craving not food or sleep but you.

➤ w/c: 2.2k

➤ warnings: concensual somnophilia, unprotected p in v, creampie, cockwarming

➤ a/n: tumblr has been dry as hell recently, and I can barely find anything good to read, so I have to at least try to post something. also... might drop p!links tomorrow🫣

masterlist

Rafe’s head had been pulsing for the past few hours, and he couldn’t wait for the moment he would be able to return home to you finally. Everything at work went wrong. People were too stupid, not knowing how to do their damn jobs, and were getting on his last nerves, not to mention the important deal he had been working on for the past two weeks. 

When Rafe finally stepped inside the house, way past midnight, he felt himself instantly getting more relaxed. The familiar scent that you created there, the warm lights that you surely left on only for him, knowing that he would get home late, and the simple feeling of being in his safe space. His neck was killing him, exhaustion making his head feel slightly dizzy, so he didn’t even want to eat the dinner that you left on the stove. 

Instead, he carelessly took off his jacket, leaving it draped over the back of the chair, and went upstairs to the only person who could make it at least a little more bearable. Of course, you were already sleeping, nestled at your side of the bed, with your legs bent at the knee and hugging a thick blanket as you did with him whenever he was sleeping next to you. The room was dark beside the distant light from the street that was getting in through the open window and the one that Rafe left in the hallway behind him. 

He stood at the foot of your bed, eyes hungrily roaming over your soft and relaxed body, only in a tank top and panties, because no matter how tired Rafe was, the need for you had always been bigger. He didn’t have many opportunities to spend time with you throughout the past two weeks, always leaving the house too early and getting back too late. 

And Rafe was craving you—your voice, your presence, your touch, your fucking body wrapped around him, and he couldn’t even remember the last time he had time to be around you. Not in the morning, with you still half asleep as he kissed you and left for a whole day, and not way past midnight when he could only snuggle close to you and pass out from exhaustion.

His body, despite being beyond tired, reacted on its own and he started undressing, leaving clothes carelessly on the floor. Rafe was hard just from looking at you, just from imagining having you close to him again. So he snuck behind you on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, as his chest was pressed to your back. 

As if sensing him even through your sleep, you instinctively moved backward, melting into him and releasing a content sigh. Rafe’s hand sneaked under the pillow, the other one slowly wrapped around you and went under the hem of your top, relishing the warmth of your skin. His head dipped lower, at first just barely ghosting your naked shoulder with his lips and then hiding his face in your neck, inhaling your scent with pleasure.

Your ass was firmly pressed into his stiff cock, which didn’t have a chance to feel anything besides his fist when Rafe became way too overwhelmed and could only spare two free minutes at work. He softly moaned into your neck, and before he could think of anything better, his hand started moving from your belly down to your panties, easily slipping past the elastic band and finding your soft folds. 

Rafe knew you wouldn’t mind because you told him so multiple times, so he listened attentively to notice the way your breath slightly hitched in your sleep before you relaxed again and moved your legs further apart as if on instinct. 

He rutted against your ass, unable to do anything with how much he wanted and needed you. His fingers slowly dipped lower, pushing inside of you while his thumb pressed on your clit. He worked with you carefully, moving his fingers in and out until he felt the slick substance covering his palm.

You were still asleep when Rafe took his hand away and instead pulled your panties to the side, adjusting himself behind you, and then very slowly and carefully pushed his aching cock inside. He bottomed out, pressing himself against your ass and fighting himself to let you adjust and not move the way his body wanted to. His cock nestled perfectly inside of you and Rafe’s head fell forward on your shoulder from how good it felt.

You didn’t know what exactly woke you up. Maybe it was a broken, barely audible moan somewhere behind you, or maybe it was the way you suddenly felt full and your body was tingling with something familiar that your hazy mind couldn’t quite comprehend. 

Rafe saw the moment your lashes softly fluttered against your cheek, your eyes opening, and a slight disorientation startled you. Your hand instinctively fell on his that was firmly pressed against your stomach as you couldn’t at first understand what was happening, so he stopped his movements, leaning his head even closer to your ear. 

“Shh, it’s just me.” He mumbled, barely heard even in the quietness of your bedroom. Your body instantly relaxed against him, your fingers lacing through his as you hummed softly. “I missed you so fucking much, baby.”

“Rafe?” Your voice was sleepy, a little bit hoarse, as you threw your head back, leaning closer to him.

“Yeah, baby, ‘m here.” Rafe’s lips trailed up your shoulder, on the side of your neck, and when you turned your head, he managed to finally reach your lips. Your kiss was soft and so lazy, with your mind still trying to fully wake. Rafe’s hips slowly rode into yours, sliding deeper into your heat, while his hand tried to bring you even closer to his body. “Is that okay?”

“Mhm.” You smiled against his lips, your head falling back onto your pillow with a content sigh. Your legs shifted slightly, still sleep-heavy, parting just enough to let him slide deeper, the way he always liked. Like your body was made for him—the way he fit inside you, the way your back against his chest felt like two puzzle pieces. 

Rafe moved slowly, dragging his throbbing cock through your soft walls and then pushing back in with a grunting moan. You slowly moved back onto him, as much as your position and barely conscious body could, but the sound that Rafe made behind you made it enough for you to go crazy and want more. You knew how much he worked and how tired and sore his body was now because you felt his taut muscles around you and the way his hand on your belly twitched ever so slightly.

“Fuck, I needed you so bad.” His breath was hot against your ear when the only thing you could do was whimper in response to the way his cock nudged your cervix. “Everything has been fucking awful, and I couldn’t even touch you— shit, you feel fuckin’ good, baby.” You made a sleepy little sound, somewhere between a giggle and a moan, and it made his heart seize. That sound. He hadn’t heard it in days. He didn’t realize how much he needed it. His hand that had been on your belly slipped down, fingers splaying wide across your pelvis to hold you right where he wanted you. His thumb brushed your clit again in soft, slow circles, coaxing you into that hazy pleasure. 

You rolled your hips back again, softly moaning his name and fisting the sheets underneath your hand when the feeling of him stretching you made your eyes roll back. “I was gonna lose it today. Thought about you between every damn meeting, every time I wanted to punch someone. And now you're here. You always save me, even when you don’t realize it.” Rafe slightly bit the back of your neck, immediately sucking the sensitive skin into his mouth until your body trembled in shivers. 

His strokes got a bit faster, skin slapping on the skin, sliding into you still lazily but now with more need, as it felt like his head might blow off if he didn’t make you both finish. You clenched around him when he hit that spot, and his whole body stuttered. “Jesus, baby.” He groaned, forehead pressing harder against you. “You keep doin’ that and I’m not gonna last.”

You giggled, sleep still thick in your voice. “S’okay… wanna feel you…”

You turned your head just enough to kiss him again, this time with more heat, and your hand reached behind to cradle his neck. Rafe moaned into your mouth and shuddered against you, his rhythm faltering as your walls fluttered around him, clenching down, dragging him deeper with every move.

“Come inside me.”

Your voice was so quiet, so innocent, yet it made him fucking crumble. 

“I’m gonna give it to you, okay? Gonna fill you up real good, sweetheart.” Rafe panted into your skin, his lips warm and slick as they pressed over your shoulder, your neck, the shell of your ear. “You’re gonna take it all like my perfect fuckin’ girl. My girl…”

Your legs shifted again, spreading wider in a silent offering for him to do whatever he needed. His hips stuttered at the motion, your warmth swallowing him deeper than he thought possible. You were melting into the mattress now, letting him fuck into you almost desperately.

Your body was responding to him so sweetly, even half-asleep. Every clench of your walls pulled him closer to the edge, every sleepy sigh was soothing something deep in him.

“Just like that, baby, please.” Rafe was whispering nonsense now, voice trembling with restraint, sweat forming on his brow as he rocked into you, hitting the deepest parts of you over and over, too desperate to push you both over the edge. “Almost there—fuck, you’re gonna make me—”

You whined, arching your back just enough that your ass pressed snugly against his hips, forcing him even deeper. Your hand squeezed his on your stomach and you gave the softest little whisper of his name, and it made him spiral. His cock sank into you fully, your velvety walls were pulsating around him softly when your orgasm hit you and then he finally spilled into you. Your body felt warm and tingly, pressed tightly against Rafe’s as his release was making his hips jerk and push his cum into you. 

Rafe groaned deeply, something in a mix of curses and your name. His body fell on yours, slightly pushing you into the mattress with its weight, as his covered in sweat forehead pressed against your shoulder blade. You sighed in contentment, letting your eyes close for a second, letting yourself fully relish the feeling of him everywhere.

When a few minutes later you felt him start moving away, your eyes snapped open, your hand reaching backward to grab his ass and make him stay in place before you could even comprehend it. “No. Stay like that. Please.” Your voice was soft and quiet, slightly muffled by the pillow near your mouth. “I missed you, wanna be with you for the whole night”

“Fuck, baby, I’m so sorry.” He whispered, moving even closer to you if that was even possible, still buried deep inside. Rafe snarked one hand under your top, his large hand spreading over one of your boobs, and not in a sexual way, just to ground himself. “‘m fucking tired and I’ve been dying without you. Gonna stay at home tomorrow, they all can fuck themselves.”

“Mhm, I’d like that. I love you, Ray.” Your voice was getting even quieter now, eyes heavy with sleep, comforted by the presence of Rafe whom you missed so deeply over the past couple of weeks. 

“I love you more.” He breathed near your ear, finally letting himself relax into the warmth of your body, feeling the way every single part of him was ready to give up and just pass out that exact second. 

He let it go, tightening his hands around your sleeping body and focusing on the feeling of you. The sound of your soft breathing, the steady beat of your heart under his palm, your warm skin against his chest, the way he was still buried in you—it all made him feel more like himself. It all made the constant noise in his head and the aching weight in his body a little bit easier. 

And for once, he didn’t want to move. Not even a little. He buried his face into your hair, nose brushing your temple, and closed his eyes. Sleep came quickly after that like it always did when you were close.

[morguesiren]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ PAIRING ♥︎ frat president!rafe x sorority!reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ SUMMARY ♥︎ as soon as rafe spots you in the crowd at one of his parties, he thinks he can get with you that same night, like he does with most girls. but for some reason, you see through him and reject him, but that just makes him want you more.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ CONTENT TAGS ♥︎ fluff. smut. PIV. MDNI! ꒰ 𝟐𝐤 ꒱

⊹ ࣪ ˖ AUTHOR'S NOTE ♥︎ been a few days since my last fic! sorry, the cold weather is making my hands suffer.

જ⁀➴ ♥︎ RAFE CAMERON ⊹ ࣪ ˖

you and rafe were a modern-day cliché. a frat president and a sorority girl hooking up? shocking. you might as well have been the high school head cheerleader and the quarterback.

but back in high school, you would've been invisible to rafe. you were what most people considered a loser. you spent most weekends holed up in your room watching movies and studying, while rafe spent most of his weekends out partying. you didn't care about your looks, didn't care about having what your mom called 'a healthy social life', didn't care about what other people thought about you, if they even thought about you at all.

but once you got your braces taken out the summer before your freshman year of college, you decided that you wanted to change that. you didn't want to be the mousy girl whose name barely anyone remembered, whose face everyone forgot as soon as you weren't in their direct view.

instead of staying up until 5am to study like you'd done all through the year, your summer nights went by with you staying up and looking up makeup tutorials, trying them on yourself, and spending the few thousand you’d saved up from summer jobs on new clothes. and it... somehow worked.

you actually started feeling pretty, started feeling like you looked like one of the girls you saw on social media, that you fawned over. and other people started noticing it too. people started being more polite to you, started being nicer to you...

and when you started college, your roommate told you about how she was rushing for a sorority, urging you to do it with her, talking about 'eternal sisterhood' and everything. you'd ended up getting in, your roommate, not so much. it didn't take long for you to start living the kind of life you'd looked down on the popular kids in your school for living.

rafe was a few years older than you. he came from a different world than you; he was rich and was born with a great jawline and cheekbones that made him almost look like a sculpture. he knew he was handsome and powerful, and made sure everyone around him knew it too. he could get any girl he wanted to.

but you saw right through him.

rafe set his eye on you at the first frat party you came to. he saw you as prey, just like he did with many girls. rafe watched as some drunken idiot was trying to hit on you, not able to take the hint, no matter how obviously you were rolling your eyes at him.

and he decided that was the perfect time to strike. rafe finished his glass of whiskey, putting it down and leaving his friends to stride towards you.

"alright, pal." rafe patted the guy on the shoulder with a feigned smile, "maybe you should go find someone else. she's clearly not interested."

"huh?" the drunken guy mumbled, and rafe simply turned him around and pushed him in the other direction, before turning to you with a charming smile on his lips. "sorry about that." he chuckled boyishly.

"sorry about what? it was entertaining. like a common day jester." you shrugged, taking a sip of your drink, "is this the part where i thank you and fall at your feet for protecting me from some dude that probably couldn't tell the difference between his mother and his sister at his state?" you raised your brows.

rafe chuckled softly, "i guess so." "well, thanks."

"so, are you a kappa? i saw you walking in with them." rafe inquired, even though he already knew the answer.

"i am. eternal sisterhood, and everything." "well, i'm rafe, i'm the president of-" "i know who you are." you said, with a shrug before looking at him up and down, studying him. "you don't really impress me."

"i don't?" rafe chuckled, "what impresses you, then? bet i could be that." "authenticity." you shrugged, "i like people who are real. and rafe? every pore on your skin screams ingenuity."

"you break my heart." the boy brought his hand to his heart dramatically.

"bet i'm the first girl to do that." you mumbled, and rafe watched as you walked away, brows slightly raised, watching as the short hem of your dress moved with every step you took away from him.

and when you turned your head slightly to look back at him, a hint of mischief in your smile before you looked back ahead... it had rafe hooked.

from then on, no matter what parties he was invited to, or no matter what parties he hosted, he was always looking for one person. didn't matter which girl threw themselves at him, rafe's eyes never left the door, always expecting you, always being disappointed.

but eventually, as rafe leaned against the second-floor railing that looked over the entrance, he spotted you, walking into his fraternity house with your fellow sisters, looking around the room as if you were scanning it. and for a moment, rafe could swear that your eyes met. but you simply kept walking.

rafe watched from a distance for a moment, before turning to topper, telling him to watch the entrance, rushing down the steps, looking for you.

when he got to the kitchen, finally, he spotted you at the punch bowl, trying to scoop up some of the drink into your cup.

"you have any idea what's in that thing? probably a hundred different guy's attempt to make it strong enough to knock someone out." rafe raised his brows, looking down at the full cup, before looking back up at you.

"guess we'll see." you shrugged, downing the cup in one. "goodnight, rafe." you chuckled, walking away, with rafe calling out over the music, "damn, i hate to see you go, but i love watching you walk away!"

you turned your head, and for the first time, you actually gave him a proper laugh, and it caused a slight pang in his chest he hadn't experienced before.

it didn't stop there, though. every party you went to, rafe made a beeline towards you, trying cheesy lines, fishing for information about you, and you'd roll your eyes and give him some snarky reply before walking away.

but one evening, when you and your friends walked into one of the parties that his fraternity was throwing, but the boy was nowhere to be seen. even as you stood around the living room for an hour with your friends, downing shots and sipping on your drinks, rafe didn't approach you. even if you craned your neck a bit to look around, you couldn't spot him anywhere.

you told yourself you were just curious and wanted to look around as you walked down the halls of the frat house, not that you were wondering about where rafe was. the wooden floor creaked under your heels as you peeked into rooms where there wasn't any moaning coming from, seeing empty rooms decorated in different ways, all with similar themes, mostly messy

but when you opened the last remaining door at the end of a long hallway, leading to an oddly neat room for a college guy, that's when you spotted a familiar figure standing at the adjoining balcony, a bottle of whiskey sitting on the stone railing, the terrace door wide open.

"knock knock." you called out, and rafe turned his head around, watching as you walked into his room, closing the door behind you as you made your way towards the balcony. "you angsting out here all on your own?" you asked, leaning your head against the balcony doorframe.

"why?" rafe chuckled softly, turning his whole body around, leaning on the railing, and taking a chug out of the bottle before holding it out to you. "you worried about me or something?"

"naah. i was just taking a tour of the house." you shrugged, taking the bottle and drinking a large swig from it, feeling the whiskey burning in your throat, a small cough leaving your lips.

"you're a shitty liar." rafe grinned, taking a few steps towards you. "or maybe you're just a cocky bastard, rafe." you took another swig, handing the bottle back over to rafe who took a long swig from it before placing it back down on the railing, "why aren't you down at the party?"

"dunno. didn't feel like it." rafe shrugged, "why aren't you?"

"you of all people didn't feel like partying? alert the presses. i think you might be getting down with something." you grinned.

"or maybe... you just don't know me as well as you think you do. besides, you didn't answer my question." "i already answered earlier. i was curious, just looking around the place."

"and i," rafe brought his face closer to yours, his voice turning into a whisper, causing shivers to run down your spine, "said that you're full of shit."

the two of your stood there for a moment, breathing in the air that the other one breathed out, your heart hammering against your chest.

and for some reason, your brain rewired itself for a moment, making you think that you wanted rafe, one of the most obnoxious guys you'd ever met, leading to you being the one to break the distance between you two, pressing your lips to his; but rafe was quick to respond.

he pushed you into his room with your lips still connected, kicking the balcony door closed, bringing you to his bed, unzipping the dress you were wearing without breaking the kiss.

it wasn't long until both your clothes were scattered around the otherwise clean room, rafe thrusting into you with fervor, your back arching off the bed as you dug your long nails into rafe's back.

you could feel his cock hitting your cervix with every thrust, feel him stretching out your walls, your nails digging deeper with each one, but rafe didn't wince, didn't tell you to ease up, all he did was grunt your name.

you didn't know what you were moaning, but to rafe, it sounded something between his name and 'fuck', but in your head, it was just nonsensical blabbering, your middle finger on your clit, circling it as you got closer and closer, rafe's lips on your neck, wanting to leave the same kind of marks you were leaving on him.

"'m close..." you mumbled, rafe picking up his pace. your hips moved to meet his as if your body was begging for release, not even knowing that rafe's body was begging for the same; he hadn't fucked anyone since the moment you'd first walked away from him. sure, he'd tried, but nothing ever did the trick, except when he'd stroke his cock to one of your images, picturing it was you getting him off.

rafe felt your walls tighten around his cock, your legs locking in around him, your moans turning into little mumbles between your quickened breathing, and as he bottomed out into you for the last time, his cock twitched, spilling himself into you with a loud grunt.

you stayed in that position for a moment, you and rafe letting out shallow breaths as he laid on you and you felt rafe starting to soften inside of you, before he finally pulled out, slumping onto his side of the bed, completely out of breath. "that was..."

"alright." you grinned, turning your head to him, not wanting to give him an even bigger head.

"...yeah. alright." rafe mumbled, knowing that he'd never felt anything close to the way he felt when he had been with you.

you curled up into the boy's chest, mumbling the words "goodnight..." onto the crook of rafe's neck in a way that made shivers run down his spine, and rafe made himself promise that he wouldn't fall asleep, because holding you was the best feeling he'd experienced in a long time.

but he did.

and by the time rafe woke up, his arms were empty, and the other side of the bed was cold, with nothing but a note left on the pillow.

rafe took it, unfolding it as the sun filtered in through his blinds, the boy narrowing his eyes as he read the messy handwriting on the paper.

'this will never happen again.'

and once again, there was a pang in his chest; but it was the opposite of what he'd felt before. this time, it felt like he lost something.

AUTHOR'S NOTE ♥︎ are you guys interested in a part 2? cause i have something in mind for one!

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